Danny walked through Hyde Park and enjoyed the bracing autumn air. He watched ladies taking a morning stroll with their servants, gentlemen on horses, young girls acting as caretakers for rich children. But he mostly watched the lower-class mothers and fathers chasing after their own children, laughing and making memories. Danny had his own cache of such memories: his father lifting him up on his shoulders to see Punch and Judy shows, giving him crackers to feed the ducks, buying him sweets. Christopher never had much time to spare, focused on work as he was, but he’d still taken Danny out as often as possible.
He remembered trying to fly a kite, throwing it up as an offering to the wind, only to have it sadly plummet to the ground. Christopher had laughed and said the wind currents were probably better at the top of Big Ben.
“Can we fly a kite on top of the tower?” Danny had asked, excited by the notion. “Is that even possible?”
His father had grinned. “Anything is possible.”
They’d never had the chance to try.
Danny felt the pull of Big Ben even from here. If he focused hard enough, he could sense the fibers running through the city, enabling it to thrive. They were golden arteries attached to the heart of London, the clock that made sure the leaves fell and the snow would come.
Danny left the park and walked down a couple streets, toward a row house painted a shabby white trimmed in chipping blue. Like Christopher Hart, Matthias was addicted to his work, and could not be bothered with menial household chores like repainting. Matthias lived on the outskirts of Kensington, an admittedly wealthy district, but he had inherited the house from a rich aunt. His neighbors often expressed offense that he didn’t take better care of the place.
Danny walked through the creaking iron gate and knocked on the blue door. He heard a distant “Coming!” on the other side and waited with hands in his pockets. The heavy yellow drapes in the window swayed. Matthias sometimes complained about a draft in the old house.
The door was unbolted and Matthias stood in the doorframe, running a hand through his long brown hair.
“Danny Boy! What’s the matter?”
“I didn’t know if you were busy,” Danny said, half turning. “I can go if you are.”
“Nonsense. Wait right there.”
The door closed and he heard heavy footsteps. Danny burrowed his nose and mouth deeper into his scarf. Matthias never let him inside his house. When Danny had once asked why, he said he was embarrassed by the state of disrepair. Danny tried not to take it personally. Others would just as likely be turned away, if there was anyone besides him who even visited Matthias.
The man emerged a minute later, dressed for walking, his hair tied back. “Where to?”
“The park’s fine.”
They set off in comfortable silence. Matthias glanced over a few times, but Danny’s eyes stayed fixed on the ground.
They followed the stone path through a corridor of trees and sat on an empty bench across from a mother and her young daughter, who were eating a midday snack. The girl crumbled the bread of her sandwich for the hungry pigeons below.
“How’s that housemate of yours?” Danny asked. Matthias let a room for extra income.
“Why do you bring him up?”
“Thought I saw him at the window.”
“No, it’s that bloody draft again. I’ll get to fixing it soon.” He tapped his fingers on his thigh, then sighed. “You’ve been thinking about Rotherfield.”
“Who isn’t thinking about Rotherfield?”
“I reckon it must be difficult, what with Shere and all.” Matthias glanced at Danny’s scar. “The Lead will find out who’s behind the attack.”
“But what if he doesn’t?” Danny’s voice shook slightly, despite his best efforts to keep it even. “What if this just keeps happening until—”
Until another town becomes the next Maldon.
Matthias shifted to face him. “You mustn’t think like that. They’ll find a way to stop this.”
Danny watched the little girl feed the birds, throwing down crumbs like confetti. A boy on a chrome bicycle zoomed by, scaring the pigeons, and the girl shrieked as they all took off in a chaotic flutter of wings. Danny knew how that felt: to be content one moment and terrified the next. For something normal to erupt and leave you senseless.
Danny stuck out his long legs. If only Matthias knew the entire problem. Thoughts and fears frothed under the surface, ready to spill over at a word.
Matthias’s story about the clock spirit was true. Whenever Maldon’s name came up, the man’s eyes dimmed, his face like a closed door to the past.
Matthias losing the two loves of his life was enough reason for Danny to stay quiet. More than that, Danny didn’t want to become like him, exiled from Enfield and shunned by his colleagues. To be a lonely man in an empty house, trailed by the ghosts of his mistakes.
As if Matthias had peeked into his thoughts, he asked suddenly, “How have those assignments been?”
“Terrible.” Danny ignored the familiar pinch of guilt when he thought of Enfield. “The clock tower keeps breaking.”
“Still?”
“It’s just one thing after another. The numeral, the hand, the crack in the face …” Danny would have asked, “What next?” but was irrationally afraid Colton might hear and decide to do away with his pendulum just to vex him. Danny groaned and rubbed his hands over his face.