Clock City

by Rebekah Dodson

  “How so?”

  “No other Biggies would dare approach you, my queen,” Dinga replied, keeping his voice low. “But this one, when I asked him if he wanted to meet you, he was very interested. Fearless and brave is he.”

  Brave? He did meet my eye, and he bowed to me, who was supposed to be the queen. Yes, maybe Dinga was right. “Hmm,” I mused, “maybe we shall see him again.”

  Dinga shrugged. “You’re the queen. You can make it so.”

  The thought of having the power to make people do anything was so far out of my grasp I let the comment slide by without responding. I had no control over anything—my mother’s death, my father’s abuse, or the filthy shack we lived in. The school I skipped just to avoid the pity, looks, and comments. Everything back home was a nightmare while here seemed to be a dream. Which one would I awaken from first?

  We walked on, the cobblestone stretching in front of us with no end in sight. I didn’t know how much further we had to go, the street stretched for what seemed like miles, eventually opening into a large courtyard. Beyond that the black piston rose and fell, the clanging echoing occasionally. The noise alone a constant reminder this couldn’t be a dream. It was real.

  We passed a bakery, or so the sign said. Bailia’s was etched into the wooden plaque by the door. There were bronzed tables and chairs in front, all occupied by women in the same Victorian dresses and men in sharp suits. A couple at one table shared a bite of a large black cake adorned as oddly as the clothing here, their smiling faces full of joy.

  She wore a light brown dress, him a matching vest and jacket. Despite their drab clothes, they wore more jewelry than I had seen in one place. She had rings covering her ear and at least seven necklaces of varying silver around her neck. A pair of circular glasses with yellow lenses was propped on her slim, pointed nose. Likewise, he wore a ring on every finger, several gold chains around his neck, and almost identical glasses.

  I wondered what Sebastian would look like with glasses and my heart skipped a little.

  Don’t be dumb, Alayna, sheesh.

  From purple gowns to yellow vests and brown shirts I had seen every color of the rainbow on these people. And always they looked like sophisticated engineers. It was as if they had stepped out of the inner workings of a machine, or clock, perfectly immaculate and keenly dressed.

  And, clocks were everywhere. Yet no one seemed to be in a hurry.

  Dinga was just as awed as I was.

  I looked down at my little companion, who was nearly hopping to keep up with the knight’s long strides.

  “My queen,” Dinga whispered. “It’s marvelous, isn’t it?”

  “It is,” I agreed. It was like nothing I’d seen before.

  “I wonder if the palace is as grand as the stories say,” he idly played with the pouch at his waist and looked from one side of the street to the other.

  I forced a smile. I hoped so too. I fought back an overwhelming wave of homesickness.

  This was all too much to take in. I pressed a hand to my temples, feeling the pressure build there. I thought about Sebastian, his goggles, his contraptions. What was a steam horse with no legs? I very much wanted to see it. Maybe I could get to the palace, talk to this Keeper, and be showed to my rooms. I was sure they would be filled with luxury. I could send for Sebastian and finally have a friend. Someone to pass the time while this Keeper figured out how to get me back.

  Yes, the Keeper would understand. I smiled and looked around me again.

  There were a few taller buildings I had mistaken for high rises from outside the city. As we strolled past them, I realized they were only about three stories tall. Most of them were shoved between shorter houses, but a few were free standing. They seemed to be apartments of a sort.

  A woman in a dirty white shirt and torn black skirt sat in the windowsill of one of the lower levels, silently watching as we passed. I could hear her turn and spit as we walked by, but she said nothing.

  After seeing such finery and nearly running into the heights of poverty, I began to wonder about this city. Who were the ladies that pranced around in yards of fabric, and how did they not see these starving people on the side of the street?

  Seeing the upper crust society of this city was so oblivious to the poverty was really pissing me off. I saw in them the faces of Mrs. Smithe and her soccer mom groupies. Instead of bouncing curls, they had blonde ponytails. Instead of rosy cheeks, they had perfect make up. Instead of flowing skirts and petticoats, they had yoga pants and tight sweatshirts.

  Their faces twisted into the thing I hated most.

  Each one of them with a look of judgment and disdain. They all had the willful overlook of people beneath them, the purposeful ignorance of the less fortunate.

  Yet one thought bothered me: everyone I had seen was my age, or older.

  There were no children.

  What in the world was going on?

  A shiver ran down my spine. Something was deadly wrong here.

  My fists balled at my side as we continued our trek through the open city center, past a fountain easily fifteen feet high. The calm splash of the water did nothing to chill my blood. I could feel the heat rising to my cheeks. This city was grand, but it was far from perfect.

  Dinga must have noticed my discomfort, “I think we near the palace and there you can rest.”

  I let him think the walk to the palace steps was a hard one. It was easier than explaining how I felt. Could I even explain it? How could I even ask where the children were?

  A boom as loud as a shotgun blasted somewhere behind us. I hugged my palms to my ears and fell to my knees, thoughtlessly. My body shook and all I could see was the shotgun leveled at me. My daddy’s slurred screaming. I think I was rocking; the world slipped away.

  Cool metal slipped under my arms and hoisted me to my feet, then slipped under my knees when I wobbled in the direction of the cobblestone sidewalk. The knight had one plated hand under my neck; the other supporting my shaking legs.

  Dinga hopped on one leg and pointed behind us. “Look, mistress!”

  I craned my head against the hard metal of the knight’s armor, and saw a contraption barreling into the square. It looked like one the carriages I’d seen at the gate, but instead of a horse smoking gears which resembled the inside of Daddy’s old Chevy were exposed. It clunked and churned with a deafening squeal.

  The knight carried me under the eave of a store with Dinga hopping behind.

  The contraption smoked horribly from both ends, the dark gray polluting plumes rising to the sky. This had to be that Sebastian boy’s “steam horse.” Sure enough, I spotted his brown hair flying in the wind, perched atop the black leather lined carriage. He had those goggles pulled over his eyes and was looking straight ahead.

  He was shouting something, his black gloved hand motioning people out of the way, as pedestrians dodged from the thundering machine. The knight shook his head, muttering, “Fool. The Keeper will have his head for riding that monster around the city!”

  I covered my ears again as it rolled by. He turned toward me and waved. With one hand he pulled the goggles back, and I caught his wink. “For you, my queen!” he screamed, though over the roar of the engine it was barely audible. His eyes left the road for too long, and he nearly collided with the fountain in the square. The noisy, billowing monstrosity careened around people and structures alike and took off down the white road toward the palace. The smoke rolled over us.

  Choking and couching, I frowned after Sebastian. An old-fashioned city of luxury that time forgot, and Sebastian had made a car. A car, here!

  Dinga tugged on my pant leg. “Mistress, was it on fire? I don’t much like the fire!” He was in a crouching position, his arms wrapped around him.

  “Are you all right, my queen?” The knight looked down at me. His blue eyes were soft, I noticed. “Can you stand? I am sorry that fool caused you fear, milady. I will see he is duly punished.”

  I shook my head and he sat me down
, his gauntlets hard and cold against my waist as he steadied me. “It’s really okay. It seems like an interesting invention. What was that thing?”

  “Gerard over there calls it an ‘Iron Horse’,” he indicated one of the other knights who stood silent guard beside us. “Instead of horses, it runs on steam, using the gears from broken mining parts, just like that fool told us. I can’t believe he actually brought it out in public.”

  “It’s a car,” I murmured, realizing too late they had heard me.

  “A car?” He looked at me quizzically.

  Dinga looked equally curious.

  “Never mind,” I waved his question off. “I’m anxious to meet the Keeper, can we get on with it?” My voice was cold, but my insides were jelly. I wish I knew why Sebastian made me feel this way. I hoped he was okay.

  The knight shook his head, and I swear he laughed, just a little.

  Dinga smiled widely, his tongue hanging to one side.

  I wondered why it never cut on those shark-like teeth.

  “Ahead, milady,” he pointed past the fountain, “is your home.”

  I didn’t know about that.

  Chapter Four: Timekeeper

  THE STAIRS TO THE PALACE gates weren’t for the faint of heart. The metallic gray steps shone with a blinding reflection as we approached them. The knights with us took position at either side of the bottom step, their pointed bronze spears held glinting in the crimson sunlight. They were unmoving and resolute, and only suffered a brief nod to my escort as we moved past them to the first step.

  Dinga jumped excitedly from step to step as we climbed, though I knew the knights must be having a harder time than I, with all that armor. However, they never complained as their plate boots clanging on the polished stairs.

  “Queen,” Dinga said, his satchel flying with his excitement. “Who is the Keeper? Is he a nice Biggie, mistress?”

  “I’m sure he is,” I really hoped it was the truth.

  “He is the ruler of the land, ever since your sickness, Your Majesty,” the knight spoke, his voice gruff. “He is fair when he needs to be.”

  The last bit was stilted, almost practiced. Like he was preparing for a play.

  I didn’t like the sound of that. My plan suddenly had holes. What if the Keeper wouldn’t help? I shook my head, throwing that thought out of my head. Of course, he would. Leaders were always good and kind. Right? Like the wizard at the Emerald City, right?

  The doors to the palace were wooden. I half expected them to be golden or bronze, like the rest of the town. A clock to rival the ones on the city’s outer walls was mounted to the top, and it clanged to the second cog from the noon position.

  I marveled at the time. Back home, the sun would just be setting behind the dilapidated trailer I called home, with the pointed mountain boundaries looming in the distance. Here, it was still bright overhead. Time must flow slower here, or they had longer days. I made a note to ask Dinga which one was true. It he even knew. I found myself idly thinking of Sebastian again. I wondered if I’d see him again, but I guessed not. I had to get home after all, right?

  And why did I have to get home? What was there for me in Texas, anyway? A shitty house and a drunkard cop for a father?

  If this queen thing panned out, I just might be set. Screw getting back to Texas. This dagger might just be the best thing I’ve ever found.

  The door opened with great effort, and two men in vest suits stood behind them. About a dozen ladies in long black gowns curtsied when they saw me, their eyes at the floor. “Your Majesty,” they murmured as they bowed.

  I did not miss their widened eyes, their looks of panic. As the knight motioned us to a grand golden trimmed balcony with crimson carpets, I noticed the maid on the end was shaking slightly. I frowned. Why did they seem so terrified?

  At the top of the staircase, another doorway awaited us, which the knight opened himself. The room was massive with polished wood floors and eight windows taller than me on each wall. From the windows hung drapes of thick black material, hiding the glaring pink rays from the room. The room was lit by creepy gas lamps, each caged in iron grids, which hung between each window. A black carpet with silver edges cut through the middle of the room, ending on a dais set three steps above the rest of the floor.

  The far end held a throne. A real throne meant for a great king or queen.

  It was short and modest, but every inch was silver. Even the wheels that decorated the sides were silver. Black cushions and pillows adorned it, all made of varying widths of lace. It was elegant, but it was lonely.

  “What is this interruption?” His voice boomed across the room, loud and clear.

  All thought of being saved by the stranger, this Keeper, fled. Crap, crap, crap. This wasn’t the voice of a savior. It was the villain.

  It seemed I’d met my very own queen of hearts.

  I couldn’t stop my legs from wobbling and resisted reaching out to the silver knight for support. The man’s — was it a man, truly? — back was to us as he surveyed the town from one of the bay windows. When he turned, I gasped.

  The fabric of his overcoat shimmered like the sands of the sea at midnight as time moved on. But it wasn’t shimmery or iridescent; rather, it was fluid, like sand in an hourglass. The three buttons securing the flap of the jacket appeared to move like the fine-tuned precision gears of a tiny mechanism, and to my alarm a tiny ticking sound filled the empty throne room.

  The heart shaped pendant, a watch perhaps, ticked rhythmically above his heart. I marveled at such a character, frozen where I stood. His long jacket swirled around his legs, and the black cane clacked on the tiles as he moved away. It was odd, I didn’t see him take any steps; it was as if he floated to us.

  Frozen.

  I couldn’t move.

  I opened my mouth to scream but I couldn’t. I tried to look at the knight, or down at Dinga, but couldn’t move my head. My throat tightened and when I tried to grasp as it I couldn’t. My hands were frozen to my side.

  He whirled then, spinning so rapidly my head swam. He was taller than the knight, who already had a foot on me. His hair was dark as midnight and plastered firmly to his narrow head. His brown eye firmly locked on me as he floated even closer to us. Yes, eye. He only had one, at least as far as I could see. The other was a one-eyed goggle, a monocle of sorts, with an orange lens at the end. The only sound in the room was the crisp clank and spin as the scope extended, examining us it seemed, as if the appearance of a knight, a girl, and a demon was an everyday occurrence. He dressed much like the town’s people; but instead of yellows and browns, he decked was in shades of purple.

  Shimmering, translucent purple.

  Royalty.

  He was an inch away from my face now, and the smell of putrid garbage, or maybe the last time my mom had forgotten to throw away leftovers, filled my nostrils.

  You look like her, his voice filled my mind, but his lips never moved. He reached to his waist and pulled out a clock, swinging it next to my right cheek. Why do you look like her?

  I couldn’t shake my head. I couldn’t cry, scream, or run away. I was frozen where I stood.

  "Parker H. Whipple, at your service." He bowed with a sweeping flourish. Straightening, he gave an off salute. "But you, my dear, may call me the Timekeeper." He winked.

  The sparse light through the darkened shades glinted off the heart shaped locket around his neck. It wasn't like any of the pocket watches he was covered with. I could tell it was special. I wondered why.

  Tick, tick, tick. Besides the clanking of his monocle-goggle thing, the ticking was deafening as it filled the room.

  Clocks decorated nearly every inch of his vest. One pinned to his jacket, and one hung on a gold chain inside his vest. A few even dangled haphazardly from his top hat. Some were yellow, two were lime green, and the rest were gold, or at least, some kind of brilliant bronze.

  Unlike all the other clocks in town that ran on a mystical unified time, his were set to different times
. A few had no hands at all and were just the face with an odd array of different cogs.

  He snapped his fingers and I finally had control of my legs. I stepped back, nearly collapsing into the knight. He caught me and helped steady me on my feet.

  "Who are you?" I squeaked.

  “Who are you?” he repeated, mimicking my voice.

  I flinched as his cane rose.

  “Who is she?” He poked me lightly in the chest with the silver tip.

  Dinga turned and positioned himself in front of me. “How dare you touch the good Queen Lydia the sixteenth, Queen of Clock City and the Four Realms?”

  I started at that. Lydia was my—

  The Keeper shrieked, waving his cane toward Dinga. “And who allowed that thing into my throne room?”

  “Milord, this is certainly Queen Lydia. I know her when I see her. I have served all the years of her life, and her father before that.” The knight gently pushed Dinga aside. “And this is her Zespar companion, Dinga.”

  My eyes shot up to the knight’s face, and my back straightened. The crumpled car, the broken windshield, the flurry of funeral directors and torn tissues pushed into my small hands, flooded my vision. It still pricked tears to my eyes. My mother had been dead for five years and was buried in the cemetery by the church. Surely, this queen shared a name with my mother and it was no coincidence. Or was it?

  “I’ll do what I please, my lord knight.” The floor reverberated as the toll of his cane against the tiles echoed in the grand hall. “Have you seen the fish? I do believe I will have fish for dinner.”

  Before I could puzzle over his odd statement, he continued:

  “And this cannot be the queen. There is just no logical way she stands before me. Not Lydia. Not my Lydia, of course.”

  “And why is that, milord?”

  “The queen is dead.”

  “Dead?” The knight did not hide his astonishment. “How can that be?”

  The Keeper did not answer him. He clicked his cane on the floor three times, and a small servant dashed into the room, took one look at the Keeper, and dashed away.