Chimes at Nine

I climbed beyond the swinging brass pendulum to reach the dial shelf as night settled deep into the corridor. Above the painted roman numerals sits a row of coiled steel chime rods. In the gloom between the gears, a loose bronze washer lay trapped in a layer of dry dust. I wedged the metal ring upright between two cast-iron bracket screws behind the dial. When the internal hammer drove down to strike the ninth hour, a sharp, reverberating chord shook through the casing, making the bronze ring ring in clear harmonic resonance before falling still.