Clock City

by Rebekah Dodson

  “Yes, the Zespar colony is over the hills,” he pointed behind me, “about one skyball from the city. Dinga’s youngling, Bana, has requested a cake, and another wishes for an ishie on a string, though why he would want such a thing is beyond me.”

  Though I was confused, I nodded. “Children, right?”

  Dinga looked embarrassed. “Dinga does not mean to ramble, queen. It’s just Dinga does miss his mates and some of his one hundred and twenty offspring. Dinga wishes he could remember all their names, and what they wanted.”

  A hundred and twenty children? I had a vision of a purple Cheshire cat dragging a line of kittens behind it and shook my head to dismiss it. “I miss my family, too. Well, some of them,” I told him softly.

  “Dinga was on his way to the Clock City, to trade for supplies. Zespars dig for marlita in the ground, and when they finds them, they trade them to the Biggies for food.”

  “Biggies?”

  “Biggies like you. Well, you are a smaller Biggie, but yes.”

  “Why doesn’t the tribe grow its own food?”

  He shrugged. “That is the way of the world. The Biggies take care of everyone, including Zespars. That is how The God of Gears wants it.”

  “God of Gears?” I questioned.

  “Why, yes,” he replied, “he made the skyball and the sunbirds and all the animals and Zespars and the Biggies. Even lizard-folk, merpeople, and dragons.” He leaned closer and whispered squeakily, “In Dinga’s tribe they believe he made the Biggies first, but didn’t like them, so he created the Zespar,” he cackled.

  I focused on the city and tried to wrap my mind around this new level of weirdness. Lizards, mermaids and dragons? Really?

  By this point, I had mostly come to the conclusion I had hit my head really, really hard. I was in a coma or something, and I’d wake up any moment.

  Better enjoy it while it lasted, I guess.

  We walked in silence for a while. In the distance, I could see birds of every shape and color. Sunbirds I guessed, with their yellow and green peacock-like plumes, accompanied by pale pink mates. There were tiny green and purple birds in the sky. I saw a cousin of the mouse, bright turquoise, running with two tiny “younglings” on its heels toward a nearby rock.

  “Ishies,” Dinga licked his lips, “Are very delicious.”

  I shuddered at the thought of eating one of those.

  As we walked, I could hear a constant clanging sound to the North grow louder. Rhythmic and loud, it sounded like the grind of bad brakes on a car. And ticking? Dinga did say we were going to Clock City. I imagined there was a huge Big Ben like building in the middle, or something. I wracked my brain, trying to come up with images of what a “Clock City” should look like. At least there was no “Emerald City” or “Yellow Brick Road” to follow—if I see a flying monkey, I’m definitely out of here.

  I had more to deal with than a few witches fighting over shoes.

  Dinga rambled on about younglings and mates at the pond outside his colony. “It does get very hot there.” He sounded a little sad. “Lately the pond has not had enough water.”

  “I’m sorry.” I surprised myself with my level of concern.

  “Not your fault, Queen. Drought does happen.”

  We reached a rather large grassy hill, and just over the horizon I could see bronze and golden glints, tinted an eerie dusty rose by the color of the... What was it? Skyball? The clanging was much louder, and I realized the ticking was coming from many different directions. Ticking clocks, bombs—whatever they were—it sounded like there were hundreds of them.

  I gasped at the massive city when it finally came into view. As the light hit the walls, I threw my hand over my eyes. What was that reflection? A mirror, or metal siding from shop class in high school?

  The pictures of ancient castles and cities in my head were instantly washed away, replaced by this monstrosity. Apparently, they didn’t call it Clock City for nothing. In front of us was a huge gate, nearly twenty feet tall.

  Pointed cogs, of darkened bronze and steel, lined the gate and side of a drawbridge as we approached from the west. Some of the wheels and cogs were moving under some mysterious power of their own.

  Around the city were jeweled walls, studded with silver and gold stones, which matched the hilt of my dagger, but were duller, worn by time. The entire wall was made of bronze.

  On the gated entrance, a huge clock was surrounded by time pieces of varying shapes and metals. Bronze, silver, or gold, triangles, squares, circles, and even a few octagons. From the ticking they seemed to be synced. The sound of ticking nearly deafening, but not as loud as the onyx piston rising slowly over the tops of the tall buildings within the city.

  I couldn’t decide its purpose. Mining? Heating? Plumbing? The black piston was as big around as one of the ten or eleven story buildings around it. With each whoosh and clang, I winced.

  As we got closer, I saw there were throngs of people entering the city. No one was leaving, so I assumed this gate was one way. The walls must have been six or seven stories high and extended into the horizon in both ways. The drawbridge was wide enough three horse-drawn carts could easily pass with room to spare.

  These horses weren’t like the ones I had at home either. One was jet black, with a purple stripe down one side and a rainbow hued tail. Another was a deep shade of emerald green, with a magenta tail that was also multi-faceted. Their tails looked a little like the fiberoptic Christmas tree I saw at the Mall last year in Doverton. Come to think of it, was that horse even real?

  I could not see breath from their nostrils, and their odd golden eyes stared straight ahead. Their eyes were locked in place, and lacked the constant moving pupils, replaced with just a solid golden eye.

  The “people” who crossed the bridge were just as odd as the animals. They were humanoid, like me and of all shapes and sizes. A man taller than my father, wrapped in burlap rags, hugged a package to his chest. His eyes were wide and danced around the bridge, as if at any moment someone would snatch his bag away.

  A bronze and gold carriage slid by complete with footmen. Not human either, judging by the tan tail whisking around them as they passed. I caught a glimpse of what I could only describe as a cat woman in a lacy petticoat collar. She saw me from her cog-shaped window and I did a double take. Sticking her whiskered, furry face out she waved a small fan at me but did not urge her driver to stop.

  The driver narrowly missed two seven-foot-tall lizard-folk, who walked lithely across the rough wooden planks of the bridge. Their skin was dark green and their eyes bright red. They were dressed in loin cloths like Dinga’s and carried bows taller than me strapped to their back.

  Dinga bounced happily beside me on one foot. “The City is so grand. Dinga has only been once before, but it is just as Dinga remembers it.”

  I regarded him. I was still reeling from the sheer size of it, and the crowd which was pushing to gain entry.

  We stopped short of the drawbridge, so we could avoid the crowd surging through.

  Dinga was very insistent he knew “they” would see me soon enough and didn’t want me crossing the bridge with the rest of the crowd.

  Three armored soldiers, knights of some kind, I guessed, were striding toward us. Bronze armored boots clacked against the brick pavement so loudly I wondered how they didn’t draw the attention of the crowd. I locked eyes with the one in front, and I could tell they were headed for me when his pace quickened, leaving the other two trailing in his wake.

  This new world was terrifying, but as far as I knew, I was trapped here. Maybe these knights had the answer to how I could get home.

  Better here than under your father’s belt at home, my inner voice said. I chose not to answer and instead focused on the knights coming toward me.

  “Queen.” The knight bowed slightly when he reached me.

  I took a step back, fearful of his plume smacking me in the face.

  “The Keeper has been quite worried about you disappearing, y
et again.”

  I glared at Dinga. I tried to ask him silently, Who is The Keeper?, but his face was a dark purplish blank.

  He straightened and put his golden fist across his chest. “We must get you home and into your robes,” he continued, a little quieter.

  I noticed the crowd around me was finally looking in our direction, interested in what these knights were saying to someone dressed in “disguise,” as Dinga had said.

  I wondered if this was some kind of trap. This world seemed dangerous, though no one had tried to eat me yet. In fact, everyone was treating me like some kind of royalty. I summoned everything I learned in my theater class.

  “Yes, I was out, and I was unfortunately lost. Many thanks to this citizen beside me who was kind enough to escort me back to the city.”

  Dinga’s eyes went wide, and he smiled.

  I winced and looked away from his rows of pointed teeth.

  The knight narrowed his eyes, hiding behind his full helmet. “I see,” he interrupted. “I hope The Keeper is not too upset, especially since you haven’t been feeling well lately, Your Majesty.”

  The queen was sick, and she looked like me.

  I wondered how well I could fake an illness if I had to, to find the underlying cause of this mystery. I tried to remind myself the mystery was none of my concern, getting home was. When did I ever listen? Hardly ever. I shrugged, remembering I learned in drama you always repeat back when you don’t know how to answer.

  “I am grateful for my faithful servant here, Dinga,” I patted him on the head, and he looked briefly annoyed at me. “He found me and agreed to escort me home.” Dinga beamed then, but I couldn’t help shivering a little to see his three dozen teeth burst into a smile.

  The knight nodded and beckoned me to follow him.

  Dinga and I fell into step behind the knight, while the other two, silent and stoic, followed behind. I thought about this Keeper and wondered who he could be. Maybe he knew how to get me home and I could convince him I wasn’t their queen. Questions swirled in my mind. I wondered why the real queen looked like me, and why was she sick?

  This world held lizard people, fine ladies with whiskers and cat paws, rainbow horses that looked like robots, and ever the clanging of clocks echoed our steps.

  I walked through the golden gates, hoping my answers would lie inside Clock City with The Keeper.

  Chapter Three: Sebastian Cross

  CLOCK CITY WAS LIKE walking back in time, and not some run of the mill re-enactment camp, either. Just like the wild west and some old black and white movie that played long after my father had passed out for the night, there were squat buildings lining the streets most with hand carved wooden signs. I gaped at the signs for bars, hotels, and tailors. Bronzed batwings served as doors for most of them.

  The owners of the shops were just as old-fashioned. Up ahead, tin plates with their titles above solid metal doors displayed a shoe and a loaf of bread. The buildings around us were old-fashioned. Some of them even had roofs made of thatch or hay. Above the doorway of each one was a clock of varying shapes, sizes, and colors, though none as big as the ones on the city walls.

  The roads were all cobblestone, with some brick mixed here and there, and the sidewalks were made of a shiny concrete. It was gray and dazzled in the sun. And the pink glare from the sun on everything. I felt like I had rose-colored glasses on, and it was weird.

  Poor Dinga. For how much he scared me, he struggled to keep up with the knight’s fast pace, hopping on one leg. The knight pushed some travelers out of the way, and the milling townspeople started to clear a path, much to my embarrassment.

  I was keenly aware that my arms still bore the scars of my father’s beating, and fairly sure the cut under my eye hadn’t healed when I’d been transported here. I felt my cheeks heat. Some queen I was. I must have looked like I’d been through the wringer a few times.

  No one seemed to notice, though. They all gazed at us like I was some savior on a donkey. A few gasped and covered their faces with lace-gloved hands. The men lifted canes and adjusted monocles at us. Once we’d gone past a few store fronts, the crowds started to officially part. A few vendors and business owners peeked behind lace curtains. I held my head high. If they thought I was the queen, so be it. Didn’t matter I looked like some rag-tag orphan.

  I noticed how different everyone was dressed, and I realized how I might stand out in jeans and a crop top, but somehow, that didn’t seem to matter to any of them.

  I finally gawked at, I mean, got a good look at, ladies decked in fine skirts as they exited the seamstress, wearing flowing purple or green gowns trimmed in gold with hems touching the street.

  A group of women stood on the other side of the street, laden with packages, wearing brown cotton skirts and jackets studded with the wheels and cogs which adorned everything. They looked like versions of Victorian ladies straight from a Jane Eyre novel with the high waists and embroidered hems.

  The men were dressed just as weird. A few men stood outside the shoemaker with brown paper bundles under their arms, smoking cigars and grasping steel canes. They looked like gentlemen I’d seen in old movies, but these men had nothing on those grainy films. In comparison, they were human peacocks to the dingy monochrome I was used to. They boasted bright yellow and red vests, long indigo velvet jackets, and smooth pants that ended in over-the-knee black riding boots. Two of the men’s boots had bronze buttons up the sides which looked quite dapper.

  I spotted a younger man standing to the side, who looked about my age. He had pair of bronze goggles atop his head, barely visible among a mop of wiry brown hair. They weren’t like any type of diving goggles I’d ever seen, with wide, elongated eyes, a magnifying glass attached to the left socket, and a leather strap with bronze studs.

  He stopped mid-conversation with the man in the yellow vest and turned to look at me. His eyes were wide and brown, with thick lashes closed perfectly against his pink cheeks. Our eyes met, and I smiled but looked down. I felt heat rising to my cheeks.

  I turned away, concentrating on the knight in front of me. How strange he had been, but also so handsome!

  I nudged Dinga. “What is with the goggles?”

  “What are ‘goggles’?” He shrugged his small shoulders at the new word.

  “That boy, with the brown hair, has them on his head.”

  Dinga stared for a minute. “I don’t know, I’ll go ask.”

  “Dinga, wait, it’s—" Oh, he was already bounding over.

  He looked surprised to see a Dinga heading toward him, and maybe a little scared.

  Who wouldn’t be, if a purple and blue monster less than three feet tall, ran up to your leg and started to ask you random questions?

  And honestly, what the heck was wrong with me? This was far from gucci at this point. I should be scared of Dinga, but he was so nice. And a little sweet.

  Wait, really?

  I’d been here like two hours and already I was fine with monsters. What’s up with that?

  I mean for real, he hadn’t eaten me or whatever, so it was probably fine. Jesus, I was really losing my mind. Shaking my head, I watched Digna hopping towards the boy. They were too far for me to hear what they were saying, but Dinga was smiling—much to the boy’s horror, I imagined—and then he smiled and nodded. Dinga grabbed his hand and began to drag him over.

  The knight stopped, and I nearly skidded into him.

  Oh, no. They were not coming over here. This could not be happening!

  The knight was the first to react. Palm up, he announced, “How dare you approach the queen without her express request?”

  I waved my hand, hoping it was haughty enough. “I sent my servant for him.”

  Dinga stood between us. The boy shifted his weight from foot to foot, his boots clicking lightly on the road. He dipped his head and I waited. Waited? More like, couldn’t breathe.

  “Your Majesty.”

  I tried to nod, all regal like, but inside I was melting like a
stupid girl. I cleared my throat. “What is your name, uh, squire?” Isn’t that what they were or whatever?

  “Sebastian,” he kept his head low, pointedly looking at the ground.

  “What do you do, Sebastian?” I tried correcting myself and stumbled over the words, “I mean, in your free time.” I felt myself blush harder. I was really screwing this up.

  His head shot up and I saw confusion flash across his face, before he looked down again. “Your Majesty, I don’t understand?”

  His voice was light and a little comical. I couldn’t help but grin.

  I felt like he was ridiculing me for a minute, then Dinga interrupted. “She wants to know about those things on your head.” He pointed.

  Sebastian finally met my gaze. His eyes were a deep chocolate, smooth and sweet. He reached up and pulled the goggles over his eyes.

  I was dismayed he hid his eyes from me.

  He bowed deeply and curtsied with his hand flourishing out in front of him. “Your Majesty, I am Sebastian Cross. Inventor extraordinaire.”

  Inventor, huh? Like, what? “And what sort of things do you invent?”

  “Many things. Electronic horses...”

  Sweet! Already interested.

  “...I’m sure you saw some on the way in,” he continued. “Also, a steam horse that has wheels instead of legs...” I opened my mouth to say something, but he interrupted. “Would you like to see?”

  “Your Majesty,” the knight behind me spoke quietly, but the urgency in his voice was unmistakable. “We must get you to the palace.”

  Dinga was hopping up and down again. “Yes, my queen, we must see such amazing things!”

  I bit my lip. I wanted to know more about this beautiful boy with big brown eyes. But I had to get to the palace first. I had to figure out what was going on.

  “It was very nice to meet you, but maybe another time Sebastian.” I paused, hoping he wouldn’t say anything else.

  He offered a curt nod and stepped back as we continued into the city.

  “Well, he was must pleased,” Dinga said. “Even if a little strange.”