by Tara Sim
Colton didn’t forget the events that had happened over the past several years, yet too much time had slid by for him to remember the beginning. It seemed ironic now that all he had was the first part of a story with no conclusion.
He closed his eyes and imagined it. Bearded Prometheus, Zeus hefting a lightning bolt in one hand, the bloodstained rock.
Something flickered across his mind and he jerked in pain. Moaning slightly, he rubbed his side where the red, twisted scar lay. It hurt on and off, pulling him north. His tower wanted him to return.
But he couldn’t. Not yet.
There was still no new information about the attack. Scouts had gone as far as the continent to search for answers, but without a proper description of the airship—Colton had only seen its underside—there was little chance of finding it.
There was news, however, about Danny, though it was nothing substantial. They’d received a message—Christopher called it a cable—that Danny had reached Agra. Since then, Colton had waited every day for another cable, but none was forthcoming.
The mechanics would say if Danny was in trouble, he kept telling himself. They wouldn’t keep that from his parents.
And yet, here he was, hiding evidence in his pocket.
Colton started guiltily when the front door opened. Christopher made a beeline toward him, clutching a bulky bag.
“’Lo, Colton. I’ve got the new model here.”
Colton set the book aside. His central cog rested next to him on the tattered couch, and it brightened slightly as Christopher entered the back room.
Whenever Christopher explained what he and the smiths were working on, Colton struggled to follow. From what he could gather, they wanted to use the same method of making clockwork pieces to make a cog holder for him. The metal of the harness, acting as a conductor of Colton’s power, would strengthen the power of the cog. So far the first two attempts had failed, and Colton remained translucent.
Christopher took the holder out of the bag. It was sleeker than the previous model, made of a bronze metal that crisscrossed at the back and leather straps attached to the front. The sides were curved so that Colton’s cog could fit snugly inside, rather than rattle around as it had in the first square-shaped holder.
“Give this a try,” Christopher said. Colton’s central cog slid into the holder with a satisfying click. “Feel anything?”
“Sort of.” Colton could sense that the metal holder had attached itself to the power stored within his cog. That power stretched and pulled, a thin strand of time that ran perpendicular to the time of London. If he focused hard enough, he could feel Enfield in that strand—the smell of grass, the glint of the river, the tolling of the church bells.
He slipped the holder on so that the straps hung over his shoulders. Christopher waited for a reaction, staring at Colton’s chest; rather, through Colton’s chest. When nothing happened, his shoulders sagged in disappointment.
“This won’t work. It’ll have to be altered.”
Colton removed his cog before he handed back the holder. “It’s not your fault. It must be difficult, making something that’s never been made before.”
“I just wish it worked.”
“It’s nearly there. I felt a little stronger this time.”
Christopher pursed his lips, just as Leila did when she didn’t know what to say. Colton had noticed that Danny’s parents sometimes mirrored each other in their gestures and voices. It was both strange and sweet, and it made Colton wonder if he and Danny would ever become the same way, so ingrained in each other that they almost started to become one.
I’m acting more human now than I ever did before Danny. I suppose that’s a start.
Christopher looked at the couch, where Colton had left his book. “The Iliad?”
Colton hadn’t even realized that was the book he’d chosen. “It’s a little harder to read than I thought it would be. I liked the story better when Danny explained it.”
“He’s always been a smart boy. Top of his class, quick to learn.” Christopher’s expression turned wistful. “I suppose I can’t call him a boy anymore, can I?”
Colton knew this was personal ground, so he trod carefully. “Why not?”
“The last I saw of him, before I went to Maldon, he was still so young. Only fourteen, still an apprentice.” With one hand, Christopher mimed something growing taller. “Then, in the blink of an eye, he’s a young man and already a mechanic. I wasn’t even here to help him with his assessments. He had to do it all on his own.” He paused, then said in a voice soft and ragged with loss, “I missed three years of his life.”
Christopher dragged his gaze from the carpet to Colton. His eyes harbored accusation, as if already blaming him for a disaster that hadn’t yet unfolded. As if Colton would someday prevent Danny from coming home.
I’m going to do the opposite, he thought fiercely, touching the note in his pocket.
“I should take this back.” Christopher sighed, stuffing the holder back into his bag. “We’ll try again.”
“Mr…. I mean, Christopher? I’m sorry about what Evaline did to you. Your family didn’t deserve it. But … Danny loves you. He always talks about you, and he tried so hard to find a way to free you when you were trapped. I think, in some way, you did help him. He’s determined and hardworking because of you. He has a long future ahead of him, and I won’t do anything to ruin that. I promise.”
Christopher looked momentarily taken aback, but managed a faint smile. “Thank you, Colton. I appreciate hearing that.” He shouldered the bag. “I’ll return in the evening.”
Colton watched him head back into the gray afternoon light. He stared out the window a moment, thinking, then drew the note from his pocket and read it again.
He walked into the hall, ignoring the panicked tug from his central cog. His side gave off a dull pang, but he ignored that as well. He stopped before the hideously green telephone sitting on the wooden table in the hall, wondering how on earth to use it.
Colton cocked his head to one side. Humans made technology look so simple. A less-formidable object sat beside the telephone: a little book filled with addresses and numbers. He opened it and flipped through the entries, delighting in the crisper, higher sound these pages made as he searched for a specific name.
At first, he couldn’t find it. He knew her only by Cassie. But when he went through the pages again, he found an entry that was close: Cassandra Lovett.
Picking up the cylindrical part attached to a wire, Colton hesitated. There was a round wheel in the middle of the clunky base. Christopher, when making calls, stuck his finger in it and turned the dial to the corresponding numbers.
Colton put the cylindrical part to his ear and heard absolutely nothing, a void of sound. The sensation was eerie, so he tried to move the dial with his finger. Since Cassandra Lovett’s number began with a two, he turned the wheel to two. Or at least, he thought he did. He tried the other numbers next.
The soundlessness was broken by a startling ring. Even more jarring was the voice that suddenly issued from the other end. It was male and spoke in a garbled language that Colton didn’t understand.
“Er, hello? Is this Cassandra Lovett?”
The voice kept shouting at him, so Colton quickly hung up. After a moment to collect himself, he attempted the number again, this time being even more cautious about what numbers he turned to.
The telephone rang and rang. Finally, someone responded.
“Hello?”
Colton stood straighter. He knew that voice. “Cassie?”
“Hellooo? Anyone there?”
Why couldn’t she hear him? He looked cluelessly about until he recalled what Mrs. Hart had done while making a call the day before.
He lifted the clunky part off the table to speak into the mouthpiece. “Cassie?” he tried again.
“Yes, who’s calling?”
“It’s Colton. From Enfield?” He wondered if she knew anyone else named Colton. “I’m i
n London, at Danny’s parents’ house. I wanted to speak with you.”
The line went silent. Colton worried for a moment that he had accidentally called the wrong Cassie, but then he heard her snap, “Stay right there!” followed by a loud click.
He put the telephone back down and closed the address book. So much for that idea. He was wondering if he should try to call Brandon when the front door shuddered under someone’s pounding fist.
“Please open the door!”
Colton hurried to undo the lock, then pulled the door open just enough to peer out. Cassie stood there, red-faced and out of breath. Her auburn hair was frizzing out of its braid.
“It is you!” She pushed him into the house and shut the door behind them. “What are you doing here? Do Danny’s parents know?”
“Yes, I’ve been here about two weeks.”
“Two weeks? But doesn’t that mean Enfield—?”
“Is Stopped,” he confirmed. “The mechanics are trying to keep quiet about it.”
He led her to the back room. His cog stopped pulling at him as he sank back onto the sofa and placed it on his lap. Cassie eyed the cog suspiciously from her seat in an armchair, one leg tucked beneath her. That’s how she sat in his tower, too.
“I can’t believe Danny isn’t here for this,” she said.
“I didn’t come to London for Danny. I came because someone attacked my tower.”
He told her the whole story about Enfield and how Christopher was working with the smiths to make him a holder that would keep him strong while the mechanics investigated.
“Blazes, that’s rough,” she murmured. Her freckles stood out against her pale face. “And poor Dan doesn’t even know.”
“We can’t distract him from his assignment.” That’s what the Lead had said, anyway.
“But who in their right minds would attack Enfield? Why Enfield, and not London?”
Colton bit his lower lip. Cassie was trustworthy. She was honest and kind and loved Danny tremendously. Colton had seen that in the afternoons when the three of them sat talking in his tower. It had irked him at first, mostly because he saw how much Danny loved her in return. The friends mirrored each other, from a certain wave of their hands to a particular way of saying “right,” that reminded him of how Danny’s parents mirrored each other.
It had given him an ache like the one currently throbbing in his side. Danny and Cassie’s connection was not a romantic love—he knew the difference from watching so many couples in Enfield—but it was easy and uncomplicated, demanding nothing, yet giving everything if asked.
That’s how Colton knew he should tell Cassie about the message.
Taking the note from his pocket, he stood and handed it to her.
She skimmed the words at first, then read it two more times before looking up at him with a frown. “What is this?”
“Someone gave that note to Danny, and he didn’t tell anyone.”
“You …” She read the note again. “You think someone is after Danny?”
“That’s what it seems like.” Colton gestured to the crumpled paper. “Towers start falling in India. Danny is sent to India. Someone attacks Enfield.”
Cassie’s mouth dropped open. “You’re not serious!”
Colton didn’t know how to respond. “I think so?”
“But why? That doesn’t make any sense.”
“I don’t know. All I know is … I feel as if he’s in danger. That he needs help.”
Cassie chewed her thumbnail as she read the note one more time. “Have you told his parents about this?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I can’t. They’re already worried enough.”
“You have to tell them. If Danny really is in trouble, someone has to go and help, or at least warn him. If you won’t tell them, I will.”
“No! Please don’t.”
“I’m just as worried about him as you are.”
He opened and closed his mouth. Jealousy simmered within him, but he pushed it down.
Cassie leaned forward in her seat. “I know you’re entitled to your worry. But so am I, and so are Danny’s parents. We all love him.”
Colton ran a thumb over the edge of his cog, tracing one of the spokes. “I know. I’m sorry. I’ll … I’ll tell them, all right? I just need to find the right words to explain.”
Cassie handed the note back to him, her eyebrows furrowed. “I had a bad feeling when he left. My bad feelings are never wrong. I had one right before my brother got into his accident.” She took a shuddering breath. “But why would anyone want to hurt Danny?”
Colton had no answer. He could have spent hours turning page after page of unanswered questions, listening to their whispers.
That night, Christopher came home with plans for a new holder model and explained it over dinner. They invited Colton to sit with them at every meal, even though he never ate a thing.
“What if the holder included the smaller cogs I brought with me?” he suggested.
“That might make it bulkier. Unless …” Christopher drew a few sketches in the pad he’d brought to the table.
Leila clucked her tongue. “Chris, put that away.”
“Maybe if we make little pockets—”
“Chris.”
“Yes, all right.” He shoved the pad to one side. Leila gave a little nod of approval as she sipped her plum cordial. “I didn’t even think about using the other cogs. Maybe it’ll help.”
“Hopefully.” Colton glanced around the kitchen, trying not to look awkward or guilty as he thought of his conversation with Cassie. He’d promised to tell the Harts, and yet, as he sat there, he couldn’t bring himself to do it.
Tomorrow, he decided.
Colton was already in Danny’s room when Christopher and Leila retired to bed. Through the wall, he heard Christopher’s low murmur and the higher timbre of Leila’s reply. Christopher gave a brief answer, and then they were silent.
Colton turned off the lamp and stretched out on Danny’s bed. It was impossible for him to sleep, but the exertion of being away from Enfield and the pain sometimes made him black out for a few hours. This had happened a few nights before, when he had woken in Danny’s bed with both Leila and Christopher hovering worriedly over him.
“We have to get this holder right,” Christopher had said then. “The longer you stay here, the more danger you’re in.”
Colton’s side throbbed, and he winced. He lifted his shirt and rubbed a hand over the ropy scar that traveled from underarm to hip. He had noticed several other little scars across his body, but this injury was by far the worst.
The more he thought of the scar, the sharper the pain became, and he couldn’t stay conscious a moment longer. He slipped into a twilight world where he wasn’t aware of senses or the space around him. Just time, ticking on without him, leaving him in the current like an abandoned child.
A river. It gurgled past him, heading south, taking fish and cargo with it. He raced upstream to the dock where men were pulling the cargo onto a small barge.
He ran into one of the men, who stumbled back with a curse. But when the man saw his face, a yellow-stained grin showed from within his dark beard.
“Yes, boy? What is it this time?”
“I get to go! I asked them if I could, and they asked if I was ready, and I said yes, and they said I could finally go!”
“Ah, did they, now?” The man knelt to be at eye level. “I believe this is cause for celebration. Why don’t you run along and tell your mother? I’ll bring a surprise for supper.”
The river faded away, but the sound of water didn’t. It lapped and chuckled, growing from trickling eddies to the distant roar of waves. The ocean stretched before him, gray and dark and fathomless. It was both terrifying and lovely. Seagulls wheeled over the heads of boys and girls standing on the beach, all different heights and ages.
“Who wants to go first?” asked a thin, middle-aged man. Hands shot into the air. “Ho
w about you, Castor?”
A dark-haired youth, tall for his age, stepped forward with a nervous smile. His brown eyes kept flitting toward the sea.
“Go on, lad. Show the others.”
Castor walked into the foaming tide.
He sat on a barrel behind a noisy tavern, kicking the heels of his feet against the wooden seat he’d made for himself, listening to the hollow thuds. The boy, Castor, sat on another barrel.
“Am … Am I right?” Castor asked. His hands were clasped in his lap. He looked as nervous as he had that day at sea.
“Yes, I think so.”
Castor’s hands tightened. “So …”
“So.”
Castor smiled. Laughter echoed from the alley behind the tavern.
Something was wrong. It felt strange, the air too thick, too sharp. It hurt. He sat at the base of the wall and held his head. The earth was spinning.
“It’s gone off. It’s all off.”
“We have to do something.”
“There’s nothing—!”
“Look,” whispered Castor.
The boy held out a timepiece. The hands spun faster and faster, the sky dark and light and dark again, the hands reversing, where’s the ticking?, I think I’ve said this before, time stopped.
It Stopped.
Colton woke with a small cry, gripping at the bed as if he’d be thrown from it otherwise. The room around him was very, very still. He lay there in silence, wide eyes staring at a whorl in the ceiling as a cold sensation traveled along his body. Judging by the thin, gray light coming through the window, it was dawn.
“A dream?” he murmured to the ceiling. But the ceiling couldn’t answer.
He sat up groggily and reached for the small clock on Danny’s desk, staring hard at its face. Time was flowing at its normal pace. The air around him was calm. London was safe.
Then what had that feeling been?
He sat back and studied his central cog, which was propped against the desk. Had he imagined it?