Archaeologists elsewhere say a forgotten empire installed mechanical statues along main roads to count citizens as they walked past; essentially a civic census with very good posture. Accounts suggest each statue nodded approvingly at passersby, then recorded totals that were always a touch generous, like confidence expressed in arithmetic.
Recovered gear housings show worn tracks where sandals likely pressed hidden levers in the paving stones. Inside several cracked pedestals, brass linkages still align neatly, as if the statues remained committed to public service long after the public stopped arriving.
The tally wheels themselves raise questions: Numbers tend to stop on suspiciously round totals, with several ending at clean intervals that look less like measurement and more like morale management.
One statue base in a partially cleared corridor reportedly clicks on its own at dusk, then nods anyway, as if someone important is definitely just out of frame. Dust on the surrounding floor remains undisturbed, except for a thin polished strip directly beneath the counting mechanism, suggesting it has been fidgeting in solitude.
Small proof details keep emerging, including pebbles trapped in gear teeth and a hidden tally window showing an oddly high figure for an empty road. A faint groove in the stone neck also indicates repeated motion, consistent with a lifetime of approving nods aimed at whoever happened to exist.
“It is early automation paired with early wishful thinking. The mechanism counts footsteps and then adds a little civic pride,” said Marlow Quent, chief examiner at the Institute of Ancient Devices and Enthusiasm. Researchers are now mapping statue locations, partly for history, and partly to avoid being silently over-counted on the way back to camp.
Leave a comment