Arthur forced himself to breathe. He had spent forty years solving problems calmly. Numbers did not scare him. Mistakes did not scare him. Panic, he knew, only made people careless. So he went to the sink, pulled on a pair of thick yellow dishwashing gloves, and found a long wooden spoon.
Standing as far back as he could, Arthur used the spoon to nudge the velvet aside. Underneath, he saw polished brass, silver tubes, and three small glass vials filled with amber liquid. The liquid moved slowly, like honey. Attached to the side was a clockwork device with tiny wheels turning inside it.
It looked old, but it also looked carefully made. Too carefully made. Arthur leaned closer, though every part of him wanted to run. There was writing engraved into the brass. It was small, curved, and elegant. He picked up his magnifying glass with trembling fingers.