by Tara Sim
“Stop,” he commanded. The hands slowed, waited until they made up the difference, and then resumed at their normal speed.
He knew he was being ridiculous. He couldn’t mope the whole time Danny was gone, like Chessie the dog did when Thom went to work at the factory. Colton sometimes looked in on that poor dog, whining and watching the door, and wished he could do something to help. But seeing Thom return every night was its own reward. He, like Chessie, just had to be patient.
Colton sat on the floor and dragged over one of the books he’d taken from Danny’s cottage, the one full of Greek myths. He’d decided he wouldn’t read any new ones before Danny got back, so he browsed the ones they had already shared: Perseus, Troy, the labyrinth.
He flipped to the back, to the list of the Titans. Hyperion, Atlas, Rhea … Prometheus.
“I know I’ve heard this story before,” he said, before looking up and realizing he was speaking to himself. He’d never been guilty of that human habit before. It made him irrationally angry—yet another new peculiarity.
Colton’s memory was excellent, and he knew almost all these tales by heart, and even where he and Danny had been sitting while they read them. Yet there was no memory of reading this one.
Something rumbled in the distance, similar to the sound of an oncoming summer storm. Colton ignored it as he read and reread the story. In the illustration, the eagle flew in from the corner, coming to devour Prometheus’s liver while the Titan was chained to his rock. Over and over again, an unending cycle, and all because—
The tower trembled.
Startled, Colton vanished from his spot on the floor and reappeared at the window. Townspeople had begun to wander outside, disturbed by the noise. The sky was still bright and clear. No storm?
Then a cloud blocked out the sun, casting Enfield in darkness.
Colton looked up and his eyes widened. Not a cloud.
An airship.
He winked out and appeared on the roof, staring as the aircraft drifted above his tower like it was the eagle about to peck out his liver, if he had one to give. It glided in a smooth circle above the town, trailing a ring of smoke, until something detached from the ship. A piece of metal?
No. Something else.
Something bad.
Colton winked himself back inside the tower just as the object smacked the building’s side. It went off like a thousand peals of thunder, rocking the tower so hard that Colton fell. He screamed at the pain that lanced up his side.
He’d seen Danny hurt. He’d seen humans bleed. Colton did not bleed, but he felt the pain coiled deep inside him, sparking along on the surface, everywhere. The tower groaned, or maybe that was him. The windows were smashed, jagged remnants of glass scattered across the floor.
Time and He winced with each jab, hours slipping out of the loop even as they tried desperately to keep pressing forward. Colton grabbed at them, but it was too late. One second—four—negative ten
Colton struggled to his knees and swayed. Holding his side, he rushed for the stairs, almost stopping to retrieve Danny’s books. He used one of Danny’s favorite swears—“Shit on a toast point”—for being foolish and kept moving. When he reached the stairs he lost his footing, falling down each step until he crumpled at the landing. He tried to disappear, but found he was too weak. Groaning, he crawled down the next flight. He had to get to the clockwork.
The tower began to crack, then crumble. Metal heaved and moaned. The structure would start falling soon. There was only one way he could prevent it.
Colton grabbed his central cog and steeled himself. Closing his eyes tight, he pulled it away from the rest of the cogs and gears with a grunt of pain.
Time rippled and stiffened. All at once, a wave of gray nothingness washed over Enfield, and the injured time ceased pounding away on his body.
In fact, it ceased altogether.
The tower was quiet. Now, the sound of time was completely gone.
He held his chest, the ache there now a twin misery to the one in his side, sickly and poisonous. The tower stood frozen, its tumbling stones awkwardly defying gravity until the central cog, the heart of the clock, was replaced.
But he couldn’t replace it now. There was no telling what would happen to Enfield if the tower fell.
If he fell.
Using the last of his strength, he stood and hugged the cog to his chest as he tripped down the stairs. He could barely feel the wood beneath his feet.
Colton heard the crowd before he staggered outside—screaming, shouting, crying. He looked where they pointed. Against the gray dome, the clock tower was dull and lifeless. The face was ruined, Roman numerals scattered at the base of the tower. The structure could hardly even be called a tower, halfway to crashing to earth. The right side was exposed, metal and brick blasted away to reveal the broken pendulum within.
Colton stood unobserved for a moment. When Jane saw him, her mouth fell open.
“Colton!”
That quickly drew everyone’s attention. Soon they were shouting for answers, lunging forward like a wave. Colton shrank back, hiding behind his cog, a feeble shield against their fear.
“Everyone, stop this! Stop!” Mayor Aldridge broke through their circle and came to Colton’s side. “Yes, we’ve just been attacked. I don’t know by whom, or why. No one does—especially not this boy, who’s our only link to time. Let’s focus on taking care of him until a mechanic comes.”
“But no one can get inside!” a voice called out.
“Danny can,” Harland said above the mutterings. “He did last time, didn’t he?”
Only because he had me, Colton thought.
The mayor sighed. “Perhaps. For now, Colton, please come with me.”
Colton wanted to follow. But there was so much pain. Taking a step, his legs gave out, and he, like his tower, began to fall.
Colton’s awareness gradually returned. Danny called it waking up, but Colton knew he hadn’t been sleeping. He’d shut down, his gears ground to a halt, in order to preserve what little strength remained.
Someone had carried him to a chair in the mayor’s office. He looked slowly to one side, where his central cog was propped against him.
It wasn’t nearly powerful enough, but it would keep him functioning for now. Colton reached down to touch it, then froze.
He could see through his hand.
“Why am I so faint?” he whispered.
“We don’t know, but I admit it’s rather alarming.”
He turned and saw Aldridge walk into the room. Then the mayor disappeared. He walked in again. Disappeared again. Walked in again. Colton blinked. This was what happened in a Stopped town: time distorted one’s actions. People got caught in loops.
“Danny told me he was going abroad, but do you know for how long?” Aldridge asked when he finally managed to stay put.
“He said it might take a few weeks.”
It would feel like no time at all to a Stopped Enfield, but the mayor still looked worried. Someone had bombed the tower—his tower—for a reason. There was no telling what could happen outside the town during those few weeks.
“How was Danny able to leave before?” Aldridge asked.
“He had me. Spirits can go through the barrier.”
“Then anyone can go through, so long as they’re touching you?”
Colton shook his head. “They have to be a clock mechanic, too. Connected to time.”
“Blast.” Aldridge started wringing his hands. Then he disappeared again. When he walked through the door as if for the first time, Colton patiently repeated his side of the conversation.
“Blast.” Aldridge started wringing his hands. “Is there any chance you could go?”
“Me? Go to London?”
“You’ve been before.”
“I was very weak, though.” Then he remembered all the clockwork pieces in his tower. If he took a few of them, not just his central cog, maybe he would have enough strength.
“If yo
u go to London and bring back a mechanic, we can get this sorted before Danny returns.”
Colton tried to imagine Danny’s reaction upon seeing the ruined tower. His voice would climb higher as he sputtered, “I leave for five sodding minutes and your tower gets attacked?”
For some reason, this made Colton smile. He picked up his cog and cradled it to his chest. It was disturbingly visible through his faded arms. Before, when something happened to his tower, there was a physical mirror on his body. This transparency seemed to be the reaction to the amount of damage his tower had sustained.
“Something is very wrong here,” Aldridge went on. “I’ve heard of those cities in India, where the towers fell but time didn’t Stop. So then why are we Stopped?” He looked at Colton, as if he might have answers. “Will you be able to reach London? Will you bring back a mechanic?”
Colton nodded. “I’ll try.” And he knew just the mechanic for the job.
Colton stood in Danny’s cottage staring at the books arranged on the shelf. There were a few gaps, but only one he could fill. He had climbed his tower to retrieve the book of Greek myths, which had been precariously perched on a broken beam. He’d dusted it off, but there had been, thankfully, no real damage to the book.
Colton slid the volume back into place, ran a ghostly finger over the spine, and would have sighed if he could. He looked around. The bed hadn’t been made; Danny never made his bed. Colton walked over and slowly pulled the sheets straight, wanting so badly to hide beneath them and wait for Danny to return. His body still hurt, but now another ache joined in, something elusive and indescribable.
He picked up one of Danny’s satchels, which now contained his central cog and a few smaller ones he’d detached from the clockwork. Their absence wouldn’t make a difference now. Together, the cogs made Colton stronger, more opaque. They even dulled the pain a little. His appearance was still a problem, though.
He grabbed Danny’s overcoat and put it on. Danny’s spare boots fit him well. Finishing the disguise with one of Danny’s flat caps, he hoped it would be enough to prevent others from giving him a second look.
Outside, Enfield citizens milled about. There was nothing else for them to do. What felt like a minute was only the illusion of time passing. The minute would repeat, conversations would repeat, thoughts would repeat. Over and over and over, Prometheus bound in chains.
The mayor and Jane escorted Colton to the barrier. He recalled that terrible moment the year before when Enfield had Stopped for the first time. The panic in Danny’s eyes, their frantic drive to London.
Now, he would have to walk.
“Are you certain none of us can pass through with you?” Aldridge asked.
“I’m fairly certain. And I don’t think we should risk trying.” Horrible visions of them getting trapped in some otherwordly time dimension made him grimace.
Jane eyed the barrier distrustfully. “You’ll be careful, won’t you?”
“Of course.” He didn’t miss their pinched eyes and mouths. “I’ll return. I promise.”
They stood back as he passed a hand through the barrier. It slid through easily, the grayness shimmering and distorting around his fingers, as though the wall recognized him. And why shouldn’t it? Colton looked over his shoulder at the town he knew so intimately, taking one last look at the sad, crooked figure of his tower. Gathering himself, he stepped through the barrier.
It flowed over him, tendrils of stale seconds and stolen moments and breaths he couldn’t breathe. A sea of gray, of blurred life streaked with the faintest hints of gold.
On the other side, the sun returned, and so did time; he recognized the sensation of Big Ben’s power. He gazed around the field, the forest in the distance, the nearby river. The road that stretched toward London.
He was alone, armed with nothing but a few cogs and a picture of a human boy. Colton drew the picture from his pocket and addressed it sadly: “I guess I’ll have to do it on my own this time. I wish you were here with me.”
He couldn’t waste these precious seconds on regrets, so he put the picture away and set off to find the only person who could help him now.
Danny woke to a gentle shake. Daphne stood over him, illuminated by the overhead lantern she had turned on when the sky grew dim.
“Figured you might want to eat before the mess closes,” Daphne said. “We’re only a couple hours away.”
Danny sat up and hid a yawn behind his hand. “Brilliant. I’m starving.” During his nap, his stomach had grown used to the altitude and the airship’s movement, and he realized he hadn’t eaten since his hurried breakfast several hours earlier. “Have you been in here all this time?” He wasn’t overly fond of the thought of Daphne watching him sleep.
“I went out and found the observation deck. I even spoke to the captain for a while about what class of airship the Notus is.”
Daphne knew the way to the mess, as she had gone for some tea earlier. Danny stood to follow her, but hesitated in the doorway. He went back inside, climbed onto one of the benches, and unlocked his trunk.
He took out the cog and brushed his thumb over it, then frowned. Usually, it radiated a tranquil sort of energy, only faint enough to feel if he touched it directly. Now it felt like any other piece of metal.
Probably the distance. Reluctantly, he slipped it into his trunk. The idea of being around soldiers spooked him, and he didn’t want to risk anyone finding it.
As they walked, Danny caught Daphne glancing at him a few times. “You said his name,” she said eventually. “In your sleep.”
Heat rose to his face. He’d been thinking about Colton just before drifting off, wanting so badly to recreate the peace of the night he’d fallen asleep beside him—his arms wrapped around Colton’s body, Colton’s mouth pressed softly to his forehead, bidding him to sleep.
The next few weeks were going to be difficult.
Tables and benches were bolted to the floor of the mess. The hallway outside was cool, but the interior was warmed by the stoves in the back, the air scented with onions. The kitchen was divided from the seating area by a wall with a large window, through which passengers could pick up food.
Some of the soldiers and crewmembers had had the same idea as Daphne and were getting one last meal before landing. Danny saw that the soldiers were indeed eyeing her with undisguised interest. Normally, he wouldn’t want anyone to assume there was any kind of relationship between Daphne and himself, but if that’s what it took to keep their roving eyes away, he’d take up the role like a martyr. St. Daniel, patron saint of keeping soldiers away from girls who didn’t want their attention.
“What are you doing?” Daphne demanded when Danny sidled closer.
“Getting those idiots’ eyes off of you.”
“Don’t you dare put your arm through mine, Danny Hart. I can handle myself.”
“But you said—”
“Never mind what I said. They’ll be gone soon enough.” She gave him a sideways glance. “Besides, what would your darling spirit say?”
Danny remembered the last time Colton had gotten jealous and shuddered.
There were two options for dinner: bubble and squeak, and a steak and ale pie. They both chose the latter. After they received their food, still steaming from the oven, they found seats in the far back corner, Daphne with her back to the soldiers. The men were now engrossed in a loud card game.
Danny blew on his first bite, though the hot gravy nipped his tongue anyway. Daphne ate slower, picking around the crust before taking her first real bite.
“Are you nervous?” Danny asked. He kept wondering what this was like for her, being part Indian.
“A little. I feel … far removed, I suppose. Growing up, I could only rely on what my father told me.”
When she said nothing more, he changed the subject. “What are we supposed to be looking for, anyway? Do they expect us to find the ones responsible for the bombings?”
“I think that’s their job.” With her f
ork, she pointed at the soldiers, one of whom cried out in delight as he revealed a suit of cards in his favor. “What about you? Are you nervous?”
“Somewhat. I just hope I don’t do anything offensive.”
“I think the British are past the point of offense,” Daphne said dryly.
They discussed what Danny had read and what sorts of food they would likely eat. Danny told Daphne what he’d learned about the rebellion that took place twenty years before and, after some deliberation, even told her about the Enfield rifles. She stopped eating to listen, her eyebrows lowered in thought.
“What a strange coincidence.”
“In any case, rule under the East India Company was one thing, but the British Raj is different. We’ll have to be careful.”
Daphne was quiet, taking small sips of water from a glass stained with fingerprints. Danny finished his pie, even though the carrots weren’t completely cooked through. He was still hungry and debating going up for more when Daphne broke the silence. “Here’s another theory. What if the Indians are destroying their own clock towers?”
“Why would they?”
“If they’re angry—if they want to give the British a good slap in the face—messing about with their own clock towers would do the trick. There was a riot in Rath the same time the tower fell, and a smaller uprising in Khurja. They could have easily been distractions.”
“But how would they keep time running?”
She shrugged. “It’s just something to keep in mind, in case another tower falls while we’re there.”
They sat contemplating this new theory, slightly more probable than the first, though just as confusing. Daphne ran a finger around the rim of her glass and mumbled something under her breath. Danny strained to hear her.
“Hickory dickory dock, the mouse ran up the clock …”
Danny joined in. “The clock struck one, the mouse ran down.”
They were both drawing breath for the last line when the airship gave a sudden, painful jerk. Danny’s chest banged into the edge of the table and their cutlery crashed to the floor.
