The Lost Track of Time

by Paige Britt

  inside it.

  She had almost run the length of one clock when she heard a whoosh and

  felt a soft gust of air. She looked over her shoulder. A long mechanical arm had

  emerged from high above the rafters. It swooped down, swinging around the

  room as if looking for prey. She noticed that the two Clockworkers with badges

  had dragged Dill up onto their platform and were holding him firmly in place.

  To her horror, the arm came to a halt directly over him.

  Penelope froze as she watched the arm descend with a menacing clicking

  sound. With one swift movement, it plucked Dill up by the coat collar. The arm

  swung around the room and stopped over an empty spot on the floor. All the

  Clockworkers stepped back, their eyes fixed on Dill. The floorboards lifted. A

  trapdoor opened to a dark hole.

  “Dill!” Penelope shouted.

  Dill swung his head around to look at her. “Ruuuun!

  Don’t stop!” he shouted back before the arm

  dropped him into the darkness.

  Penelope heard the

  trapdoor slam shut and

  stifled a scream. Where were

  they taking him? She had to get him

  back! But Dill had told her to run.

  In a burst of panic and speed, Penelope

  took off. She turned one corner and started

  down the length of the next clock. Tears filled

  her eyes, but she kept on running. She had to find

  the tiny door. A whirring sound overhead made

  her look up. The arm had swung back around and

  was moving swiftly in her direction. Penelope real-

  ized why no one had bothered to pursue her. It was

  useless to run. The arm would catch her.

  She hunched her shoulders in anticipation. That’s when she saw it. A

  door. A tiny wooden door. It was painted red like the brick, but there was no

  mistaking the glint of its brass knob. Penelope sprinted forward.

  The door was only as high as her waist. She bent down and wrenched it

  open. Click! The fingers of the mechanical arm snapped inches from where her

  head had been. Penelope saw a narrow ledge poised on the brink of a vast sky.

  Behind her, the arm’s hungry fingers drew back to strike again. She leapt out-

  side and pulled the door shut behind her.

  — — —

  Penelope inched along the ledge, putting a little distance between her and the

  door in case the arm opened it. Thankfully the door remained closed.

  The ledge ran around the entire tower, and when Penelope stood at her

  full height, the clock was at her back. She leaned against the cool glass, gripping

  the VI to steady herself. She could feel the cold of the Shadow above her and

  kept her eyes straight ahead.

  The lights of the tower turned the morning into an unnatural fluorescent

  day. After a moment, Penelope dared a glance at the City below. The dizzying

  distance between the ground and her feet was too much. She quickly looked up

  again just in time to hear a soft swish and see the second hand bearing down on

  her. Her shock evaporated into fear and she ducked just before being knocked

  off the ledge. She realized she would have to move out of the way or duck

  every sixty seconds to avoid being hit. Sitting down was not an option. The

  ledge was so narrow there was barely enough room for her feet, let alone her

  backside.

  Carefully Penelope turned her body around so she could look through the

  dingy glass of the clock face. She could see the Clockworkers tending the time

  machine, carrying on as if nothing had happened. Even from this distance, their

  movements were hypnotic.

  Penelope gave her head a shake. I have to bring about a no-time, she reminded

  herself. There’s no looking back now.

  When she heard the swish of the approaching second hand, Penelope

  ducked and let it pass. Something about watching the seconds tick away dis-

  lodged a hunch from the edge of her mind. The hunch hovered near her ear,

  trying to capture her attention. Penelope ignored it. She was too busy trying

  to figure out what to do. The Timekeeper had told her she would have to do

  something drastic. Something dangerous. But what?

  The hunch started to buzz.

  Penelope paid it no mind.

  Buzz, buzz, buzz . . .

  “Shoo!” said Penelope. She didn’t have time for inklings or faint notions.

  She had to concentrate.

  The hunch promptly returned. Buzz, buzz, buzz . . .

  “Will you hold on a second?” snapped Penelope. “I’m trying to think.”

  Poof! The hunch disappeared.

  That’s odd. Doesn’t a hunch disappear if you listen to it? thought Penelope. Had

  she listened to it? She recalled what she’d said to the hunch. “Hold on a second.

  I’m trying to think.”

  Hold. On. A. Second.

  Penelope realized those were the last words the Timekeeper had spoken

  to her. The words suddenly echoed with a meaning she had never considered.

  What if the Timekeeper meant exactly what he said?

  There was only one way to find out. Penelope decided to follow her

  hunch. She looked up at the second hand as it marched toward her. It was

  quite thick at the base, but it narrowed as it grew longer so that it was only

  about six inches wide at the tip. Penelope could easily grab ahold of it. But

  then what?

  At that moment, a light rain began to peck at her face. Penelope squinted

  up at the clock to read the time. It was 8:42 a.m. and 5 seconds. She had exactly

  25 seconds before the second hand reached her again. The light drizzle turned

  to rain accompanied by the not-so-distant sound of thunder. A storm was com-

  ing. She would have to act fast.

  Penelope watched the second hand grow closer. Here it comes . . . she told

  herself. Here it comes . . . here it comes . . . and then it was upon her. Penelope

  tried to reach up, but fear choked every thought from her mind, and instead

  of grabbing the second hand and holding it still, she lost her nerve and ducked

  out of the way.

  There was a sudden boom of thunder and rain began to pour down the

  clock tower. Penelope’s time was up. The storm had arrived. She watched

  the second hand as it crept past the XI mark and up the arch toward the XII.

  She would have to try and grab it again before she was blown off the ledge

  completely.

  Boom! Another clap of thunder shook the sky and Penelope shook

  with it. Hang in there, she told herself.

  Finally the second hand was 10 seconds, 9 seconds, 8 seconds away . . .

  Penelope braced herself against the brick wall.

  7 . . . 6 . . . 5 . . .

  Time had never moved so slowly!

  4 . . . 3 . . . 2 . . .

  This was it! Penelope reached up and grabbed the second hand, wrapping

  her arms around it and hugging it with all her might. For a brief moment, the

  rain disappeared, the clock was silent, and the second hand stood still. Everything

  stood still before . . .

  Tick.

  The second hand moved, taking Penelope with it. Tock. It moved again.

  Penelope held on tighter, but every second she held on to disappeared into

  the next. Tick-tock-tick-tock. Up and up Penelope went until her feet dangled

  uselessly in the air. The se
cond hand was cold and dangerously wet and

  Penelope could feel her fingers sliding off. The ledge was too narrow to stop

  her fall. Penelope held on as tightly as she could and reached out with her

  right foot, desperately straining to lodge it onto the tip of the VII. Thankfully,

  almost miraculously, her foot caught against the top corner of the sharp

  metal number.

  Before Penelope could feel relief, the second hand moved up another

  notch and she went with it, leaving the VII below. She craned her neck, looking

  up. Above her, waiting at the 43 mark, was the minute hand. At that moment,

  Penelope knew what to do. She would hold on a second and on a minute.

  Tick-tock-tick-tock. The second hand passed over the minute hand. When

  the minute hand was at waist level, Penelope raised her legs and wrapped them

  around its sturdy frame. She locked her ankles and used her position to readjust

  her grip on the second hand.

  Tick. The second hand tried to move forward. Nothing happened. Tick. It

  tried again. Penelope squeezed her eyes shut and, gritting her teeth, pulled

  down on the second hand as hard as she could. Tick. Tick. Tick. She peeled one

  eyelid open and squinted up. It was working! She was holding on a second. The

  hand was straining, trying to push its way past 8:43 and 44 seconds.

  44 . . . 44 . . . 44 . . .

  The second hand struggled to move upward.

  44 . . . 44 . . . 44 . . .

  Its gears wound tighter and tighter, until . . .

  CRACK!

  A jagged streak of light danced across the sky and met the spire high above.

  Blue currents of electricity ran like rivulets down the tower and across the

  clock face.

  The burst of lightning blinded Penelope almost immediately. For a split

  second, before her eyes were overwhelmed with light, she thought she saw,

  rising up out of the rain, a glittering white mountain.

  Then everything was the flash of lightning and the crack of shattering

  glass as the great clock exploded and Penelope flew through the air.

  — — —

  If Penelope’s world had not turned white, she would have seen the Clockworkers

  inside the tower stand by helplessly as the clock exploded into the sky. She

  would have heard a furious ringing fill the air as the mechanical arm swung

  around and around the vast room, trying to locate the source of all the trouble.

  Then the great gears that had served the clock so faithfully ground to a halt,

  sending a chain reaction through the time machine. Springs popped, gears

  jammed, valves choked, and pistons flew uselessly up and down. Time pieces,

  unable to fit into overflowing time slots, poured over the conveyor belt and

  out onto the floor.

  A screech, like the sound of a thousand braking cars, pierced the air. For

  a brief moment, time itself was suspended in the sound. It stretched thinner and

  thinner and thinner until there was a horrible, earsplitting crack. The time

  machine shuddered and lay still, steam pouring out of every opening. The three

  remaining clocks came to a halt, their once unstoppable hands hanging in limp

  defeat.

  Just then the most extraordinary thing happened: A swarm of Fancies

  spilled into the clock room, dancing and diving like butterflies. The

  Clockworkers didn’t even notice them. They stood motionless, staring out

  the gaping hole where the north clock had once been. The Fancies surged

  ahead, streaming out the hole and falling, like the rain, onto the city below.

  Penelope stared at the emptiness. There was no floor, no wall, no ceiling,

  nothing she could see or touch. Even though there was nothing to see and

  nothing to touch, the nothing itself was somehow there.

  She took a tentative step forward and felt herself enveloped in the nothing. It

  was warm and white and comforting. She took another step, this time with more

  confidence. To her surprise, she was propelled forward. With each step, she moved

  with greater and greater ease, until she was gliding gracefully across the space.

  Am I walking or flying? Penelope wondered. She was just about to try jump-

  ing up into the nothing — just to see if she might float — when a slight vibration

  ran through the air. She came to a nervous halt. Someone was coming. There

  was no sound but there was a feeling — like standing on a tightwire that had just

  been plucked.

  Penelope listened with her whole body, trying to determine where the

  movement came from. She turned around in a slow circle, her arms held out

  from her sides, feeling the air. A sea of horizonless white stretched in every

  direction. Around she went until she saw, wavering in the distance, a figure

  moving toward her.

  Penelope’s heart leapt to her throat. Even though there was, quite

  literally, nowhere to go, she set off in the opposite direction from the figure.

  chapter sixteen

  But the figure picked up its pace, growing larger and closer until Penelope gave

  up. She stood motionless, waiting.

  “Hello! Hello!” An excited voice reached Penelope’s ears.

  “Hello?” Penelope called back.

  Moments later a breathless woman was pumping Penelope’s arm up and

  down in greeting. “So glad you’ve come! So . . . very . . . very glad,” she said

  between little gasps of air.

  Penelope stared down into the face of the little old woman, although

  little and old hardly described her at all. She was little (shorter than Penelope, in

  fact). And she was old (her wrinkles made that obvious). But her tiny figure

  filled the air with energy and her eyes sparkled with youth. She wore a black-

  and-white pin-striped shirt with a black ribbon tied in a loose bow around the

  collar. A jacket with much broader yellow and blue stripes clashed happily

  against the shirt. It was an altogether invigorating effect.

  “Please do sit down.” The woman swept her arms open as if indicating an

  entire auditorium of seats for Penelope to choose from.

  “Th-thank — you,” stammered Penelope. The absence of anything to sit

  on didn’t seem to bother the old woman. She plopped herself down on nothing

  and gently swayed back and forth as if seated on a rocker.

  Penelope gaped at her. “I — I don’t see any chairs.”

  “Pshaw!” answered the woman. “Don’t tell me you only believe in what

  you see! How do you get through life like that?” The woman stopped rocking

  and leaned forward expectantly, her elbows sitting on nonexistent armrests.

  Before Penelope could figure out what to say, the woman popped up and

  sat down exactly where she had been before. She patted the air next to her invit-

  ingly. “Here, dear,” she offered. “We’ll sit on the couch together. It might be a

  little easier for you to imagine.”

  Penelope walked over and slowly lowered herself down, bracing for a fall.

  Much to her surprise, something firm materialized beneath her and she relaxed

  into what seemed to be a very comfy couch. Penelope twisted around to see what

  she was sitting on, but again, she didn’t see a thing. When she turned back around,

  the woman was holding her hands out toward Penelope. One hand was flat, palm

  up, while the other grasped the air as though it were the
handle of a china cup.

  “Tea?”

  Penelope nodded and tentatively reached out until her fingers met some-

  thing firm and smooth.

  “Careful now, that’s a full cup,” the woman cautioned. “Sugar?”

  Penelope nodded again and watched, dumbfounded, as the woman

  dropped nothing into the air where Penelope’s teacup should be. Plop. Plop. Plop.

  “Hope you like it sweet,” she said. The woman lifted her palm up to her

  face, tilted her other hand toward her mouth (pinkie finger outstretched), and

  took a sip of what appeared to be air.

  Penelope followed the woman’s example and was stunned by the warm,

  sugary taste that filled her mouth. “It’s delicious,” she said.

  “Mmm . . .” agreed the woman.

  Penelope took another sip and then blurted out, “How is this possible?”

  “It’s not,” said the woman, leaning forward and placing a nonexistent

  napkin on Penelope’s knee.

  “It’s not?”

  “Of course not! Nothing we do here is possible.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “Impossible!” answered the woman, clapping her hands together in

  delight. She must have noticed Penelope’s confused expression because she

  patted her reassuringly on the arm. “The distance between the impossible and

  the possible is just a hairsbreadth, but few people make the trip. That’s why

  it’s so nice to have company. Which reminds me, I haven’t introduced myself.

  How rude!” The woman stretched out her hand. “I’m the Great Moodler.”

  “You’re the Great Moodler?!” Penelope was so surprised she dropped her cup

  of tea. (Luckily the cup wasn’t really there, so there wasn’t a mess to clean up.)

  “You’ve heard of me?” The Great Moodler’s face turned a light shade

  of pink.

  “Yes, I’ve heard of you! I — I mean we — we’ve been looking for you.

  Me and my friend Dill.”

  “And here I am!” replied the Great Moodler with a tinkling little laugh.

  “Isn’t it lovely how that worked out?”