The Lost Track of Time

by Paige Britt

  Her? Full of possibilities? It couldn’t be true.

  “You don’t understand,” Penelope said with a shake of her head. “I tried to

  use the moodle hat to find you. But I couldn’t make the hat work. Nothing came

  to mind. Dill even called it a . . .” Penelope paused. She didn’t want to say the

  word — the word that had been haunting her ever since she’d heard it. But

  there was the Great Moodler looking at her, eyebrows raised, waiting for her to

  finish.

  Penelope rushed the words out of her mouth. “He called it an anomaly.”

  “Exactly!” said the Great Moodler with one big, exaggerated nod of

  her head.

  Penelope took a step back. “Exactly? Exactly what?”

  “Don’t you know what an anomaly is?”

  “It’s a failure, isn’t it?”

  “My goodness, no! Quite the opposite. An anomaly is an oddity, a quirk,

  a rarity. You are all those things and I couldn’t be more pleased.” The Great

  Moodler beamed up at Penelope as if she’d won a prize. “You see, an ordinary

  person would have turned into a Clockworker by now. But you figured out

  exactly where I was right from the start!”

  Penelope’s heart skipped. “I did?”

  “Didn’t you say you moodled on my whereabouts and nothing came to

  mind?” The Great Moodler held out her arms to embrace the nothing all

  around. “Ta-da!”

  Penelope’s jaw dropped. The truth of what the Great Moodler said slowly

  dawned on her. She remembered the gentle whirring of the hat and the bright,

  beautiful nothing that opened up inside her as she wore it. No wonder this place

  looked familiar! She had seen it all before! “Do you mean I did come up with a

  big idea?” asked Penelope. “I knew where you were all along?”

  “Indeed,” said the Great Moodler. “You’re a first-rate moodler.”

  Penelope still couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing. “My ideas aren’t

  stuck? I can be a writer?”

  “Of course!” said the Great Moodler. “Now then, let’s get busy. We’ve got

  work to do. The Fancies will be here any minute.”

  The Great Moodler whirled around and plopped down into a nonexistent

  chair. She pulled a

  do not disturb sign out of the nothing and hung it above her

  head. After settling herself in more comfortably, she let out a deep, humming

  sigh. As she did, small, brightly colored bubbles streamed out of her ears.

  Penelope watched as the bubbles danced back and forth, growing larger.

  I’m free, thought Penelope. All along I thought I couldn’t moodle. But I could.

  Miss Maddie was right — all I needed was space. This space. Penelope felt a surge of

  excitement. She would help fatten up the Fancies, free Dill, and save the

  Coo-Coo’s home — save the entire Realm! All she had to do was moodle.

  At that moment, a few Fancies began to trickle into the Realm of

  Impossibility. They were pale and wan, shriveled by exertion. Penelope watched

  as they crowded around the bubbles streaming out of the Great Moodler’s head,

  filling the air with their peeps and squeaks. One of the bubbles started to grow

  bigger and bigger until . . .

  POP!

  It broke into a million pieces of light. The Fancies sprang into action, swoop-

  ing through the air and gobbling up the bright shards. The tiny creatures began to

  glow as the light danced in their stomachs, puffing them up and up until . . .

  PFTTTHHH! They let out a sound like a balloon losing all its air and spun wildly

  around. Once they came to a halt, they pounced on another morsel. After each

  bite, the Fancies were bigger and brighter than before. They filled the sky, bobbing

  about like gigantic balloons. They were every color of the rainbow and then some.

  They were so fat, so fluffy, that only the tips of their toes could be seen.

  Penelope picked a bit of light off her sleeve and examined it closely. There,

  glimmering in perfect clarity, were the words:

  Fudge is a health food.

  “It’s a possibility!” said Penelope. Just then a particularly energetic Fancy

  swooped down and snatched it out of her hand. “Hey!” Penelope tried to snatch

  it back, but the Fancy was too fast. It swallowed the possibility and set off to join

  the others with a loud burp.

  Penelope looked at the possibilities falling softly all around her. I guess

  there’s enough for everybody, she thought and reached out to catch another one. A

  flash of light suddenly blinded her and she shielded her eyes before — plunk —

  something soft landed on her chest and tumbled into the front pocket of her

  overalls. Penelope reached into her pocket and took out a tiny possibility.

  Squinting, she read the words:

  You can do it.

  The possibility sent a shock through Penelope and she let out a sharp gasp.

  The Great Moodler popped one eye open. “What’s all the fuss?”

  Penelope cupped her hand around the possibility, hiding it from any

  hungry Fancies, and walked over to the Great Moodler. “Take a look,” she said,

  opening her hand ever so slightly.

  The Great Moodler peered at it and then leaned back

  with a knowing smile. “You got a good one. That’s

  what I call a Least Possibility. Very tiny, but very powerful. They can grow

  to be unusually large, if you really consider them. That possibility right

  there can take you all the way to the moon.” She gave Penelope a wink.

  Penelope dropped the possibility back into her pocket. By now,

  more and more Fancies were streaming into the Realm. They

  scattered in every direction looking for food. The Great Moodler had returned

  to her moodling and the air was full of bubbles, some of which had already

  begun to grow.

  Penelope heard a chirping sound and glanced up. An emaciated little

  Fancy was buzzing around her head. I’d better get busy, she thought.

  She sat down, crossed her legs, and took out her notebook. She’d been

  so caught up in trying to escape from the tower, she’d forgotten all about it.

  Opening it, she stared at a blank page. It was empty, full

  of nothing, just like the Realm of Impossibility.

  She took out her pencil and wrote about all the things that tickled

  her Fancy. She wrote about drinking tea with the Great Moodler, about

  following her hunch and discovering the no-time, about the Timekeeper

  and the Coo-Coo. About everything she’d seen on her journey.

  A large group of Fancies crowded around her, vying for spots

  over her shoulder. They munched hungrily, growing fatter by

  the moment, feasting on her every word.

  On and on she wrote. Here in the Realm of Impossibility, her words

  took flight above her head, coming to life as the story took shape. And

  as she wrote, time stood still, waiting

  patiently for her to finish.

  “That ninny! That — that twit!” The Great Moodler was looking through her

  spyglass, furiously trying to focus the lens.

  Penelope looked up from her moodling. “Who’s a ninny? Who’s a twit?”

  “See for yourself,” grumbled the Great Moodler, pointing toward the

  Shadow of Doubt.

  Penelope closed her notebook and got to her feet. She brought out her

  spygl
ass and quickly scanned the darkness for anything peculiar. Everywhere

  she looked, she saw Fancies lifting the Shadow. A few were speeding toward the

  Realm of Impossibility for their next meal. Penelope sent her gaze farther out,

  this time using the spyglass to follow the line of the horizon. That’s when she

  saw it. Poking above the Shadow was a shiny, pointed spire glinting in a sun it

  had not seen in ages.

  “It’s the clock tower,” said Penelope glumly.

  “That’s not all,” replied the Great Moodler. “Look again.”

  Penelope moved her spyglass down the spire to where it met the roof.

  Clockworkers were swarming all over it. Each Clockworker wore a safety

  harness secured by ropes to great metal rungs high above them. They were

  inching along the tower’s ledge, carrying ladders, toolboxes, and other gadgets

  Penelope didn’t recognize.

  chapter eighteen

  “What are they doing?” Penelope whispered, as if the Clockworkers could

  hear her.

  “They’re fixing that awful clock,” said the Great Moodler through

  gritted teeth.

  Sure enough, Penelope noticed a new glass plate fitted on the clock face.

  Some of the Clockworkers had scaled the side of the tower and were welding

  the plate in place.

  Perched on the ledge, polishing the Roman numerals, was a tall, strangely

  familiar figure. He wore the blue coveralls of the Clockworkers, but his long

  arms and legs poked out well past the hems. Other than his unusual height, he

  looked exactly like any other Clockworker. He had the same blank look on his

  face and he moved with jerky automated movements. Just as with all the other

  Clockworkers, a blue hat sat on his head, but it couldn’t conceal the wild red

  hair beneath it.

  “Dill!” screamed Penelope. Tears sprang to her eyes and the view in front

  of her vanished. Her calm was shattered and the spyglass along with it. She felt

  the Great Moodler’s hand on her shoulder.

  “He’s — he’s a Clockworker now,” Penelope stammered. “We’re too late.”

  “It looks that way,” agreed the Great Moodler, “but looks can deceive.”

  The Great Moodler pulled up a chair, and Penelope eased herself into it.

  Her mind couldn’t comprehend the truth, but her stomach did. It began to

  churn uncomfortably. Penelope wrapped her arms around her middle and

  hugged herself to make the pain go away. “How can that be?” she said, more to

  herself than to the Great Moodler. “Dill hates Chronos. He would never serve

  him in any way. Never! Not in a million years.” Penelope looked up into the

  Great Moodler’s sympathetic eyes. “Something horrible must have happened to

  him,” she insisted. “I can’t just leave him there!”

  “Nobody said anything about leaving him, dear,” said the Great Moodler.

  “But Dill isn’t the only captive. The entire Realm of Possibility is held prisoner

  by Chronos. Once that clock is restored, the spell will be restored, too. Right

  now, the clock is still broken and we have a chance to help others believe in the

  impossible. After the clock starts ticking, our chance is ruined. We must help

  the Fancies.”

  “But there’s no time,” pleaded Penelope.

  “Oh, but there’s all the time in the world,” the Great Moodler

  corrected her.

  “Where?” Penelope practically screamed.

  “Right here,” said the Great Moodler, opening her arms as wide as they

  would go, “in the space of this very moment. Chronos would have you believe

  you need to save time, but for what? The only time you can spend is the

  time you have right now. And the time you have right now is all the time in

  the world.” The Great Moodler dropped her hands to her sides. “Time isn’t pre-

  cious, Penelope. You are. As long as you remember that, you’re sure to use it

  wisely.” The Great Moodler sat down. “Now then, let’s start moodling. I have

  some Fancies to feed and so do you.”

  Penelope watched as Fancies floated in. They were exhausted from their

  efforts and in obvious need of nourishment. She sat down and tried to moodle,

  but images of Dill in those horrible blue coveralls kept coming to mind. Is his

  internal clock broken? Does he even remember me anymore? Does he know what happened

  to him or is he just a machine?

  Penelope gave her head a quick shake. She had to stay calm. She couldn’t

  afford an outbreak of worry warts. She pressed her lips together and tried

  to focus. Dill needed her help. She was sure of it. But if she returned to the

  tower, she risked everything. She might be captured and turned into a

  Clockworker. If it could happen to Dill, it could happen to her! But the

  Great Moodler said staying here and feeding the Fancies was crucial. Besides, it

  was safe here. Even if they didn’t succeed in lifting the Shadow and the Realm

  of Possibility was lost in doubt again, Penelope was back to her old mood-

  ling self. It felt so amazing she didn’t want to stop — if only she had a little

  more time!

  Penelope looked over at the Great Moodler. She was stretched out with

  her feet up as if she were sitting on a recliner. Her eyes were closed and bubbles

  streamed out of her head. The Great Moodler had said Penelope would never

  have more time. That people were what really mattered.

  Penelope got to her feet. I can’t save time, she thought. But I can save Dill.

  She walked right up to the edge of the shimmering mountain and stared

  out over the Shadow. She remembered Dill telling her that people used to ride

  the Fancies. All she had to do was capture one and then ride it to the tower. If

  she moved quickly, maybe she could rescue Dill and be back before the Great

  Moodler even noticed. That is, if she didn’t get caught. Penelope shuddered. She

  couldn’t think about that right now.

  A dull blue Fancy about the size of a cantaloupe emerged out of the dark-

  ness, and Penelope waved it over. I’d better fatten you up, she thought, and took

  out her notebook. She had already used up all the paper, so she turned to the

  inside back cover. She only had time for one amazing moodle. Penelope stared

  at the nothing all around her. For a brief moment she saw it reflected in her own

  mind. She sat, basking in the nothing until — pop! — an idea inspired by Dill

  came to mind. She started to write:

  Mushrooms are a delectable fungus.

  Some are small; others humongous.

  They grow on the ground.

  Can be found all around.

  We’ll never starve with them among us.

  As Penelope wrote, the Fancy gobbled up every word. When she was

  done, the creature chittered in pleasure and did a series of quick somer-

  saults. After each somersault, it landed in front of Penelope, twice the size it

  had been before. When it was through bouncing around, it was almost as big

  as a pony.

  Perfect! thought Penelope and glanced quickly over her shoulder at the

  Great Moodler. The little old lady was still busy moodling. Well, here goes . . .

  Penelope approached the Fancy and, with a little leap, tried to mount it. She

  grabbed ahold of where she imagined the neck might be, but all she managed to

  do was kn
ock the Fancy off the mountain ledge. It let out a surprised screech,

  but then fluttered back to where Penelope stood.

  “Sorry,” whispered Penelope. She backed away to regroup. How can I climb

  on top of a puff of air? It’s impossible. Penelope suppressed a giggle. Of course it was

  impossible! Everything in this Realm was impossible.

  She turned back to the Fancy and imagined a tiny trampoline near her

  feet. She took two quick steps and a short hop. Sure enough, she landed on a

  firm but springy surface and shot into the air. She reached for the Fancy and, in

  her mind, its fluff turned to fur. When she grasped the creature, Penelope felt

  something soft and thick under her fingers. She held on tight, swinging her legs

  up and over before landing firmly on the Fancy’s back.

  To her delight the Fancy lifted into the air and zoomed away, heading

  straight for the Realm of Possibility. When they crossed over the Shadow,

  Penelope felt a chill grab hold of her toes and move up her legs. She glanced

  down and saw the darkness churning like a rough sea below. Doubt gripped her

  mind. I’m riding on nothing but air! I’m going to drop like a rock!

  And so that is exactly what she did.

  The Fancy let out a hideous scream, its little feet paddling helplessly against the

  rush of air. Penelope tried to scream, too, but her throat clamped shut. Her

  stomach flattened against her ribs, and she clutched the Fancy, but there was

  nothing there to hold. The fur just melted in her fingers. She gulped for air, and

  as her lungs filled, she found her voice again.

  “STOP!”

  But the Fancy didn’t stop. If anything it fell faster, straight through the

  Shadow. The force of the wind pushed Penelope’s cheeks up against her eyes and

  lifted her mouth into a gruesome grin. Her thoughts ran in every direction, like

  marbles dumped on the floor. She didn’t even try to gather them up as complete

  panic set in. She began to shiver uncontrollably and her teeth would have

  chattered if she wasn’t clenching them so tightly.