by Tara Sim
A few soldiers and sepoys stepped out of the autos. Daphne saw Partha run up and grab Harris’s arm, leaning in to say something quietly in his ear. Harris replied, then gripped his forearm tightly. Something raw passed between them, stark relief and trepidation.
Daphne scanned the rest of the convoy. Heart pounding, she returned to the siblings and touched Meena’s arm. She looked up, eyelashes spiked with tears.
“Meena,” Daphne whispered as her throat tightened, “where’s Danny?”
The girl let out a faint sob, pressing the back of her hand to her mouth. When Akash reached out to hold her, she pushed him away.
“When I woke,” she said, “I was on the ground, and the tower … Aditi’s tower … it was broken. So broken. Everything was—fire and stones and—such a terrible sound.”
“But Danny,” Daphne said louder, dread rising like water in her lungs, drowning her. “Where is Danny?”
“No one could find him. When the captain came … he was gone.” Meena held back another sob. “He’s gone.”
Adull ache traveled from Danny’s forehead to the back of his skull. He groaned, but didn’t open his eyes yet. He was still drifting, weightless, hardly existing save for the ache in his head.
Eventually something penetrated the thick shell of his un-consciousness: a sound like bees droning.
Danny slowly opened his eyes. He had to blink several times, the light sharpening the dull ache into a stabbing pain. He groaned again and rubbed his face. At least he was lying in a bed.
That made him sit up with a jerk. Bed?
Holding his head as it rang with a fresh peal of pain, he took in his surroundings. Yes, he was definitely lying in a bed in the middle of a stark room, facing a closed metallic door. To his left was a round window, the source of that nearly blinding light.
Dizzy, he tried to think back. He had been walking with Meena. They were going to Aditi’s tower. Then—
“The tower fell,” he whispered to his clammy palms.
His body was battered, his limbs stiff and sore, but he had to find out what had happened.
Biting back curses, Danny moved to the edge of the bed. His clothes had been replaced by a nightshirt that came down to his knees. There was no sign of his belongings.
The cog, he thought frantically.
He lurched to his feet, then promptly stumbled into the wall. Inching his way to the door on unsteady legs, he fought off the darkness creeping across his vision. He needed answers. Where was Meena? Why wasn’t he back at the cantonment? What had happened to Aditi?
Danny yanked at the knob with both hands. The door remained firmly shut. He was locked in.
“Hey!” His voice broke with fatigue. He banged on the door. “Hey, let me out!”
There was no answer. Danny stepped back and stared at the metal surface, shivering. He hugged the nightshirt closer to his body.
The window—he could at least try to figure out where they were. He stumbled toward it, eyes squinting in the sun’s glare.
He expected to see palm trees and buildings.
Not the vast, chilling expanse of a cloudless sky.
Danny stumbled back until he hit the side of the bed on his way to the floor.
An airship. A bloody airship.
A key rattled in the lock. Swinging his head around, Danny found himself staring at a young man not much older than himself, looking at Danny as if he’d all but expected to find him on the floor. He was tall with wide shoulders and a jaw shadowed with afternoon stubble, his light brown hair combed neatly above a smooth, high forehead.
“You’re awake,” he said in an English accent. “Good.”
“Wh-Who the hell are you?”
“We can have proper introductions later. First, I need to check your condition.”
“Don’t come near me!” Danny used the bed to scramble to his feet, nearly wrenching the sheets off in the attempt.
The young man raised his hands, still holding the brass key. “I don’t wish to hurt you.” As he came forward, Danny backed into the wall. Now he could see the stranger had gray eyes, so light they were almost silver.
“I just want to help,” the young man said, holding out a hand.
It was made of metal.
Something fluttered in his memory—a glimpse of metal underneath a sleeve torn by a bullet.
“You!” he gasped. “Don’t come any closer! Stay the hell away from me!”
“Daniel—”
Danny threw the sheets at him and darted past, veering woozily toward the door, but a large Indian man wearing a turban blocked his path. He grabbed Danny and pinned him to the floor.
“Don’t hurt him,” the young man ordered as he ripped the sheets away. “Liddy!”
Danny squirmed and bucked as a ginger-haired girl rushed inside and knelt beside them. The Sikh man held out Danny’s right arm, and she pushed the sleeve up. Danny couldn’t fathom why until he saw the glint of a needle in her hand.
He screamed and thrashed.
The girl named Liddy cursed. “Hold the bleeder still!”
The gray-eyed man crossed the room to help. Danny felt the needle slide into his vein and groaned through gritted teeth.
“This’ll knock him out,” Liddy said. “Sleep tight, mechanic.” He tried to take a swipe at her before the dizziness overtook him, but his hand barely left the floor.
He was out within seconds.
“Now, let’s try this again. Slowly this time.”
Danny was back in bed. His head felt as though someone had stuffed it with wool. He blinked his eyes open, calm and pain-free.
The light in the room was dimmer than it had been when he’d first awoken. The young man sat on a chair a couple feet from the bed, watching him. This would have ordinarily sent Danny into a panic, but still feeling the effects of the tranquilizer, he only noted the gray-eyed man’s presence with mild surprise.
Danny took his advice, sitting up slowly as blood pulsed against his temples. Leaning against the wall, he cast an eye over his captor.
“Who the hell are you?” he murmured.
“My name is Zavier.”
Danny waited a moment. “That’s it? You chase me across India and the only thing you can say is ‘My name is Zavier’?”
“Zavier Holmes, then, if that makes it better.”
“I’m fairly certain it doesn’t, no.”
The young man held up a finger. He went to the door and returned with a tray. “You’re going to be hungry in a minute or two. This conversation will be easier if you’ve eaten.”
He set the tray on the bed and Danny blearily studied the offerings. Toast with little dishes of butter and jam, hard-boiled eggs, slabs of bacon, and a cup that was covered with a napkin. He lifted the napkin and mercifully found tea.
“Trying to win me over, are you?” All the same, he picked up the cup and sipped carefully. The contents were lukewarm, but better than nothing. He hoped it would clear his mind; he didn’t like feeling so disconnected.
Zavier returned to his seat. “We don’t want to make this harder for you.”
Danny snorted weakly. “Threatening me with a gun, trying to abduct me, succeeding in abducting me, drugging me … Sorry, mate, but you’ve already made it rather difficult for me to trust you. A bit of toast and bacon won’t change that.”
“I didn’t intend it to. But after hearing what I have to say, I hope you’ll consider our side of things.”
“And what would that be, exactly?” But even as Danny said it, his mind began to whir back into motion. “You are the terrorists, aren’t you?”
Zavier flinched. “Please don’t call us that.”
“That’s what you are! You bastards have been destroying towers without even thinking of the consequences. What do you think—How can you even—?” His mind had started up too fast, and now it was stalling. Danny put the cup down and breathed deeply through his nose, eyes screwed up tight.
“If I promise to explain,” Zavier said,
“will you promise to listen?”
Danny opened his eyes to glare at him. “Why do you even want me to listen? What am I to you?”
Zavier scratched behind an ear using his metal hand. The likeness of the arm was good, but the fingers were vaguely skeletal. He used them to gesture at the breakfast tray. “Please, eat. This will be easier if you have some food in you.”
“I doubt it.” Still, Danny couldn’t ignore his light-headedness. He reached for a piece of toast.
“Listen, Daniel—”
“Danny,” he corrected, spreading butter over his toast before taking a bite.
“Danny,” Zavier tried again. “I understand my methods were extreme. But you have no idea how badly we need you right now. I may have been … overzealous.”
“You know,” Danny said after swallowing, “you could have—here’s a novel thought—asked.”
“Trust me,” Zavier said, “you wouldn’t have come if I’d asked. I had to find the right opportunities, which wasn’t easy. But we’ve been keeping an eye on you, to make sure you stayed safe.”
Danny barked a laugh. “Safe! Pointing a gun at me and trying to launch me out of a train? That’s safe to you?” He glanced at the young man, who didn’t look so sheepish anymore. “How’s the shoulder?”
Zavier lifted his eyebrows. “Healing. You choose your friends wisely, I will say that. I think I still have a lump where Miss Richards hit me.”
Danny put his mostly eaten toast down. “You know about Daphne?”
“Yes. We know about the events of Enfield last year, when Miss Richards stole the central cog from the tower and you brought the Enfield spirit to London. We know about the spirit, too. Colton, is it?”
A shard of cold fear stabbed Danny’s stomach. They eyed each other, both wondering who would crack first.
In the end, it was Danny. “How could you know about that?”
“We planted spies in London during the construction of the new Maldon tower, hoping to glean something from it. One of our contacts is a constable who overheard your confession when you and Miss Richards were brought in. We also know about Matthias, and how he was connected to Maldon and your father’s imprisonment there. And if you think we didn’t have people watching you in India, you’re sorely mistaken.”
Danny thought about the people he’d come to trust over the past few months. The things he had told them.
“How do you know about Colton?” Danny asked, his voice barely louder than a whisper.
“After the Enfield matter, we kept an eye on the town. You were seen with him a few times. The witness reports were enough to confirm what we suspected.” Zavier leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “It seems that you are in a very risky, very illegal relationship with the Enfield spirit. We can’t do anything about that, of course. It’s not our place. However, if you don’t agree to help us—”
The tray upended with a loud clatter as Danny launched out of bed and grabbed Zavier’s collar.
“Don’t you dare lay a hand on him,” Danny growled, twisting the cloth in his hands. “Don’t you dare touch him!”
Zavier’s eyes widened slightly, and he coughed against Danny’s knuckles. “We haven’t laid a finger on the spirit. Please, calm down.”
Danny stood there, panting, fingers so tight in the fabric of Zavier’s shirt that he couldn’t feel them tremble anymore. Slowly, he let go and tottered back to the bed, all his newfound energy spent.
“But you will if I don’t agree to help you.”
Zavier nodded, touching his throat. “Leverage.”
Danny rubbed his hands over his face. “What exactly do you want from me?”
“We know that something uncanny happened in Enfield on the day you stopped Matthias from harming the tower.” Zavier stood and began to pace the room. “From the reports, he’d taken possession of the tower’s central cog. And then, suddenly, you were reinstalling the cog in the tower. No one knows what happened between those two moments. Except for you.”
Danny’s mouth was dry, but he’d spilled the last of the tea, a spreading stain on the sheets that soaked the pallet underneath.
“I don’t mean to offend,” Zavier went on, “but I wouldn’t think someone like you could overcome a man like Matthias so easily. Did you have help? Did you trick him? No one seems to know.
“And here’s another curious thing: our contact also overheard a conversation between you and Miss Richards. Not the whole thing, but enough to be of interest to us. You told her that you had Stopped time. That you were able to control the fibers in Enfield, if only briefly.”
Zavier came to stand before Danny, who looked up wearily.
“How?” Zavier demanded.
Danny moved his hand to his hip, where the small cog would have rested in his pocket.
“You hold a secret that can influence not just the clock mechanics, but everyone on this earth,” Zavier said. “We need this information if we’re to succeed in our mission.”
“Which is?”
“To bring back time. To let it run freely. It will be difficult, but if you help us … If you tell us how you manipulated time in Enfield … Danny, this is a secret long since written out of history books. Our ancestors didn’t want us to know it, but we must if we’re to liberate ourselves from the towers.”
“Liberate? The clock towers aren’t our masters.”
“Oh yes they are. Without them, we can’t even function on the most basic level. They hold all the power in this world.”
“If you even knew how hard the spirits work—!”
“The spirits? They don’t have a care for what happens to us. Just take a look at your Enfield spirit, deliberately manipulating his tower again and again in order to get you permanently assigned there.”
Blood rushed to Danny’s face, bringing with it the uncomfortable heat of rage. “You know my answer already, and it’s not going to change. I’m not going to help you destroy towers.”
Zavier watched him a moment. Danny forced himself not to look away. Eventually, Zavier sighed and turned for the door.
“I’ll give you some time to think it over. Someone will change your sheets later.”
“Wait—!”
But the door was already closing. Danny heard the telltale scrape of the lock, once again shutting him inside his prison above the earth. He thought he was going to be sick. The drug’s aftereffects were making him woozy and nauseated, and he laid down for a few minutes, careful not to lie in the puddle of tea.
The nausea gradually gave way to the hunger Zavier had promised would come. Danny reached for a rasher of bacon that had landed near the foot of the bed. Nibbling on it, he wondered where the ship was flying over—trying not to think too hard about the “flying” part—and how he could possibly get back to Agra or Meerut.
Meerut. Aditi’s tower. Pain spread through his chest, and he turned to hide his face in the pallet. That poor spirit. To be so helplessly trapped in her tower, not knowing she was about to be wiped away forever …
Clenching his hands into fists, he took a shaky breath and got up. He walked to the door and knocked as loudly as he could.
“Can I have my clothes back, at least?”
It opened a moment later to admit a young man and woman, both around Zavier’s age. The woman was Indian, her wrists adorned with bangles, her long black hair falling loosely down her back. The man wore his brown hair nearly to his shoulders, and he was the tallest human being Danny had ever laid eyes on. He stooped a little, like he was making an unconscious effort to take up less space.
Danny blushed when he noticed the woman held a pile of his clothes.
“Bit chilly in here, eh?” the young man said in an accent common in southeast England. “Go on, then. I’m sure you’d like your trousers back.”
Something about the young man pulled at Danny’s memory, and he stared at him until it finally registered. “You were part of the protests last year, outside the Mechanics Affairs building.” Da
nny glowered. “You stole my scarf.”
The young man grinned. “Got it back, though, didn’t you?”
Danny’s head was spinning. Now that he thought about it, the ginger-haired girl had been in the crowd as well, protesting the construction of the new Maldon tower. He still heard their words, just as sinister now as when they were first spoken: Don’t think this is finished.
What had he gotten himself into?
The woman handed Danny his clothes and politely looked elsewhere. When it became clear that they weren’t going to leave, Danny blushed harder and began to dress. He noticed a bandage around his elbow where that ginger-haired girl had stabbed him with the needle. He ripped it off, revealing the mottled bruise underneath.
“Zounds, what happened?” the man asked, nodding at the messy sheets. “Was the bacon burnt?”
“Leave him alone, Ed,” the young woman chided. Her voice was lower than Meena’s, and her skin was darker, like those from southern India. As he tugged on his trousers, Danny inhaled sharply.
“What’s the matter, something stuck?” the man, Ed, asked with a smirk.
“Meena,” Danny said. “What happened to her? Is she here?”
The two exchanged a look. “We didn’t bring the girl,” Ed said slowly. “Just you.”
Danny hoped that Meena was safe. Maybe her Shiva had protected her.
Finally, dressed and feeling a little more like himself, he checked his pockets. No cog. Someone had definitely taken it, and he thought he knew whom.
“Right, then,” Ed said, turning the young woman back around. “Introductions. I’m Edmund. This is Prema. Welcome aboard.” When Danny didn’t respond, he leaned in. “Psst, this is where you say your name.”
“We already know his name.” Prema sighed. “Hello, Daniel. It’s nice to meet you.”
“It’s Danny, actually.” He licked his lips, and his eyes strayed toward the window. “I, uh … What are you people?”
His captors exchanged another look. “We work for Aetas,” Edmund said proudly.
Danny blinked three times, waiting for a further explanation. When he received none, he asked, “What on earth does that mean?”