by Tara Sim
Daphne took a sip of tea, nearly burning her mouth. “They’re the terrorists.”
“Yes.”
“And they want us to help?”
Meena grimaced. “Yes.”
“What did you tell them?”
“I kicked a man named Edmund in the shin and tried to strangle the redheaded girl.”
Daphne hid her smile in her teacup. “I gave that Zavier bloke the scratches on his cheek.”
Meena’s eyes twinkled, then her expression grew somber again. “Daphne, we have to find a way off this ship.”
“You think I don’t know that? I was trying to plan a way to escape when Zavier found me. They have Colton in a cell. They’re purposely keeping him weak, but I don’t know why.”
“That poor spirit.” Meena hesitated, chewing her bottom lip. “And Danny?”
“I don’t know.”
Meena lowered her eyes, and Daphne continued to drink her tea. The thought of Danny was making her palms sweat. No one would tell her where he was, and if he wasn’t on the Prometheus, then where exactly was he?
Not dead, she told herself firmly. He’s not dead.
“How do you think we can escape?” Meena whispered.
Before Daphne could answer, the door opened. Thinking it was Zavier coming to tell them their time was up, Daphne turned with a scowl.
“Akash!”
Meena bounded from the table and into her brother’s arms. He held her tightly as they swayed on their feet, whispering in quick Hindi that Daphne couldn’t translate.
Daphne stood slowly, once again wishing she had taken Zavier up on his offer to change. When Akash saw her, she flushed, but his smile outweighed her embarrassment, and more than anything she wanted to copy Meena and fly into his arms. She remembered how well they fit around her body, how good it felt to be held by him.
He was in his jumpsuit, his hair windblown, his face radiant. But there was something in his dark eyes that made her take pause. Something she’d never seen there before.
“Daphne,” he said. Her face grew even warmer; he’d never called her by her first name before. She liked the sound of it on his tongue.
“Akash. I … I’m glad you’re all right.” It was the mildest of what she wanted to say, but the rest could wait.
“I didn’t know they took you, too,” Meena said, worriedly fixing his hair.
Suddenly he wasn’t looking at either of them. “They didn’t take me. I’m here on my own.”
The silence after his words was piercing.
“On your own?” Meena repeated. “How?”
“I doubt you could have strolled up and asked to come aboard,” Daphne said. “Did you strike up a deal with them? Can you get us out of here?” He only stared at the floor. A horrible, sinking feeling opened in the pit of her stomach. “You’re working for them.”
Akash flinched. “I’m not—”
“The truth, Akash.”
He fiddled with his goggles. “The truth? The truth is that these people knew I was a supporter of the rebels, so they let me onboard. To talk to you.” He looked at Meena beseechingly. “But only because I wanted to help you, behan. I knew they’d taken you, and I had to find you. So I made a deal. You and I work for them, and I get to stay here, with you.”
Meena’s face, so alive just a moment before, was now hard and cold. Akash took a step toward her, saying something in Hindi.
“Nahi!” She backed away from him, her eyes furious. “You didn’t tell me this, Akash. You didn’t tell me you were a supporter of the rebels.”
“Only because I want the British to leave our home. You know that. You want them gone as much as I do.”
“But at what price?” Meena demanded, her voice starting to shake. “Killing men left and right? I heard about the assassination attempt on Viceroy Lytton. I’ve heard your rants, Akash. You wanted the man dead.”
Akash’s silence was answer enough. The cogs in Daphne’s mind had been turning slowly, disbelievingly, but now they sped up again.
“Danny wired us to tell us he was trying to help the viceroy,” she said quietly. “He knew what was going to happen. Were you there with him?” Akash finally met her gaze, his eyes wide and wet. He nodded. “And you did nothing to stop it. You were too much of a coward to do anything. And because you were a coward, Danny was shot.”
Meena’s jaw dropped. “Danny was shot?”
“And now no one knows if he’s alive or dead,” Daphne snarled, coming closer. “Because no one helped him!”
Akash raised his hands. “Daphne—”
“No! You have no right to call me that.”
“I did try to help him! I tried to get him out of that camp, but he insisted—”
“You could have told him you were with the rebels! You could have told him the truth!”
“And where would that have gotten me? Surrounded by British soldiers? A bullet to the head? You may be one of us, but you’re more British than you are Indian. Your skin and your accent are a privilege. You seem to forget that.”
Daphne reeled back, stung. They stared at each other, fury and frustration twisting between them. Daphne finally turned back to the table, crossing her arms over her stomach. A weighted dread settled over her, and something else she had tasted often enough before—grief.
“You disappoint me, Akash,” she heard Meena say, her voice soft. “I have no desire to see you right now. Please leave us.”
“Meena!”
She yelled at him in Hindi, screamed until she was hoarse and crying.
Daphne heard the door close. She turned to find Meena on the floor, rocking back and forth as she wept into her hands.
She knelt beside the younger girl, steadying her. “I’m sorry, Meena. I’m so sorry.”
“How are we going to get away now?” the girl sobbed. “How am I ever going to forgive him?”
“We’ll find a way.” But as she tried to convince herself of the truth in her words, she could only think of Colton in his cell, his life fading with every tick of the clock.
Colton. Colton!”
He opened his eyes and smiled. Castor was leaning over him, the sun behind him casting a halo around his dark hair as he grinned.
Colton lifted a hand and touched the side of Castor’s face. “You look like an angel.”
The grin widened. “Do I? You look like a tomato.”
“What?” Castor tweaked his nose, and he yelped in pain.
“You were sleeping in the sun for so long, it burned you right up.”
Colton groaned and rolled onto his knees. “I told Abi to wake me!” The fact that his sister hadn’t done so immediately triggered his worry. “Where is she?”
“She went off with a couple of her friends.”
The worry shifted into annoyance. “That’s not like her.”
Castor laughed and mussed Colton’s hair. “She’ll be a young woman soon. She’ll want more independence.”
“What about me?”
“What about you? You’re almost eighteen. Nearly a man.” Castor smiled slyly and snuck a hand up Colton’s thigh. “Or are you one already?”
Blushing, Colton laughed and shoved the other boy away. “I guess I didn’t expect her to run off like that. She’s usually so responsible.”
“So are you, but you still sneak out to come see me.”
Colton frowned. “You don’t think she’s seeing a boy, do you?”
Castor’s eyebrows rose. “I hope not. If we’re going to move to London, she shouldn’t get too attached to any Enfield boys. Or girls,” he added with a knowing grin.
The thought sent a small stab of panic through Colton’s chest. Castor had been pestering him about moving to London for months, and even when he argued that he couldn’t leave Abigail, Castor insisted that she should come, too. Colton’s younger sister, regularly burdened with sickness, had been growing stronger in the last few weeks, which had only bolstered Castor’s planning.
It wasn’t as if Colton didn�
��t like London. Rather, he didn’t like the thought of leaving Enfield. Of leaving his home, his parents, his old life. He loved this town in a way Castor never had. In a way Castor never would.
“Maybe,” Colton murmured. He grabbed hold of the fence behind him to stand, then hissed between his teeth. He’d scraped his finger against a splinter.
“Let me see.” Castor took his hand and studied the small cut, already welling with blood. Without a second thought, he popped the finger into his mouth to suck the blood clean.
“Castor! You can’t do things like that.” Colton pulled his finger back and looked around, but hidden in the garden behind the house, no one could see them.
“No one’s home.” Castor pulled Colton in closer, a happy light dancing in his brown eyes. “I just get so excited talking about the future—a future where we can be together.” He combed his fingers through Colton’s hair, the light in his eyes changing to something else, softer but just as passionate. “That’s all I want, Colton. More than anything else. You and me, free.”
Their bodies met, and so did their lips. Colton could taste the hint of copper in Castor’s mouth, an echo of his own blood. It thrummed within his body, beating against Castor’s hands. I am alive, his blood sang. Alive, and with him.
It was those green eyes that had made him curious from the start. He thought, at first, that he had never seen a shade so green before. But something tickled his memory; maybe he had, once. In a dream.
Colton had watched the clock mechanic climb his tower’s stairs, a package resting on his shoulder, eyes focused on his feet until his gaze rose to take in the clockwork—his clockwork. The way those eyes regarded him, the way they examined and questioned, caused something to shift. Or maybe it had been the sadness in those eyes, the heavy weight of hopelessness.
Maybe that was why he’d shown himself the first time. Maybe he had helped because he knew no one else would come. That the clock mechanic was on his own. That that was how he lived: facing the world on his own when he didn’t have to. Maybe it was why he had spoken to him, asked about his life, tried to make him smile.
Maybe it was why he had kissed him. The mechanic had knelt there, in front of Colton’s clockwork, those green eyes cataloging every piece and gear and cog like it was the most important thing on earth. That was when Colton knew. And when those same eyes had looked up, so green and bright and sad, he’d had to kiss him.
He had felt the thrum of the mechanic’s blood, the beat of his pulse in his lips. The promise of life, the feeling that this would never end. Just the two of them, and between their bodies, a single heartbeat.
He couldn’t move from the pain. His body ached, his side hurt, and his mind was sluggish. They had taken away his cog holder again. It was propped against the opposite wall, out of reach.
It had been a couple of days since Colton had seen Daphne. She had promised to come back, but she hadn’t. No one had come except Zavier, and that was only to take his cog holder away.
He was alone, trapped. Just as he had been in his tower.
Except there, he could move. There, at least, he could see Danny.
The pain of his memories made Colton clench his jaw. They came every so often now, these brief hauntings. He wanted to make them stop, but he also wanted more. He wanted to see and remember his mother and father, his sister Abigail, his town … and Castor.
They had been time servants, once. They had been loyal to the Gaian god Aetas, Timekeeper over mankind. Through their meditation, time was maintained around the world. Colton liked those memories the most. They gave him something to hold onto. They made him remember how his life had once been, and understand how it was now.
At least, he thought he understood.
He had been killed to create Enfield’s clock tower. All clock towers—all spirits—were merely the result of sacrifice when Aetas died, when time spiraled out of anyone’s control. Only Colton’s death, and the deaths of thousands like him, had prevented time from ripping the world apart.
And here he was now, sitting in a dark cell, leagues away from Enfield. It was enough to make him want to laugh, bitter and tired. But he didn’t move. He barely moved anymore.
The door down the corridor opened. Zavier had returned.
The young man stopped before Colton’s cell, hands loosely gripping the bars as he studied the clock spirit. His brown hair was perfectly styled, his clothes without a wrinkle. Colton detested the sight of him.
There was a word he thought he’d never use. Detest.
“What do you want now?” Colton mumbled.
“I was wondering if you wanted a break from this place. See the ship, meet some of the others.”
Colton frowned. It had to be a trick, but he wasn’t sure how. His new memories brought little pockets of his old persona, the boy he used to be when he was alive. Right now that boy was telling him that Zavier had some ulterior motive.
“Why would I want that when I’m so comfortable in here?” Colton drawled.
Zavier raised his eyebrows. “Have a sense of humor, do you? Interesting. I didn’t know clock spirits spoke this way with humans.”
Because I’m not a clock spirit. I’m a human. Or I was. That other Colton was coming more and more to the forefront of his mind, tearing apart the naïve, cheerful spirit he had been in his tower. He had been so ignorant, then. So stupid.
Zavier dug out a key from his pocket. “Regardless of your answer, I would still like you to come with me.” He unlocked the cell door and stood there, waiting. But Colton remained right where he was, glaring. “You’re too weak, aren’t you?”
Colton looked toward his cog holder. Zavier carefully handed it to him, eyeing the central cog that was Colton’s only link to this world. Hundreds of years ago, his life’s blood had been spilled on this cog.
He slipped his arms through the straps and let the cogs settle on his back. Relief, warm and golden, spread throughout his limbs. He closed his eyes in gratitude.
“I hope you can stand now?” Zavier asked, voice dripping with contempt.
It was difficult, but he managed to get to his feet. He felt off-kilter, like leaning too much one way or the other would send him toppling to the floor.
He followed Zavier into the corridor. His side panged him, and he pressed a hand against it. Back in Enfield, his tower’s right wall had taken damage, and his own right side sported a mirror wound.
“Why are you doing this?” Colton asked Zavier’s back. The young man’s shoulders were broad, the nape of his neck pale.
“I want you to answer some of our questions,” Zavier said. He looked back over his shoulder at Colton. “The fact that you’re here is nothing short of astounding. There are a few other clock mechanics on the Prometheus. We’d like to understand you better.”
Hope flared briefly within him. “Will Danny be there?”
“No, but Miss Richards will.”
That was something. Colton took in his surroundings as they walked through hallway after hallway, absently brushing a hand down the front of his vest. It was Danny’s vest, but it had long since stopped smelling like him. The walls on either side of them were a metallic gray, the floor echoing their footsteps. He could almost sense the air parting on either side of the ship, the smooth currents of time hugging the vessel as it cut through the sky.
Colton touched the cog in his trouser pocket. Big Ben had given it to him before he’d left London, as if the spirit had known he would have need of it. Back in that cell, separated from his cog holder, that small cog had been the only thing keeping him alive.
They reached a door that was already half-open. Colton could hear voices on the other side, ones he didn’t recognize, and he shrank back.
Zavier hesitated, straightening the cuff of his shirt. “I know what we’re doing is right,” he said suddenly, almost as if to himself. “Important things are being set in motion, Colton. Things that can change the course of history.” He paused again, refusing to meet his eyes. “I j
ust wanted you to know that I find your place in these events regrettable.”
Colton wasn’t sure what to say to that, so he said nothing at all.
Zavier gestured to the half-open door with his metal hand. “I promise it won’t last long.”
“Eager to get me back to my cell?” He brushed past Zavier and into the room. It was cluttered with occupied chairs, ranging from spindly metal stools to a plush love seat. Sitting on the latter were two faces he knew.
“Colton!” Daphne sprang up and put her hands on his shoulders. She was dressed in her typical clothes now, her blond hair hanging in a braid. “Are you all right? I’m sorry I didn’t come. They wouldn’t let me.”
“It’s all right,” he said. “I knew they wouldn’t.” Colton saw the Indian girl behind Daphne. “Meena,” he said with a smile. She smiled back.
“Blimey, this him, then?”
Someone grabbed him and spun him around. Colton lashed out in surprise, and Daphne pulled him back toward her.
The girl who had touched him held up her hands. “Tetchy, aren’t you?” She had red hair and her face was splattered with freckles, her body pleasantly plump. “Wasn’t gonna do nothing.”
“Careful, Liddy,” said a man. “He’s a clock spirit. We dinna know all his properties yet.”
“And that’s what brings us here today.” Zavier closed the door and signaled everyone to sit. Only he, Colton, and Daphne remained on their feet. Daphne pulled Colton closer, a protective hand wrapped around his arm. He would be lying if he said it wasn’t a comfort.
“This isn’t an interrogation,” Zavier said. “Please, sit.”
Daphne glanced at Colton, who nodded slightly. He lowered himself onto the love seat with Meena on his right, Daphne on his left, pretending not to notice the way everyone’s eyes bored into him. He leaned back far enough that the cog holder pressed against his spine.