Colton watched the auto pull around and head back for base. He was on his own again.
His legs buckled under a sudden spell of weakness, but he gripped Big Ben’s cog and fed on the power from the cogs on his back, as well as whatever the conservatory could spare. He wanted to sit and think, but getting to Danny was more important. Only a train ride separated them. This, more than the cogs, gave him the strength to walk to the stairs.
His determination was short-lived, though, as a guard with olive skin stopped him. “Ticket?” he asked.
Colton wearily looked at him, hoping he would explain. Eventually, the man sighed and pointed at a kiosk on the right.
“Tick-et,” he said slowly, raising his voice as if Colton was hard of hearing. “To ride the train.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I’ve never ridden a train before.”
Finding that Colton spoke English, the man returned to his normal voice. “Go on then, get one and we’ll let you through.”
Colton approached the man at the kiosk, who only gestured to a list above his head. Colton scanned the board and tried to figure out what he wanted, but he couldn’t read the words. “Um, a ticket to Agra, please? The Jabalpur Express?”
The man did something behind the kiosk. He brought out a rectangular bit of paper and stamped it, then held out his hand. Colton, growing increasingly frustrated, shrugged.
“Money,” the guard from the stairs called. He’d been watching the transaction. “A ticket to Agra’s gonna be eight annas.”
“Right. Money.” He fumbled with the notes and coins in his pocket, trying to determine which were annas and which were rupees. The coins clattered onto the surface of the kiosk as he separated them. This was even more confusing than English currency.
The man behind the kiosk grunted impatiently and swiped the necessary coins from the pile. Colton tried not to feel incompetent as he put the rest back in his pocket, suddenly thankful Danny wasn’t here to witness this. He would never hear the end of it.
Colton showed his ticket to the guard, who pretended to applaud. Frowning, Colton swept past him and up the stairs to join the other passengers waiting for the Jabalpur Express.
There weren’t many people here, but enough to make him nervous. London had been different. Everyone had been constantly moving, their eyes focused elsewhere, pretending no one around them existed. Here, people noticed him, and it made him feel as if he held a sign that told them what he really was.
He found a small wooden bench near the empty tracks. Well, not completely empty; trash littered the sides of the tracks, and small gray mice scurried along the ground below. They looked like the ones that sometimes snuck into his tower. Colton had spent long hours watching them, how they balanced on the beams and the way their noses and whiskers twitched. He wanted to climb down and help them off the train tracks. He couldn’t imagine it was very safe down there.
Since he was alone on the bench, he dug through the small pack he carried until he found the photographs. He looked at the one with the gun pointed to the back of Danny’s head.
“I’m almost there,” he whispered. “Wait for me.”
A clock that hung above the platform read 8:50. About ten more minutes until the train arrived, and forty until they departed. He had never been this impatient until he’d met Danny. Now, every minute was an eternity.
He rubbed his right side, feeling the scar underneath his clothes. What would Danny say when he saw it? For an instant, it wasn’t Danny’s worried face he saw, but Castor’s.
The ache grew, and his face scrunched up in an effort not to cry out in pain. He had known Castor after all; had known him in the same intimate, indefinable way he knew Danny.
All those people—Castor, Abigail, his mother and father—who were they really? Colton had been a spirit for as long as he could remember. He was the product of time. He was time.
But now these dreams, these memories, made him doubt himself. For the first time since he could remember, he didn’t know who Colton was.
An elderly woman shuffled up to him and held out a wrinkled hand. Her lips were barely perceivable, and a few white hairs grew from her chin. She mumbled something to Colton, but he couldn’t understand her.
“I’m sorry?”
She mumbled the same word again. He recalled a man dressed in rags who had wandered Enfield for a month or two before dying of exposure. He had been seeking money and food. If this woman was doing the same, then she was likely a beggar.
He took a paper rupee from his pocket and gave it to her. She pressed her hands together, as if in prayer, before meandering off.
An Indian man in a blue suit shouted that the train was arriving. Colton looked around at the impatient crowd. A little British girl cried that she wanted water. An old man rested most of his weight on a thin cane.
“Hoy there, you lot!”
Colton whipped around. A British officer in uniform descended on two Indian children. They yelled and squirmed, but the officer held them up by their collars and shook them. “Drop it! Now!”
The children dropped the coins and rupees they’d been clutching in their small, dirty fists. The officer let them go and they raced off, ducking and weaving through the crowd, which parted as if the boys were diseased.
“Disgraceful,” the officer muttered as he picked up the money. Then, to Colton’s surprise, the man turned and handed it to him.
“They took this from you.”
Colton checked his pocket. “How—?”
“Thieves. They were working with the beggar woman. She sees where you take out your money, then the urchins nick the rest. Anyway, make sure you keep that safe.”
“They could have had money if they needed it,” Colton said with an edge in his voice.
The officer frowned under his bristling blond mustache. “The money wouldn’t go to them. They would have to take it straight to the woman, and who knows what she would have done with it. Probably spend it on drink and hookah.”
“You still didn’t have to treat them so poorly. They’re just children.”
Anger brewed on the man’s face, and Colton checked himself. He couldn’t draw attention, and unfortunately, there were now many eyes upon them. He ducked over his pack and put the money inside.
The train pulled up, sparing him from further argument. It was a noisy thing that blew smoke into the air as it rolled in. Colton kept a tight grip on his ticket.
The doors opened and everyone rushed to get on at once. Colton waited his turn to board, finding himself in a long corridor with seats along barred windows.