The radio warbled, and her mother instinctively leaned forward to adjust the knobs. When the channel returned clearly, the high-voiced announcer was still at it:
“—tell them to try Bill’s Brake Solution, the only solution to all your automotive troubles. Now we—oh.” The radio was unnaturally quiet for twenty loud ticks of the clock. “It seems we have incoming news from the jewel colony itself.”
Daphne grew very still.
The announcer cleared his throat. “Early this morning, a protest broke out in the heart of the city of Rath, where their clock tower stands. In the midst of the commotion, there was a loud report, and a mechanism within the tower was blown to pieces.”
Daphne couldn’t tear her eyes away from the radio. Neither could anyone else in the room.
“Although the rioters were subdued, the cause of the explosion remains unknown. After consulting the local clock mechanics, it’s been confirmed that the tower … has fallen.”
Hushed whispers and gasps from the other women. Daphne’s vision tunneled. Suddenly, she was back at that moment of perfect horror in Dover, frozen as the world went white and time shuddered to a stop.
Her body rang with an echo of that terror. As nausea clenched her belly, she swore she could smell blood.
“Soldiers helped the injured out of the rubble, but a search through the debris yielded no bodies. The central frame of the clockwork has not yet been located.”
Muttering issued from the radio, the announcer conferring with someone just beyond the microphone. “At this time, there is no clear connection between the riot and the tower falling. The strangest part the soldiers have reported”—the announcer’s voice faded—“is that Rath has not Stopped. There is no barrier.
“So far, time continues to move forward.”
Daphne released a sharp breath, then inhaled another. The announcer must be mistaken. The news was coming all the way from India. Along the way, some piece of the report must have been misinterpreted.
It wasn’t possible for a city to run without its tower.
“Unfortunately, we know nothing further regarding this incident, but we hope to have more information soon.” There was a lengthy pause. “And now, the season’s cricket rankings.”
The room gradually stirred back to life. Voices rose in speculation, some entranced by the report, some startled, some skeptical. Her mother continued to watch the radio.
Daphne thought of the clicking sounds she’d heard just before the Dover clockwork had exploded. Of the little girl who had flickered before her eyes. Daphne rubbed her neck where a small scar lingered. There was a larger, more jagged scar on her shoulder where a gear had cut her, and it ached.
Music drifted from the radio. Or at least, Daphne thought it was coming from the radio until she realized her mother was singing.
“Hickory dickory dock, the mouse ran up the clock.” Her voice was raspy and thin; she had not sung in years. “The clock struck one, the mouse ran down …”
Daphne gaped at her mother as she sang, gripping the wooden armrests of her chair.
“The clock struck one, the clock fell down …”
Daphne stood, uttering a quick goodbye before she hurried from the room. Her mother didn’t even look up.
The once comforting roar of London became overwhelming as soon as Daphne stepped outside, swallowed by sticky heat and smoke and the ripe odor of bodies. She was jostled this way and that, following the current like a clueless fish.
When she found her motorbike, she threw a leg over its metal bulk but didn’t start it up. Instead, she sat waiting for her blood to settle and her pulse to grow quiet, staring at the macadam road beneath her as her shoulder throbbed.
The clock struck one, the clock fell down …
It was happening again.
The view of Enfield from the top of Colton Tower was always lovely. Seeing it from this angle, however, was another matter entirely.
Danny Hart held on for dear life to the ladder propped against the tower wall. The ladder wasn’t flimsy; it was an industrial metal contraption firmly suctioned to the ground below. Or so the maintenance crew had assured him, multiple times and with mounting impatience.
Yet the fact that he was perched nearly fifty meters above the ground, with nothing more than a thin rope attaching his belt to the aforementioned ladder, could not be overlooked. It was like being on the scaffolding, but worse. Much worse.
“Sod this,” he muttered to himself. He tightened his grip on the brush as he slowly reached for the tower wall and carefully—very carefully—started scrubbing. A breeze ruffled Danny’s dark hair, cooling the sweat on his forehead. He scrubbed as hard as he was willing, removing dirt and grime and the old film of rainwater.
Members of the maintenance crew were similarly engaged with the other tower walls, having already rinsed away the patina of dust that had collected during the hot summer days. The head maintenance worker had brilliantly suggested that they do a “deep cleanse” while they were at it.
“We’ll be done a lot sooner if you’d help us,” one of the crew had suggested as he’d jostled Danny’s shoulder. “C’mon, lad, up for a little adventure?”
“In no way, shape, or form is this an adventure,” Danny mumbled as he continued scrubbing, his arm already growing tired. “Don’t treat me like a child.”
Under different circumstances, the maintenance crew wouldn’t have been nearly as familiar with a clock mechanic, but Danny had been living in Enfield for about eight months now. Not to mention he’d saved the town from being permanently Stopped the previous year. Did they make him mayor and award him a medal of valor? No. Did they insist he never pay for his own drinks at the pub? Yes, and God willing that wouldn’t end anytime soon.
The breeze returned, carrying a wave of pollen with it. Danny suppressed a sneeze, but of course that only made the urge stronger. Unable to hold it in, the sneeze exploded out of him, and one of his feet slipped on the rung. Yelping, he scrabbled to grab hold of the ladder as his stomach lurched.
A hand caught his wrist. Looking up, Danny’s breath hitched at the sight of Colton grinning down at him, hanging off the roof in a manner that would have sent any normal person tumbling to the ground.
“Having fun?” Colton asked, amber eyes crinkling.
Danny exhaled a small laugh. The quickening of his pulse wasn’t only due to his near fall. “Not in the least.”
Colton reached for the brush. “Let me do it.”
Danny held the brush out of reach. “Oh, no. This is my job, not yours.”
Colton’s blond hair stirred in the wind. He lifted one pale eyebrow at Danny. “It’ll take you ages this way.”
“Hope you don’t mind if I grow a beard, then.”
“Or: I find a better way and spare us both that image.” Colton crawled forward, dangling off the lip of the roof with one hand, and grabbed the rag that hung from Danny’s back pocket.