Danny cleared his throat. “Haven’t they caught the person doing this?”
“We’re not sure if it’s a vandal or if the clock’s simply falling apart. The Enfield maintenance crew hasn’t reported anyone suspicious.”
Danny imagined the ironworker in the dead of night, tiptoeing away from the tower with a sinister chuckle. “What’s wrong with it this time?”
“There appears to be a crack in the face. We think it was caused by the minute hand’s removal. Nothing substantial, the time’s not skewed much; it’s just a nuisance. Don’t want it disturbing the structure, you understand.”
Danny gazed heavenward, wondering if he should go to church after all. “I’ll drive out as soon as I can.”
“Good show. I’ll ring up the apprentice.”
Danny hung up the receiver and stared at the telephone, the bottom of his stomach feeling strange as he thought about the blond boy. Or maybe that was hunger.
Danny enjoyed his work, or at least he used to; most mechanics were passionate about their field of expertise. But he had never heard of a clock having this many problems in such a short amount of time. Usually his jobs were spaced out to once a week, perhaps once a month in lean times. Thrice in one week was virtually unheard of.
Especially three times for one small clock tower.
Something was off. Sabotage? A bad attempt at a practical joke? Whatever the reason behind these incidents, Danny was getting more and more frustrated. And scared.
The auto sputtered and rumbled as he drove into Enfield. Some people waved while others called hellos. Danny was so used to the anonymity of London that it hadn’t crossed his mind that the townspeople would know him by sight now. He waved back, perturbed, but didn’t stop to chat. An attractive young man smiled at him and Danny slowed for a moment, then forced himself onward with a scolding shake of his head.
A crack marred the clock face between the numbers three and four. Danny parked the auto across the street and eyed the damage for a moment. It would take some time to fix a crack that big.
The back of his skull pulsed with sudden pain and he rested his forehead on the steering wheel.
He had to prove himself. No more panicking.
Curiously, there was another auto parked near his own. Danny gave it a confused glance before heading inside the tower. He reached the familiar clock room and set his bag down with a sigh.
“Here we are again.” He turned and unbuttoned his coat. “There’s something seriously wrong with this ruddy old—Who the hell are you?”
The boy standing in the clock room blinked at him. “I’m the apprentice. Brandon Summers.”
Danny stared at him, unaware his jaw had dropped until he closed it with a click of his teeth. The boy was decidedly not the apprentice he had worked with before. This one had dark skin, with a snub nose and hooded brown eyes, his black hair clipped short. He wore a white cravat with his gray vest and trousers.
“You’re not the … I’ve never seen you before.”
“Can’t figure you would have,” the boy, also Brandon, said with a hint of impatience. New Brandon was younger, though a couple inches taller than Danny and broader in the shoulder. “I was sick. Didn’t you get my note? Would’ve called, but our telephone is faulty.”
“But the office …”
“Was I supposed to tell the office, too?”
Danny stood marinating in his own disbelief. Something caught his eye and he looked over the apprentice’s shoulder.
Standing just behind New Brandon was the blond apprentice. He grinned when Danny spotted him.
He had a scar on his left cheek.
Just like the crack on the clock face.
“Something the matter?” New Brandon asked.
Danny shook himself and looked again, but the boy had disappeared.
“It can’t be,” he whispered. His veins throbbed with the force of his heartbeat.
“What are you going on about?”
Danny struggled to remember how words worked. He kept staring over New Brandon’s shoulder, but when the apprentice turned around, there was nothing to see.
“Uh, sorry,” Danny croaked. “I, er …”
Not good. He probably looked like a lunatic.
Danny forced a laugh. “Sorry, I just had a thought, but it’s gone now. What’d you say your name was? Brandon …?”
“Summers,” the boy finished, the name clipped around his frown. “They should’ve told you.”
“I see.” Brandon Summers. The blond boy had said his name was Brandon Summers. Danny couldn’t recall half the names of his past apprentices, but he had remembered that one.
Danny felt as if eyes were on him, and the space between his shoulder blades tightened. He heard a faint echo of laughter in the whirring of the clock’s gears.
“You all right?” New Brandon asked. “You want a lie-down, or—?”
“No, no, I’m fine. Let’s … let’s get to work.”