The Winding Key

I popped my suction feet out from the deep cushion gap and dropped down to the floorboards. Leaning against the dark mahogany base of the tall grandfather clock was a solid brass winding key with a wide, decorative wing handle. The brass was cold, heavy, and caught the morning light across its bevels. I sealed my suction hand against the central hub and hoisted it up effortlessly. Instead of setting it aside, I slotted the square shaft into the lower panel winding arbor. A single turn produced a deep, rhythmic metallic click that echoed through the hollow casing, settling the mechanism with a clean hum.