Firestarter

by Tara Sim

  The group had left Zavier a padded seat near the door, which he took, completing the circle of clock mechanics with Colton at its center.

  “Well, Colton,” Zavier said with a smile that didn’t touch his eyes, “this is somewhat of a miracle. For the first time in history—or history as we know it, anyway—a clock spirit has traveled far from his clock tower. How do you feel?”

  Colton couldn’t help a small laugh. “You’re asking me how I feel?” He wondered how Danny would answer. “Bloody awful. But I have you to thank for that.” The tremor of suppressed laughter in Daphne’s body told him that Danny would have approved.

  Before Zavier could reply, a girl sprawled on a chair to his right snorted. She was picking at her fingernails with a dagger, her feet propped on the lap of an Indian girl beside her who had a hand placed rather familiarly on her calf. The girl’s brown eyes flashed in Colton’s direction.

  “That accent.” The dagger girl huffed. “Of course the clock spirit ’as to be British.” Her own accent was throaty, almost nasal, and Colton couldn’t place it.

  “Shocking,” drawled the redhead, Liddy. “A clock spirit whose tower is in England—and he’s British! Who would’ve thought?”

  “All right.” Zavier held his hands up, signaling them to stop bickering. “Let me start with an offer for you, Colton. Now that we know the extent to which you rely on those cogs, we can have our smith make them stronger.”

  Meena shifted. “You can do that?”

  “Yes, but we need to study the holder more.” Zavier returned his attention to Colton. “Your tower was attacked, yes?” Colton nodded. “How much damage was there?”

  Colton was tempted to lift his shirt to show the long, ropy scar that went from underarm to hip, but thought better of it. “The right side was hit, and the tower nearly fell. I Stopped the town before it could.”

  A murmur ran through the room. The man who’d scolded Liddy earlier whistled through his teeth, watching Colton with fascination. “So if ye restarted time,” he said, “the tower would fall, and the town would just Stop again anyway.”

  “Unless we could prevent it somehow,” Zavier corrected.

  “How do ye suppose we do that?”

  “I’m not entirely sure.” Zavier turned back to Colton. “Do you know how long you’ve been a spirit?”

  If Colton still had a heart, it would be pounding. He studied the others—these strangers watching him, waiting impatiently for his answer. Should he lie? Tell the truth?

  No—not the truth. Not yet.

  “I don’t know,” he said instead.

  “You have no memories of your … conception? How you came to be?”

  “No.”

  The questions came in a steady stream after that, mostly from Zavier, but sometimes from one of the other mechanics: What did he do in his tower? How much control did he have over his powers? How much were his senses affected? How did his spirit body work? And finally, when Colton thought he couldn’t take any more, the questioning turned to Danny.

  “It seems strange for an entity such as yourself to become so attached to a human,” Zavier said. In his time, he and Castor would have been punished if they’d been caught together. Now it didn’t seem to faze anyone. Then again, judging by how close the girl with the dagger—Astrid—and the other Indian girl were, perhaps it wasn’t anything noteworthy.

  “How exactly does that, er, work?” Liddy asked.

  Colton pressed his lips together, and Daphne scooted forward. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” she said.

  Zavier shot Liddy an exasperated look, and she flopped back in her chair with a small hmph. “What we really want to know is how Danny was able to save Enfield,” he said.

  Daphne’s breath caught. It was a tiny sound, barely audible, but Colton heard it and worried Zavier had, too.

  “What do you mean?” Colton asked, feigning ignorance.

  “You know exactly what I mean. Matthias—you recall him, I hope?—was bombing towers around London. He’d planned to attack yours next, until your central cog was stolen.” He glanced at Colton’s cog holder, then at Daphne, who went pink. She, of course, had been the one who had stolen it.

  “Danny somehow prevented Matthias from exchanging your central cog with that of Maldon’s clock spirit all on his own. To me, this seems implausible. Unless …” Zavier leaned forward, his chair creaking loudly. “Unless he did something unexpected. Or had help.”

  “I don’t know how he did it,” Colton lied, trying to avoid his penetrating gaze.

  Of course he knew. Danny had told him, and more than that, Colton had seen it. Felt it. The small cog Colton had given Danny—just as Big Ben had given Colton one of his own small cogs—had reacted strangely to Danny’s blood. Danny had been able to start and stop the time in Enfield, so long as that connection held fast.

  It was the same phenomenon Colton had discovered in his own time. Knowing that secret had led to his death and the building of the clock towers. Colton didn’t want to imagine what Zavier would do with the information.

  That’s why they’re holding Danny, he thought. They could be torturing him right now.

  “Are you sure about your answer, Colton?” Zavier asked slowly, a threat lurking beneath each word.

  “I don’t know what else you want me to say. I don’t know.”

  They stared at each other. Finally, Zavier sighed, then nodded to the others as he stood. “That’s all our questions for now. Thank you for providing what answers you could.” Judging by the set of his eyebrows, he was frustrated he hadn’t learned more. Colton felt a vindicated sort of satisfaction.

  The other clock mechanics filed out. When Zavier approached him, Colton stayed firmly seated.

  “I want to speak to Daphne alone,” Colton said. “And Meena.”

  “Why?”

  “Because they’re my friends, and I want to make sure they’re all right.”

  “You can see for yourself that they’re fine.”

  Colton fisted his hands on his knees. “If you want me to answer more questions in the future, you’ll let me speak to them. Alone.”

  Zavier weighed this for a moment before nodding. “You have two minutes. I’ll be waiting outside.” He closed the door behind him.

  Daphne knelt before Colton. “What’s wrong? What aren’t you telling them?”

  “We can help you with whatever you need,” Meena whispered beside him.

  Colton gathered his strength, but it was quickly fading. He could feel one of his unconscious spells coming on. Before it hit, he had to tell them all he knew.

  It came out slowly at first. His words were uncertain, abrupt. But the more he spun out his story, the more fluid it became.

  “They knew that blood could control time, and with Aetas gone, they had to use it.” He closed his eyes. “They picked me. I was their sacrifice, Enfield’s sacrifice. They used my … my blood, to build the tower. To give the cogs my power over time.

  “I’m not just a spirit. I’m—rather, I was—human. And I’m remembering who I used to be. It’s fighting with who I am now. I don’t know who Colton is, or if I ever really existed, or if I exist now. I don’t know what I am anymore.”

  When he opened his eyes, he knew from the look on her face that Daphne didn’t believe him. He was too scared to look at Meena, so he studied his lap instead.

  “Colton … that’s …” Daphne swallowed. “I don’t know what to think.”

  “Clock towers weren’t built that way,” Meena argued. “We would know if they were.”

  “But no one knows how they were built,” Daphne said fairly. “We tried to build a new tower near Maldon to restart the town, and it didn’t do anything.” Her hand hovered above Colton’s, debating whether to touch him or not. “Are you sure about this? Are you sure it wasn’t just a bad dream?”

  “The clock spirit Danny and I met in Meerut was having strange dreams,” Meena said. “And you said the spirit in Lucknow was h
aving dreams as well.”

  Daphne nodded. “It could be something affecting all the spirits.” She finally placed her hand on top of Colton’s. “I don’t think—”

  There was an unexpected flash, like lightning striking metal. A painful jolt rocked his body, making the scar on his right side burn. A gasp tore through the air.

  “Daphne!”

  She staggered away from him, bracing herself against the wall as she retched. Meena moved to her side and started rubbing her back.

  Colton remained in his seat, stunned, until Daphne turned back to face him, her eyes wet. Her face was the color of sour milk.

  “Colton,” she whispered. “Oh, God …”

  He knew. When she had touched him, she had seen his memories. They had raced through his mind in a blur, landing painfully on his final moment. She’d seen the knife. She’d seen his blood.

  Daphne fell to her knees, stifling a sob behind her hand. Meena looked between them, gaping.

  Zavier chose that instant to open the door. “What—?” He stopped short, then frowned at Colton. “What’s going on?”

  “She …” Meena hesitated, still startled by the outburst. “She’s overcome with all that’s happened. She needs rest.”

  Daphne’s eyes locked with Colton’s across the room. With a look, he tried to tell her that he was sorry, that he hadn’t meant for her to see. Her own gaze said she understood. And in an instant, Daphne’s expression had hardened again. The resolve in her eyes had tripled.

  Zavier’s eyes shifted warily to each of them. “I’ll escort Miss Richards to her room. Colton, you’ll be taken to a more comfortable room as well. No more cell for you.”

  Colton wasn’t sure if Zavier expected thanks for this “kindness”; he certainly wasn’t getting any. Cell, room—in this place, they were the same.

  “We’re doing this for your own good,” Zavier said when Colton reached the door. “You’ll see that, in time.”

  If Colton survived that long.

  What happened?” Meena demanded as she stood by the window, arms crossed. The midmorning light gave her hair a reddish glow.

  Daphne sat on her bed, holding her head in her hands. Zavier had been cross after the meeting yesterday, and hadn’t given them the chance to talk about her revelation about Colton. Daphne doubted she could have been coherent, anyway; she’d been reeling ever since touching Colton’s hand.

  That one small touch had transferred something to her—something electric and terrifying. In her mind, she had seen Colton as someone else entirely. Someone who might have been the human he insisted he was. And then, the blood …

  A small voice chanted in the back of her head: It can’t be true. It can’t be true. It can’t—

  But she had seen it. Smelled it. Coppery and inescapable.

  “I don’t know how to explain it,” Daphne mumbled. She began twisting her fingers together in an effort not to tap them against her thighs. That was a warning sign, the tapping; it meant she needed to smoke.

  “Colton did something to you. I saw it.”

  “He didn’t do anything to me. Not intentionally, I don’t think.” Daphne swallowed the lump in her throat. “Meena … what he said was true. All of it.”

  The girl shook her head. “The towers—”

  “I saw it!” Daphne rubbed her aching temple. “Damn it, I saw what they did to him!”

  She related it all as best she could, from the churning ocean Colton had waded into to the glint of sun on the knife that had ended him.

  The mattress dipped as Meena settled beside her. “But … why?”

  “It was the only way. After Aetas died, time had to be controlled somehow.”

  Meena tugged on her braid. Pull, pull. Pause. Pull. “Do you think they know?” she whispered, nodding to the door. “Do you think this is the reason they’re taking down the towers?”

  “No. They can’t, or else Colton wouldn’t have kept it a secret.” Daphne knuckled her forehead with a frown. “Zavier said something about Aetas. About ‘freeing’ him. Whatever it is they’re working toward, that’s at its center.”

  “Do you think Akash might know what they’re planning?”

  There was hesitation in Meena’s voice that echoed the rage in Daphne’s heart. For the past week, Daphne had been left to her own devices. In that time, she had kept a lookout for some means of escape. She’d found the galley, a room full of plants, and a smithy run by an irritable smith named Dae, but nothing in the ways of a viable route.

  Then, yesterday after Colton’s interrogation, Daphne had finally spotted something: a hangar door. Her stomach had leapt at the sight of it, but before she could creep nearer, she had been stopped by a familiar voice.

  Akash.

  He had come to speak to her through her bedroom door earlier in the week, to apologize for what he’d said and done. She had covered her ears until he went away.

  But in that moment, she had felt rooted.

  “Daphne, we need to talk.”

  “I told you not to call me that.”

  Akash sighed, running his hands violently through his hair. “Will you please listen to what I have to say?”

  “I’ve already heard it.”

  “Then let me hear what you have to say. You can yell at me all you like, call me whatever names you think I deserve.”

  Daphne didn’t respond. Her grief made her tired, and it was too much effort to stoke her rage. So she merely continued walking down the corridor, determined to map out the hallways leading to the hangar door.

  “Da—Miss Richards, please!” Akash begged. “Say something, even if it’s that you hate me!”

  She hadn’t even given him that.

  Meena had had similar run-ins with her brother, but she wouldn’t tell Daphne about them. The redness of the girl’s eyes was enough for Daphne to guess.

  “No,” Daphne said in answer to Meena’s question. “I don’t think they would tell him.”

  Meena hummed in agreement. “What did he mean,” she asked, “when he said you were more British than Indian?”

  Heat crawled up Daphne’s neck. “Only that my father was half-Indian. I told him about my parents when we were stationed in Lucknow.”

  Meena blinked at her. “Oh. You … don’t look it.”

  Daphne sighed; she wondered how many times she’d heard those words, and how many more times she would have to face them. “I know.”

  “That’s wonderful, though. I had no idea.” Meena hesitated, as if debating on whether or not to hug her. Instead, she cleared her throat and played with the hem of her kameez. “Well, whatever Zavier’s goal is, I think they have something planned for us. I keep seeing them in little groups, whispering.”

  Daphne could sense it, too. Something taut, expectant. Like a rubber band about to snap.

  “We have to get away before they act on their plans,” Daphne said softly. “As soon as we find Danny, we’ll create a distraction and head for the hangar. I found a route we can take, but we’ll need a way to break the lock on the hangar door.”

  “I’ll try to get my gun back from them. I can shoot the lock off.”

  “Good. Then we just need to get in there and …” She sighed. “Try to fly the plane back to Agra, I suppose.”

  Meena made a skeptical noise. They both knew it was imperfect, but what other choice did they have?

  There was a sudden knock at the door, and they both jumped. It swung open to reveal Zavier on the other side. “I’d like you both to come with me.”

  “Why?” Meena demanded.

  “It’s time we had an important discussion.”

  Meena stiffened beside her, but Daphne felt oddly calm. Some-thing about Zavier’s posture, his expression, made her curious.

  “We’ve been putting it off out of necessity, but we can’t delay any longer,” Zavier continued.

  Daphne wrapped her hand around Meena’s and squeezed gently. “As long as it doesn’t take all day,” she said.

  Zavi
er pressed his lips into a thin line. “We wouldn’t want that.”

  They followed Zavier into the belly of the airship. The space was eerie, much too large for a dozen people. Earlier that week, Zavier’s aunt Jo had told her it belonged to her late husband, and that it had once served in warfare.

  Daphne didn’t like the implications of that.

  Zavier stopped at a door and let his hand hover over the handle. Edmund and another crewmember, a Sikh man named Anish, stood guard on either side. When Zavier sent Edmund a questioning gaze, Edmund nodded in response. Zavier took a deep breath and opened the door.

  Sunlight illuminated a scratched table surrounded by chairs and glinted off a pitcher, the water droplets on its tin surface spangling like tiny flecks of gold.

  A young man dressed in a tan jumpsuit sat at the table. He had dark, somewhat shaggy hair, as if he’d gone without a haircut for a couple months. He leaned back in the chair, his scuffed boots resting casually on the tabletop, his arms folded across his chest. He’d been glaring at the opposite wall, but turned as they entered the room.

  Daphne gasped.

  The young man shot to his feet. It was no wonder she hadn’t recognized him; he was taller, tanner, his face a little more defined, as if he had aged three years in three months.

  “Daphne,” he said.

  Before she could open her mouth to respond, he jumped over the chair and gathered her in his arms. She squawked, but held him just as tightly. Thank God. Thank God …

  He stepped back and took in her face. His now-golden complexion made his eyes even greener.

  “Danny.” She touched the sleeve of his jumpsuit. “It is Danny, isn’t it?”

  “Last I checked,” he said with a goofy smile. His eyes flicked behind her and then widened. “Meena!”

  “I was so afraid,” Meena said, her words muffled in his shoulder as she hugged him. “No one knew what had happened to you!”

  “Well.” He eased back and gestured to the walls. “This is what happened to me.” As Danny noticed Zavier for the first time, his eyes hardened. “And him.”

  “We’re on our way to being best mates,” Zavier said dryly before slapping a file onto the table. “Please, sit.”