The drive to London was filled with conflicting emotions: anxiety over what the Lead wanted from him, anticipation of being involved in something momentous, and residual excitement from Colton’s kiss. By the time he pulled up to the Mechanics Affairs building opposite Parliament, the knot in his stomach had retied itself tighter than before.
Danny glanced at Big Ben, the gleaming, golden clock tower that presided over London. Time in the city was thriving, the fibers strong and powerful. He tried to imagine the tower exploding and London’s time unaffected by the loss. It was too eerie to contemplate, so he hurried inside and up the stairs.
The secretary showed him in. The Lead Mechanic’s office was spacious, done up in sophisticated, dark colors, though a large window behind the desk let in enough sunshine to give it warmth. At first all he saw was the Lead himself, a stocky man with a receding hairline and a face that could change from stern to amiable in a blink. At the moment, he simply looked tired.
Danny paused when he saw the other figure in the office, standing behind one of the chairs. Daphne turned her head and gave him an “I told you so” look.
“Both of you, please sit.” The Lead leaned back as they followed the order. “You may be wondering why I called you here this morning. Given the last time I summoned you here, I’m sure you can hazard a guess.”
Danny and Daphne shared a look. They’d sat before this desk after the Dover tower attack, when Daphne had been injured. The room had been charged with anger and accusation then. Now, Danny actually felt some sort of alliance with her.
“Another clock tower fell,” Daphne deduced.
The Lead nodded once. “In Khurja. It’s a small Indian town north of Agra.”
“And it’s not Stopped?” Danny guessed. Another nod.
“The tower is destroyed, and time is—” The Lead broke off coughing, as if the word refused to leave his throat. “Time is … stable.”
The words hung heavily in the air. Nothing like this had happened in the entire history of the clock towers. Since the god of time, Aetas, had died hundreds of years ago, time could not progress without them. Or so the story went.
“But, sir,” Danny said, “what about Maldon? And Enfield? And the other Stopped towns around the world? Those towers malfunctioned, and time was effected. Why wouldn’t India’s clock towers operate the same way?”
“Explosives were found at the sites of the towers,” the Lead said, “but I doubt that’s the whole of it. The clocks aren’t simply falling and restoring time. Something else, or someone else, is making it happen.” The man hesitated, glancing at Danny. “Matthias has been questioned. He didn’t know anything. We, of course, can’t entirely rule out his involvement, but I don’t believe this is his work. His style and that of the current bombers seem quite different.”
“But why India?” Daphne asked, a small furrow forming between her eyebrows.
“That, we do not know. I’ve asked you both here not to engage in conjecture, but to get answers. You are two well-qualified mechanics who have directly witnessed attacks on towers. Never mind your … past conduct,” he ended in a near mumble.
“What about Tom and George?” Danny asked. The two senior mechanics had survived the destruction of the new Maldon clock tower last year. The third mechanic on that assignment, Lucas Wakefield, had not been so lucky.
“I’ve already asked them, and they chose not to participate. They’re about to retire, and I don’t blame them. The new Maldon tower put too much strain on them.”
Danny stared at the Lead’s desk. His breaths came faster, waiting for what would surely come next.
“So,” the Lead continued, picking up two files, “I am extending the offer to the pair of you.”
Daphne accepted one of the folders. Taking the other one, Danny opened it to a picture of military barracks surrounded by palm trees and scrub, a large white building in the distance.
“Agra?” Daphne asked, looking up.
“Yes. There’s a cantonment where you can stay while you investigate Khurja. I already have a couple mechanics in Rath, and there are others in the south. Still, I would like you to go.”
Daphne paled. She had predicted the Lead sending Danny to India, all right; but he suspected she hadn’t considered the Lead would ask her to go with him. After her involvement in Matthias’s plans and taking Colton’s central cog, she’d had to earn back the Lead’s trust. It seemed she was finally back in his good graces.
Danny wondered, too, if her reaction had anything to do with her father.
“You have every right to turn the assignment down, of course,” the Lead said gently. “There is some risk involved, what with the recent reports of riots. I wouldn’t expect the investigation to be easy—”
“Yes,” Daphne blurted, her pallor deepening to a flush. “Yes, I want to go.”
The Lead smiled wearily. “I’m glad to hear it. You’ll find all the details for the trip in that file.” He turned to Danny, who sat as if turned to one of Westminster Abbey’s gargoyles. “And you, Daniel?”
Danny felt their eager eyes on him. His heart beat hard, and his chest was sore. This was a once-in-a-lifetime assignment, and he knew it.
He thought about the atlas he sometimes showed Colton, the flat depiction of the places he wanted to go, but probably never would. He thought of Colton trapped in his tower, unable to travel the world he longed to see. He thought of that morning’s kiss, his north star guiding him home.
And then he thought of the Enfield clock malfunctioning. Because of him. Because of what he made Colton feel.
I’m sorry, Colton.
“Yes,” he whispered, the decision settling heavily across his shoulders. “I’ll go.”
The others released their breaths.
“Very well,” the Lead said. “You’ll depart on Monday.”
His parents sat staring at the papers on the kitchen table like they would rear up and attack at any moment. Danny had slid the file containing information about his trip across the wooden surface to them: Agra, lifestyle at the cantonment where he’d be staying, some words in an Indian language he’d butchered the pronunciations of. When he had finished, they’d entered this uneasy silence.
Danny fiddled with the small cog in his pocket. His father’s eyebrows were drawn together, but he wasn’t angry; Danny could tell because the small vein on his forehead was still. His mother’s lips, however, were pursed more tightly than usual.
“I already told the Lead I would go,” Danny said. “I’m not changing my mind.”
“But India?” Leila said, finally roused from her stupor. “Good Lord, who knows what you’ll find there! Highway robbers and snakes and cholera—”
“Pretty sure we have all those here,” Danny mumbled.
“He’s eighteen,” Christopher reminded her. “He can decide for himself.”