by Tara Sim
“Are you all right?” Danny murmured as they took their seats. He’d seen the burn scar on Meena’s cheek. “Who’s hurt you?”
“No one. We’re fine.” Daphne caught Meena’s eye and they shared a nod. They would need to find a way to speak to him, to share their plan, without being overheard. “We’re all right, Danny.”
He didn’t look convinced.
Zavier cleared his throat. “I feel compelled to remind you three that there are others outside the room, so please don’t get any ideas.” Danny clucked his tongue. “I’ve been waiting for Danny to return so that we might have this meeting. I can’t tell you how relieved I am to finally get this underway.”
Daphne could tell. Zavier’s muscles were looser, his eyes brighter. He even seemed … happy.
“Wait. Danny, where have you been?” Daphne demanded. “We were told you were shot!”
He grimaced and touched a spot high on his chest, near his clavicle. “I was.” He unbuttoned the collar of the jumpsuit and pushed it far enough down his shoulder to expose the wound. Meena inhaled sharply. The surrounding skin was swollen and red, but the actual bullet hole was a dark pink.
“He’s been in recovery,” Zavier said impatiently as Danny refastened the jumpsuit. “Anyway, Danny knows more about this than the two of you, so let me briefly fill you in. You know the creation of the clock towers happened after the death of Aetas, correct?” They nodded, but Daphne’s insides squirmed. She could still smell coppery blood. Colton’s blood.
The story flew out of Zavier’s mouth, almost too fast for Daphne to follow. Chronos, the creator of time, had designated responsibilities to each of the Gaian gods he made: Terra for earth, Caelum for sky, Oceana for sea, and Aetas for time. But Chronos hadn’t expected Aetas to give some of this power to humans, the time servants who helped stabilize that power.
“Chronos was enraged,” Zavier explained. “He trapped Aetas in a prison beneath the ocean. But without Aetas to guide it, time slipped out of control, and so the clock towers were built in an attempt to restore order.”
Daphne squirmed again as Colton’s memories flashed through her mind. She pressed a hand to her stomach and spared a glance at Danny, but his eyes were fixed on the water pitcher, his face carefully blank.
“Chronos made us believe Aetas was dead. Chronos had grown tired of his role, and he wanted humans to drive themselves to extinction. I don’t think he wants this responsibility anymore, watching over the earth. But he didn’t count on the time servants—now the clock mechanics—to do the work for him. And,” he said, voice quivering with excitement, “we no longer have to.”
Zavier explained he was a follower of Oceana as well as Aetas. He had prayed to her as often as he had prayed to a god he once thought dead. And one day, she had answered. She had called him to the ocean. She had given him a clue to Aetas’s prison.
And there, where the water flowed, he had found the secret to freeing time.
“It’s right there,” he said, hands flat against the tabletop. “Right in our grasp. If we free Aetas, time is freed with him. No more clock towers, no more fear of Stopped cities, no more loved ones trapped forever.” He glanced meaningfully at Danny. “If we find a way to free Aetas, this can all be over.”
Danny snorted. “Over? You think it could ever be that simple? Our entire lifestyle will change. The world itself will change.”
“For the better,” Zavier stressed. “Danny, I know you did something to time when you saved Enfield. It could very well be the thing we need to release Aetas from his prison!”
Danny made a rude gesture. “Sod off.”
Daphne’s hands curled into fists under the table. Danny’s words—our entire lifestyle will change—soured her stomach. For years she had fought for normalcy. For a life that, if not ideal, was at least stable. Working for the Mechanics Union had provided that for her. She maintained her parents’ empty house, she worked hard, and she made sure her mother was kept comfortable in St. Agnes’ Home for Women.
London was all she had. It was her home, her haven, the place where her past and future waited, and she would do everything in her power to return.
She couldn’t afford for Zavier’s goals to touch hers.
“It sounds mad.” Meena shook her head. “I don’t like this.”
Taking a deep breath, Zavier composed himself again. “You don’t have to like it, Miss Kapoor. But you will have to accept it.”
“And what does that mean?” Daphne demanded.
“It means that I’m putting you three to work. Tomorrow.”
They looked at one another before Danny cleared his throat. “Come again?”
“We have a mission. Since Danny isn’t willing to tell me his secret, we’ll be using the water we’ve collected from Aetas’s prison to free a city from its tower. I believe this demonstration will help you all understand the importance of what the Prometheus is doing firsthand.”
“Absolutely not,” Daphne said. “I’m not taking part in that.”
“Me, neither,” Meena added.
“What makes you think any of us will?” Danny gave a pitying little laugh. “Come off it.”
Zavier carefully smoothed back his hair, examining the tabletop. “I have one good reason.”
Daphne’s stomach dropped. She knew what he would say before the words even crossed his lips.
Zavier locked eyes with Danny. “We have Colton.”
For a moment, the room was utterly still. Even the sunlight seemed dimmer.
Danny’s body had gone rigid. “What?” The word was quiet, strangled.
“He’s here. On the Prometheus.” Zavier let that sink in for a second. “As our hostage.”
Meena screamed as Danny threw his chair back, coming at Zavier so fast that the boy could barely put up a defense. Danny successfully landed a blow before Zavier caught his arm and twisted it behind his back, making him cry out. The door flew open and Anish ran in, Edmund on his heels.
Anish dragged a thrashing Danny away with little effort. Danny struggled, his face red.
Zavier gingerly touched his jaw. One lock of hair had fallen out of place. “I should have expected that.”
“Where is he?” Danny’s voice was low and raw, his chest heaving with every breath. “Show me!”
Zavier lowered his hand. “I can’t, Danny. Colton’s our hostage for a reason.”
Daphne swore. She should have seen Zavier’s plan sooner.
“If you refuse to help with our mission,” Zavier said, walking around the table to where Danny was still being restrained by Anish, “and if you don’t tell me about what you did to the time in Enfield, then …” He sighed, and it almost sounded like he felt an ounce of regret. “Well, then Colton will be the one paying the price.”
Danny stared at Zavier with such hatred that it transformed him into something else, hot and fatal, like a dying star. Daphne heard his ragged breaths, his desperate swallow.
“If you agree to help us,” Zavier said quietly, “then we won’t lay a finger on him. I give you my word.” He bent his head forward slightly. “Well? Do you accept?”
Daphne balled her hands into fists. She mentally begged him not to give in. There had to be another way.
But even she couldn’t see one.
Danny finally sagged in Anish’s arms. “Yes,” he whispered to the floor. “I accept.”
The clang of metal against metal echoed in Danny’s ears. It wasn’t enough—not nearly loud enough. He grabbed the tin cup from the table and threw it after the pitcher, striking the wall with a dull crash.
Left with nothing else to throw, he punched the door and kicked the walls.
“Fucking—gormless—bastard!”
How could he be in this room, in here, when Colton was out there? He put his face in his hands and groaned. He was going to crack open. His body would split and tear apart and there would be Danny chunks all over the walls and Colton was on the ship.
Shaking too hard to stand, h
e crumpled to the floor. The air was hot and he could barely breathe. Panic. Elation. Rage.
Colton.
“Where are you?” he whispered to the floor.
He drew the small cog from his pocket. It was about the size of a sixpence, bronze, and dull from lack of polishing. It had come from Colton’s clock tower, from when a mechanic had forgotten it there. Colton had given it to Danny after an argument they’d had in what seemed another lifetime.
As he touched it, there was a small quiver of recognition, as if the cog knew that Colton was near.
Danny rubbed his thumb against the metal. Zavier wanted his secret, a secret connected to this cog. When his blood had touched it a year ago, he’d been able to control Enfield’s time, however briefly.
Armed with that knowledge, Zavier might be able to use it for his own means, whatever that entailed. If the blood of a clock mechanic was strong enough to break Aetas’s prison …
The clock spirits would vanish.
Colton would die.
Danny closed his eyes and clutched the cog, pressing his knuckles to his forehead. He was faint, his body oddly light. He had been told not to overexert himself. His gunshot wound throbbed as a painful reminder.
He wasn’t sure how much time had passed since he’d been shot. A week? Two? Zavier had taken him to a nursing station in a small southern Indian village staffed by volunteers from Europe. They had watched over Danny while he was subjected to surgery, fever, pain. Truthfully, he didn’t remember much beyond the smell of blood, the nurses’ white caps, and the heat.
When his fever had broken and he could walk around well enough on his own, Zavier had returned to claim him. Danny had considered running, finding the nearest cantonment where he could wire for help, but Zavier had contacts at the nursing station as well. Danny had been guarded day and night.
Now here he was, muddled and infuriated. Still wounded. And now this.
Danny staggered back to his feet and pounded on the door again. Maybe if he yelled loud enough, Colton would hear him. Wouldn’t it just be that sadist’s way, putting Colton in a room nearby, so close and yet so far.
He wrenched at the handle and kicked the door until it flew open. Danny staggered back and nearly toppled onto the bed.
“Bloody racket you’re making in here,” Edmund said. “What’s gotten into you?”
“What’s gotten into me?” Danny panted. “You’re holding Colton and everyone else hostage, you’re forcing me to do your work, I was shot, and you’re asking what’s gotten into me?”
“All right, settle down.” Edmund closed the door, but stationed himself between it and Danny. “There anything I can help with?”
Danny laughed hollowly. “Yes. Tell Zavier to land this ship and let us all go.”
Edmund rolled his eyes. Danny had to admit that they were nice eyes. Dark blue, like navy ink.
“I know it’s difficult, but I promise there’s a good reason for it all.”
“You have no idea,” Danny snapped. “No idea what this is like. I can’t even see my—!”
His what? Was there even a word, a title, that would properly describe what Colton was to him?
Edmund continued more softly. “Look, I’m sorry. Truly. Z can be a little, er … impassioned.”
“A bastard, more like.”
Edmund grinned. “Yes, that too.”
Danny stared at him, a thousand questions racing through his mind. He waited to see which would reach the finish line first. “Why are you even here? You’re not a clock mechanic.”
“I’ve been mates with Zavier for a long time. Me and Liddy both. I’m doing this for him.”
“Why? He’s horrible.”
Edmund shook his head. “He’s not, I promise. Zavier’s only doing this because he thinks it’ll help everyone in the long run.”
“What about me? What about Colton and the other clock spirits?” He thought about Aditi in Meerut as her tower fell. “What about them? They don’t deserve this.”
The young man took a deep breath and let it out with a little grunt. “That’s between you and Z, to be frank. But”—he scratched at his shaggy hair and pursed his lips—“I’ll see what I can do, yeah? For Colton.”
“Will you please let me see him? Please?”
“Z wants you to do the mission first.” Before Danny could protest, Edmund turned to the door. “You look peaky. I’ll bring something up for you.”
Danny sat on the bed, his strength dissolving. Edmund gave him a once-over, a worried line forming between his eyebrows. “When Zavier’s ready, he’ll tell you.”
“Tell me what?”
“His other reason for doing all this.” Then he left.
Danny lay back and stared at the ceiling. He lifted the cog, now hot and damp from being trapped in his hand, and pressed it against his chest. Over his heart.
Zavier chose Lyallpur for the mission. It was located in the northwest of India, the area referred to as the Punjab. Some of the crew had already scoped it out and drawn a comprehensive map. One look and Danny knew this was going to be far more difficult than he’d imagined.
They waited until midnight. Jo warned them to be safe before the Scottish mechanic, Ivor, took her hands and brought them to his lips as he said goodbye. Danny raised an eyebrow. Were they … together? Judging by the uncomfortable look on Zavier’s face, it was a safe assumption.
Daphne and Meena were led off by Ivor. Daphne looked over her shoulder at Danny before disappearing into the ship’s hangar. He wanted to tell her to be safe, too, but the look in her eyes told him that he needed the luck more than she did.
As Zavier ushered the others to the second hangar, Danny pulled him aside.
“You’re going to kill them,” Danny said. “The spirit.”
“It’s not killing. We’re freeing them.” Zavier made a shooing motion, and Danny had no choice but to follow the others into the hangar—rather, he was pushed inside—and comforted himself with the image of Zavier falling off the clock tower.
Although Danny could sometimes forget he was on an airship while aboard the Prometheus, a smaller plane like the one they flew over the Punjabi plains couldn’t conceal the turbulence that churned his stomach. They landed a mile from the city, under cover of darkness. As the others unpacked their equipment, Danny staggered off and vomited. It wasn’t just the plane ride; it was the whole idea of what they were about to do. What Zavier was about to do.
I can’t let him. I have to stop it somehow.
But Colton …
He startled as Prema touched his back and handed him a canteen of water. “We’re ready.”
After rinsing out his mouth, he followed them into the city. Lights winked in the windows and at the top of tall buildings. Domed roofs rose over the crooked streets, arches leading to uninhabited alleyways.
A few British officers patrolled the streets. At the sight of them, Danny’s heart leapt hopefully, but one look at Zavier crushed his hope like a grape under his heel. There were still Daphne and Meena to think of, and Colton. And Akash, wherever he was.
Besides, if he revealed what they’d come to do, he’d probably be lumped in with the rest of Zavier’s lot and labeled a terrorist.
There was an invisible leash that led from Danny’s neck to Zavier’s hand, and everyone knew it.
Eight streets connected to the circular clearing around the clock tower, the layout of the city purposefully modeled after the Union Jack. When Zavier had gone over the plan with the crew yesterday, he’d pointed out the clearing on the map. “There are eight bazaars around the tower, each connected to one of these streets, which means they’re never empty. It’ll be near to impossible to sneak into the tower without being seen.”
“So,” Edmund had picked up, clapping his hands together with glee, “there’ll be a lively show in Street Number Three starring Anish, Astrid, and me.” The French girl had sneered as she played with her knives. Or maybe she’d smiled. It was hard to tell.
Wh
en they reached the tower, Danny couldn’t help but be impressed by the size and construction of it. Columned arches adorned all four sides, windows cut between molded beams, topped with an elaborate domed roof with small spires on each corner. Four clock faces shone over Lyallpur so that everyone in the surrounding streets could see the time. Decorative fountains added the final detail to the beautiful scene.
“People call it the Ghanta Ghar,” Prema whispered at his side. “The Hour House. And that red stone? It was brought from the Sangla Hills.”
Danny forced himself to swallow. “And you’re going to tear it down.”
There was a glimmer of regret in her eyes. “Yes.”
Zavier hadn’t lied about the hub being a busy place. Indian men congregated around the bazaars, which were still open even at this hour, while British residents and servants went on about their business. Danny couldn’t help the sensation that everyone who passed was staring at him.
Zavier motioned the crew toward one of the bazaars, and they gathered around a silk stand, where Prema pretended to feel some of the cloth and made sounds of interest for the sake of the vendor who eyed their party.
“When will they begin?” Felix whispered to Zavier, his Austrian accent a strange contrast to their surroundings. An ex-grenadier in his thirties, Felix had been recruited by Zavier and Jo for his specific and deadly skill with explosives.
“Soon. Just give them time to prepare.”
The group lingered at the stall for a few minutes more. Prema asked the vendor questions in Urdu as Danny looked around constantly, counting the number of soldiers. Sweat dampened his undershirt. It was cooler here than it had been in the south, and the breeze made him shiver.
He jumped at the crack of gunfire. Several people cried out in surprise, and the soldiers ran toward the street where the sound had come from. Away from them.
The vendor began to pack up his wares in a hurry. Others did the same, and curious bystanders followed the soldiers toward the distraction.
“Now,” Zavier whispered sharply.
The group slunk across the clearing, using the thinning crowd as cover, until they reached the clock tower. Zavier darted to the door and found it locked; a quick moment with a pick and it swung open. Prema pulled Danny past the threshold.
