They needed a plan. So far, Dryden’s only idea had been to lure the terrorists with something, but what could possibly draw them out of hiding? They could have their pick of any clock tower.
Daphne’s only contribution had been to look up the French phrase she’d read on the chapati in Lucknow: feu-de-joie. “Furious joy.” A code of some sort?
It has to mean something. Why else would that man have gotten so angry about me seeing it?
Her head whirled in restless circles until she was interrupted by a knock at the door. Shaking herself, she got up and answered.
The private on the other side tipped his hat. The burnt orange sky behind him was blurred with navy blues and rich purples. “Evening, Miss Richards. Someone said I might find you here.”
“Does the major need me?”
“No, miss, nothing like that. There’s a messenger for you. Asked for you by name.”
Frowning, she opened the door wider and saw a boy standing behind the private. He was dressed in the English style with a white dust-stained shirt and dark vest, his cap pulled down low so that she couldn’t see his eyes. He studied his feet, refusing to look up.
“Is that all right, miss? Or do you want me to get an officer?”
“No, it’s fine. What message—?”
The boy finally met her gaze, and the words were stolen from her throat. He looked at the private, then back at Daphne, amber eyes pleading.
“I …” She slowly cleared her throat. “Thank you, private.”
The soldier saluted and went on his way. They waited in tense silence until he was around the corner, then Daphne frantically gestured the boy inside.
Once in the room, she forced herself not to slam the door. When she turned around, he’d removed the cap and held it between his pale hands, hands that had once been tinted bronze.
“Colton,” she whispered.
He tried to smile. “Hello, Daphne.”
“What—you—” Breathing had suddenly become difficult. She walked past him and sat on the bed before she passed out. “I’ve gone mad. The Enfield clock spirit is in India.”
“You’re not mad. I’ve come looking for Danny.”
“This shouldn’t even be possible. How are you—?”
He turned around, showing her a flat, leather-covered pack on his back. “It has my central cog. A few smaller gears, too.” He looked over his shoulder at her. “Please don’t steal it again.”
“Colton …” He turned back around, desperation filling his eyes. “You need to explain. From the beginning. How are you here, and why?”
“The beginning? It’s a long story.”
“I need you to tell me.” She scooted over, and he sat next to her, dropping a small pack at his feet.
“Can’t you just tell me where Danny is?”
“I need you to explain this first.”
He looked up at the ceiling. “All right. From the beginning.”
She heard it all: the attack on his tower, his trip to London, the threatening letter, the flight from England, the train ride halfway to Agra, being shot at, and the walk the rest of the way. He was dusty and weary, his voice slow and methodical, like an automaton on its last gust of steam.
Even with all this information, even with the incredible details Colton wove into his story, she sensed that he was keeping something from her. There was a muted quality to his eyes, as if he had seen something that went beyond words.
When he was finished, he sat watching her expectantly.
She opened her mouth a couple of times before she found what to say. “Why would anyone attack the tower, then keep the town Stopped? Time is running freely in every other place that’s been attacked. Why not do the same to Enfield, if that’s their goal?”
“That’s why I need to see Danny. The other part—” He searched through the pack and showed her the letters and the photo. “He’s in danger. You probably are, too. They warned me that if I didn’t come here, something was going to happen to him. I asked for him when I got here, but the men said he wasn’t available. What does that mean? Daphne, can’t I just talk to him? Where is he?”
A lump formed in her throat, and she swallowed it away with effort. “Colton—”
“I tried to get here as soon as I could.” He began talking faster, growing more distressed. “The note said they would do something if I didn’t come, so I—Daphne? Where is he?”
She closed her eyes tight. “He’s missing, Colton. There was an attack, and in the commotion, he must have been taken. We don’t know where he is. I’m sorry.”
The room was silent. She opened her eyes, afraid Colton had left. But he remained sitting beside her, absolutely still, staring at nothing. Slowly, he curled toward his knees and put his head in his hands. He had come too late.
Daphne knew how to fix broken clocks. She didn’t know how to fix a broken spirit.
Danny woke to the smell of kippers. For a moment, he thought he was back home, his mother fixing up a full breakfast downstairs. The thought was so comforting that he smiled into his pillow. He would have a large breakfast with his parents, drop by Cassie’s place, then drive back to Enfield.
Enfield.
His eyes snapped open. He touched his aching elbow, where they had wrapped a new bandage.
Now he remembered.
“Ah, there you are. I thought some hot food would wake you.”
Danny sat up. He felt curiously hollow, as if all his insides had been scraped out. A woman sat in a chair beside his bed, one finger marking her place in the book she’d been reading.
She set it down and reached for the breakfast tray at her feet, placing it before him and settling back to assess his reaction. He looked her up and down. She was middle-aged, and looked quite fit. Her light brown hair had been tied into a simple chignon, revealing an angular face with hazel-green eyes.
“You need to eat, love,” she said. “They gave you a much higher dosage than was necessary, and you’ve been in and out for nearly two days. Poor thing, you’re too thin already.” She clucked her tongue. “Don’t worry, I gave them a tongue-lashing. Won’t happen again.”
Danny studied the tray. Tea, toast, kippers, mushrooms. His stomach rumbled, but he was too faint to reach for any of it.
“Who are you?” he croaked.
“Josephine Davis. Jo for short, if you like. I’m Zavier’s aunt.”
Danny blinked. Aunt?
“I’ll save you some questions and explain, but only if you start eating.” She pointed sternly at the tray. Danny slowly picked up the fork and speared a mushroom. It was chewy almost to the point of being rubbery, but the flavor flooded his mouth with an almost painful intensity.
“There’s a good lad. Now, let’s see. To start with, this is my husband’s ship. He passed away a few years ago, so for the moment, it’s unregistered. Zavier’s father passed from a mining accident when he was fifteen, and his mother, my sister, is—gone.” There was a curious lilt in her voice at the word gone. “He’s been with me ever since. He’s a good boy, if a bit narrow-sighted.