by Ryan Dunlap
“Good call,” Callie said as she fished out the map.
“My dad used to tell me about how it was a clock shop with no ticking,” Ras said. “They started the watch when you bought it. It was like starting a moment, but my dad would always bring me watches that hadn’t been started and ask me what I wanted most. We’d wind the watch together and he’d tell me if I worked hard, it’d just be a matter of time before it was mine.”
“That was sweet of him,” Callie said, her demeanor finally softening to the usual state.
“Yeah, but life doesn’t exactly work like that.”
“No, but having a father who encourages you goes a long way,” she said as she pulled out the map. “C’mon, we can at least see if she wasn’t lying about Orville’s being on 8th and Holloway. You can tell me on the way what little Ras wanted most.” She put her arm through his and they began walking.
Telling her what he wanted most would make for a long and awkward trip across Atmo if she didn’t reciprocate the feeling. “I’m afraid I can’t,” he said. “It doesn’t come true if you tell anyone.”
“That’s birthday candles and shooting stars. You already said all it takes is time.” She nudged him and all he could smell was the intoxicating scent of strawberries and vanilla. “You just don’t want to say.”
“I think a boy is entitled to his secrets,” Ras said. “What about you? Any falling star wishes you never told me about?”
“I always wished I would leave the basement and see the world, but that’s not a secret.” She looked up at him with her perfect blue eyes. “You want to know a secret?”
“Sure.”
“You can’t tell anyone.”
“That’s how secrets work, I hear.”
“Well,” she began, “if anyone was to kidnap me, I’m glad it was you.”
It was the nicest, strangest compliment Ras had ever received. “You’ve been a perfectly pleasant prisoner. No annoying escape attempts, no running to police. You’ve really made my first kidnapping a positive experience,” he said, laughing. “You know, my arm really hurts.”
“It was a rather large wrench…Do you think it’s broken?”
“No. But, I’ve seriously got to start taking better care of this arm.” He lifted his left shoulder, wincing.
“You’ve got to start taking better care of you.”
“I don’t do that well, do I?” he asked.
“It’s not one of your stronger suits, no.”
It took them almost an hour to find Orville’s, as 8th and Holloway held three different vertical levels. Orville’s was on the bottom level, which was a small mercy; at least they wouldn’t be out in the open.
A clock face comprised the O in Orville’s sign, which wasn’t terribly clever, but gave any passerby a clear idea of what to expect inside.
Callie opened wide one of the shop’s ornate brass doors, sweeping a hand with great ceremony.
“Oh, stop it,” Ras said. “It’s just a—wow.” Ras’ eyes went wide as he passed through the threshold. The thirty foot tall walls appeared to consist entirely of clocks. Hundreds upon hundreds of devices hung so densely packed that the walls only peeked out in various places where a purchased clock had not yet been replaced. But, just as Elias had described, there was absolutely no ticking, which Ras found both eerie and fascinating.
The showroom held glass displays full of watches, pocket clocks, and other assorted geared items with tiny price tags attached.
“This place is incredible,” Callie said, her fingers lightly brushing a display.
The sound of winding and a faint ticking noise drew their attention to a balding man standing behind the counter. His thick glasses gave his face a pinched appearance. Smiling, he placed the newly wound watch in a velvet box for the customer in front of him. “I’m sure she’ll love it. I wish you both luck,” he said.
Ras watched the only other customer in the store pass by with his new purchase before the door chime marked his exit. The large room once again fell silent until the man behind the counter called out. “How can I help you, young sir?”
“Are you Orville?” Ras asked, and was met with a nod. “My father always told me about your shop, so I thought I’d see it for myself.”
“I’m pleased you did,” Orville said. “May I ask your father’s name? I have a rather encyclopedic memory.”
Ras approached Orville’s counter. “It’s been a while since he shopped here.”
“Hold on, you look familiar,” he said. “Do you take after your father?”
“He doesn’t think so,” Callie said, “but he’s wrong.”
“Hmm. Give me a moment.” He studied Ras’ face carefully. “Are you wearing a Parkman 51 with a brown leather strap on your left wrist?”
Ras pulled back his jacket sleeve, revealing the watch, which looked small for his arm. The inappropriate size wasn’t enough to have discontinued use of the last birthday present from his father.
Orville closed his eyes. “It’s due for a cleaning, Erasmus Veir. I told Elias it requires maintenance every year, but…the second-hand is sticking, isn’t it?”
Ras smiled. “It waits three seconds before it ticks, but it keeps time.”
“It’s well past its warranty, but if I may?” Orville held out a hand.
With the watch surrendered, Orville held it to his ear, then gently placed it on a black felt cloth and pulled out a small set of fine, shiny tools. He adjusted a pivotable magnifying glass for a better look.
“I have something to give you, Erasmus, but it pains me to do so,” Orville said as he popped the back of the watch off and went to work.
“Why is that?”
“Because your father would place an order for you on his trip out, I would build it to his specifications—he always provided me with such challenges—and he would pick up the finished work on his way home.”
“I didn’t know that,” Ras said.
Orville adjusted a gear, held the watch to his ear, then replaced its back before returning it to Ras. “Almost good as new.” Without requesting payment, he turned and disappeared into a storeroom.
Ras gave Callie a perplexed look.
“Ah, found it,” Orville called out and returned, holding a small box with a couple envelopes taped to the bottom of it.
“What’s this?” Ras asked.
“The last assignment Elias gave me.” He slid the box across the counter. “I’m sorry. I’m sure we both wish he was the one picking this up. Your father loved you dearly,” Orville said, then took a moment to compose himself. “He lit up when he spoke of you and would always tell me how you’d react when he came home with the latest—”
“Orville, please.”
The old man nodded knowingly. “My apologies, young sir.”
“Are the envelopes for me?”
“One is.” He smiled sadly. “Would you like me to wind up the clock for you?”
“I’m afraid what I want most right now isn’t possible.” Ras picked up the box, which had a surprising heft to it. He slid the top off of it, revealing a clock like he had never seen before.
It was a glass ball with a brass porthole on its perimeter. Inside, the clock had a graceful design, and if the hands had been moving, they would have looked as though they were swimming in glass.
“It’s beautiful…you made this?” Callie asked.
“One of a kind,” Orville said.
Ras picked up the envelopes. One said ‘Ras,’ the other, ‘Emma.’
The shop didn’t feel like the proper venue to read his father’s final words to him, but he wasn’t certain what venue would feel right.
He slid the envelopes into his jacket pocket. “Did he leave a letter every time?”
“No. Just the one in case you eventually visited,” Orville said, “which you did. I do feel honored to have been entrusted with such a thing, but I am also glad that I lived long enough to see it through.”
Ras lifted the round glass ball of a clock.
If one didn’t look at it directly, the curvature of the glass would obscure the face the way that looking at the side of an eye showed the iris differently.
“Do I owe—” Ras began.
Orville waved dismissively. “Paid in full. Elias was always up front in his dealings.”
Ras placed the clock back in the box. “Thank you,” Ras said quietly.
Back at the entrance, the door squeaked on its hinges. Over some of the taller displays a bit of white hair quickly bobbed forward.
Dixie turned the corner, continuing her quick strides. She was not pleased. “I offer you a ride and you ditch me? Can’t a girl return a favor?”
“We thought a walk would do us good. See more that way,” Ras said as he slid the box into his pocket to join the envelopes. He noticed Dixie’s eyes track it. “Sorry about that, but we wound up here all together, so you’re off the hook.”
“Trust me, you don’t want me to be off the hook right now. If you don’t let me give you a ride right now, we’re both liable to be on sharp, pointy hooks for a long, long while and nobody wants that…except for the people with the hooks.”
“Pardon?” Callie asked.
“Look, I saw the posters,” Dixie said, “so I get why you ditched me, but if we keep talking here, we’re going to see about a dozen boys in blue and my hands aren’t entirely clean after the whole library debacle. I don’t have to be here, but I take favors seriously. So, if you would kindly come with me so I can get us out of here…”
“Where’s your skiff?” Callie asked.
“Just follow me,” Dixie said. They began to leave and Ras looked back at Orville. “Thank you for everything.”
“You come back and get that cleaned every year now,” Orville said. “None of this ‘ten years later’ business.”
Ras smiled sadly and nodded.
They made it out of the shop and onto the busy sidewalk. Ras spotted a squad of Derailleur police forcing their way through the crowd, and as soon as they spotted Ras, Callie, and Dixie, they began aggressively shoving people out of the way.
Dixie ran up to the ledge of the airship channel, unhesitatingly planted a hand on the railing, and vaulted herself into the abyss. Her disembodied voice shouted, “Jump!”
Ras and Callie looked over the edge to see a small four-seater open aired skiff idling below the railing. Callie began climbing over the railing with Ras’ assistance. She dropped the five feet ungracefully into the backseat as her bowler hat blew off into the deep below.
Watching the hat made Ras freeze. All of the shouting from the police, Dixie, and Callie became muffled and he found himself acutely aware of his heartbeat. He had five seconds before the closest officer would reach him.
Dixie huffed, pulling up on the controls to raise the skiff to the railing’s level. Ras climbed onto the rail just in time for one of the officers to get a fist full of Ras’ pant leg. The alteration of balance kept him from doing anything but grasping the rising skiff’s door handle as it continued to lift.
Ras ascended with the small ship. His hold was tenuous as he kicked free from the officer, and his legs flailed wildly as Dixie’s skiff accelerated.
“Dixie!” Ras shouted. He looked down and fought the urge to black out as the skiff sped forward. The wail of sirens grew behind them.
“Hold on tight, then don’t!” Dixie said.
“What?” He tightened his grip on the handle as best he could. They weaved through airship traffic when suddenly the skiff rolled hard counterclockwise and Ras immediately found himself on top of the sideways vessel.
“Let go!” Dixie shouted as she shunted the skiff into a nosedive.
Ras lost his grip completely. He grasped fistfuls of air as the vessel leveled out and shifted to starboard. The top of the passenger door connected with his ribcage, halting his fall.
Callie didn’t miss a beat. She grabbed Ras’ hand, hauling him inside.
“Sorry,” Dixie said. “That should have gone better.”
Ras fought the urge to hyperventilate as Callie grabbed his seat’s restraints and buckled him in. “There, you’re safe now,” she said. The sirens grew louder.
“I wouldn’t say that yet,” Dixie said. She threw the ship down another avenue, then dove through the lowest level of traffic. The air around them grew hotter as they continued lower and pulled even with Derailleur’s gigantic engines. Four police skiffs dove in pursuit.
“If we go any lower the exhaust will boil us!” Ras shouted over the deafening roar.
“Then we won’t go lower!” Dixie shouted.
The engine array of Derailleur would have fascinated Ras under more serene conditions. Over fifty engines working in league with humongous fuel reservoirs kept the city afloat.
“Each major city section is given its own engine and then bolted to its neighbors in case of a regional failure,” Dixie shouted.
“What does that have to do with anything?” Callie asked.
“Just thought you might find it interesting. I said I was a great tour guide!”
Ras looked around in an attempt to spot the four pursuing skiffs, but the heat emissions distorted anything underneath the engines.
“Just so you know, I don’t exactly have a place to hide!” she shouted.
“I thought you lived here!” Callie said.
“Nope! Where’s your ship?”
“East side, Flint’s!” Ras barely got the word out before Dixie slammed the steering wheel hard to starboard and pulled up to ascend back into the city. The drone of the engines dulled as they rose.
“Do you think Flint is going to be finished with the upgrade by now?” Callie asked, pressed firmly into her seat, her fingers digging into the upholstery.
“If he isn’t, we might not get much further,” Ras said. He leaned forward to talk to Dixie, who had just merged in with traffic on the second level of the three vertical intersections. “What about you? What are you going to do after you drop us off?”
“Well, I’m probably just going to have to give them a bit of a chase so they don’t follow your ship, now won’t I? Maybe by the end of this you’ll owe me a favor,” she said with a peal of laughter. “You two are a lot of fun. You’ll make beautiful children.” She lifted the ship to the top level of the vertical intersections, once again throwing Ras and Callie back into their seats.
“Wait, what did she say?” Callie asked.
“Oh, she and I, we’re not…you know,” Ras said, stammering.
“Why not?” Dixie asked.
Flashing lights began reflecting off buildings and airships as they sat in gridlocked traffic.
“That’s kind of personal,” Ras said. He looked over at Callie, who blushed.
“Why aren’t we moving?” Callie asked. “They’re getting closer.”
Dixie looked over the side of the skiff, calculating something. “I’m not moving until one of you two tells me why you aren’t together.”
“Dixie!” Ras shouted.
“I’m doing you a favor, hon,” she said. “One of you spoken for?”
More police skiffs flew above the traffic for a good vantage point and would spot them at any moment.
“No, we’re not, now will you please move?” Callie asked. “You’re risking the lives of tens of thousands of people with your stupid game.”
“I’m logging that one under things to ask about later,” Dixie said. Turning to Ras, she said, “C’mon, ask her out before I ask you.”
Spotlights popped on, blinding them and a voice came over the loudspeaker ordering them to stay where they were.
“Fine!” Ras yelled. “Callie, let’s get dinner sometime.”
“That’s not asking,” Dixie said.
“Callie, would you do me the honor of having dinner with me?” Ras asked with more sincerity than he expected. The police continued to shout over their loudspeakers.
Callie looked frozen.
“Well?” Dixie asked, once again staring over the side of her skiff before s
he cut power to the engines. They began to plummet past the second intersection’s traffic, almost clipping an airship, and down to the first intersection where the skiff struck a floating traffic sign but managed to miss everything else. She turned the key and their fall halted just before they reached the burning engine exhaust. “Callie, what d’ya say?”
“I say you’re insane,” she said, eyes narrowing.
“Callie, it’s okay,” Ras said. “She was just buying time so the police would have to push through three intersections of traffic.” He turned to Dixie. “Can we please just get to Flint’s?”
The skiff turned east. “You got it,” Dixie said with a sigh. “I really thought that was going to work. I really did.”
It was a two minute flight to Flint’s, and as Ras suspected, police skiffs were parked outside.
“Really?” Dixie said, smacking the steering wheel. “Let’s see if we can’t sneak in the back. No, wait. Better idea! Get out.” She pulled up to the sidewalk a block away from Flint’s. “Go on. Freebie on me for what I did earlier.”
“What are you going to do?” Ras asked.
“I’ll draw them away and you get back on your ship.” She smiled. “Maybe we’ll see each other again someday.” Dixie nodded to the curb. “Mind your step.”
Ras unbuckled and stepped out, followed by Callie, who hadn’t said much since the drop. They stood beside the skiff as Dixie winked at them, then jetted forward on a collision course with the police skiffs, sideswiping each of the parked vehicles.
They watched police file out of Flint’s. Dixie stood in her driver’s seat waving at the men, blowing them kisses as they piled into their damaged vehicles. She sat back down and scooted away as the police gave chase.
“Why do I get the feeling that skiff isn’t hers?” Callie asked.
They approached Flint’s cautiously in case any more officers were still posted inside. Ras decided to enter through the repair bay instead of the main office doors.
Above them hung The Brass Fox. Nobody was working on it, and Ras reasoned that the police would frown on Flint aiding criminals.
They weren’t more than a few steps into the hangar before a mechanic spotted them. “Hey,” he whispered, waving them over.