It had lain there, inert amongst the scrap in that place; buried amongst relics of faded dreams, forgotten ambitions, battles long past.
Lain there as the years rolled by, stripping the vestiges of its former glory, winds of time gradually scraping away layers of the rusty coloured shell of its once elegant form.
Lain there, as the last of its energy faded from its cells and it could do nothing but count each second ticking one after another, reduced to the function of the crudest clockwork pocket watch.
Then the boy had come.
A boy strolling and scuffing through the junk yard; kicking at an empty metal carcass here, tapping against something with his wrench over there, idly casting his gaze around, searching for something of use. The boy climbed atop a mountain of metal and stood upon the summit, his eyes roaming the yard.
Glancing down at a girder protruding from the side of the heap, he walked along it slowly with his arms outstretched to his sides, and, reaching the end, jumped up and down on it to see if it was solid or if it would come loose. Not the cleverest thing to do in hindsight.
Nothing happened at first, then the boy felt the girder sliding out from under his feet, saw the sky switch places with the rusty junk which now spun around him. He tumbled over and over until he reached the bottom, as the girder slid past him across the ground like a boat on water.
Breathing hard, Edward waited a moment just in case anything else moved, then gingerly got up, dusted himself down and squinted up to where the girder had been; something had caught his eye. Clambering back up the heap on all fours, being more careful now, he peered into the cavity…
…then he saw it.
His eyes widened, and he skidded back down and ran out of the yard as fast as he could.
He needed to fetch old Mr Cratchett.