The last time Colton had gone to London, he’d been mostly unaware of his surroundings. He was therefore completely unprepared for what awaited him.
Upon entering the city proper, he was greeted with the smell of ash and sweat. And the noise. He first mistook the crowd for a roaring beast lying in wait for him, but it was only people jostling up and down the street, yelling, mumbling, hawking. More people than he’d ever seen before, a frightening, teeming swarm poised to discover who he really was at any second.
Colton ducked into a foul-smelling alleyway, clutching the front of Danny’s overcoat. He waited for the throng of people to disperse, thinking maybe they were all going somewhere together.
No such luck. The crowd was unending.
He slowly made his way through the twists and turns of the streets. There was so much to take in—the autos, the machines, the smoke, the shops. Behind windows, automatons worked as clerks. Outside, vendors called out that newspapers were only one shilling. A little boy chased a dog down the street, his mother calling after him. A constable directed traffic at an intersection. Pigeons congregated in messy areas, flew into the air when someone walked by, then settled back about their business.
Colton kept his head down and his hands deep in his pockets. That’s what Jane had instructed him to do. She’d been quite clear on what he was not to do: talk to anyone; stop for any reason; buy anything except a hansom cab ride (they had given him money just in case, but he didn’t know how to use it); or get distracted from his goal.
But London was so huge. He kept stopping to stare, whether it was watching a chimney sweep on a rooftop or a street performer juggling. If he caught someone looking at him oddly, he ducked his head and moved along.
Most confusing of all, however, was that Colton could no longer use the senses he’d always relied on. In Enfield he could see and hear everything, but here he felt disconnected, isolated. Was this how humans normally felt? It must be terribly lonely.
It took him a while to realize that street names were written on signs above his head. After that, it was much easier to figure out where he was. At one point, he found himself in a place called Piccadilly Circus, but it looked nothing at all like a circus; at least, not the sort he’d heard of. It was merely an intersection between large buildings with a statue of a winged man in the middle. If this was London’s idea of a circus, it was a boring one.
He had to stop several times to sit on a bench, or on the curb, or somewhere out of the way. He was weak, but his strength gradually improved as he drew closer to Big Ben. London’s time wrapped around his body and hugged him, familiar and calming. It might have been Big Ben himself, welcoming him. Colton longed to pay London’s clock spirit a visit.
No. No distractions.
Mayor Aldridge had given him Danny’s London address, and he was at the point of collapse by the time he tottered through Lambeth and reached Danny’s street. He remembered this place also. The snow had been falling in soft, quiet flakes, the street darkened by night. Danny had leaned over him, worried and pale.
Colton hesitated outside the gate. He had met Danny’s mother before, and though odd, she’d been pleasant enough. His father was another matter entirely.
Maybe I should go to the mechanics’ office. It was right across from Big Ben.
But he had promised to seek out Christopher Hart first. There was no telling what the Lead Mechanic would want to do with him.
Colton opened the gate and approached the front door. From what Danny had told him, the Harts worked during the day and were home by evening. Above, the sky was red with dusk.
Colton knocked. He strained to hear movement inside the house, annoyed that his senses were so dulled.
He was about to turn and make his way to Big Ben after all when the latch scraped inside. The door opened, and a tall, long-limbed man stood on the threshold. He had green eyes and dark hair, with feathery black eyebrows. Colton briefly wondered if this was what Danny would look like in several years’ time. Not quite, he decided. Danny’s face was sharper, more like his mother’s.
But it was enough to make him pause.
“Hullo? Can I help you?” the man asked. Even their voices were similar.
“I … uh …” How was he going to do this? “Are you Christopher Hart?”
“I am.” He took in Colton’s bag. “If you’re selling something, we aren’t interested, thanks.”
“Oh, no, nothing like that. It’s—It’s about your son. Sort of.”
Christopher blanched, and Colton winced. He’d said the wrong thing already.
“Danny? Is he hurt? What happened?”
“That’s not what I meant!” Colton raised his hands, and realized his mistake too late. Christopher stared at his see-through palms, glowing faintly in the dusk shadows.
For a long moment, neither man nor spirit said a word. Then Christopher moved so he was no longer blocking the doorway.
“Come inside,” he whispered. He looked up and down the street as Colton hurried through the door, then closed and locked it behind him.
He whirled on Colton. “What’s the meaning of this?”
Colton took off his cap and held it between his hands. Christopher’s eyes darted around his face.
“Has there been news about Enfield?” Colton asked.
“Not that I’ve heard. Why?” Judging from his tone, he’d already guessed.
“It’s Stopped.”
Christopher’s paleness was overtaken by an angry flush. All at once, Colton understood his second blunder.
“I didn’t do it on purpose! That is, I didn’t want to Stop Enfield. We were attacked. My tower was hit. It was going to fall and Stop time anyway, so I had to detach my central cog.” He touched Danny’s bag. “We didn’t know what to do. The mayor told me to get help. I was the only one who could leave.”
Christopher swayed. Wordlessly, he walked past Colton into a room that looked to be a kitchen. Colton cautiously followed. He’d only seen Danny’s bedroom on his last visit, and now he took in his surroundings: faded green walls, a telephone in the hall, portraits painted in muted colors.
Danny’s father poured himself some form of alcohol and knocked it back in one gulp. Exhaling loudly, he turned back to face Colton. “You’re the spirit of Enfield. The one my son … You and he …”
If Colton were human, he would have blushed. “Yes.”
“He’s not here. He’s gone to India.”
“I know. That’s why I’m here, talking to you. I thought maybe you could come back to Enfield with me.”
Christopher rubbed his face. “This is too much.”
Maybe coming here had been a mistake after all. Colton felt that sense of disconnection again. More than that, he felt ashamed, and wasn’t sure why. The emotion was new, and it unsettled him. He didn’t like it at all.
“Where’s Mrs. Hart?” he asked in a small voice. Maybe she would understand.
“Work,” Christopher mumbled. “She’ll be here soon enough.” He swallowed hard. “I can’t focus right now. I have to think. I’m sorry, but I have to think.”
Colton nodded, though he didn’t understand. Christopher walked past him, then stopped. It made Colton very uncomfortable, standing so close to Danny’s father.
“That’s his coat, isn’t it?”
Again, Colton nodded, trying to shrink inside its shelter. It smelled of Danny, and that was the only thing that had kept him going today. Christopher swayed again, then left the kitchen.
Colton sat on one of the chairs to wait. He wanted to take off Danny’s coat, but at the same time, he wasn’t eager to shed its comfort. Hugging the satchel bag to his chest, he closed his eyes.
If he were human, he would have cried. He wondered if doing that ever made humans feel better.
Leila screamed when she found a clock spirit in her kitchen half an hour later.
Christopher hurried downstairs as she stood there gasping, one bony hand pressed to her chest.
“Oh my God,” she sputtered. “Colton! What on earth—?”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Leila, are you all right?”
“Yes, I—I’m fine. Just a shock. What’s going on?”
“It’s not about Danny,” Colton said at once, not wanting to repeat the same mistake he’d made with Christopher.
“Oh … good.” She still sounded confused. Christopher took her bag and led her to the table before he began to fix some tea. Leila just stared at Colton, who tried not to fidget under her gaze.
“Enfield is Stopped,” Christopher said from the stove. “His tower was attacked.”
“Attacked?” Her head whipped around. “By whom?”
Christopher glanced at Colton. “Do you know?”
“No. I saw an airship above Enfield, and it dropped something onto my tower.” He touched his side. The ache had dulled the farther he’d walked from Enfield, but it was still there, lingering. “The tower would have fallen, but I Stopped the town before it did.”
“Oh, you poor thing.” Leila touched Colton’s shoulder. Finding it tangible enough, she gave him a hug. Colton, startled, returned it. It was different from the hugs Danny gave him; those were comfortable, close, sacred. This was something else, something foreign yet reassuring.
Christopher seemed more relaxed when he handed Leila her tea. “Are you sure you didn’t see a name on the airship?”
“Not that I recall. And I would know. Danny taught me to read.”
Christopher’s eyebrows rose, and Leila hid a shaky smile behind her teacup. Colton wondered why humans had such complex reactions to the things he said.
“Well, news will probably get out tomorrow, or soon after.” Christopher sighed. “And Danny’s in India, on a much bigger assignment. They wouldn’t send him all the way back.”
“You don’t think so?” Leila asked, sounding hopeful at the prospect.
“The Lead will find someone else. Probably me.” Christopher drummed his fingers against the tabletop. “The office is closed now. Maybe we should wait until morning.”
“For what?” Colton asked.
“I’m going to bring you to the Lead. Whomever he assigns can go with you to Enfield and help repair your tower. The authorities need to be alerted as well.”
Leila glanced nervously at the kitchen clock. “Can it wait until morning?”
“It’ll have to. A few hours won’t change anything. Not like that airship can do any more damage, if Enfield’s already Stopped.”
“But what about the other towns?” Colton asked. “Or London?”
“London’s had a sky watch ever since the Seven Years’ War.” At Colton’s blank look, Christopher explained, “That’s when France tried to attack the clock tower from above. Soldiers will be on the lookout for strange airships.”
Leila got up to cook dinner, but since Colton did not eat, he asked if there was somewhere he could go and rest. He would need all his strength for the following day. Mainly, he just wanted to be by himself, and the thought of his tower broken and crumbling made the ache in his side grow worse.
“You can use Danny’s bedroom upstairs,” Leila offered. “Will you need anything during the night?”
“I have everything I need right here.” He lifted Danny’s bag, and the cogs inside rattled. “But thank you.”
He was on his way out of the kitchen when Christopher cleared his throat. Colton turned back, wary. But the man didn’t look angry. He looked … sheepish.
“I’m sorry for snapping at you earlier, Colton. You gave me a scare. I know this is quite the mess right now, but I promise I’ll help in any way I can.” Leila, blinking back tears, put her hand on top of her husband’s.
“That’s all right. I know I frightened you. I’m sorry.” He glanced at Leila, who gave him an encouraging nod. “Thank you, Mr. Hart.”
Danny’s father waved the words away. “Call me Christopher.”
Colton sat on Danny’s bed. He remembered this place, too. He had been weak without his central cog to help him, drifting in and out of consciousness. Now, with his cogs and Big Ben nearby, Colton felt five times as strong—but it still wasn’t enough. He bitterly examined his translucent hands.
The house was quiet. He could hear the occasional clink of plates from downstairs, and the distant rumbling of autos, but that was all.
Weary, he spread out on the bed and put his head on the pillow. It smelled so much like Danny that Colton let out a painful groan. Clock spirits did not breathe, but they could sense smells if they were close enough, in the same way their ears could hear. He hugged the pillow closer, burying his face in the fabric.
Time normally passed so quickly for him, but now it trudged torturously on. A few months ago, a little girl in Enfield had been trying to cross the muddy road after a solid week of rain. The mud had sucked so hard onto the soles of her boots that one had popped off as she staggered forward without it. Colton was that boot. Time forced him to stand still.
Colton hugged the pillow tighter and wondered what would happen if he left London. Left England. Followed Danny.
He thought of Leila at the kitchen table, putting her hand on Christopher’s. A new shade of hurt slipped into the spectrum of his newfound emotions. Colton might not feel what a normal boy could, but he could still feel Danny’s hand, warm and strong in his own. He could still feel Danny’s lips against his own. He knew what it was to miss those things, and the loss was deep and cutting, the weight of absence heavier than anything he’d ever held.
By midnight, the house was dark and silent. Colton was wracked with pain.
He sat up and put a hand to his side. Reaching down with the other, he took his central cog from Danny’s bag and pressed it to his body. It had little effect.
Still so many hours to go.
Around two o’clock, he crept out of Danny’s room. He toured the house on silent feet, barely disturbing the air. He ran his fingers over the spines of the books downstairs, and picked up different kitchen utensils, wondering what they were for.
Back upstairs, he turned on the lamp in Danny’s room and looked through his things; he had to distract himself somehow. In the drawers Colton found old drawings and lecture notes in Danny’s slanted, blotchy handwriting. Danny liked to give his g’s and y’s long stems.
There were letters in the drawers, some yellowed with age. A few were from an uncle in Scotland. One was dated ten years ago, from a grandmother. Danny had never spoken about his relatives before. Were they dead? Colton decided he would find a sensitive way of asking later.
He found drawings of Cassie, of clocks, of classmates—mostly boys—and then found small sketches of himself. Colton standing by the window, Colton sitting on a box, Colton and Danny on the scaffolding above the clock face. The smile that spread across his face felt like an unexpected gift.
A wad of paper had been stuffed into the bottom drawer. He pulled it out and smoothed it flat. He read the message written there, but it was not in Danny’s hand.
Do not think this is finished.
You know something.
We’ll be watching.
Colton froze, his smile dissolving. This did not sound normal. This sounded like … a threat.
He looked around, but for what, he wasn’t sure. The words were sinister enough that he half-expected someone to materialize from the shadows and make a grab for him.
Someone had sent this to Danny.
Someone had attacked Enfield—where Danny lived.
Danny was in trouble.