by Tara Sim
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.
Once inside, Colton leaned against the wall to steady himself and released a small sound of relief. The clock began to run smoothly again, and the distressed time fibers settled around them, smooth and interlocking.
Colton turned the small cog over in his fingers, then returned it to Danny. “I’m sorry,” he said before Danny could break the silence. “I know I shouldn’t behave like that around him. I can’t help it.”
Danny took Colton’s hand. He’d desperately wanted to hold it in the factory, but there had been too many people.
“It’s just …” Colton’s eyes were narrowed in pain. “I can’t help but feel you should be with him, not me.”
This again. “And I’ve already told you: I don’t want him. I want you.”
“But look at what happens.” Colton gestured up toward the clock. “I’m—”
“A clock spirit, yes. After all I’ve gone through to be here with you now, you really think that’s going to stop me?”
Colton ran a hand up and down Danny’s chest, trailing over the V of his waistcoat. “I feel like, sometimes, what we want and what’s right are two separate things. Do you ever feel that way?”
Danny took Colton’s face in his hands, thumbs brushing against his jaw. “No. Things are fine the way they are. We’re doing what’s right for us, and that’s enough.”
Or so he kept telling himself. Maybe this was how Prometheus would have felt, had he not been punished for his crime—this lingering guilt, this slow-burning sense that something would become undone.
They stayed quiet a moment, listening to the ticks and tocks of the clock above their heads. Danny suspected that it really did match the tempo of his heartbeat, pumping beneath Colton’s hand. A heart of metal and a heart of flesh. Water and lightning, separated by different currents, like the power generated in the factory. Together, they formed some idea of unity.
Danny wondered, sometimes, if that was enough.
The call came the next day. Danny had just eaten breakfast when he was summoned to the mayor’s office. He hoped to hear his mother or father on the other end of the line, but the knot twisting in his stomach tightened when he was greeted by the Lead Mechanic’s voice.
“Daniel, I need you to come to London today.”
Danny swallowed hard. “Yes, sir. I can be there in a couple of hours.”
Daphne had been right.
He headed straight for Colton Tower. Colton didn’t look surprised; he must have been watching Danny in the telephone booth. Danny wasn’t sure he would ever get used to that ability.
“The Lead probably wants to ask me about my experience with exploding towers,” Danny said. “I’m sure it won’t take too long.”
“Will you spend the night?”
“I might. But I’ll be back tomorrow.”
Since Colton still seemed on edge, Danny gave him a lingering kiss. The spirit wrapped his arms around him, one hand protectively caressing the back of Danny’s neck. He shivered and couldn’t help gasping slightly against Colton’s mouth. Colton’s lips curved up in a smile, his own private way of making sure Danny would return.
The drive to London was filled with conflicting emotions: anxiety over what the Lead wanted from him, anticipation of being involved in something momentous, and residual excitement from Colton’s kiss. By the time he pulled up to the Mechanics Affairs building opposite Parliament, the knot in his stomach had retied itself tighter than before.
Danny glanced at Big Ben, the gleaming, golden clock tower that presided over London. Time in the city was thriving, the fibers strong and powerful. He tried to imagine the tower exploding and London’s time unaffected by the loss. It was too eerie to contemplate, so he hurried inside and up the stairs.
The secretary showed him in. The Lead Mechanic’s office was spacious, done up in sophisticated, dark colors, though a large window behind the desk let in enough sunshine to give it warmth. At first all he saw was the Lead himself, a stocky man with a receding hairline and a face that could change from stern to amiable in a blink. At the moment, he simply looked tired.
Danny paused when he saw the other figure in the office, standing behind one of the chairs. Daphne turned her head and gave him an “I told you so” look.
“Both of you, please sit.” The Lead leaned back as they followed the order. “You may be wondering why I called you here this morning. Given the last time I summoned you here, I’m sure you can hazard a guess.”
Danny and Daphne shared a look. They’d sat before this desk after the Dover tower attack, when Daphne had been injured. The room had been charged with anger and accusation then. Now, Danny actually felt some sort of alliance with her.
“Another clock tower fell,” Daphne deduced.
The Lead nodded once. “In Khurja. It’s a small Indian town north of Agra.”
“And it’s not Stopped?” Danny guessed. Another nod.
“The tower is destroyed, and time is—” The Lead broke off coughing, as if the word refused to leave his throat. “Time is … stable.”
The words hung heavily in the air. Nothing like this had happened in the entire history of the clock towers. Since the god of time, Aetas, had died hundreds of years ago, time could not progress without them. Or so the story went.
“But, sir,” Danny said, “what about Maldon? And Enfield? And the other Stopped towns around the world? Those towers malfunctioned, and time was effected. Why wouldn’t India’s clock towers operate the same way?”
“Explosives were found at the sites of the towers,” the Lead said, “but I doubt that’s the whole of it. The clocks aren’t simply falling and restoring time. Something else, or someone else, is making it happen.” The man hesitated, glancing at Danny. “Matthias has been questioned. He didn’t know anything. We, of course, can’t entirely rule out his involvement, but I don’t believe this is his work. His style and that of the current bombers seem quite different.”
“But why India?” Daphne asked, a small furrow forming between her eyebrows.
“That, we do not know. I’ve asked you both here not to engage in conjecture, but to get answers. You are two well-qualified mechanics who have directly witnessed attacks on towers. Never mind your … past conduct,” he ended in a near mumble.
“What about Tom and George?” Danny asked. The two senior mechanics had survived the destruction of the new Maldon clock tower last year. The third mechanic on that assignment, Lucas Wakefield, had not been so lucky.
“I’ve already asked them, and they chose not to participate. They’re about to retire, and I don’t blame them. The new Maldon tower put too much strain on them.”
Danny stared at the Lead’s desk. His breaths came faster, waiting for what would surely come next.
“So,” the Lead continued, picking up two files, “I am extending the offer to the pair of you.”
Daphne accepted one of the folders. Taking the other one, Danny opened it to a picture of military barracks surrounded by palm trees and scrub, a large white building in the distance.
“Agra?” Daphne asked, looking up.
“Yes. There’s a cantonment where you can stay while you investigate Khurja. I already have a couple mechanics in Rath, and there are others in the south. Still, I would like you to go.”
Daphne paled. She had predicted the Lead sending Danny to India, all right; but he suspected she hadn’t considered the Lead would ask her to go with him. After her involvement in Matthias’s plans and taking Colton’s central cog, she’d had to earn back the Lead’s trust. It seemed she was finally back in his good graces.
Danny wondered, too, if her reaction had anythi
ng to do with her father.
“You have every right to turn the assignment down, of course,” the Lead said gently. “There is some risk involved, what with the recent reports of riots. I wouldn’t expect the investigation to be easy—”
“Yes,” Daphne blurted, her pallor deepening to a flush. “Yes, I want to go.”
The Lead smiled wearily. “I’m glad to hear it. You’ll find all the details for the trip in that file.” He turned to Danny, who sat as if turned to one of Westminster Abbey’s gargoyles. “And you, Daniel?”
Danny felt their eager eyes on him. His heart beat hard, and his chest was sore. This was a once-in-a-lifetime assignment, and he knew it.
He thought about the atlas he sometimes showed Colton, the flat depiction of the places he wanted to go, but probably never would. He thought of Colton trapped in his tower, unable to travel the world he longed to see. He thought of that morning’s kiss, his north star guiding him home.
And then he thought of the Enfield clock malfunctioning. Because of him. Because of what he made Colton feel.
I’m sorry, Colton.
“Yes,” he whispered, the decision settling heavily across his shoulders. “I’ll go.”
The others released their breaths.
“Very well,” the Lead said. “You’ll depart on Monday.”
His parents sat staring at the papers on the kitchen table like they would rear up and attack at any moment. Danny had slid the file containing information about his trip across the wooden surface to them: Agra, lifestyle at the cantonment where he’d be staying, some words in an Indian language he’d butchered the pronunciations of. When he had finished, they’d entered this uneasy silence.
Danny fiddled with the small cog in his pocket. His father’s eyebrows were drawn together, but he wasn’t angry; Danny could tell because the small vein on his forehead was still. His mother’s lips, however, were pursed more tightly than usual.
“I already told the Lead I would go,” Danny said. “I’m not changing my mind.”
“But India?” Leila said, finally roused from her stupor. “Good Lord, who knows what you’ll find there! Highway robbers and snakes and cholera—”
“Pretty sure we have all those here,” Danny mumbled.
“He’s eighteen,” Christopher reminded her. “He can decide for himself.”
“But it’s absurd! The Lead Mechanic shouldn’t be putting his problems on the shoulders of a boy.”
“He’s not a boy,” Christopher argued. “He’s already a young man, and making a fine name for himself as a clock mechanic. At this rate, he has a good chance of being named Lead one day.”
Danny had forgotten how much he missed his father’s praise. Christopher saw his grateful expression and winked.
“It’ll only be a few weeks,” Danny assured his mother. “And there are a lot of soldiers in Agra. I’ll be safe.”
Leila opened her mouth at the same time the telephone rang in the hall. Seeing that his wife would not budge, Christopher rose to answer it. “Don’t harry our son until I get back.”
But as soon as they heard his “Hello?” from the other room, that’s exactly what she did. “Danny, this is ridiculous. I know this opportunity seems new and romantic, but you’ve just been through something harrowing.”
“That was months ago, Mum.”
“You still have nightmares.”
He winced. He’d forgotten that when he slept in his room upstairs, it was easy for his parents to hear him wake up screaming. Leila hadn’t mentioned it in the past. That she acknowledged it now was proof she was still trying to mend the cracks that had formed between them.
Last year, he would have traded anything for her concern. Now he wanted to be as far from it as possible.
“I can take care of myself,” he said to the tabletop.
“But it’s so very far away, and what if something happens? What if—” Her voice caught, and Danny had to look away. She had already faced unbearable loss when Christopher had been trapped in Maldon. He couldn’t blame her for fearing that she might go through it all again.
“I couldn’t bear it,” Leila whispered. “I couldn’t, Danny.”
“Mum,” he said, his voice softer, “I promise I’ll be all right.” He reached for her hand, and she seized it both of her own, clinging to it like she would drown if she didn’t keep hold. “There’ll be all sorts of people looking after us, and it won’t take long.”
Leila was quiet a moment. The low murmur of Christopher on the telephone drifted into the kitchen.
“What’ll happen to him if you’re gone?” she finally asked.
“Dad’s the one who says I should go.”
“I mean Colton.”
Danny frowned. “He’ll stay in his tower, of course. He’ll be fine.”
“But what will happen to him if something happens to you?”
Danny hadn’t given the scenario much thought, but he supposed his mother had a right to ask. When Matthias had been exiled from Maldon, the tower’s spirit had dismantled her clock, Stopping the town. Danny had once made Colton promise never to do the same.
“I really don’t think Colton would do what Evaline did.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“I just am.” He stood, frustrated. “I wish you’d stop being so suspicious of every little thing. If Colton promised he wouldn’t hurt himself or Enfield, then he won’t.”
Leila rose, color staining her cheeks. “I’m trying to be practical. I’m sure Matthias never expected Evaline to act as she did.”
“Evaline isn’t Colton! How can you stand there and accuse him of things he hasn’t even done? Why are you being this way?”
“Because you’re in love with a bloody clock spirit!”
The air suddenly shifted, and mother and son stood staring at each other, accusation turning to apprehension. They turned slowly to the kitchen door, where Christopher stood. He looked between them, confused.
“What?” When there was no answer, he stepped into the kitchen. “What did you say?”
“Christopher …” Leila glanced at Danny, eyes wide. “What you heard …”
“You said he’s in love with a clock spirit. Danny?” Christopher looked to him, but Danny couldn’t meet his eyes. “Is this true?”
Danny remained silent. He didn’t know what he could possibly say to erase his mother’s blurted words, painted on the kitchen walls for anyone to read. He began to shake, one hand clutching his stomach. A foundation had formed at the base of his lungs over the last few months, a steadying mixture of routine and contentment as he built his life in Enfield, as he learned at last to breathe. Now that foundation began to crumble, and he struggled for air.
“It’s that boy spirit,” Christopher murmured to himself. “The one in Enfield.”
“Christopher, wait,” Leila said. “You have to know the whole story before—”
“What were you thinking?” he demanded, the vein on his forehead jumping. “You know full well that kind of relationship is forbidden. And after what happened with Matthias!”
“Dad, please don’t report me.” Danny cringed at the sound of his own voice, helpless and young.
Christopher clenched and unclenched his hands as he considered the situation. “If you weren’t my son, I most certainly would. But I want you to have a promising career. To not end up like he did. You’ll leave Enfield when you return from India.”
Leila clasped her hands together, tight enough for her knuckles to turn white. “Christopher, please just listen. Danny would never—”
“I’m not worried about him. But you can’t predict what clock spirits will do. They’re not human, and they don’t think like we do.”
Danny still couldn’t get a full breath. Christopher noticed and tried to calm himself. “Danny, please tell me you understand. It’s not right.”
“You just said he’s a young man who could make his own choices,” Leila reminded him, the hypocrisy of her words lost on her
.
“This is different. Danny, tell me you understand. You know why you must leave Enfield.”
Danny couldn’t get a breath.
“Danny. Ticker, please.”
Couldn’t—
“Daniel!”
Danny grabbed the file with all its loose papers and ran for the door. His parents shouted after him, but they might as well have been calling from the top of some distant mountain. He hurried to his auto, slammed the door, and started the engine with shaking hands.
“Shit, shit, shit,” he kept whispering as the auto jerked into motion and he sped down the street. “Shit.”
He hadn’t wanted the truth to come out this way. He’d wanted his father to meet Colton, to like him, see that his friendship with Danny was beneficial. Then Danny would have explained everything. But now his father would never see them as anything but another possible Maldon.
Wouldn’t see Danny as anything but another possible Matthias.
Danny pulled the auto over and rubbed a sleeve over his eyes, shoulders shaking under the weight of his suppressed sobs. He took a minute to gather himself, choking over his own breaths, tangled in the thorny vines of panic and guilt.
When he was calmer, he slipped out of the driver’s seat and walked toward a house with a green door, picked up a few pebbles, and tossed them at the window on the second story. He’d done this so many times before that he hardly ever missed. After a couple of taps, Cassie’s face peered out. She waved and disappeared.
He leaned against his new auto as Cassie trotted out to meet him. Her smile faded when she got a good look at his face.
“What’s happened?”
Danny told her everything. About Colton, India, his father. By the time he finished, his voice was low and flat, as though all his emotions had leaked out of him like air from a tire.
Cassie had raised a hand to her throat, but now she reached out to touch his arm. “Dan, I’m so sorry.”
“I couldn’t even stay to pack my things. Most of my stuff’s in Enfield anyway, but”— he cleared his throat—“I couldn’t stay.”
Cassie’s blue eyes were fixed on one of his waistcoat buttons. “You’re really going to India, then?”