The inside of the factory was even hotter than the muggy summer air outside. Light from the overhead windows illuminated machinery that pumped and whirred and hissed. Conveyor belts lined with parts rolled through the building, and a large gearwork tableau churned on the opposite wall, generating power.
In spite of himself, Danny was awed. Factories like this were common enough in London, but he had never been inside one, and was immensely thankful for that. Many of his nursery school classmates had found backbreaking—and sometimes deadly—work in the factories that kept England at the forefront of industrial innovation.
Jane led them through a metal jungle, raising her voice to be heard over the clanging and whirring of the machines. “These mass production lines run on steam. The gearwork over there filters the electricity from the water and steam, providing different areas of the factory with different types of power.”
Workers stood at attention along the assembly lines, quickly putting their parts together before the product moved along to its next destination. Danny watched and listened, but his stomach twisted. It would have been one thing if the factory built autos, or automatons, or any other type of machinery. But they built weapons, things specifically designed to harm others. Kill others.
“Jane,” he said as they continued forward, “is it true that these rifles are why the Indians rebelled?” Jane would have been a child when it happened.
She faltered, but quickly regained her composure. “Unfortunately, yes. The Company didn’t respect the natives, and the Mutiny was the result. Understandably, we no longer use animal fat to grease the cartridges.”
Danny kept an eye on Colton as they continued down an aisle. The spirit was quiet, soaking in another opportunity learn about the human world. Even so, his shoulders had begun to droop.
“Here,” Danny murmured, taking the small cog out of his pocket and pressing it against Colton’s palm. “This should help.”
Colton’s lips twitched. “Thank you, Danny.”
“You can go back if—”
“I’m all right.” There was a certain stubbornness in his expression that Danny knew better than to question.
“Over here,” Jane said, gesturing to another station. “This is where the rifles are given a final examination before they’re polished and prepared for shipment.”
Danny looked at the workers. One of them, a young man with dark hair, turned to pick up the next rifle. When he saw Danny, they both started.
“Danny!” Harland exclaimed, not sure whether to be happy or embarrassed. “What are you doing here?”
Danny glanced at Jane. “Taking a tour. I was curious about the factory.”
“Oh. I see.”
Any interaction with Harland tended to be uncomfortable since that strange kiss they’d shared. Danny looked at Colton to gauge his reaction and was not disappointed; his eyes were sharp as gilded knives.
If Jane sensed any tension in the air, she went on regardless. “Maybe you can explain what your role is at this end of the factory, Mr. Thomas?”
Harland did just that, his explanation peppered with uhs and ers as he pointed out the rifle’s features, including the engraving on the barrel—B3005—a serial number that indicated something about the design. Danny wasn’t paying much attention, too distracted by Colton’s less-than-thrilled expression. Colton didn’t hate any residents of Enfield so far as Danny knew, but he felt hate’s milder cousin, dislike, radiating from the spirit beside him.
When they finally said goodbye and headed for the exit, Colton slumped against Danny.
“That’s it—we’re going back to your tower,” Danny decided. “Jane, thank you for showing us the factory. I think I understand it a little better now.” By which he meant not at all.
“You’re very welcome.”
Danny and Colton walked toward the village green in silence. The closer they got to the tower, the more Danny sensed the clock running strangely. A glance up confirmed his suspicions: the hands slowed for five seconds, sped up, then slowed again. He could feel the shift in the way the time fibers around him quivered. Fear tapped a finger against his chest and he urged Colton along at an even faster clip.
Once inside, Colton leaned against the wall to steady himself and released a small sound of relief. The clock began to run smoothly again, and the distressed time fibers settled around them, smooth and interlocking.
Colton turned the small cog over in his fingers, then returned it to Danny. “I’m sorry,” he said before Danny could break the silence. “I know I shouldn’t behave like that around him. I can’t help it.”
Danny took Colton’s hand. He’d desperately wanted to hold it in the factory, but there had been too many people.
“It’s just …” Colton’s eyes were narrowed in pain. “I can’t help but feel you should be with him, not me.”
This again. “And I’ve already told you: I don’t want him. I want you.”
“But look at what happens.” Colton gestured up toward the clock. “I’m—”
“A clock spirit, yes. After all I’ve gone through to be here with you now, you really think that’s going to stop me?”
Colton ran a hand up and down Danny’s chest, trailing over the V of his waistcoat. “I feel like, sometimes, what we want and what’s right are two separate things. Do you ever feel that way?”
Danny took Colton’s face in his hands, thumbs brushing against his jaw. “No. Things are fine the way they are. We’re doing what’s right for us, and that’s enough.”
Or so he kept telling himself. Maybe this was how Prometheus would have felt, had he not been punished for his crime—this lingering guilt, this slow-burning sense that something would become undone.
They stayed quiet a moment, listening to the ticks and tocks of the clock above their heads. Danny suspected that it really did match the tempo of his heartbeat, pumping beneath Colton’s hand. A heart of metal and a heart of flesh. Water and lightning, separated by different currents, like the power generated in the factory. Together, they formed some idea of unity.
Danny wondered, sometimes, if that was enough.
The call came the next day. Danny had just eaten breakfast when he was summoned to the mayor’s office. He hoped to hear his mother or father on the other end of the line, but the knot twisting in his stomach tightened when he was greeted by the Lead Mechanic’s voice.
“Daniel, I need you to come to London today.”
Danny swallowed hard. “Yes, sir. I can be there in a couple of hours.”
Daphne had been right.
He headed straight for Colton Tower. Colton didn’t look surprised; he must have been watching Danny in the telephone booth. Danny wasn’t sure he would ever get used to that ability.
“The Lead probably wants to ask me about my experience with exploding towers,” Danny said. “I’m sure it won’t take too long.”
“Will you spend the night?”
“I might. But I’ll be back tomorrow.”
Since Colton still seemed on edge, Danny gave him a lingering kiss. The spirit wrapped his arms around him, one hand protectively caressing the back of Danny’s neck. He shivered and couldn’t help gasping slightly against Colton’s mouth. Colton’s lips curved up in a smile, his own private way of making sure Danny would return.