Brandon’s amber eyes flashed, not even glancing at the cog. “It’s there.”
“Ah, you’re right. It is. Good.” Danny lifted the package to his shoulder, attempting to hide his burning face. “You like to arrive early, don’t you?” He received no answer. “Let’s get started.”
When they reached the clock room, Brandon’s frown dissolved into his earlier expression of curiosity. Danny noticed that the apprentice wore the same outfit as last time: tight trousers and a baggy shirt. His clavicle peeked out from underneath his collar. Danny swallowed.
“You know,” he started, then lost his nerve, unbuttoning his coat instead. When he looked back up, the apprentice was staring at him. “You need to wear different clothes for this sort of work.”
Brandon tilted his head to one side, then looked Danny up and down with a small smile. It was such a thorough assessment that Danny felt his earlier blush return like a wave of heat.
“Should I dress like you?”
“Yes, I suppose.” Danny typically wore a brown or black work vest, the silver chain of his timepiece hanging from a small pocket. His tall boots were worn, but most of the decorative copper gearwork near the heels remained intact.
The apprentice continued to smile. Danny had no clue what was so funny but wanted to change the subject as soon as possible.
He shifted on his feet and outlined the plan to install the minute hand. Brandon wouldn’t have much to do beyond serving as an extra pair of hands, and to observe. Brandon’s light eyes flitted around Danny’s face as he talked, sometimes glancing down at the chain of his timepiece or the still-wrapped minute hand.
Danny noticed the apprentice was as tall as he was, his waist slim under the large shirt, his body made of wiry sinew like a wound mainspring. Brandon had a nice face. Almost too nice. It was lean and smooth, and Danny wondered if he ever had to shave. He suddenly had the absurd urge to touch the boy’s jaw. Would that be strange?
His eyes trailed lower, and he barely stopped himself from gasping.
The apprentice’s left hand was deformed. It curled in on itself, shrunken within its baggy sleeve.
How did I not see that before? Danny thought, furiously trying to recall their first meeting. Perhaps he had been too preoccupied, but to not even notice …
Danny’s ears burned with silence, and he realized he had stopped talking. The apprentice watched him warily.
Danny cleared his throat. “Right. Let’s begin.” He wouldn’t—couldn’t—mention it now.
They again lowered the scaffolding down the clock face, into the bitter cold. Without his coat, Danny was shivering in no time. Brandon didn’t seem affected.
But it wasn’t just the cold that made Danny shiver. The height blurred his vision, and he triple-checked that the cables were secure. He remembered the easy way Brandon had scaled the clock face compared to the difficulty he’d had locating the right tools.
“How many jobs have you been on?” Danny asked as they ran the cables down.
The apprentice looked up, as if the sky held the answer. “Just one.”
His hand slipped on the rope. “You mean that was your first job?” Brandon nodded. Danny cursed himself, wishing he’d handled the situation better, but it was much too late now.
“Hold on,” Danny said, “apprentices usually start at twelve or thirteen. Aren’t you a bit old to be starting on assignments?”
Brandon looked Danny up and down again. “Aren’t you a bit young to be a mechanic?”
Danny tried not to clench his jaw. Maybe this boy wasn’t so different from the others after all. “Is that what you think?”
“No. I’ve only ever seen older mechanics.”
“Apprentices can become mechanics by seventeen, if they know what they’re doing.”
“Well,” Brandon said, “you certainly know what you’re doing.”
Danny waited for the sarcasm to register, but it never did. He felt a curious lightness, momentarily driving away the pang of the damaged tower. Danny ducked his head and muttered a sheepish thanks.
He watched Brandon as they worked. He wasn’t using his left hand much. How had he held up the Roman numeral the last time? Danny tried to remember and found that he couldn’t.
“Are you ready?” Brandon asked, putting on his abseiling belt.
“Er, sure.” Danny couldn’t have sounded less certain if he’d tried. Biting his lip, he peered down at the scaffolding. Brandon glanced at him out of the corner of his eye.
“You look like you know interesting stories,” Brandon said suddenly. “Do you?”
“Do I … know stories? Make-believe ones, you mean? I think everyone knows at least one story.”
Brandon gave him a sly smile. “Tell me your one story, then.”