Colton was quiet as David drove him to the train station in the city called Jaipur. David had managed to filch an auto from the caravan the soldiers used, but insisted it had to be returned as soon as possible before an officer realized it was missing.
“The train that’ll take you to Agra comes in an hour,” David explained as he fumbled for something in his pocket. “I believe it’s called the Jabalpur Express. Can you remember that?” Colton said he could. “Here, you’ll need this.”
David shoved a wad of crumpled paper at him, along with a dozen or so silver and bronze coins. Colton sat with the pile in his lap, trying not to drop any of it.
“What’s all this?”
“Rupees and annas. Indian currency. You can’t get too far with pounds and pence in this country, so stick to what I just gave you.”
Colton stared at the young man. He knew enough about humans to understand that this was a substantial gesture. At a loss for words, he looked out the window at the passing buildings. Strangely, they were pink. “I’ve never seen buildings like these before,” he said.
“The Prince of Wales visited Jaipur earlier this year. They painted everything pink to welcome him.”
“Oh.” Colton supposed that was nice of them. As they rounded a corner, he jolted in his seat. Jaipur’s clock tower loomed nearby.
“Stop the auto.”
“What? No. We have to—oy!”
Colton had already opened the door, and David was forced to pull over to the side of the road. Colton nimbly stepped over a mound of cow dung and made his way to the tower, drawn to its force. People glanced at him, but he didn’t care. He felt braver in the dawn light.
He climbed a short wall and stood on the top, taking in a sight that made his eyes go wide. A vast courtyard stretched before him, empty save for giant curving structures. One was immensely tall, in the shape of a flight of stairs that led nowhere. Another was a half-circle lined with marks. There was also a pit in which a pendulum swung.
“It’s the conservatory,” David called from below. “The king of Jaipur built this a long time ago. They’re all time-telling devices.”
Colton could sense it, now. The tall stairs leading to nowhere actually formed a sundial. Time fibers wove around the structure, strengthening the connection to the clock tower tenfold.
Something made him turn his head. On top of the yellow clock tower stood a slight figure. When their eyes met, the figure disappeared.
He reappeared in front of Colton, who stepped back in surprise.
The boy was shorter and younger than he was. He had bronze skin and dusty yellow hair. His amber eyes flashed as he tilted his head to one side. Colton found himself mimicking the gesture.
“You are like me,” the boy said in a heavy accent.
“Yes, I think so.” Colton thought back to his visions—his dreams—his memories. Honestly, he had no idea what he was. “Don’t worry, I won’t be staying long. But may I ask you something?”
The boy considered, then nodded.
“Do you have visions of a life before this one? A life that makes no sense?”
The boy’s gaze wandered toward the conservatory. “I see … a woman. I call her mother. She feeds me roti and smacks my arm when I misbehave.”
Colton’s throat constricted. He thought of the woman in his own visions, the tall one with the long dark hair. Mother.
“Colton!” David called.
“I have to go,” he whispered. “Goodbye.”
“Goodbye,” the boy said. He disappeared into his tower.
Colton climbed back down the wall to where David waited below. The young man’s eyes darted around warily as he pulled Colton to the auto.
“What the bloody hell was that?” he demanded. “Actually, no—never mind. The less I know, the better. Let’s just get you to the station.”
They drove the rest of the way in silence. When David pulled up beside the train station, Colton took what was left of the British money from his pockets and handed it to David.
“Don’t bother, mate. I don’t expect anything in return.”
“Please,” Colton said.
David took the money half-heartedly. “I’ll keep hold of it for you. Brandon can give it back when you return.” David looked him up and down. “And you better return. Having Brandon for a brother, I know how important you spirits are to the clock towers. I know how important you are to Enfield. Don’t leave us with another Maldon, all right?”
Colton slowly put the Indian money away, unable to meet David’s eyes. “I won’t.”
David directed him to the stairs leading to the platform above, where passengers congregated.
“Be safe, then. And good luck.”
“Thank you for your help.”
David only nodded before he returned to the auto. Colton understood that David needed to go, but all the same, he wished he would come with him, even just to the platform.
Colton watched the auto pull around and head back for base. He was on his own again.
His legs buckled under a sudden spell of weakness, but he gripped Big Ben’s cog and fed on the power from the cogs on his back, as well as whatever the conservatory could spare. He wanted to sit and think, but getting to Danny was more important. Only a train ride separated them. This, more than the cogs, gave him the strength to walk to the stairs.
His determination was short-lived, though, as a guard with olive skin stopped him. “Ticket?” he asked.
Colton wearily looked at him, hoping he would explain. Eventually, the man sighed and pointed at a kiosk on the right.
“Tick-et,” he said slowly, raising his voice as if Colton was hard of hearing. “To ride the train.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I’ve never ridden a train before.”
Finding that Colton spoke English, the man returned to his normal voice. “Go on then, get one and we’ll let you through.”
Colton approached the man at the kiosk, who only gestured to a list above his head. Colton scanned the board and tried to figure out what he wanted, but he couldn’t read the words. “Um, a ticket to Agra, please? The Jabalpur Express?”
The man did something behind the kiosk. He brought out a rectangular bit of paper and stamped it, then held out his hand. Colton, growing increasingly frustrated, shrugged.
“Money,” the guard from the stairs called. He’d been watching the transaction. “A ticket to Agra’s gonna be eight annas.”
“Right. Money.” He fumbled with the notes and coins in his pocket, trying to determine which were annas and which were rupees. The coins clattered onto the surface of the kiosk as he separated them. This was even more confusing than English currency.
The man behind the kiosk grunted impatiently and swiped the necessary coins from the pile. Colton tried not to feel incompetent as he put the rest back in his pocket, suddenly thankful Danny wasn’t here to witness this. He would never hear the end of it.
Colton showed his ticket to the guard, who pretended to applaud. Frowning, Colton swept past him and up the stairs to join the other passengers waiting for the Jabalpur Express.
There weren’t many people here, but enough to make him nervous. London had been different. Everyone had been constantly moving, their eyes focused elsewhere, pretending no one around them existed. Here, people noticed him, and it made him feel as if he held a sign that told them what he really was.
He found a small wooden bench near the empty tracks. Well, not completely empty; trash littered the sides of the tracks, and small gray mice scurried along the ground below. They looked like the ones that sometimes snuck into his tower. Colton had spent long hours watching them, how they balanced on the beams and the way their noses and whiskers twitched. He wanted to climb down and help them off the train tracks. He couldn’t imagine it was very safe down there.
Since he was alone on the bench, he dug through the small pack he carried until he found the photographs. He looked at the one with the gun pointed to the back of Danny’s head.
“I’m almost there,” he whispered. “Wait for me.”
A clock that hung above the platform read 8:50. About ten more minutes until the train arrived, and forty until they departed. He had never been this impatient until he’d met Danny. Now, every minute was an eternity.
He rubbed his right side, feeling the scar underneath his clothes. What would Danny say when he saw it? For an instant, it wasn’t Danny’s worried face he saw, but Castor’s.
The ache grew, and his face scrunched up in an effort not to cry out in pain. He had known Castor after all; had known him in the same intimate, indefinable way he knew Danny.
All those people—Castor, Abigail, his mother and father—who were they really? Colton had been a spirit for as long as he could remember. He was the product of time. He was time.
But now these dreams, these memories, made him doubt himself. For the first time since he could remember, he didn’t know who Colton was.
An elderly woman shuffled up to him and held out a wrinkled hand. Her lips were barely perceivable, and a few white hairs grew from her chin. She mumbled something to Colton, but he couldn’t understand her.
“I’m sorry?”
She mumbled the same word again. He recalled a man dressed in rags who had wandered Enfield for a month or two before dying of exposure. He had been seeking money and food. If this woman was doing the same, then she was likely a beggar.
He took a paper rupee from his pocket and gave it to her. She pressed her hands together, as if in prayer, before meandering off.
An Indian man in a blue suit shouted that the train was arriving. Colton looked around at the impatient crowd. A little British girl cried that she wanted water. An old man rested most of his weight on a thin cane.
“Hoy there, you lot!”
Colton whipped around. A British officer in uniform descended on two Indian children. They yelled and squirmed, but the officer held them up by their collars and shook them. “Drop it! Now!”
The children dropped the coins and rupees they’d been clutching in their small, dirty fists. The officer let them go and they raced off, ducking and weaving through the crowd, which parted as if the boys were diseased.
“Disgraceful,” the officer muttered as he picked up the money. Then, to Colton’s surprise, the man turned and handed it to him.
“They took this from you.”
Colton checked his pocket. “How—?”
“Thieves. They were working with the beggar woman. She sees where you take out your money, then the urchins nick the rest. Anyway, make sure you keep that safe.”
“They could have had money if they needed it,” Colton said with an edge in his voice.
The officer frowned under his bristling blond mustache. “The money wouldn’t go to them. They would have to take it straight to the woman, and who knows what she would have done with it. Probably spend it on drink and hookah.”
“You still didn’t have to treat them so poorly. They’re just children.”
Anger brewed on the man’s face, and Colton checked himself. He couldn’t draw attention, and unfortunately, there were now many eyes upon them. He ducked over his pack and put the money inside.
The train pulled up, sparing him from further argument. It was a noisy thing that blew smoke into the air as it rolled in. Colton kept a tight grip on his ticket.
The doors opened and everyone rushed to get on at once. Colton waited his turn to board, finding himself in a long corridor with seats along barred windows.
The ticket inspector reached him, punched a hole in the corner of his ticket, and continued on. Colton wondered what to do now. The thought of sitting among all these people—who were Indian, which meant the English probably sat elsewhere—made him even more nervous, thinking of all the ways he could invite their gazes. Though Colton was often lonely in his tower, he’d grown used to solitude, and right now that’s all he longed for. He wanted to put his thoughts together before he found Danny.
A young Indian woman bumped into him from behind. She looked lost, and not a little scared. When the ticket inspector turned to the new passengers, her eyes grew large.
“Are you all right?” Colton asked. The man punched someone else’s ticket and she winced. “Do you not have a ticket?” She shook her head.
He handed her his own. She stared at him, then snatched it from his hand. Just in time, too, for the man turned to her next. She showed him the already-punched ticket.
“Sorry, miss. Must’ve already done yours.”
When he was gone, she tried to press the ticket back into Colton’s hands.
“Keep it. I don’t need it anymore.”
He turned to find a quiet place. An open door led to another carriage, this one even louder than the one he’d just left. His side ached, and his head swam. He felt weaker by the second.
He passed through two more carriages until he found a closed door. Testing it, he found it wasn’t locked, and opened to a darker carriage filled with luggage and crates. Colton waited until the men loading the compartment jumped off and closed the main platform doors. Then he snuck inside and closed the door behind him.
The carriage was blessedly quiet. All he could hear was the hiss and rumble of the train. He wandered through barrels and boxes, smelling strange aromas and reading strange words. Tallow, oil, ink, spices. If he were human, he wondered if he would sneeze. Danny would sometimes sneeze in the tower if it got too dusty. Colton once told him he looked adorable when he sneezed. Danny, flustered, hadn’t been able to speak for five minutes.
The pain flared again and he leaned against the wall, sliding to the floor. Wedged between a box marked FRAGILE and another smelling of mint, Colton closed his eyes and tried to decide what to do.
He had to dream again. When he’d looked in the mirror, he had seen himself, the same face he’d seen in Danny’s mirror and in the sketch Danny had drawn. But the colors had been all wrong, his skin paler and dotted with freckles, his hair dark, his eyes blue. He’d looked … human.
Maybe it wasn’t me, he thought. Maybe it was someone I knew when my tower was built. Someone I wanted to look like.
But the Jaipur clock spirit had said he’d experienced the visions, too.
The only way to find out was to dream. But, despite his weakness, Colton couldn’t get to that place of unconsciousness. It seemed he had stocked up on rest during his night on the airship.
The train began to move forward. Colton realized what he had to do. With a pinch of trepidation, he slipped the cog holder off his shoulders and leaned it against a box. Almost immediately the weakness tripled, his head swimming and his vision doubling.
Closing his eyes, he fell into sought-after darkness.