by Perrin Briar
“You’re right,” he said. “I don’t want to kill you. I just want my crew back.”
Elian took a measured step forward. Bill tensed.
“I’m sorry for taking your crew away from you,” Elian said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Maybe they never deserved you. You should find another crew. A better crew.”
Bill smiled.
“You know,” he said, “on my journey in finding you someone told me this act of revenge was a foolish idea. I’m starting to think maybe she was right.”
Bill climbed back onto his horse and trotted down the street. Elian sighed. He turned and ran into the clock Maker Shop.
Chapter Seventy-Three
The pendulum swung and parted the air with a heavy throm. Richard approached the shining gold clock pieces in the lattice of perfectly choreographed machinery. He pressed his hand against the cool surface of the Cog of Fate. It felt ice cold and never warmed with his body heat. He reached for the tools on the table. He picked up a heavy wrench and weighed it in this hand. He drew his arm back.
“No!” Elian said, bursting into the room. “Don’t do this!”
Richard spun, drawing his pistol and aiming it at Elian. The pendulum swung between them, but even so it was an easy shot.
“Why does everyone want to shoot me today?” Elian said.
“I’m sure it’s not only today.”
“I’m unarmed,” Elian said, holding his hands up in surrender.
“That’s where you’re wrong. This whole time you had a secret weapon against us: the universe. Each time we tried to stop you, it aided you. Each time we thought we had you, we lost you.”
Richard tittered a high-pitched chuckle that belied his fractured mind.
“But the universe cannot stop a bullet,” he said.
“Put the wrench down,” Elian said. “You don’t need to do this.”
“Oh, but I do. Right now, at this very moment, we Ascars are among the richest families in the kingdom. And with our Gap enterprise we are poised become the most powerful family – even more than the king himself. But tomorrow we will be disgraced, forgotten, and no one will remember us. But if I destroy this clock, tomorrow will never happen, and we will forever be remembered the way we are. I refuse to live in a world where the Ascar name doesn’t inspire fear. I must do this.”
Richard drew the wrench back.
“No!” Elian said, running forward.
The wrench smacked the Wheel of Fortune. Time skipped.
Richard and Elian were struggling, fighting for the gun in one hand, the wrench in the other. Their arms moved in slow motion as they attempted to take possession of the tools from one another. Richard threw his weight to one side. Elian fell, narrowly catching himself before falling.
Time skipped back and Elian was now across the room, running toward Richard, who was raising the wrench for another strike. Elian smashed into him, knocking him to the floor. They struggled to their feet. Elian gripped Richard’s wrists with his hands.
They skipped back to their fighting stance. Richard recovered first and twisted, pulling the gun out of Elian’s hand, forfeiting the wrench. Elian brought the wrench down, knocking the pistol from Richard’s hand, sending it sliding across the floor. Richard ran after it, half a heartbeat faster than Elian. He bent down, picked it up, aimed at Elian’s chest and-
WHUMP!
The pendulum slammed into Richard’s chest, forcing the air out of his lungs in a throaty gasp, lifting him off his feet, up into the air. The clockface smashed into a million pieces as Richard sailed through it. He scrambled for something to grab hold of, his eyes wide with fear. Glass shards glanced off his fingertips, spinning end over end. He fell out of view. There was silence for a few seconds, the pendulum continuing its swing as if nothing had happened.
Elian turned to the golden pieces. They barely had a mark on them. They turned and the universe turned with them.
Chapter Seventy-Four
A black blur like a bat flapping its wings flew past the window. Jera stopped and peered out of the tiny porthole, but the figure was fast lost to view.
Heart in her throat, Jera ran up the staircase. Screams rang up from the street below. Jera pumped her legs harder up the stairs. She threw the door open. A figure stood at the broken clock face. He turned. Jera’s body relaxed with relief at the sight of Elian. She ran to him, tears springing into her eyes. She enveloped him with her arms.
“I thought… I thought…” she said.
They peered through the hole in the clockface down at the streets far below, a dark smudge like dog excrement on the pavement. No one crowded around it. The locals were locked up in their homes, the out of towners part of the dust cloud on the horizon, spreading out in all directions.
“Good riddance,” a third figure beside them said.
“You made it!” Jera said, wrapping her arms around Grandfather Time.
“Yes, but I fear the events we have seen are merely the beginning. A chain of events has started. A rock has been tossed into the pond of time and the ripples are still overlapping. Time has not yet worked itself out. It will continue to skip back and forth until all events are accounted for, and only then will the universe be in harmony.”
“What does that mean?” Elian said.
“It means,” Grandfather Time said with a smile, “that you have a great many adventures yet.”
Grandfather Time approached the discarded golden clock parts and placed his liver-spotted hand on them in turn like he was greeting old friends.
“My purpose here is complete,” he said. “Now I may return home, if the universe so wishes.”
He reached in through the neck of his robe and took out the key he kept there. He inserted it into a marking on an adjacent cog. It fit perfectly.
“What happens if we need you?” Elian said.
“Don’t worry,” Grandfather Time said. “With any luck you won’t have to worry about this for a very long time. And if anything goes wrong, all you have to do is keep an eye on this watch.”
Elian looked at his watch with its blank dials.
“There’s nothing on here,” he said.
“That’s because at the moment there is no foreseen problem. But keep an eye on it.”
“It’s not my responsibility to watch the clock.”
“No, it is,” Grandfather Time said, placing his hand on Elian’s shoulder. “The clocktower wasn’t the only thing needing a replacement. You are my replacement. You must watch over time and make sure it stays constant. You must ensure it never hops, skips or jumps. The phoyl in the clock chose you.”
“The phoyl?”
“It saw greatness in you. Now, I see it too. You will do well.”
Grandfather Time gripped the key.
“Wait,” Elian said. “There’s still so much I don’t know about time and the clock tower!”
Grandfather Time smiled.
“Any questions you have will be answered in time, by time,” he said.
Elian wasn’t happy with that answer, but he sensed he wouldn’t learn anything else of use. He offered his hand.
“Have fun in London,” he said, lips stumbling over the unfamiliar word.
“I will,” Grandfather Time said, shaking his hand.
Grandfather Time turned the key. The clock pieces glowed bright and flashed white like a new born star, and then subsided. Grandfather Time was gone. Jera took Elian’s hand.
“It seems strange to think it’s all over now,” she said. “I suppose we’ll just have to get used to living without adventure in our lives.”
“It isn’t over.”
“What do you mean?”
“We skipped forward a month, remember? At some point we have to carry out that journey.”
“Of course! I wonder when we’ll skip.”
As if in answer, they both heard the familiar lap of waves against the inside of their skulls. Elian took his watch off and sat it on the table.
“Don’t you think we’ll need i
t?” Jera said.
“No. I want to enjoy every second with you.”
They took each other’s hand and held tight, feeling the giddiness experienced only on the cusp of a great adventure.
“In case I forget to say in the past,” Jera said, “I had a wonderful time.”
“Me too.”
They skipped.
Chapter Seventy-Five
The Great Plains stretched off into the distance, the hills frozen in moonlight like a storm at sea. Orion, a young male centaur with beads woven in his shoulder-length hair, stood beside his father’s chief warrior, Pegasus. Orion stamped his hooves, mist billowing from his flat nose. He tried to maintain the same thousand yard stare Pegasus exhibited, but found his attention wandering to the barn and outbuildings they guarded. They were the skeletal remains of a lost civilisation, with animal harnesses and old drinking wells left for nature to reclaim. Orion gave a shiver at the painted Goleuni with spears and blow darts standing guard on the opposite side of the door. Their eyes caught the moonlight and flashed like emerald stars.
A Tangent placed her hand on a tree’s bark and hummed to it. Its leaves shivered and all the unfallen dead leaves fell to the ground. She was one of the most bizarre creatures Orion had ever seen. She was composed of tree roots and pools of deep black shadow, and yet he somehow felt completely at ease in her presence.
The barn door opened, and a Goleuni with a bone through her nose poked her head out. Her slitted eyes found Orion.
“They need water,” she said gruffly before closing the door.
Orion didn’t move.
“Aren’t you going to get it?” Pegasus’s gravelly voice said.
“I’m a warrior,” Orion said. “Warriors don’t fetch water.”
“Warriors do what needs to be done.”
Orion stomped over to the well, grumbling under his breath. He hauled a bucket of water up from the well, poured it into half a dozen cups on a tray, sloshing half the water onto the ground, and then carried them into the barn.
A small fire flickered with light, smoke rising up through the hole in the roof. The Goleuni chief, his whole body painted with bizarre symbols, sat staring into the fire as if he could actually see something in it. Orion’s father Ramos sat with his great legs curled up beneath him, his face lost to the flickering shadows. Between them sat the Tangent Elder, Wind-Through-The-Trees. Orion gave them each a cup of water and took his place beside the door.
“If we’re going to defeat the humans we’re going to need all the creatures to come together,” the chief Goleuni said. “By ourselves we are not strong enough to defeat them.”
“The Tangents shall take no part in this,” the Tangent elder said. “We observe, nothing more.”
“Even if they come to your home with flaming torches?” the chief Goleuni said.
“We do not interfere.”
“Then why did you even bother to come?” the Goleuni spat.
“The call was made, and it is my duty to answer,” Wind-Through-The-Trees said, his voice calm and unwavering.
A fourth figure reared from the darkness. She was Goleuni, female, with a grass skirt and beads around her neck that clattered when she moved.
“It is a question of leadership,” she said. “All shall unite under one.”
“Who?” Ramos said, nostrils flaring. “Not everyone will follow a Goleuni, or a centaur, or even a Tangent.”
“No,” she said. “He will not be any of you. He shall wield a power greater than anything seen for a thousand years.”
“Who?” Ramos pressed.
“I have seen glimpses of him in the flames. He will come to us, but we must unite and be ready to accept him.”
“And where is this leader?”
The old Goleuni’s eyes widened, staring into the fire, her blue-green skin pale and drawn.
“There!” she said, pointing at the fire. “He meets now, with his future mentors. The white raven curls his wings and prepares to fly!”
Orion, his hands gripping the water jug tight in his small hands, stared wide-eyed at the flames, mouth round with fear, and fancied he saw the white wings of the raven.
White lilies picked fresh that morning lay snapped, broken and trodden at the side of the road beside discarded ladies’ hats and smart ties. Doors slammed shut, and gaps in windows were stuffed with lumps of wood and beaten with hammers and short tempers as Bill trotted past.
“Friendly town,” Bill said under his breath.
He squeezed his stallion with his knees for it to stop. Bill’s mouth was dry and he needed a drink. He caught a flap of movement on the roof of a short building. A white raven perched on the thick lip of a chimney. Its head bobbed three times and then cawed. Its black beady eyes never moved from his.
It took flight and floated on updrafts from the sea toward the dock. It alighted on a ship’s mast, turned and faced him.
Bill just stared at it for a long moment. The wind blew but didn’t seem to ruffle its feathers. It cawed again as if calling him. Bill clucked with his teeth and pulled the reins toward the dock. The horse’s hoof-steps made soft thudding noises on the decks that had been specially installed for the wedding.
Men were busy unloading the Wythnos ships and restocking them with new crates, overseen by a meticulous looking fat man with a clipboard. Bill dismounted and held out a thick arm, stopping a deckhand in his tracks.
“Where is this ship heading?” he said.
“It’s going to Pillager’s Keep, on the far side of the world.”
Bill looked up at the mast. The raven still perched there, looking down at him.
“Where’s your captain?” Bill said.
The deckhand pointed to a man in fine clothing. He was collecting money from another man wearing a peak hat. He gestured to the man to get on board. The man picked up his suitcase and crossed the gangplank. Bill could tell from the stiff-backed way the man walked he was ex-military or former Force. Bill approached the captain.
“You the captain of this vessel?” Bill said.
“Ay,” the captain said, “and who might you be?”
“I’m Bull… Bullock,” he said. “My name’s Bullock.”
“Nice to meet you, Bullock. What can I do for you?”
Bill looked up at the raven once more. It didn’t move, but leaned forward, as if trying to listen to their conversation.
“I’d like passage aboard your ship,” he said.
“That’ll be three silver pieces.”
Bill reached into his purse and emptied it into the man’s outstretched hand. He had two silver pieces and eight coppers. Two coppers short.
“It’s close enough,” Bill said.
“I’ll be the judge of that,” the captain said. “I’ll tell you what, you give my crew a hand loading the rest of the crates, and we’ll call it square.”
“What about my horse?”
The captain pressed his lips together and looked the horse over.
“That’ll be another three silver pieces,” he said.
Bill felt the rage build up inside him, but he suppressed it.
“Are there other services I might be able to carry out on board for you?” he said.
“Ay, there might.”
The captain gestured to a deckhand to join him.
“Get the horse on board,” he said. “Give it food and water.”
Bill pulled up his shirtsleeves, exposing the thick dark hairs. He took hold of a large crate and hefted it with his big arms. He followed the other deckhands into the ship and sat the crate inside a large cargo hold. He returned outside, bent down, and picked up another crate. He stopped.
A young man, no older than fourteen or fifteen, squat, and broad of shoulder, stood at the corner of an alleyway. He had a lost expression on his face. Despite his size there was something somehow vulnerable about him, and a memory long buried in Bill’s past bubbled up to the surface.
Bill put the crate down. He prised the top open. It was half
full of sunflower seeds. Bill waved the boy over. The boy stepped out from behind the corner like a deer checking the coast was clear before emerging from its foliage of safety. He shuffled over to Bill.
“You want to take this boat?” Bill said.
The boy nodded.
“Then get in the crate,” Bill said. “I’ll get you on board. After the boat sets sail and we’re out at sea you should emerge. The captain won’t turn the boat around, and you’re a fit enough looking lad, so he’ll use you as a deckhand. He’ll give you food, water, and lodgings. It won’t be easy work.”
The boy cocked his head to one side, studying Bill.
“Well?” Bill said. “Are you getting in or aren’t you?”
The boy climbed inside and curled up into a ball. Bill replaced the top and waved to a deckhand.
“Hey,” he said. “Will you give me a hand with this?”
Together they carried it into the cargo hold. Bill was careful to place it so it was on top of a pile with plenty of headroom. They finished loading the boat and cast off. Sweat ran down Bill’s face in droplets as he worked the rigging and mopped the galley floor. The boat swayed with steady rocking motions as they drifted farther out to sea.
It was dark by the time the crew gathered in the mess. The crew sat together, hunched over the tables. Bill sat with the other passengers on two long benches. A family of four with holes in their shirts sat at one end. A guy with a twitch in his left eye sat by himself. Beside Bill was a thick-armed raven-haired man with a dangerous look about him. Opposite them was the ex-Force member Bill had spotted boarding earlier. They ate from piping hot ceramic bowls on their laps, and dipped hard stale bread into the stew to soften it.
Halfway through his meal, the boy from the crate entered the mess. His hair stood up at the back like he’d been sleeping. He approached Bill, who nodded to the empty seat opposite him. With hungry eyes the boy looked at the stew the other men were eating.
But Bill wasn’t full yet, and he looked at the remains of his stew with genuine longing. He looked over at the canteen, but they were already packing away. No need to draw extra attention to the boy. He sighed, and reluctantly handed the last of his stew over. The boy gulped and slurped, drawing the attention Bill had wished to avoid. The raven-haired man stood up and tipped the last of his food into the boy’s bowl. The former constable did the same. The three men exchanged a look. Perhaps they too saw what Bill had seen in the boy’s eye. An intensity of movement and purpose. If he were a spiritual man he would have called it destiny.