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 right. 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.