“God, no. I never want to leave London. It’s my home. It’s—well, it’s London.”
Brandon nodded. “I’d never leave London if I could help it. Got my brother and sisters, though, so I don’t have to worry about that.” He took a sip. “I’m sorry, mate. About your father and all that. Lost my own dad some time back.” Brandon took out his tiger’s eye marble and began to roll it between his fingers. “Not in Maldon, though. The white plague.”
Many in the city had died of consumption, the illness stripping flesh from bones as their bodies wasted away. He could only imagine what Brandon must have gone through as his father lay coughing away his life.
“Don’t have much of him now, save for a box of his old things. I found this in there a month after he died.” He showed off the black and amber marble. “I used to play marbles with him all the time. I snatched it before the younger ones could take it.”
Danny lowered his eyes, feeling a twinge of guilt for having nicked it earlier. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
He knew what would come next. Brandon would say Danny was lucky his father was still alive, just unreachable. Others had said the same, not knowing the words landed like knives.
But Brandon only sighed and shook his head. “Damn shame.”
They sat in easy silence until Danny asked about Brandon’s family. Brandon was more than glad to list them off, from his older brother who flew airships for the military to his youngest sister who was barely out of nappies. Whom he liked best, whom he liked least, and why he would fight to the death for them either way. Danny was both fascinated and jealous. If he had a brother or sister to share the house with, his mother leaving wouldn’t have been so painful.
If only Colton could leave his tower.
The conversation shifted from high to low places, from amusing stories to sad ones. When Danny finally looked at his timepiece, he groaned.
“It’s nearly eleven! I need to head home.”
Brandon checked his own timepiece. “Ah, look at that.”
“Er …”
“Yes?”
“I’m a little confused,” Danny confessed. “About why you did this tonight.”
“How long has it been since you’ve made a night of it?”
Danny didn’t answer, but it was as good as an admission. Brandon shook his head.
“I was the same after my dad passed. Wouldn’t let myself have fun, or talk to my friends. You can’t let it take over your life. Your dad wouldn’t want that, I’m sure.”
Why were others always telling him what his father would or would not want?
Still, Danny knew Brandon had a point. He fiddled with his timepiece before pocketing it. “I suppose I do need to get out more.”
“Sure do. Elsewise you’ll end up making enemies left and right. Give others a chance, yeah?”
Danny wondered if this had been Brandon’s idea of making Danny feel better. “I reckon I should. Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me; you bought the drinks.” Brandon scraped his chair legs back to stand. “Until next time.”
They parted at the door. The streets were dark and quiet. Danny shivered; the pub had been warm, but out here the icy finger of winter stroked down his spine.
As he headed for the clock tower, a hand touched his arm.
“Danny, is it?”
It was the young man who had danced with him on St. Andrew’s Day. Harland. His teeth shone like pearls in the moonlight. Danny returned the smile, still a little woozy.
“What are you doing out so late?”
“I was having a pint.”
“Want to take a walk and clear your head? Looks like you need it.”
Danny wanted to go to the tower, but Brandon’s words about giving people a chance were still busy in his head, so he agreed. They started down the road and around the corner, toward the shops. Danny didn’t come this way often, and he let Harland direct their feet.
“The whole town admires you, you know,” Harland said suddenly. Danny nearly tripped.
“I doubt that, what with all the problems the tower’s had.”
“They admire your dedication. You come here just to make sure the clock’s running. No other mechanic would do that.”
Danny was sure they wouldn’t be nearly as impressed if they knew his real reasons, but before he could say anything Harland took his arm. He led Danny behind a shop, where an awning shadowed the ground from moonlight.
“What’s the real reason you come here so often?” he asked.
Danny opened his mouth, shocked. Had he caught on? Did he know about Colton?
“I just want to fix the clock,” Danny said feebly.
Harland leaned in closer. “I think there’s another reason.”
Danny’s heart was pounding. He felt sick. Harland knew. He would tell someone, and then Danny would be exiled, and—
“It’s to see me, isn’t it?”
Neither said a word for a moment. Then Danny snorted, and tried to cover it up with a cough. “I think you have the wrong idea.”
“Why else would you come?” Harland demanded. “I see the looks you give me.” He stroked the side of Danny’s face with slow, steady fingers.
Their faces were very close, now. “I …”