Chainbreaker

by Tara Sim

  Christopher settled beside him, dipping the mattress even more. “Well, let’s see. I have a brilliant job, a beautiful wife, and an incredible son. How did I ever get so lucky?”

  Shame bloomed hot and deep in Danny’s chest. His father wouldn’t say such a thing if he knew the truth.

  “I am troubled by the news, though,” his father went on.

  “Do you mean the tower in Rath?”

  Christopher’s expression darkened. “I was wondering if you’d heard. It’s been flying around the office since yesterday. The Lead’s thinking of sending a few mechanics out to investigate.”

  Danny’s heart beat a little harder. “Do you know who?”

  “A couple of the senior mechanics, I’d imagine.”

  Danny’s shoulders sagged a bit in relief, but there was a strange quiver deep inside him that faintly resembled disappointment.

  “It’s bad enough the tower fell,” Christopher said, “but the fact that time is still moving? What on earth could make that happen?”

  Danny shrugged. “I couldn’t say.”

  Christopher nervously scratched his knee. “You don’t think … Matthias … ?”

  So that was why his father was here. “No. I really don’t think he’d be able to.”

  Christopher nodded. “I don’t think so, either. But, then again, I didn’t think he’d be capable of what he did.” He sighed. “It’s over now, at any rate. Just goes to show you can never truly know someone. Still, I miss him.”

  “I know. I miss him, too.”

  They shared a quiet moment together until Christopher stood. “Good night, Ticker. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “’Night, Dad.”

  When the door closed, he drew the wad of paper from his pocket again. Slowly, he flattened it against his thigh to reveal the familiar message scrawled in heavy black ink:

  Do not think this is finished.

  You know something.

  We’ll be watching.

  He stared at the words until they blended together, serpentine tracks leading to some unfathomable distance.

  You know something.

  No, this was not Matthias’s work. This was something well beyond the machinations of a middle-aged, washed-up clock mechanic. Something Danny wanted no part of.

  That night, he dreamt of crumbling towers and cogs slicing through the air. They ripped open his body, and Colton watched as he bled.

  Those books are new.”

  Danny looked up from the pages he was turning. “Hmm?”

  They were sitting against a wall as the sun slanted through the opal glass of the clock face, dust motes dancing in the golden beam. No matter how hard Danny worked to get this place completely dust-free, the grime always came back with a vengeance.

  Colton pointed at the books in Danny’s bag, the ones he had brought from home. He’d spent all morning reading them in his cottage behind the clock tower, the one Mayor Aldridge had loaned him when he’d been relocated to Enfield. It was small but neat, with white walls, a shingled roof, and planters under the windows. And, of course, it was close to Colton.

  It was odd living where Colton could peek in on him at any given moment, though. The clock spirit had preternatural senses, allowing him to see and hear everything that went on in his town.

  “You don’t watch me, do you?” Danny had once asked him.

  “Of course I do.”

  Danny had choked back a flustered cough. “Even when I’m … ?”

  “Oh, I don’t watch you all the time. Everyone deserves their privacy.”

  Privacy was a rather loose term when Colton was involved. Danny was sure he’d seen his fair share of intriguing things throughout the years, given his tendency to let curiosity get the better of him.

  “Danny.”

  He blinked. Colton had pulled one of the books from his bag to read its title, but he put it back and came to sit beside Danny again, not bothering to conceal the worry in his eyes.

  “Is something wrong?” the spirit asked. “You’re distracted today.”

  Danny had been wondering how to broach the subject since he left London, so he took a deep breath and explained about the tower in Rath, and how the city in India was not Stopped. Colton listened quietly until Danny was finished.

  “The tower isn’t working, and time’s still moving?”

  “Yes.”

  Colton wore a puzzled frown. “I don’t know much about how the towers work, but this sounds strange, even to me.”

  “Me, too.” Danny hesitated. “They may question me. Or send me to India to inspect the site. At least, that’s what Daphne thinks,” he quickly added when Colton’s eyes widened. “Because of, you know, all the things I went through.”

  “We went through.”

  Danny couldn’t help a smile. “Yes, sorry. All the things we went through.”

  Colton put a hand on Danny’s knee, slowly tracing the curve of bone with his fingers. Suddenly, the only thing that mattered were those delicate fingertips mapping the impression of his kneecap. “How long would you be gone?”

  “That’s just it—I don’t even know if I’m going. Daphne could be completely wrong.”

  Again, that little quiver of disappointment. He tried to keep it out of his expression.

  Colton leaned against him, rubbing his leg absently. Danny pressed his lips against the top of Colton’s head, inhaling the familiar scents of fresh oil and coppery metal and the sweet, balmy air of time passing. For all his strange qualities, Colton’s blond hair was soft as fox fur.

  “You were supposed to read me a story,” Colton said quietly.

  “Right. Sorry.” Danny searched through the book of Greek myths open on his lap. He’d taught Colton how to read, but the spirit still liked it when Danny read aloud to him.

  “Have I read about the Titans?” Colton shook his head against Danny’s shoulder. “Then let’s start with Prometheus.”

  He told Colton about the Titan Prometheus who had created mankind out of clay, giving life to his creations so they could populate the earth. But when it seemed that the humans might die out, Prometheus was driven to steal the gift of heavenly fire.

  “He granted this stolen fire to humanity, allowing his creations to live on, progress, and form what would eventually become modern civilization. But Zeus wasn’t too pleased about that, and bound Prometheus to a rock as punishment. Every day, a mechanical eagle would come and devour his liver right out of his body. In the night Prometheus’s liver grew back, and when dawn broke, that blasted eagle came to start the process all over again.”

  “Does it say blasted in the book?”

  “My own little touch.” Danny touched the drawing on the page, which depicted bearded Prometheus suffering on his rock. His wrists were fettered, drawn to the rock with heavy chains. The eagle’s wings were a patchwork of gears. “I loved this story when I was younger, but I’m not so sure I like it anymore.”

  “It’s sad,” Colton murmured.

  “I think it’s a bit stupid, defying someone like Zeus.”

  Colton sat upright and tilted his head to one side. “He willingly sacrificed himself to help others. One soul over thousands. That doesn’t sound stupid to me.”

  There were moments, like this one, when Danny saw the fathomless age in Colton’s eyes. It unnerved him, and it bewitched him. He wanted to learn every secret of the universe through his gaze, to lose himself in some distant, golden galaxy, restless and ancient.

  “I suppose that’s true,” Danny admitted, a tad breathless.

  Colton looked down at the book. “I feel as though I’ve heard this story before. It seems familiar.”

  “I’ve likely already read it, then. Sorry. Thought I’d picked something different this time.”

  “That’s all right.” The spirit shifted so that he was leaning forward on his hands, putting his face an inch away from Danny’s. He stayed there a moment, watching Danny’s expression as if searching for an answer to a question he
wouldn’t voice. Danny flushed under the scrutiny until he met those gleaming amber eyes across the tiny gulf between their bodies. The sunlight against Colton’s skin was another sort of kiss, hugging his body and showing off the miracle of him.

  It felt like it had always been this way, just the two of them and this light.

  Colton closed the gap, kissing him firmly on the mouth. Danny’s stomach leapt as time shivered around them. He could feel every tick of the clock as if it had replaced the heart in his chest, the steady rhythm that kept them alive. If there was a way to kiss Colton forever, he wished he knew how to find it.

  Eventually Colton pulled away, but he kept a hand on Danny’s cheek. His thumb gently traced the scar on his chin. “Do you think you’ll have to go?”

  “I don’t know,” Danny whispered. “But if I do, I want to be prepared.”

  Colton nodded to the other books. “What do they say, then? Tell me about India.”

  Danny dragged out a book and opened it to a random page. He’d read this one the previous night and been surprised by how little he actually knew. He’d had no idea how complex everything was in India, least of all the religions: Hinduism, Sikhism, Islam, Jainism, and plenty more aside from those. And then there were all the different castes. It made his head spin.

  “I read about the Mughals who came to India in the sixteenth century,” Danny said, automatically searching the book for pictures, since Colton liked those best. He found one of a mustachioed emperor sitting upon a gilded dais amid columns and brocaded pillows. “The Mughals were invaders, and there was quite a bit of fighting done in their name. But they unified different societies and taught them how to rule themselves. They created new trade routes and standardized currency.”

  Danny thumbed through the book until the dates grew closer to present day. “I suppose Britain wanted to do the same. They rather made a mess of it, though. There was a big fuss about the East India Company.”

  Danny turned to a drawing of uniformed British soldiers on the plains of India, armed with bayonets. “There was a row in 1857, just before I was born. People here call it the Mutiny. Indian soldiers attacked the Company to try to claim their freedom, but they lost. After that, rule was passed from the Company to the Queen. I heard they’re going to announce her as Empress of India at New Year’s.”

  He flipped through pages of bloodshed with a grimace. What England had done to India seemed truly unfair, like someone breaking into your house to suddenly declare it belonged to them. But then his eyes caught a particular word, one he knew very well.

  Colton was about to turn the page when Danny grabbed his hand. “Wait! They mention Enfield.”

  “They do? Where?”

  Danny stabbed a finger at the middle of the page. They leaned in at the same time and knocked heads. Danny barely noticed.

  “‘The Enfield rifles were produced at the Royal Small Arms Factory in Enfield, England,’” Danny read quickly, “‘and shipped to the soldiers in India. They were the newest model, and easily the best at the time, but had one major design flaw: their cartridges.

  “‘The sepoys’—those are Indian soldiers,” he explained to Colton, “‘were asked to bite off the paper cartridges of the Enfield rifles, but the cartridges were greased with animal fat. The Hindus and Muslims refused to handle the rifles, as the use of beef and pork fat was against each group’s respective religious observances. This disagreement has been credited as the final straw that triggered the onset of the rebellion.’”

  Stunned, Danny leaned back against the wall. “I didn’t know rifles were manufactured here,” he said. “You knew, didn’t you?”

  “Was I supposed to tell you?”

  Danny shook his head. “No. I just … didn’t know. No one talks about it.”

  It was a strange coincidence, the only tenuous connection between his world and India. It seemed almost sinister in design.

  Colton’s hand returned to his knee, a solid weight. “You could ask to take a look. Maybe you’ll learn something.”

  Though the prospect of being near so many guns was unappealing, Colton’s curiosity infected him. “I think I will.”

  The factory was a long, red building in the marshy reaches of Enfield Lock, a small island of sorts that sat on the River Lee. Water wheels disturbed the river’s surface as they slowly turned, powering the machinery inside. Danny eyed the building’s reflection in the water, lips pressed together.

  He wasn’t quite sure why he had agreed to do this. It wasn’t as if he would learn anything more than how a gun was assembled. Still, the tenuous connection between Enfield and India had shaken him, and he couldn’t help but want to see it with his own eyes.

  Colton, at his side, looked around with genuine interest. Danny had tried to keep him in his tower, but more and more Colton wanted to venture out and explore. When he did, he usually grew weak, the faint golden glow around him fading. Sometimes, Danny even had to carry him back to the tower.

  “We shouldn’t stay long,” Danny warned Jane as she led them to the factory gates. She had volunteered to show them around, much to Danny’s surprise; he had expected more hemming and hawing.

  She smiled over her shoulder at them. “The quick tour, then. Let’s start here.” She stopped, gesturing to the large building where ribbons of smoke rose from chimneys. “As you can see, the factory is perfectly situated, drawing power from the river while allowing barges traveling downriver to transport the finished goods to London.”

  “Wonderful,” Danny muttered under his breath, thinking of all those deadly guns floating innocuously down the Lee.

  They passed through the gate. Danny could smell the smoke now, the acrid flavor of saltpeter crouched on the back of his tongue.

  Colton was too busy taking in their guide to notice. “You look nice today, Jane,” Colton said with a winning smile, eyeing her small lilac hat, which matched the shade of her bodice exactly.

  She half-turned with a pleased flush. “Thank you, Colton.”

  Danny glanced sidelong at Colton, who raised his eyebrows as if to ask what? Danny knew he had no business growling at him about it; not just because Colton couldn’t distinguish flirtation from being nice, but because of that unfortunate run-in with an Enfield boy named Harland several months before.

  The inside of the factory was even hotter than the muggy summer air outside. Light from the overhead windows illuminated machinery that pumped and whirred and hissed. Conveyor belts lined with parts rolled through the building, and a large gearwork tableau churned on the opposite wall, generating power.

  In spite of himself, Danny was awed. Factories like this were common enough in London, but he had never been inside one, and was immensely thankful for that. Many of his nursery school classmates had found backbreaking—and sometimes deadly—work in the factories that kept England at the forefront of industrial innovation.

  Jane led them through a metal jungle, raising her voice to be heard over the clanging and whirring of the machines. “These mass production lines run on steam. The gearwork over there filters the electricity from the water and steam, providing different areas of the factory with different types of power.”

  Workers stood at attention along the assembly lines, quickly putting their parts together before the product moved along to its next destination. Danny watched and listened, but his stomach twisted. It would have been one thing if the factory built autos, or automatons, or any other type of machinery. But they built weapons, things specifically designed to harm others. Kill others.

  “Jane,” he said as they continued forward, “is it true that these rifles are why the Indians rebelled?” Jane would have been a child when it happened.

  She faltered, but quickly regained her composure. “Unfortunately, yes. The Company didn’t respect the natives, and the Mutiny was the result. Understandably, we no longer use animal fat to grease the cartridges.”

  Danny kept an eye on Colton as they continued down an aisle. The spirit was quiet, soak
ing in another opportunity learn about the human world. Even so, his shoulders had begun to droop.

  “Here,” Danny murmured, taking the small cog out of his pocket and pressing it against Colton’s palm. “This should help.”

  Colton’s lips twitched. “Thank you, Danny.”

  “You can go back if—”

  “I’m all right.” There was a certain stubbornness in his expression that Danny knew better than to question.

  “Over here,” Jane said, gesturing to another station. “This is where the rifles are given a final examination before they’re polished and prepared for shipment.”

  Danny looked at the workers. One of them, a young man with dark hair, turned to pick up the next rifle. When he saw Danny, they both started.

  “Danny!” Harland exclaimed, not sure whether to be happy or embarrassed. “What are you doing here?”

  Danny glanced at Jane. “Taking a tour. I was curious about the factory.”

  “Oh. I see.”

  Any interaction with Harland tended to be uncomfortable since that strange kiss they’d shared. Danny looked at Colton to gauge his reaction and was not disappointed; his eyes were sharp as gilded knives.

  If Jane sensed any tension in the air, she went on regardless. “Maybe you can explain what your role is at this end of the factory, Mr. Thomas?”

  Harland did just that, his explanation peppered with uhs and ers as he pointed out the rifle’s features, including the engraving on the barrel—B3005—a serial number that indicated something about the design. Danny wasn’t paying much attention, too distracted by Colton’s less-than-thrilled expression. Colton didn’t hate any residents of Enfield so far as Danny knew, but he felt hate’s milder cousin, dislike, radiating from the spirit beside him.

  When they finally said goodbye and headed for the exit, Colton slumped against Danny.

  “That’s it—we’re going back to your tower,” Danny decided. “Jane, thank you for showing us the factory. I think I understand it a little better now.” By which he meant not at all.

  “You’re very welcome.”

  Danny and Colton walked toward the village green in silence. The closer they got to the tower, the more Danny sensed the clock running strangely. A glance up confirmed his suspicions: the hands slowed for five seconds, sped up, then slowed again. He could feel the shift in the way the time fibers around him quivered. Fear tapped a finger against his chest and he urged Colton along at an even faster clip.