“Leonard; you keep saying Old Father Time is important to Shadows Fall, but what does he actually do, apart from spy on people and fiddle with clockwork?”
“It’s complicated,” said Ash, in a tone that clearly suggested he didn’t want to talk about it.
“Then simplify it,” said Hart remorselessly.
Ash sighed. “Basically, you have to understand that Shadows Fall is by its very nature essentially unstable. New time zones are always appearing and disappearing, for a whole variety of reasons. People and creatures of all kinds come and go, some of them extremely powerful and potentially destabilizing. Someone has to hold the reins, or the whole town would fall apart overnight. Time keeps things stable by balancing one zone against another, settling disputes before they can get out of hand, and generally practising preventive maintenance. It helps that he’s so powerful that absolutely no one wants to mess with him, but he generally leaves the dirty work to his agents.”
“You mean the automatons?”
“Them. And others.”
Hart frowned. “I’m missing something here. What makes him so powerful? How does he deal with things that are too tough for his agents?”
“Trust me,” said Ash, “You really don’t want to know. Mostly he just sends a message via an automaton, and that’s usually all it takes. No one wants Time mad at them. On the few occasions when someone refuses to follow his advice, Time sends Jack Fetch after them. If you’re lucky, you won’t ever have to meet him. He’s… rather disturbing.”
“What does the Sheriff think about all this?” said Hart slowly. “I mean, he’s supposed to enforce the law here, isn’t he?”
“Time is more important than the law. The law can’t cope with a situation like Shadows Fall; it’s too inflexible. Everyone accepts that, even though some, like our good Sheriff, don’t agree with it. But most people have enough sense not to rock the boat too roughly. Time is conscientious and hard-working, and doesn’t give a damn what people think of him. Or how many toes he has to tread on to get the job done. Mostly the Sheriff and Time are terribly polite to each other, and try very hard to have as little to do with each other as possible.”
He broke off, and they both stopped as an automaton came striding down the corridor and stopped immediately before them. Its painted porcelain face looked first at Ash and then at Hart. The face had a painted moustache and a monocle. It took Hart only a moment to decide that this made the face look even more unreal than usual. He met the painted gaze steadily with his own, and had no doubt that someone else was watching him through the automaton’s flat eyes. It whirred and clicked as though thinking about something, and then words sounded in Hart’s head like the tolling of a leaden bell. The words were clear and distinct and so loud they made him wince with each new syllable. God probably sounded similar when he wanted some Old Testament prophet to pay particular attention.
Leonard Ash. Have you come seeking the Forever Door at last?
“No,” said Ash calmly. “I’m just taking advantage of your good nature again. I’ve brought someone to meet you. A newcomer called James Hart. Except he’s not really new; he left Shadows Fall with his parents when he was ten. You remember; there was a prophecy…”
Yes. I remember. Bring him to me. The puppet will show you the way. Stick to the path. For your own safety.
The voice broke off sharply and Hart shook his head gingerly. His ears were ringing, and his head felt as though he’d been standing too close to the speakers at a rock concert. He looked at Ash, who was smiling understandingly. The voice didn’t seem to have bothered him at all.
“Don’t let the burning bush act throw you. He’s always this way with strangers. All part of the image, you see. Time’s always been very concerned about projecting the right image. Besides, he likes to be rude to people. It’s one of the few advantages of his job.”
The automaton ticked loudly twice, turned smoothly on its heel and started off down the corridor. Hart and Ash hurried after it. They walked along in silence for a while, and then Hart sighed resignedly.
“All right, Ash; what are you looking so worried about? This puppet’s taking us where we wanted to go, isn’t it?”
“Well, yes,” said Ash. “That’s what’s bothering me. I was expecting more of an argument. Time really hates visitors. In fact, the only thing he hates more are strangers. And you’re both. I think we have to assume he knew you were coming.”
“Wait a minute,” said Hart. “Even if he’d seen me in one of his portraits, he couldn’t really know who I am, and who my parents were. Could he?”
Ash sighed, looking thoughtfully at the automaton’s back. “Time knows a lot of things he shouldn’t. It’s one of his more disturbing qualities. I’m beginning to wonder if I did the right thing in bringing you here. The prophecy about your family’s connection with the town’s destruction is quite specific, according to everything I’ve heard. He might have decided you’re too dangerous to be left running loose in Shadows Fall. And Time has some very unpleasant ways of dealing with dangerous people.”
Hart glared at him. “Now you tell me! Well, don’t just stop there; what does he do to people he thinks are dangerous? Lock them up? Send them back to the Stone Age to play tag with the dinosaurs? What?”
“Look to your left,” said Ash.
Hart looked, and came to a sudden stop. Ash stopped with him, and a few steps ahead of them the automaton came to a graceful halt. It didn’t turn round to see what they were doing, but waited patiently for them to continue on their way. It gave the impression of being prepared to wait indefinitely, if necessary. Hart didn’t notice either of them. His gaze was fixed on the portrait before him. At first glance he’d thought it was just another face on the wall, but the moment he met the glaring haunted eyes, staring madly out at the world, he knew that something horrible had happened here. The mouth was twisted in an endless snarl, and the hands at the figure’s sides were clenched into white-knuckled fists, but the figure didn’t move at all, standing very still. Impossibly still, as though caught between one movement and the next, between one moment and the next.
“He’s been taken out of Time,” said Ash, his voice carefully level. “Trapped in a stolen moment like an insect caught in amber. While he stands here in the Gallery, Time moves on without him. Everyone he ever knew is dead. All his friends, all his family, everyone who ever knew him is gone. Gone to dust and less than dust. And still he stands here in Time’s Gallery, an object lesson to anyone who might think they can stand against Time.”
“How long will Time keep him here like this?” said Hart finally.
“No one knows,” said Ash. “He hasn’t released anyone yet. Let’s go, James. We don’t want to keep Time waiting.”
Hart tore his eyes away from the still figure’s mad gaze, and nodded curtly to Ash. The automaton set off again, without once looking back to see if they were following. Hart strode after it, scowling at its unresponsive back. He didn’t look at Ash, who walked quietly at his side, keeping his own counsel. Hart scowled. He’d trusted Ash. Liked him and trusted him. He’d wanted to believe he had one friend at least in this unnatural town, and who better than someone who’d known him as a child. He’d also wanted to believe that Old Father Time would have answers for his questions, would know the who and why and what he was. But now it seemed the friend had betrayed him, and Time had nothing for him but a frozen eternity in his private Gallery of horrors. He thought briefly about running, but where would he run to? He didn’t even know how to get back to Shadows Fall without Ash’s help. He’d come so far, fought so hard, hoped so much, and all for nothing. He smiled suddenly, and there was little humour in it. He wasn’t beaten yet, and if Time thought he was, he was in for a nasty surprise. Hart didn’t believe in giving up. Ever.
“How many people does Time have frozen?” he said finally, still not looking at Ash.
“No one knows. Well, I assume Time knows, but he’s never felt inclined to discuss the subject.”<
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“In other words, he’s judge, jury and executioner, and everyone lets him get away with it.”
“Who’s going to stop him? This is his reason for existence, to serve and protect Shadows Fall from harm.”
“But he decides who’s guilty and who’s dangerous. Or potentially dangerous.”
“Who’s better equipped to know than him? The portraits in his Gallery provide him with all the information there is. At any given moment he knows more about what’s going on in Shadows Fall than anyone else.”
“And you trust him with that kind of power?”
“I trust him to do what he thinks is right and best for Shadows Fall,” Ash said carefully. “Please believe me, James; I didn’t bring you here to throw you to the wolves. If anyone can answer your questions, it’s Time. And it’s much better that you should come to him, than that he should send someone to fetch you. Trust me, James; it’s better this way. If he decides to help you, he has access to people and information that no one else has. He’s not a bad sort. Considering he’s not really human.”
Some of Hart’s anger began to die away. It was hard to stay mad at Ash. He had all the open vulnerable honesty of a puppy that keeps falling over himself because his feet are too big. “So,” he said finally, allowing his tone to soften a little, “Time just freezes people who annoy him, is that it?”
“It’s not quite that arbitrary. A lot of the people stored here are those who were supposed to go through the Forever Door, but couldn’t work up the courage. People who were no longer believed in, who no longer served any function in the real world, but refused to admit it. So they hung around Shadows Fall, growing realer and crazier all the time as the world moved on and left them behind, but still unable to face the Door. Eventually they just fell apart and lashed out at who or whatever happened to be handy, and Time brought them here and froze them, for everyone’s safety. It’s a compromise no one’s really happy with, least of all Time, because there are always more of them.” Ash broke off to stare thoughtfully at a face in a portrait. “I could end up here myself, some day. It’s not a comforting thought.”
They turned a corner and came to a sudden halt as the Gallery ended in a closed door. The automaton stood completely still before the door, as though awaiting further instructions. Hart peered over its shoulder. The door looked ordinary, unassuming and everyday, of entirely normal size and proportions. Hart looked at Ash, who was looking expectantly at the door. Hart was about to ask acidly if they could at least try knocking when the door swung suddenly open, smoothly and silently, without anybody touching it. The automaton stepped gracefully to one side and gestured for them to go in. Ash did so, and Hart followed him in, giving the automaton plenty of room. The painted porcelain face seemed more alien and enigmatic than ever. Hart felt even more unhappy when he got inside, and found there was no one there who could have opened the door. It could have been something as simple as an automatic switch, but somehow he didn’t think so. The door closed itself behind him with quiet finality, but Hart refused to give it the satisfaction of looking. He squared his shoulders and looked casually about him as though this sort of thing happened to him all the time.
He didn’t know exactly what he’d been expecting of Time’s private domain, but this definitely wasn’t it. The room might have started out as large and airy, but now it was crammed from wall to wall with clanking, shuddering machinery that looked like something out of Victorian England. There were pipes and gaskets and turning wheels, with more than a hint of building steam pressure. Clock faces and dials sprouted up everywhere there was a space, most of them contradicting each other. Over in a corner a huge counterweight rose and fell with calm, unhurried motions, though what it was connected to was anybody’s guess. From all around came a low continuous murmur of moving parts, and the occasional hiss of vented steam. Oil dripped slowly from the odd seam, but there was always a carefully placed container to catch it. The air was pleasantly warm, and just a little hazy.
A narrow passage led through the bulk of the machinery, and Hart moved slowly along it, Ash drifting along behind him. There was a strong sense of purpose to the room, as though all the clumsily interlocked machinery was busy doing something important and vital. It felt suddenly to Hart as though he’d somehow wandered into the workings of one of Time’s automatons, unable to see the true shape and purpose because of the sheer scale of the thing. He was a mouse inside a grandfather clock, an insect on a computer screen, trying to see things in terms he was used to, but unable to grasp the true concept and reality of where he was because his mind just wasn’t complex enough.
A door slammed open on the far side of the room, and someone came striding through the maze of machinery with the ease of long familiarity. Hart pulled his drifting thoughts together and stood ready to meet Old Father Time. He thought he’d prepared himself for pretty much anything, but he was still taken aback by the slender young woman who finally stood glaring before him, her large tattooed fists resting angrily on her hips. Hart was hard pressed to think what sort of person would have looked suited to the room, but she definitely wasn’t it. She looked to be barely out of her teens, dressed in battered black leather and chains, and going by her face she had a mad on for the whole world. She wore her hair in a spiky mohican, shaved high at the sides, and her face was half hidden behind a garish mask of black and white makeup. She had a safety pin piercing one ear, and a razor blade hanging from the other. Hart didn’t know whether to smile and offer to shake hands, or back slowly away while reaching for a chair and a whip. In the end he smiled briefly, stepped back a pace and looked to Ash for help.
“This young lady is Madeleine Kresh,” said Ash easily. “Call her Mad for short. Everyone does. She is Time’s companion, assistant, social secretary, and anything else she can think of. She’s not family, whatever else she is. She just turned up on his doorstep one morning, cold and shivering, he brought her in and gave her a bowl of milk, and she’s been here ever since. She’s a sort of combination bodyguard and watchdog, and everyone who wants to see Time has to get past her first. Isn’t that right, Madeleine?”
“Don’t call me that!” the young woman snapped in a deep harsh voice, her eyes digging holes in his face. “And you can forget about seeing Time. He’s busy. Now piss off.”
“Don’t be like that, Madeleine,” said Ash calmly. “You know your little heart goes pat pitter pat at the sight of me. I like the chains, by the way; they’ve come up nicely since you polished them. Now be a good girl and tell Time we’re here. He’s expecting us.”
“I said you can’t see him! Don’t come sniffing around me with your clever mouth, ghostie. I’m on to your game. You think the rules don’t apply to you any more because you’re dead, but that doesn’t cut any ice with me. You’re just another damned shade who didn’t have the balls to go through the Forever Door. You’re not seeing Time today. He’s in the middle of an emergency. Now piss off or I’ll set the dogs on you.”
“You don’t have any dogs, Madeleine. You’re allergic to them. And as for the emergency, Time is always in the middle of something important, that’s his job. But he’ll see us. Or rather he’ll see James, here. He can’t afford not to. Now then, my dear, your constant over-protectiveness stopped being sweet a long time ago, so stop wasting all our time and tell the old man we’re here.”
Hart hadn’t thought it was possible for Mad to get any angrier, but steam practically poured out of her ears as she advanced on Ash. A flick knife was suddenly in her hand, the blade snapping out with a short, flat sound that seemed unusually clear and distinct. Hart didn’t like the look of her or her knife. They both looked extremely dangerous and equally inflexible. She stopped immediately before Ash and shoved her face into his.
“Bottom line, Ash, in words of one syllable or less. Get out of here or I’ll cut you and your pretty boyfriend. I don’t like you coming here, Ash. You’ve no business here, and you upset Time by getting him involved in things that are none of his bu
siness. I don’t know why you’re here and I don’t care. You’re banned from the Gallery. You’re blacked, null and void, a waste of space. Now turn around and walk back the way you came or I’ll see just how much damage I can do to that dead body of yours.”
Her voice was harsh and deadly and utterly sincere. Hart decided he believed every word she said, and looked urgently at Ash, who hadn’t budged an inch. When he spoke, his voice was calm and even.
“You’re getting above yourself, Madeleine. You’ve found yourself a nice little niche here, looking after Time, and that’s good; someone has to do it, and most of us haven’t the patience. But don’t make the mistake of thinking you’re in charge here, just because Time is starting to get a little vague as his death gets nearer. You may have the word HATE tattooed on both sets of knuckles, but that doesn’t mean you’re good enough to tangle with someone like me. Now be a good girl, and do as you’re told, Madeleine.”
“Don’t call me that!”
Mad brandished her knife in Ash’s face, and then stopped and fell back a step. Nothing had happened but everything had changed. Without moving a muscle or saying another word, Ash was suddenly frightening, and very dangerous. Menace blew from him like a cold wind, chilling the heart and stealing its courage. Hart’s flesh crawled, and it took all his self-control not to back away from Ash. He suddenly knew, deep down where it mattered, that Ash was exactly what he’d said he was; a dead man, walking. Death had entered the room, and would not be ignored. Ash reached out and took the knife from Mad’s trembling hand. He smiled at her, and it was not a pleasant smile. Perhaps, Hart thought, it was not entirely sane, either.
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