by Paige Britt
Whoosh! They fell through the Shadow and into the dull sky of the
Realm. Penelope looked down and saw the world rushing up to meet her.
The Fancy gained speed as it fell, and the wind shifted to a high-pitched whistle.
Penelope wanted to cover her ears but was afraid she might fall off. As soon as
this thought occurred to her, her knees loosened what little grip they had and
she slid forward until . . .
THWACK!
chapter nineteen
The Fancy fell through a flock of birds, hitting one and sending it spiraling
off course. The rest of the birds screeched in dismay and scattered in every
direction. One bird flew backward into Penelope’s face. Penelope forgot all
about falling off the Fancy as she spit out a mouthful of feathers. The feathers
reminded her of the Coo-Coo and for a brief moment the delightful memory
of flying with the giant bird flashed through her mind. She grabbed the
memory and held it tightly, imagining the peaceful exhilaration she felt on
the Coo-Coo’s back. At that moment, something completely unexpected
happened. The Fancy began to slow and the horrible sinking feeling abated. The
Fancy was doing exactly what she imagined!
Penelope quickly pictured the Fancy flying along at a gentle pace, with
the world passing below like a lazy river. Next she envisioned the force of the
wind reduced to a summer breeze. To her great relief, both of these things
happened.
Penelope relaxed and dared to take a peek at the ground. It was no
longer a blurry mass zooming toward her. Instead, she could clearly make out
the contours of the City. The roads were long and narrow, crossing one
another at sharp angles, with buildings on either side. Traffic lights dotted
the way and cars moved slowly up and back, stopping at regular intervals.
One of the roads was three times as wide as the others, heading straight toward
the tower.
Even from miles away, the tower’s massive bulk dominated the horizon. It
would be so much nicer to be having tea with the Great Moodler right now. No sooner
had this thought crossed Penelope’s mind than the Fancy made a sharp turn and
headed back in the direction they had come. There was no such thing as wishful
thinking when riding a Fancy!
“No!” barked Penelope and emptied her mind of any thoughts except the
tower and the task before her. The Fancy whimpered softly and turned back
around. “I know,” soothed Penelope. “It will be over soon.”
As they drew closer to the heart of the City, the sky became a maze of
buildings. Penelope flew higher, until the buildings were below her and only the
tower loomed ahead, its blank windows and featureless façade blocking their
path. Below them, surrounding the tower, was a circular building. A parapet
ran along the top and Penelope could see Clockworkers standing guard. She had
arrived at the Timely Manor.
Penelope remembered what Dill had told her about the Manor — how it
was filled with Clockworkers who followed Chronos’s every command. Now
Dill was one of those horrible Clockworkers himself.
Penelope pushed aside this thought. She couldn’t let it carry her away. She
had a job to do. Once she got Dill to the Realm of Impossibility, the Great
Moodler would undo whatever awful spell he was under. Penelope took a deep
breath and flew up through the Shadow. She clung to the Fancy, focusing on the
heat radiating from its back. But its soft warmth was no match for the horrible
cold. The chill gripped her body and her mind, robbing her of every sensation
but despair.
When they burst through the Shadow, Penelope was startled to find
herself face-to-face with the north clock. And it looked brand-new! The glass
had been replaced, the Roman numerals restored, and the hands repaired.
Fortunately it had not been returned to life. Penelope was relieved to see the
hands frozen exactly where she had left them at 8:43:44.
She urged the Fancy forward until it was smack up against the glass face of
the clock. When she peered inside, she couldn’t believe the scene that lay before
her. It was nothing like the well-ordered factory she remembered. The time
machine lay still, surrounded by debris and spare parts. Here and there amid
the rubble Penelope recognized broken bits of the old north clock, shards of the
faceplate, or pieces of metal from its busted springs.
Clockworkers with brooms and dustpans were sweeping up the wreckage
while a few sat on the floor sorting through time tokens. A small group of
Clockworkers was crowded around the time machine, oiling the gears and
replacing damaged parts with new ones. Penelope scanned the Clockworkers
for Dill. He was nowhere.
Dang-dung. Dang-dung.
A broken chime rang out meekly. It sounded like someone was trying
to strangle the poor thing. As pathetic as the chime sounded, the Clockworkers
responded to it immediately. They all dropped what they were doing and lined
up at the door leading down the tower stairs. That’s when she saw him. Toward
the end of the line, standing head and shoulders above the rest, was the unmis-
takable figure of Dill.
Dang-dung. Dang-dung.
In one single movement, the Clockworkers began to file out of the room.
Penelope pulled the Fancy back from the glass and zoomed over to the
little door in the brick wall that led inside the tower. To her great relief it hung
open, one of its hinges broken from the force of the explosion.
Penelope carefully dismounted and, bending at the waist, slipped through
the door. The Fancy sucked in its breath and tried to squeeze through. “You
can’t come in here. You might get caught,” whispered Penelope. The Fancy
made a sad little chirp and tried again, wiggling with all its might, but the door
was just too small.
“Wait for me . . . I’ll be right back.” Penelope crept inside the clock room.
By now the line of Clockworkers had almost disappeared, their feet clattering
in unison down the stone stairs. Dill, who was near the end of the line, had just
reached the door and was about to pass from view.
“Diiiillll!” Penelope didn’t care if the other Clockworkers heard her
or if she set off the alarm. She just wanted Dill to turn around, snap out of this
horrible enchantment, and run
to her so they could escape.
But Dill kept walking. He
didn’t even look back. No one did.
It was as if their brains had been
switched off. The Clockworkers
continued their stiff march out the
door and Dill went with them.
Penelope stood there stunned. Had
Dill really left her?
She turned back to the waiting Fancy and picked her way through the
debris. She was so caught up in her thoughts she never heard the mechanical
arm snaking through the air. Right before she reached the tiny door, the arm’s
fingers opened with an unmistakable click. Penelope
looked up, but it was too late. The fingers closed
around the strap of her overalls, and with a
swift tug she was lifted into the air
and dropped into the
waiting trapdoor.
Penelope tried to sit up but lay back down immediately. Her head felt like it
was floating on a string while her stomach danced a jig. Where am I? she
wondered.
Tall stone walls dripping with moisture surrounded her on every side. A
dim light filtered down from an opening high above. She had no memory of
falling — no memory other than the swift jerk of the arm and the sickening
feeling of being dropped. After that her mind was blank. Penelope closed her
eyes, willing her memory back into place.
“Welcome,” said a cool, dry voice.
Penelope’s eyes popped open. A face was looking down at her from above.
It belonged to a man with a sharp nose and an even sharper chin. His mouth was
unusually small, with lips so thin they were hardly distinguishable. He reminded
Penelope of a snake.
Penelope scrambled to her feet, bracing herself against the cool wall.
“Who are you? Let me out of here!”
“I don’t think so,” said the man with a smug little smile. “Now that I have
you, I think I’ll keep you. After all, I’ve had so much fun getting to know your
friend Dill.” He said the word friend as if it were a distasteful thing.
Penelope swallowed hard. “What have you done to him?”
“What have I done?” The man leaned over the
pit and pointed a long finger at her. “What have you done
is the question. Did you know that you stopped every clock
in the Realm when you destroyed the north clock? Every
single clock came to a complete standstill. Can you imagine
all that wasted time? All those perfectly good seconds, minutes,
and hours gone. Naturally somebody had to make up
for it all, and Dill, well, he practically
volunteered.”
Penelope glared up at the man. “Dill
would never volunteer to be a Clockworker. Never!”
The man just smiled. “I want you to know that Dill makes an excellent
Clockworker. As will you . . .” He reached into his pocket and took out a gold
watch, which he dangled in the air.
Penelope shrank back against the wall, her heart pounding. She suddenly
realized who she was talking to. This man wasn’t some Clockworker she could
outmaneuver or a Wild Bore she could outwit. This was Chronos himself! If he
could cast a spell over the entire Realm and banish the Great Moodler, what
would he do to her?
Chronos began to lower the watch down into the pit. “Did I say you
destroyed all the clocks? What I meant to say was all but one. This little watch
is actually what keeps the Clockworkers in my power and the Realm running on
time. Soon I will use it to reset the north clock and then time will be on my side
again. But first there’s something I need to do.”
By now the watch was hanging above Penelope’s head, too high to reach,
but close enough that she could hear its hands moving rhythmically — tick-tock-
tick-tock — around its white face.
“Can you tell me what time it is?” asked Chronos.
The words pulled at Penelope with a strange power and she couldn’t help
but look up. When she did, the watch caught her eye and wouldn’t let go. She
tried to look away, but her eyes were locked on the endless motion of the second
hand. Before she knew it, her arms and legs were frozen as well.
Tick-tock-tick-tock. The incessant ticking grew strangely louder.
Don’t listen to it! she told herself. She tried humming a song in her head,
reciting important dates, and telling herself familiar stories, but it was impossible
to shut out the sound. The ticking seeped in, drowning her in its monotony.
“Penelope . . .” Chronos said in a soft, low voice. “What time is it?”
But Penelope couldn’t hear his words — she couldn’t even hear her own
thoughts. All she could hear was the watch.
TICK-TOCK-TICK-TOCK.
Its sound ricocheted against the walls of the pit until . . .
BBBBBRINGGGG!
A loud alarm shook the air. Chronos let out a shout of delight before
quickly retracting the watch. “So sorry, but we’ll have to save our fun for later.
Time has come and I’m needed elsewhere.” He pulled the watch up the rest of
the way and snapped it closed.
When he did, Penelope staggered forward, as if released from a spell. She
stood there, struggling to make sense of what had just happened.
“I hate to leave a job unfinished,” continued Chronos, “but I must go
synchronize the clocks in the tower. Until I get back, I suggest you start getting
used to the idea of becoming a Clockworker. After all,” he added with a nasty
little chuckle, “there’s not the least possibility of escape.”
Chronos’s words struck Penelope like a blow. A Clockworker? Is that what
Chronos used the pocket watch for? To turn people into his slaves?
Penelope looked around wildly. She had to get out of there! She ran her
fingers over the wall, searching for a handhold, but the stones were all too
smooth and damp. In desperation, she tried digging around the flagstones of the
floor, but all she managed to do was bruise her hands.
There has to be a way out of here. Think, Penelope! Think! But no matter how
hard she tried, Penelope couldn’t think. Her head felt clouded and dull. When
she searched for the clear, bright nothing — the place inside herself where ideas
came from — she found a dense fog hovering in her mind.
Penelope slumped to the ground and rested her head on her knees. I’ll
never rescue Dill. Why did I come here? The Great Moodler is probably wondering where
I am. Now I’ll turn into a Clockworker and be stuck here forever. Chronos is right. There’s
not the least possibility of escape!
A cry welled up from deep inside her, bursting from her lips. But instead
of a sob ricocheting against the walls, a small speck of darkness flew from
her lips and landed at her feet. Penelope jumped up and stared down at the
black speck. As she watched, it quickly grew from a speck into a spot and
then a puddle. The puddle stretched into a thick ribbon of black. Long
wavering appendages sprouted from its sides — four in total. These appendages
sprouted appendages of their own. One, two, three, four, five each. They were
hands with fingers. And feet with toes. And then, as if on cue, a head grew at
the top.
Penelope couldn’t look away from the dark shape on the ground. It looked
like her shadow, but it was deeper and darker than any shadow she’d ever
seen. It moved and swayed of its own accord, free from the mastery of a sun
that had not cast it. Its arms drifted open and its fingers waved, beckoning
Penelope down.
Penelope backed away into what little corner there was. This is not happen-
ing. This is not happening. This is not happening, she told herself.
But it was.
The darkness spread soundlessly toward her. Penelope stood shivering,
breathing in short, sharp gasps, as the moisture in the air turned to frost. The
puddle crept across the stone floor, inching closer and closer until it lapped at
Penelope’s toes.
Penelope lifted one foot and then the other, but the puddle just grew
w
ider until it seeped under her feet. Her shoes were the first thing to
disappear. Her ankles were next. Penelope was frozen, as the darkness
gathered around her, sliding up her body, disappearing her bit by bit. There
went her knees and thighs, then her torso and arms until, finally, it swallowed
her head.
If Penelope could have fallen she would have, but there was no telling which
direction was up and which was down. It was as if she were floating in a dark
vacuum. A bitter cold pressed against her like a blanket of ice — dry, heavy ice.
She was afraid to breathe. Afraid the cold would grip her lungs and stop
her heart.
Penelope held her breath as long as she could, until finally it was too much.
She gasped, and when she did, the dark slid down her throat.
That’s when the whispering began, speaking with soundless words. There’s
not the least possibility of escape. There’s not the least possibility of escape. The words
ran over and over through her mind until they found a way out of her mouth.
“There’s not the least possibility of escape,” she muttered. “There’s not the
least possibility of escape.” Silence quickly swallowed the words, but not before
Penelope realized that saying them had given her an odd sort of comfort. Why?
There’s not the least possibility of escape. This time she kept the words to her-
self, looking at them in her mind with a detached curiosity: The darkness had
come. It had taken her for its own. There wasn’t the least possibility of escape.
And then it struck her. The Least Possibility. Of course! How could she
have forgotten? There was the Least Possibility. It was in her pocket.
Penelope reached inside her pocket with frozen fingers, fumbling until . . .
chapter twenty
there! She felt it. A slight warmth. Penelope carefully brought out the tiny
possibility and cradled it in her palm. It was so dull and faded, she could
hardly make out the words: You can do it.
The darkness immediately began to move. It circled Penelope, slowly at
first and then faster and faster until it was a whirling, sucking gloom. Penelope