Timekeeper

by Tara Sim

  The dust was making his eyes water. He turned away and rubbed at them, but the water escaped past his eyelids and he scrubbed his face to get rid of it.

  Your fault.

  He wrapped his arms around his stomach. The air was too thin, his shoulders shaking with the need to breathe, to run, to curl up and pretend that none of this was real.

  “I’m sorry.” Danny felt a hesitant touch on his back. “I’m so sorry. I—I don’t want to do that to the town. That wasn’t what I was trying to do. Danny?”

  He had to answer. To say everything was all right now, that it wouldn’t happen again. But the stone that sat inside him grew sharper, heavier, cutting his throat as it pushed itself out as words.

  “It was me,” he whispered to the floorboards.

  Colton stepped around him and touched his elbow. “What?”

  Danny closed his eyes. “I’m the reason my father left.”

  The stone was dislodged, but not completely gone. Colton’s fingers on his elbow anchored him to the floor, his eager silence waiting for him to explain.

  He still heard the echo of the door slamming in the corners of quiet moments, a faint reminder of what he had done. Still saw his father’s green eyes as Danny yelled in the dim hallway.

  “You don’t care about this trip, do you?” Danny had shouted. “You want any excuse to leave!”

  “That’s not true,” Christopher said. “I just have to check something, and then I’ll be back. We’ll be on our way to France in the morning, like I promised.”

  “I don’t want you to come with us.”

  “Danny—”

  “No. Go to Maldon, all right? Just go. Fix whatever mess Matthias made. Mum and I will go without you.”

  Then the slam of the door, the tightness of his mother’s admonishing eyes, the message that Christopher had decided to go to Maldon after all.

  The shrill ring of the telephone the next day.

  “I told him to go to Maldon,” Danny said. “I was so angry. I don’t even know why, now. I can’t summon the rage I felt then. But because of me, he left. He went to that tower, and … he was …”

  “Danny.” Colton’s hands framed his face. “Danny, that wasn’t your fault.”

  Your fault.

  His mother’s words, pushed over her broken sobs, when she heard the news. The words that were now their foundation. He was the architect of their suffering.

  “It is my fault,” he said. “I pushed him to go.”

  But Colton was shaking his head. “It sounds like he would have gone anyway.”

  Danny had entertained the same thought. Anything to absolve himself. But those reassurances were little more than lies. No matter how logical, his truth was sharp and cruel, edged in blame.

  He had never told anyone before. Not even Cassie. Now the stone began to dissolve, its burden no longer only his.

  Danny looked up, meeting Colton’s steady gaze. “I have to get him out of there,” he said softly. “I have to find a way to make it right.”

  “You will.” Colton’s fingertips traced the line of his cheekbone. Danny had never given much thought to that small area, but suddenly it became the most pivotal part of him. “I know you will.”

  “If the clock can even be fixed.”

  Something in Colton withered then, and he withdrew his touch. He crossed his arms and gave a nearby box a gentle kick. “You’re right. I really am a fool.”

  Danny’s shoulders slumped. “You’re not.”

  “I am. I shouldn’t have done it.” The spirit looked up from under his eyelashes. “I’d thought, because I …” Colton touched his lips. “That maybe you didn’t want to.”

  Danny flushed. He was getting very tired of that reaction. “No, no. It’s not …” He sighed. “There’s a part of the story I haven’t told you.”

  They sat on boxes as Danny told Colton about Matthias. About how the clock spirit had destroyed herself.

  Colton almost seemed to grow paler as he listened. “I didn’t know,” he said. “Honestly, I didn’t know. Did I do a bad thing? I thought, because the fairy tales said it was nice, that kissing you would be nice, too.”

  Danny’s chest tightened. The spirit could have been old enough to be his great-grandfather ten times down, but Colton’s ignorance reminded him how little he knew of the outside world. His realm was Enfield. He could never leave, never experience the things that people were free to have—were lucky to have. A prisoner locked inside a tower.

  “What you did wasn’t bad,” Danny said. “It’s just not normal between a spirit and a person. I was surprised. I don’t want Enfield to become another Maldon.”

  Colton lowered his eyes. “I won’t harm myself again. I just wanted to thank you because you’ve been so kind. I’m sorry.”

  Again came the flood of guilt, strong and painful, crashing down Danny’s walls. What could he do? What would anyone else do?

  He stood and held out his hand, which Colton took without hesitation. Again he felt time bend around them, stretching the moment into eternity. Colton’s eyelashes were long, his lips pink. He looked so human that for one moment, Danny could pretend to forget what he truly was.

  He brushed his fingers against Colton’s collarbone, and the spirit closed his eyes. Danny wondered how much Colton could feel. How much he understood. If the answers were hidden behind some unmarked door.

  Danny decided to open that door. He leaned forward and kissed him.

  The clock chimed five. It sounded almost celebratory as they stood there, hands clasped between them like the meeting of continents. Colton’s mouth was soft and warm, sunlight on silk. Danny was swallowing light. It dived down inside of him until he imagined it bursting out of every pore.

  When he pulled back, he was light-headed and breathless. “You know, before I met you, I’d never kissed a clock spirit.”

  Colton smiled. “First time for everything.”

  Worried that Colton would somehow forget his promise, Danny made sure to return to Enfield two days later. The tower was still standing and the clock running smoothly, much to his relief. Inside, Colton was waiting.

  “What does a clock do to pass the time?” Danny asked.

  “Time usually goes very quickly for me. I know it’s been two days since you were last here, but to me, it feels like a few hours.”

  “A few hours?” Danny shook his head. It was odd to be here and not have something to do, but he’d brought his tools anyway. He set them down. “Sometimes I wish time passed that way for me.”

  “You don’t want that,” Colton said, suddenly grave. “You’re a human. Life goes by too quickly for you. If time went fast, you’d be gone sooner.”

  Danny cleared his throat. He suspected Colton had no idea about what humans actually felt about death. “I guess you have a point. How old are you, anyway?”

  Colton tilted his head to one side, amber eyes distant. “I don’t remember. I feel as if I’ve always been here.” An auto rumbled down the street, and Colton pointed at it through the window. “I remember not knowing what those were.”

  Suddenly Danny’s seventeen worldly years seemed of little importance, long as they had been for him.

  They stood for a while regarding each other, uncertain what to do next. Danny had always come to Enfield with a purpose, but now that he’d come merely to see Colton, things were rapidly turning awkward. What did one talk about with a clock? None of his classes had ever covered that particular topic.

  You shouldn’t even be here, he thought with a rush of nervous energy. Someone’s going to start wondering why you come so often. The Lead’s going to find out. It’ll be Maldon all over again, it’ll be—

  He started when Colton touched his chin.

  “There’s a scratch here,” Colton said.

  “A—? Oh, no, that’s a scar.” He rubbed a finger over the raised line in his skin. “People get scars when things hurt them.”

  Alarm flickered in Colton’s eyes. “You were hurt? Ho
w?”

  “Something cut me open.”

  Colton frowned at it distastefully, like it was Danny’s chin’s fault for the blemish. “When will it go away?”

  “I couldn’t tell you. Some scars never fade.”

  Colton glanced at the clock face, and Danny read his thoughts. His scratches had been healed with resin and buffing. It didn’t make sense to Colton why Danny’s skin would be any different from his own.

  The spirit stared at Danny’s chin again. Colton touched his thumb to the scar, following the slant of it.

  “I wish I could heal it for you.”

  “You are.” At Colton’s confused look, he explained, “Time heals scars.”

  Colton grinned. The smile washed over Danny’s worry, making him forget what he’d been anxious about in the first place.

  They ended up standing by one of the small windows, which provided a view of Enfield to the east. There wasn’t much to look at, but Colton stared for a long while in silence. His eyes were fixed on a point Danny couldn’t see, drawn to something intangible. Going somewhere Danny couldn’t follow.

  “Are you allowed to leave the clock tower?” Danny asked.

  “I can’t go very far.”

  “That’s a shame. There are so many interesting sights out there. You should see London, it’s brilliant.” He caught the look on the spirit’s face and could have hanged himself. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. Here I am, making it all worse.”

  “It’s all right. I know I can’t leave, and I can’t see anything beyond Enfield, but I enjoy it here. It’s quiet, and it’s peaceful. I see the people come and go, and learn about their lives, and listen in on their problems. Sometimes, I wish they knew I was here. Do you remember the wedding not too long ago?” Danny nodded. “I’ve wanted those two to end up together since they were children. It makes me happy, seeing these people live their lives. I like to think I’m living it with them.”

  It did seem a nice way to pass time, to watch people and become invested in their lives from a distance, like God parting the clouds to observe his worker ants below.

  “I want …” Colton paused, then shook his head. “Well, it doesn’t matter what I want. Still,” he said, his voice distant as he turned back to the window, “it would be something, being in another place.”

  A spark of an idea caught tinder. “Where would you most like to go?”

  “I don’t know. I only know the names of what’s around Enfield—London, the towns. I know nothing about the world. Enfield is my world.”

  It was the saddest thing Danny had ever heard. “How about this: when I come next time, I’ll bring the world to you.”

  Though he didn’t understand, Colton looked interested. “Is that possible?”

  “Anything is possible.”

  There were no leads about Rotherfield over the next few days. It was like Shere all over again—the endless questions, the uncertainty, then, gradually, the giving up. No one could trace the bomb back to any person or organization.

  Danny skulked around the offices waiting for the Lead. He wanted to ask about Maldon and how the clock tower was coming along. As he waited, Tom and George came out of an office down the hall.

  Something wasn’t right. Tom’s face was mottled, his eyes red. Had he been crying?

  It sounds silly, but I thought I heard someone crying. That’s what the man in Rotherfield had said. Danny edged in closer to hear them.

  “—difficult, but you know it needs to be done,” George was saying.

  “I know.” Tom stared at the wall, his eyes hard. “Lord help me, I know.”

  George gripped the taller man’s arm in sympathy. They turned and walked down the hall. Danny was about to follow when he heard a snort behind him.

  “Eavesdropping, Danny?”

  Lucas held a report in one hand, his face marred by a smirk.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Danny replied.

  “Cut the act. Tell me why you were at Rotherfield.”

  “I told you, I was visiting a friend.”

  “Everyone knows you don’t have friends.”

  Before he could think of a response, the Lead’s door opened. He saw Danny and sighed. “Daniel, I don’t have anything for you. I’m sorry.”

  Danny pushed himself away from the wall and headed for the stairs. He heard the Lead ask Lucas to step into his office and paused, wondering what they could have to discuss. A telling off, he hoped.

  He couldn’t get Tom’s face out of his mind. As he slowly made his way down the stairs, a young apprentice flying past him and trailing papers in his hurry, Danny wondered what Tom and George could have been discussing.

  On the second floor, Danny turned down the hall. He needed to find out.

  Tom’s office was next to George’s, right at the end of the corridor. Danny kept turning his head to see if anyone was around, but he only heard voices echoing from the classrooms farther down. He knocked softly, and when he received no answer, he tested the handle. It was open.

  Danny stepped inside and soundlessly closed the door behind him. Tom’s office was neat, unlike Matthias’s with its precarious towers of paperwork and unorganized files. But there was no personality in this small space, no portraits or trinkets or even a kinetic toy like the Lead had.

  Danny didn’t know if Tom was gone for the day or if he’d be back any moment, so he quickly began opening drawers and riffling through their contents. It was the usual sort of nonsense: pens, clips, reams of paper, loose screws and springs. Danny looked under the desk and pulled a few books from the shelves. Nothing. Not even a sign of the Maldon tower blueprints.

  Then something caught his eye beside the bookshelf. He knelt and found a canvas bag that clanked when he touched it. Frowning, Danny opened the top and found pieces of metal inside. He took one out.

  “A pipe?” He examined it from every angle, even looking at the desk through the hole as if it were a spyglass. It told him absolutely nothing.

  Frustrated, Danny kicked the bag back into place and slipped out the door. He was listening for the click of the latch when a familiar voice asked, “What are you doing?”

  Danny whirled around. Daphne stood with one hand on her hip, looking down her nose at him. She held a file in the crook of her arm.

  “I … that’s … a good question.” Danny resisted the urge to wipe his damp palms on his trousers. “What are you doing?”

  She raised an eyebrow. “I’m on the foreign exchange committee for the new India program,” she replied easily. “I’m turning in some research. But what I’m most curious about is why you’re not answering my question.”

  “Tom was—that is, he—wanted me to drop off something. So I’ve dropped it off.” He inclined his head. “Good day.”

  Danny edged past her and headed for the stairs, but she followed.

  “What were you dropping off?”

  “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

  “Was it for an assignment?”

  “That’s not—”

  “Or were you hoping for a glimpse of those blueprints?”

  Flushing, Danny grabbed the top of the banister and spun around, coming within inches of Daphne’s self-assured face.

  “It’s none of your business, Miss Richards,” he ground out. “We’re both too busy for this stupid game. Good day.”

  He hurried down the stairs and felt her eyes on him the entire way down.

  Danny and his mother hardly used the sitting room anymore, the banged-up couch and armchair sagging with dust and neglect. Danny was currently raiding it.

  He grabbed trinkets off the mantle, gifted to them by friends and family: a jeweled elephant sent over from a cousin who had gone to India, a miniature flag of Australia, and a ceramic figurine of a dancing German, complete with lederhosen and a mug of beer in one pink hand.

  He stuffed whatever he could into his bag, careful not to break anything. He ran his eyes over the bookshelves and grabb
ed a couple of titles he thought would be interesting. Then he ran out of the house, right past his mother, who asked him how her interview dress looked.

  “Good, fine, very professional,” he called over his shoulder.

  “Where are you going with all you’ve nicked?” she demanded before the door closed behind him.

  In Colton’s tower, they sat cross-legged in the clock room as Danny removed everything from the bag, including a book of Greek mythology that still had a layer of dust on its cover. He blew the dust off and handed it to Colton, who held the book as if he’d been given the most valuable artifact in human history.

  “It’s all right, have a look.”

  Colton examined the cover, which featured a drawing of Pegasus flying toward Mount Olympus. Danny watched as Colton ran his long, nimble fingers over the golden lettering before he opened the cover and began flipping through the pictures. Danny explained the stories when he could remember them.

  “The Greeks loved the idea of fate. In a completely morbid way, of course. Most of the stories are about people trying to change or avoid their fate, but everything they do just brings them that much closer to it.” Danny tapped a picture of three women holding a long thread between them. “The Fates spin out the thread of your destiny, whatever it is—killed by stampeding rhinoceroses, let’s say—and you think, right, well, I’m never going near a rhinoceros ever again.

  “But it’s not really your choice anymore. The Fates assign your destiny, and even though you have no desire to see a rhinoceros, all of a sudden you’re whisked away to Africa because you’re now governor of a colony. And when you’re there, you will most certainly be trampled by rhinoceroses. The thread is cut.” He imitated the motion of scissors with his first two fingers. “And that’s that.”

  “Is that what you believe?”

  “Me? Not at all. I can change my fate whenever I want. Or maybe that’s what the Fates want me to think.”

  Colton laughed, and it lit up the room. Sitting so close to him, feeling this tenuous thing between them, Danny realized now that something had been stripped away from him in the last three years. He’d been eroding. Losing the things close to him. Sanded down to a pale, exposed nerve.