by Perrin Briar
“What’s going on here?” Richard said.
“I told you,” Grandfather Time said, hobbling up to Richard. “The clock is the centre of all things, but you wouldn’t listen.”
“Where did they go?” Richard said. “One minute they were here, and then the next… Where did they go?”
“The question is not where they went, but when.”
Richard gripped the old man’s collar and lifted him up off the floor.
“You’re not making any sense, old man!” he said. “Where did they go?”
“I’m making perfect sense,” Grandfather Time said. “You’re just not listening.”
The old man gripped Richard’s hands, his spindly arms gripping tight. Richard’s expression of anger gave way to pain. The old man was strong – so very strong!
Seeing Richard was in trouble, the constables restrained the old man. There were two men on him, and he was still struggling. Another two joined the first and together they managed to subdue him. They forced the old man down onto a seat, the four men wiping the sweat from their eyes. Richard straightened his uniform.
“You’re going to tell me precisely what’s going on here,” he said.
The old man gritted his jaws together and spat out a tooth.
“That was my one good tooth,” he said.
A knobbled object like a key without a handle hung from a piece of frayed string around the old man’s neck. Richard held it.
“What’s this?” he said.
“It’s a key.”
“A key to what?”
Grandfather Time smiled.
“To my future,” he said.
There was an odd whirring noise like a rattling carriage wheel that hadn’t been fastened on properly. Richard stepped forward, bending his ear toward the old man. The sound appeared to be coming from behind the old man’s eye patch. Richard pulled it off.
He started back, bumping into the other constables.
The eye was metal, coiled up in a series of metal tubes that could bend and flex in every direction. In the centre was a glass lens with something black and a halo of blue around the edge, which constantly dilated and expanded.
“Demon!” Richard said.
“I see my secret’s out,” Grandfather Time said.
He grabbed his plain brown robe and tore it off his body. His body was smooth and hard and metal, and each circle column could slide and slot into one another to give him complete freedom of movement. Only his chest and forearms below the elbow on his right arm were a pink fleshy colour.
One constable fainted. Another retched.
His legs were two folded lengths of metal with a hydraulic piston in the middle. He rose to his full height – over two metres high, even a few inches taller than Richard himself.
“You might call this sorcery in your world,” Grandfather Time said, “but in my world we call this technology.”
“Sorcery!” Richard said.
The old man cackled.
“See?” he said. “It is science.”
“This is no science I have ever seen,” Richard said.
“That is because it is not today’s science. It is the science several hundred years from now.”
“No man could have made this. Only the devil himself could have forged it and melded it to your body.”
“Alas, no. The man who made me this way was called Doctor Hinklestein. A genius with a scalpel, but certainly no demon.”
Richard turned to his men.
“Train your weapons, men!” he said. “We must slay this vile creature!”
Richard reached for his pistol at his side. The old man dashed forward and caught the pistol in one hand. He gripped it in one metal claw and cut the gun in half. The constables drew their swords. Grandfather Time turned to face them.
“Do you really want to be doing that?” he said.
The constables looked at one another and sheathed their swords.
“Good lads.”
“Answer my questions, demon,” Richard said.
“Okay, but only because you asked so nicely.”
“Where did they go? Stump and Jera?”
“Into the future somewhere, I’d wager. A few hours from now, a month, a year, perhaps seventy years, if she lives that long, and if the tower lasts that long. To somewhere just like you went to.”
Richard paled.
“That wasn’t the future,” he said. “That was a vision, that’s all.”
“But you know it wasn’t a vision, don’t you? You might have felt the heat, if there was any, or the cold, felt the wind or sun on your face. It was too real to have been a vision, wasn’t it?”
“Then where is she, if she did go to the future? Why hasn’t she returned?”
“I don’t know. Maybe because they were inside the machine? Maybe the universes have a plan for them? I don’t pretend to understand all the intricacies of time and space.
“This clocktower is the centre of things, of all things. It is not merely a clock. It is a needle driven through every dimension of space and time of every known universe. It holds us together, one on top of the other. A blink of an eye here is a thousand years on some planes. But it fits. The clocktower keeps the time, and if it breaks, everything falls apart. The fabric of time and space will slither off the needle, never to be seen again, and all will be at an end.”
“The clocktower is a tourist attraction,” Richard said, “nothing more.”
“It is cleverly designed to look like a tourist attraction. Intriguing, ay?” The old man cackled and hacked. “Dressed up, just enough for people to question its real purpose here.”
“If what you say is true, why does no one know about it?”
“They do. But only a chosen few.”
“If it is all such a secret, why are you telling me now?”
“Because if you have done what I think you have, this could be the end of all things. The end of life, the end of death, the end of everything. Including nothing.”
Richard looked at the cracks in the golden clock pieces. They were grinding now, struggling to even move.
“That’s it? And there’s no way of stopping it?”
“Oh, there’s a way, of course.”
“How? How do we fix it?”
“You can’t fix it. The universe appears to have chosen others to do that.”
The old man smiled and turned to look at something over his left shoulder.
“Oh dear,” he said. “We appear to have run out of that most valuable of currencies: time. Good bye, sir. Good luck in your endeavours. And please try not to get in the way too much.”
“Why? What are you-?”
The golden cog rattled and spun forward. And in the blink of an eye the old man was gone. After a moment, Captain Philmore approached Richard.
“Sir, what do you wish to do?” he said.
Richard thought for a moment, shaken to his very core.
“Assemble the men,” he said. “We must find Miss Jera Wythnos.”
“And Elian Stump and Grandfather Time, sir?”
Richard paused.
“Kill them,” he said.
As the constables filed out of the largest clock in the world, Richard stared at the golden objects and thought deep thoughts.
Chapter Twenty
A cold wind blew off the peak of the mountains and drifted down, slow and winding toward the flat expanse below. The brisk air threatened to strip the grass of its colour. A herd of deer frolicked across the field and hopped over the ditch at the end in easy stride. The trees waved side to side, yet the boughs and leaves made no sound.
A V-formation of pigeese honked and passed overhead with just a few powerful beats of their wings. Jera’s head pounded, feeling like someone was trying to knock her awake. She sat up and put a hand to her head. She felt the rough texture of dried dirt on her face and her skirt was torn and frayed around the edges. Her backside ached like she’d ridden a horse hard for miles. She tipped to one side, her
arm catching herself before she landed head first in the mud. Her arm shook and she could barely stay upright. Her hand rested on something hard and lumpy. When she looked over at what it was, she started.
It was a leg. She took her hand off, but it was too late. The man awoke, lying on his front. He began to stir, and pushed himself up onto his hands and knees. He peered around at their surroundings, a broad expanse on the edge of a forest, and then closed his eyes and opened them again. He looked up and saw Jera.
“Where are-?” he began.
He shut his eyes and tried again.
“Where are we?” he said.
“I was hoping you could tell me.”
“We were in the clocktower… and then… and then…”
“And then we were here. Have you kidnapped me?”
“Don’t be stupid. I wanted to hand you over. And why didn’t you tell me who you really were?”
“Probably for the same reason you didn’t tell me.”
There was a snorting sound, and heavy footsteps behind them.
As one, Elian and Jera looked up. Steam hissed from his wide flaring nostrils. His hooves were chipped and rough. Blood, thick and dark from where it had dried in the sun, turned purple in the heat. His dense chest hair was matted and swirly with sweat. The hair that fell past his shoulders was tangled and knotted. He glared down at them with fierce jaundiced eyes. He threw back his great mane of dark hair the colour of rich soil and canted around them.
Jera and Elian shared a look. Jera’s eyes rolled back in her head and she fainted.
“Don’t mind her,” Elian said, “she’s just sensitive.”
The centaur unsheathed his great broadsword and aimed it at Elian. It was stained with recent blood. Flies buzzed around it.
Elian felt the blood rush from his head.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I think I need to put my head down for a moment…”
His head flopped into the mud.
Part Two
Centaurs, Pucas and Pathways
Chapter Twenty-One
Craig peered in through the glass. The buns had turned a pleasing golden brown with white flame-shaped marks along the bottom. He opened the door and a solid wall of heat enveloped him. The smell of freshly baked bread washed over him.
Craig brought over the stepladder leaning against the wall, set it up in front of the oven, and scaled it. He put on a single oven glove and withdrew the large flatbed iron tray, the cords in his arm protruding under the immense weight, and carried it to the work table. With his free hand he took off each bun, his hard-skinned fingers insulating against the heat, and set them on the table.
He repeated the procedure with all ten trays. When he was finished the buns were organised before him in perfect rows like they were ready for war. He picked up a broad bristled brush, dipped it in a thick yellow paste and ran it over each bun, covering the top with a thin film of icing. Then he picked up a fine brush, stroked the fibres against the rim of a pot and then dipped the pointed end into the mustard yellow dye and drew hair-thin cracks on each roll. He cleaned the brush and then dipped it into the black dye. He drew a series of dots around the surface, and then two thick lines from the centre of the roll out to the side. He added numbers around the edge from one to twelve. It was a clock face with the time 6:57 on it. Craig smiled to himself. He moved from one bun to the next, painting the same time on each. He put the paintbrush back in the pot and looked over his handiwork.
He picked up the pots and paints and took them over to the corner where a dog gnawed on a piece of stale bread. In the opposite corner was a big round iron container. A heavy round stone rolled over the wheat inside, mashing it into a fine powder. Through the open top stable back door, a donkey’s head appeared every five seconds. Maurice the donkey walked, turning an arm that made the heavy stone roll.
Craig arranged the iced buns onto the ten iron trays, now cool having sat to one side, and carried two of them through the twin swing doors and into the front of the shop.
The shop was homely and warm what with the heat from the oven piped into it, carrying with it the delightful aroma of freshly baked bread. A second pipe was aimed at the front door so the fragrance spilled out into the street. Craig could see people outside now on the boardwalk, stopping dead in their tracks, catching a whiff, and then putting a hand to their stomachs, deciding whether to continue walking or turn toward the bakery.
Craig carried the trays over to the counter that ran along the left-hand side of the shop. He started to set the buns out on it. Behind the counter, wearing a spotless apron that hadn’t seen a speck of flour in over ten years, was Miss Argust. She had a permanent round red sweaty face that looked about ready to burst like a ripe zit. Miss Argust stood with her ham-like arms folded, watching him through her small beady eyes obscured by rolls of fat on her face.
Someone entered the shop, blocking the heat that was pumped out into the street, causing the doorbell to ring. Once the customer was inside the shop, the hot air once again pushed the doorbell up to its waiting position. The customer threw herself onto a stool at the counter.
“Something mighty strange is going on over at the Wythnos’s,” the customer said. “You mark my words.”
“Their two girls have gone missing,” Miss Argust said in a surprisingly soft high-pitched voice. “Nothing particularly normal about that. What can I do for you, Elsie?”
Elsie Wilkins was skinny to the point of having no shape at all, just a straight line, save for her huge stunned rabbit-sized eyes.
“That’s as may be, but that’s no excuse to involve the whole town! My usual, please, Ada. And perhaps one of these delightful bun clocks.”
Miss Argust made a cup of hot chocolate and put an iced bun from one of the iron trays onto a plate. As Miss Argust brought the plate over, time skipped forward, and the plate was already before Elsie, and then skipped back to Miss Argust handing the plate over.
“First the two daughters go missing,” Elsie said, “and then this time skipping nonsense. I tell you, it’s not right.”
Miss Argust nodded.
“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it,” Elsie said. “I heard the older daughter, what’s her name? Jerry?”
“Jera.”
“Right. She was off in the clocktower seeing old Grandfather Time when she went missing! And betrothed to be married an’ all!”
The doorbell rang. Miss Argust and Elsie Wilkins stopped and turned to see who had come in the shop. It was a young man with a mop of yellow blond hair. They bent their heads back down in quiet discussion.
“Never!” Miss Argust said. “But he’s old enough to be… well, her grandfather!”
“I know. And that ain’t all. It’s said she chose him over that nice new fella she’s been seeing. One of the Ascar boys.”
“You never can tell about people, can you?”
“The police have come in here every day for the past month. How many times do I have to tell them that she isn’t here? That I don’t know where she is and I absolutely would tell them if I did?”
“It’s just routine,” Elsie said.
“Well it’s routinely getting on my nerves. I understand they have to try and find the girls, and Lord knows I hope nothing has happened to them, but this is getting beyond a joke. It’s affecting my business. You mark my words,” Miss Argust said, “she’ll be right under our noses, you wait and see. Right under their noses.”
Craig went into the back room, set down the two empty trays, picked up two more trays and returned to the shop.
“What about the other daughter?” Miss Argust said.
“Nobody’s seen neither hide nor hair of her either,” Elsie said. “Just up and vanished. Poof!”
“Their poor mother. She must be distraught.”
Miss Argust’s head looked up as if she just had an idea.
“Say, you don’t reckon it’s them who’ve caused all this skipping time nonsense, do you?” she said. “Only stands to reas
on, don’t it? They go missing, and then time goes missing!”
“You might be onto something there, Ada.”
“How long have they been missing now? Been a while, ain’t it.”
“Must’ve been a month. Maybe more.”
“If it was anybody else they would’ve given up looking by now.”
“I suppose they can’t though, can they? Not with their wedding next week. I suppose they’re hoping they’ll just suddenly turn up.”
“Not bloomin’ likely,” Miss Argust said.
She looked over at the customer who was perusing the birthday cakes along the back wall. He couldn’t hear her, but Miss Argust lowered her voice anyway.
“I’ve heard those Ascars are up to no good,” she said, “got their own dirty dealings.”
Elsie leaned in closer.
“I never heard that. Pray tell,” she said.
Miss Argust licked her lips as if she were about to bestow a great secret.
“All I heard was they’re planning on having very large shipments going out all over the kingdom,” she said.
“What kind of shipments?”
“Nobody knows, which only makes it all the more likely it’s nothing good, don’t you think?”
“I heard they’ve been rounding people up and questioning them about the missing girls,” Mrs Wilkins said, sipping on her hot chocolate. “It’s a bad time to be suspected of any wrongdoing.”
“You’re just being paranoid,” Miss Argust said. “They can’t just detain people for no good reason.”
“They give a reason, though it’s only ever good enough in their eyes.”
The bell above the door went, and a distinguished-looking gentleman in a starched white uniform stepped into the shop. The conversation dried up. He had a white captain’s hat tucked under his arm, and the look of someone used to being listened to. His cold blue eyes swept the room, taking in Craig, Mrs Wilkins, and then finally settled on Miss Argust. His leather boots creaked as he approached the counter. Elsie Wilkins got up and smiled a distracted smile at Miss Argust.
“Well,” she said, “I’ll… see you tomorrow.”
