Chainbreaker (Timekeeper)

by Tara Sim

  A young Indian woman bumped into him from behind. She looked lost, and not a little scared. When the ticket inspector turned to the new passengers, her eyes grew large.

  “Are you all right?” Colton asked. The man punched someone else’s ticket and she winced. “Do you not have a ticket?” She shook her head.

  He handed her his own. She stared at him, then snatched it from his hand. Just in time, too, for the man turned to her next. She showed him the already-punched ticket.

  “Sorry, miss. Must’ve already done yours.”

  When he was gone, she tried to press the ticket back into Colton’s hands.

  “Keep it. I don’t need it anymore.”

  He turned to find a quiet place. An open door led to another carriage, this one even louder than the one he’d just left. His side ached, and his head swam. He felt weaker by the second.

  He passed through two more carriages until he found a closed door. Testing it, he found it wasn’t locked, and opened to a darker carriage filled with luggage and crates. Colton waited until the men loading the compartment jumped off and closed the main platform doors. Then he snuck inside and closed the door behind him.

  The carriage was blessedly quiet. All he could hear was the hiss and rumble of the train. He wandered through barrels and boxes, smelling strange aromas and reading strange words. Tallow, oil, ink, spices. If he were human, he wondered if he would sneeze. Danny would sometimes sneeze in the tower if it got too dusty. Colton once told him he looked adorable when he sneezed. Danny, flustered, hadn’t been able to speak for five minutes.

  The pain flared again and he leaned against the wall, sliding to the floor. Wedged between a box marked FRAGILE and another smelling of mint, Colton closed his eyes and tried to decide what to do.

  He had to dream again. When he’d looked in the mirror, he had seen himself, the same face he’d seen in Danny’s mirror and in the sketch Danny had drawn. But the colors had been all wrong, his skin paler and dotted with freckles, his hair dark, his eyes blue. He’d looked … human.

  Maybe it wasn’t me, he thought. Maybe it was someone I knew when my tower was built. Someone I wanted to look like.

  But the Jaipur clock spirit had said he’d experienced the visions, too.

  The only way to find out was to dream. But, despite his weakness, Colton couldn’t get to that place of unconsciousness. It seemed he had stocked up on rest during his night on the airship.

  The train began to move forward. Colton realized what he had to do. With a pinch of trepidation, he slipped the cog holder off his shoulders and leaned it against a box. Almost immediately the weakness tripled, his head swimming and his vision doubling.

  Closing his eyes, he fell into sought-after darkness.

  They lounged in Castor’s bed for most of the afternoon. The sheets were thick and somewhat itchy, but the two of them barely noticed, too distracted by each other.

  The wind howled outside, but they were warm and safe in bed. Colton felt heavy and happy as Castor hummed low in his throat. Their fingers skimmed over skin, their eyes sometimes meeting with a secretive smile.

  “So?” Castor asked. His voice had fallen into a comfortable baritone in the past year, and it made Colton shiver when it hit its lowest notes. “What do you think?”

  “About what?”

  “What we were talking about before.”

  “You mean before you shoved me onto the bed?”

  “Yes, that.”

  “I can’t remember that far back.”

  Castor scooted farther in, resting a warm hand on Colton’s back. Colton pressed his own hand against Castor’s chest. “When we were talking about London,” Castor said.

  “Oh.” The bliss faded a little, making him more aware of the cold air outside. Colton idly drew circles over Castor’s chest, but wouldn’t look at his face. Lowering his voice, he said, “I don’t think it would work.”

  “Why not? You said you loved the city when we visited last year. So did I.”

  Colton bit his lower lip, and Castor brought his hand back around to run it up his side.

  “I want to live with you,” Colton said softly, “but I can’t leave my family. I can’t leave Abigail. You know that.”

  “I do. Which is why”—Castor paused to kiss the tip of Colton’s nose—“she’ll be coming with us.”

  Colton drew back. “What? She can’t go to London. She’s still unwell. Enfield is good for her. Fresh air, fewer people, a doctor who knows her condition—”

  “But she can be with her big brother and his handsome friend who know how to care for her. Maybe London life will do her wonders, and she’ll grow strong enough to go out into the city and enjoy herself. Make friends, see plays, dress up.”

  “We haven’t the money for that.”

  “Not now, but that can change.”

  “You just want to spoil her.”

  “Maybe. But you do, too.”

  “I don’t think our parents would ever allow it.”

  “They’re not nearly as protective as you are. I’m sure they’d listen to you.”

  “Castor …” The boy’s brown eyes were warm and deep, and he made the mistake of looking into them. There was little to no chance of denying him when he looked so sincere.

  “Just consider it.” Castor drew Colton closer until their stomachs touched. Colton closed his eyes as Castor kissed him, lightly at first, then deeper. They were reaching under the sheets again when they heard the front door slam.

  “Castor!”

  They sprang apart like spooked cats. Colton fell to the floor as he scrambled for his clothes, counting the heavy footsteps approaching Castor’s door.

  “Castor? Are you in there?”

  “Yes!”

  The door opened with a creak and Castor’s father peered in. Castor sat fully dressed on his bed while Colton took up the wooden chair in the corner. Both boys tried to hide the fact that they were breathing heavily.

  “Beele is looking for you two. He’s by the shrine.”

  They exchanged a look. Beele hardly ever asked to see them outside of classes, and their next trip to the coast wasn’t for a few weeks.

  “Thank you, Mr. Thomas,” Colton said.

  The boys silently walked across the village green. Castor’s face was still bright pink. Colton hoped he would forget about London for a while.

  Beele stood lingering beside the Aetas shrine near the church. The statue depicted the god with palms supine, standing strong upon a dais of a clock face. His face was cut in clear detail, from the straight line of his nose to the deep facets of his eyes. Colton glanced at it, feeling both drawn and disquieted by the figure.

  When everyone was assembled, Beele told them they were making a special trip to the coast as soon as possible. Murmurs and puzzled looks swept through the students.

  “Sir, has something happened?” Castor asked.

  “Well …” Beele’s eyes swept over the group, the older boys and girls and the younger ones who had just been initiated. “Something must be looked into, and I’d rather everyone be there.”

  “What needs to be looked into, sir?” asked a tall boy.

  Beele cleared his throat. “I’m not meant to say, but … we must check on Aetas.”

  More looks, more murmurs. “On Aetas?” a girl repeated as they all looked up at the shrine before them.

  “Yes. We need to see if he can still hear us.”

  The ocean raged under the iron-gray sky as time servants stood along the shore, cold and confused. Most assembled had no idea why they were here. A few stared across the water with trepidation.

  Colton stood close to Castor. Both shivered as the wind played with their hair. More than anything, Colton wanted to hold Castor’s hand, but practicality made him stay still. They watched the churning ocean, mesmerized by its white-crested waves, the sinuous arcs they made before the water crashed down with a frightening roar.

  “Something is wrong,” Beele said somewhere on Colton’s ri
ght. Other instructors and their students from neighboring districts were gathered nearby. The adults shifted on their feet, glancing warily at one another as the students looked on.

  “Hancock, why don’t you go in?” one of the instructors suggested to a stocky middle-aged man with dark sideburns. Hancock drew a deep breath and nodded. He removed his coat and timepiece, then made his way to the ocean.

  Everyone watched as the instructor stepped into the surf. It nearly dragged him under, and a few younger children gasped, but Hancock righted himself and submerged before a wave could topple him.

  Colton began to nibble on his thumbnail. Castor hated the habit, but refrained from pulling Colton’s hand away as he normally would. Instead, he stared out at the water and waited like everyone else.

  A moment later, Hancock came up sputtering and fighting the tide. Beele and another instructor ran to help him out of the water.

  “What did you feel?” Beele demanded as they toweled him down. Hancock shook so violently that his teeth chattered loud enough for Colton to hear.

  “I—” Hancock couldn’t speak at first, breathing hard through his mouth. Swallowing, he forced the words out. “I didn’t feel anything. I tried speaking to Aetas, but he didn’t answer.”

  The look the adults gave each other formed a pit in Colton’s stomach.

  One by one, each instructor waded into the ocean. Then the children stood ankle- or knee-deep. All arrived at the same conclusion: Aetas could not be felt. The twining pattern of time was barbed and static—they feared touching it.

  “What does that mean?” Colton whispered. He wanted to race into the water, but Beele had warned him not to wade too far.

  “I thought I felt something strange the other day,” Castor whispered back. “In Enfield. Like an ache in my belly.”

  Colton had felt it, too.

  The students demanded answers, but for once, their instructors had none.

  “Perhaps Aetas is distracted and needs us to work even harder,” Beele suggested. “When we go home, make sure you meditate twice a day, once in the morning and once at night. Focus on Aetas and the strings of time around your home. Make sure they are running true.”

  It was a long wagon ride to the coast, and by the time they were trundling back to Enfield, most of the children had fallen asleep in the back. Colton and Castor sat near the front, listening to the clop of the horses’ hooves. Because of the wagon’s cover, they couldn’t see the stars, but moonlight filtered through the slit near the driver’s bench. They spoke in whispers until Castor nodded off, resting his head against Colton’s shoulder. Colton couldn’t bring himself to move him away. None of the children would see, anyway.

  Beele and Hancock were speaking on the driver’s bench, their voices low.

  “There must be something we’re missing,” Beele said. “Some piece of the puzzle. First the south of Africa, and now us. What’s the cause?”

  “It’s almost as if time is rippling. It makes my skin crawl.”

  “Do you think there’s anything we can do?”

  Hancock was silent a while. Colton was about to drift off when the man spoke again.

  “I think there is more to it than we originally thought. Have you ever tried … to control it?”

  “What do you mean?” Beele asked, his voice even lower.

  “Time. Have you been able to control it?”

  Beele didn’t respond.

  “It’s one thing to meditate,” Hancock went on, getting more excited with every word, “but I think I’ve found—some of us have found—that time may run deeper than we suspected. The other day, when I was cleaning my timepiece, I nicked my thumb. A bit of blood got onto the gears and, well, it felt strange. I played with the sensation a bit. It was as though the time of the watch was directly connected to my thoughts.”

  Beele laughed softly, but he didn’t sound amused. “You must have swallowed seawater.”

  “I’m serious. I don’t think Aetas merely wants us to watch over time. He wants us to control it.”

  “Enough,” Beele muttered. “You’re talking nonsense.”

  “You’ll see soon. We’re about to make great discoveries. Perhaps Aetas is simply telling us we need to stop relying on him and finally take the matter into our own hands.”

  “I said that’s enough.”

  The men fell silent, but Colton was wide awake. He watched a sliver of moonlight fall onto Castor’s pale cheek, turning it white.

  Over the next few days, strangers arrived in Enfield. Men from London, who spoke with refined accents and insisted that they were here for anthropological research. The townspeople gave them a wide berth. Colton kept an eye on the strangers, wondering if they’d come because of the Aetas matter. Instructor Beele’s uneasy behavior all but confirmed it.

  Colton and Castor spoke about the latest news in quiet voices. None of the other time servants could figure out what was happening, and the authorities in London were helpless. It was only the servants’ constant meditation on time that kept the complicated weaves safely blanketed over Enfield.

  Colton sat outside his house one morning, eyes closed, focused inwardly. Neighbors usually left him alone when he did this, but today someone bumped into him, shattering his concentration. Colton opened his eyes with a small growl of frustration.

  One of the London men looked down at him, frowning. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m a time servant. I’m channeling Aetas.”

  The frown deepened. “Don’t have to do that in the middle of the road, do you? Or do you lousy churls not have chairs? Tell me your name, boy.”

  “Colton Bell, and I’ll meditate wherever I please.”

  The man bared his teeth, but didn’t press the matter further, turning with a flip of his long green coat before strolling down the road that led to the village green.

  The encounter sat oddly with him, as had everything that had happened in the last few days. Even well into the night, he couldn’t stop the nervous squirming of his belly, or the dull, frightened thudding of his heart.

  It was nearly midnight and Colton sat in the middle of his bed, unable to sleep. Ever since the trip to the coast, Hancock’s words had been rolling around his head like marbles. There was something he had to try.

  He looked to his right, to the sheet dividing his bed from his parents’. His father’s snores sawed through the air and his mother’s lighter snores whistled in harmony. On his left, past the other sheet, Abigail was quiet as usual.

  Colton took a deep breath and slipped out of bed, trying not to make a sound. He bypassed the creaky step near the bottom of the stairs and lit a lantern, which he placed on the table. He sat within the lantern’s buttery glow and opened his hands to reveal the timepiece he’d been clutching.

  It was his father’s, and it was very old. The silver exterior was carved with a scalloped design, almost like a seashell. It was the most expensive thing they owned.

  Colton laid his tools out before him on the table’s surface. Carefully, quietly, he pried the timepiece apart to get to the gears within.

  When he laid eyes on the smoothly turning mechanism, his heart started to beat faster. The parts were so tiny, so beautiful, so mysterious, that he couldn’t help but stare.

  Colton grabbed the pocketknife his father had given him on his tenth birthday. He pricked his thumb, watching as a small bead of blood rose to the surface. Swallowing, Colton wondered if he should abandon his plan, put the timepiece back together, and forget what he had heard on the wagon.

  But he had to know.

  He pressed the bead of cooling blood to the gears. Something sharp ran through his chest and he had to slap a hand to his mouth to stop himself from crying out.

  Time writhed around him. He felt it intimately on his skin, the way Castor’s fingers felt when they traced the lines of his body. He shuddered, his hands hot as they clutched the faintly glowing timepiece.

  He replaced the face. Focusing on the awareness that raised the h
airs along his arms, he silently commanded the timepiece to stop. The hands slowed, the ticking ceased, and the small bubble of time around him froze.

  He couldn’t breathe.

  Start. Start.

  The hands resumed their journey, and the faint ticks of the second hand came back to life. He inhaled.

  “Hancock was right,” Colton whispered. “We can control time.”

  A rustle made him jump. He looked at the front door, then the window beside it. It could have been his nerves, but he thought he saw the flash of a pale face before it disappeared into the folds of night.

  Colton was about to run to the door when he heard Abigail whimper upstairs. He hesitated before he put the timepiece down and hurried to her instead. She was tossing under her sheets, frantic and perspiring.

  “Abigail.” He cradled her face with his hands, smearing blood on her cheek. “Abi, wake up. It’s just a dream.”

  Her eyes moved under her lids, then opened slowly. Although her forehead was coated with sweat, she shivered.

  “Colton,” she whispered hoarsely, her fingernails driving into his skin. “Colton, you’re here.”

  “Of course I am. I’m always here.”

  “You were gone. I couldn’t find you.”

  He gently swept her hair back. “I’ll never leave you, Abi. I promise you’ll always be able to find me.”

  When she was calm again, he wiped the blood from her cheek and gave her some water. He thought about the timepiece downstairs, and how he had to dismantle it to clean the gears before their father woke up. But Abigail couldn’t find sleep again, so he held her, wondering what he should say to Instructor Beele.

  This discovery was going to change everything.

  When Castor came over the next day, Colton led him out back to the garden. As they tilled the soil in preparation for the spring planting, Colton told him about his experiment the other night.

  Castor listened intently as he worked, but when Colton reached the part about his father’s timepiece, he stopped and leaned against the hoe, eyes wide. “Colton, how could you do something so reckless?”