They lounged in Castor’s bed for most of the afternoon. The sheets were thick and somewhat itchy, but the two of them barely noticed, too distracted by each other.
The wind howled outside, but they were warm and safe in bed. Colton felt heavy and happy as Castor hummed low in his throat. Their fingers skimmed over skin, their eyes sometimes meeting with a secretive smile.
“So?” Castor asked. His voice had fallen into a comfortable baritone in the past year, and it made Colton shiver when it hit its lowest notes. “What do you think?”
“About what?”
“What we were talking about before.”
“You mean before you shoved me onto the bed?”
“Yes, that.”
“I can’t remember that far back.”
Castor scooted farther in, resting a warm hand on Colton’s back. Colton pressed his own hand against Castor’s chest. “When we were talking about London,” Castor said.
“Oh.” The bliss faded a little, making him more aware of the cold air outside. Colton idly drew circles over Castor’s chest, but wouldn’t look at his face. Lowering his voice, he said, “I don’t think it would work.”
“Why not? You said you loved the city when we visited last year. So did I.”
Colton bit his lower lip, and Castor brought his hand back around to run it up his side.
“I want to live with you,” Colton said softly, “but I can’t leave my family. I can’t leave Abigail. You know that.”
“I do. Which is why”—Castor paused to kiss the tip of Colton’s nose—“she’ll be coming with us.”
Colton drew back. “What? She can’t go to London. She’s still unwell. Enfield is good for her. Fresh air, fewer people, a doctor who knows her condition—”
“But she can be with her big brother and his handsome friend who know how to care for her. Maybe London life will do her wonders, and she’ll grow strong enough to go out into the city and enjoy herself. Make friends, see plays, dress up.”
“We haven’t the money for that.”
“Not now, but that can change.”
“You just want to spoil her.”
“Maybe. But you do, too.”
“I don’t think our parents would ever allow it.”
“They’re not nearly as protective as you are. I’m sure they’d listen to you.”
“Castor …” The boy’s brown eyes were warm and deep, and he made the mistake of looking into them. There was little to no chance of denying him when he looked so sincere.
“Just consider it.” Castor drew Colton closer until their stomachs touched. Colton closed his eyes as Castor kissed him, lightly at first, then deeper. They were reaching under the sheets again when they heard the front door slam.
“Castor!”
They sprang apart like spooked cats. Colton fell to the floor as he scrambled for his clothes, counting the heavy footsteps approaching Castor’s door.
“Castor? Are you in there?”
“Yes!”
The door opened with a creak and Castor’s father peered in. Castor sat fully dressed on his bed while Colton took up the wooden chair in the corner. Both boys tried to hide the fact that they were breathing heavily.
“Beele is looking for you two. He’s by the shrine.”
They exchanged a look. Beele hardly ever asked to see them outside of classes, and their next trip to the coast wasn’t for a few weeks.
“Thank you, Mr. Thomas,” Colton said.
The boys silently walked across the village green. Castor’s face was still bright pink. Colton hoped he would forget about London for a while.
Beele stood lingering beside the Aetas shrine near the church. The statue depicted the god with palms supine, standing strong upon a dais of a clock face. His face was cut in clear detail, from the straight line of his nose to the deep facets of his eyes. Colton glanced at it, feeling both drawn and disquieted by the figure.
When everyone was assembled, Beele told them they were making a special trip to the coast as soon as possible. Murmurs and puzzled looks swept through the students.
“Sir, has something happened?” Castor asked.
“Well …” Beele’s eyes swept over the group, the older boys and girls and the younger ones who had just been initiated. “Something must be looked into, and I’d rather everyone be there.”
“What needs to be looked into, sir?” asked a tall boy.
Beele cleared his throat. “I’m not meant to say, but … we must check on Aetas.”
More looks, more murmurs. “On Aetas?” a girl repeated as they all looked up at the shrine before them.
“Yes. We need to see if he can still hear us.”
The ocean raged under the iron-gray sky as time servants stood along the shore, cold and confused. Most assembled had no idea why they were here. A few stared across the water with trepidation.
Colton stood close to Castor. Both shivered as the wind played with their hair. More than anything, Colton wanted to hold Castor’s hand, but practicality made him stay still. They watched the churning ocean, mesmerized by its white-crested waves, the sinuous arcs they made before the water crashed down with a frightening roar.
“Something is wrong,” Beele said somewhere on Colton’s right. Other instructors and their students from neighboring districts were gathered nearby. The adults shifted on their feet, glancing warily at one another as the students looked on.
“Hancock, why don’t you go in?” one of the instructors suggested to a stocky middle-aged man with dark sideburns. Hancock drew a deep breath and nodded. He removed his coat and timepiece, then made his way to the ocean.
Everyone watched as the instructor stepped into the surf. It nearly dragged him under, and a few younger children gasped, but Hancock righted himself and submerged before a wave could topple him.
Colton began to nibble on his thumbnail. Castor hated the habit, but refrained from pulling Colton’s hand away as he normally would. Instead, he stared out at the water and waited like everyone else.
A moment later, Hancock came up sputtering and fighting the tide. Beele and another instructor ran to help him out of the water.
“What did you feel?” Beele demanded as they toweled him down. Hancock shook so violently that his teeth chattered loud enough for Colton to hear.
“I—” Hancock couldn’t speak at first, breathing hard through his mouth. Swallowing, he forced the words out. “I didn’t feel anything. I tried speaking to Aetas, but he didn’t answer.”
The look the adults gave each other formed a pit in Colton’s stomach.
One by one, each instructor waded into the ocean. Then the children stood ankle- or knee-deep. All arrived at the same conclusion: Aetas could not be felt. The twining pattern of time was barbed and static—they feared touching it.
“What does that mean?” Colton whispered. He wanted to race into the water, but Beele had warned him not to wade too far.
“I thought I felt something strange the other day,” Castor whispered back. “In Enfield. Like an ache in my belly.”
Colton had felt it, too.
The students demanded answers, but for once, their instructors had none.
“Perhaps Aetas is distracted and needs us to work even harder,” Beele suggested. “When we go home, make sure you meditate twice a day, once in the morning and once at night. Focus on Aetas and the strings of time around your home. Make sure they are running true.”
It was a long wagon ride to the coast, and by the time they were trundling back to Enfield, most of the children had fallen asleep in the back. Colton and Castor sat near the front, listening to the clop of the horses’ hooves. Because of the wagon’s cover, they couldn’t see the stars, but moonlight filtered through the slit near the driver’s bench. They spoke in whispers until Castor nodded off, resting his head against Colton’s shoulder. Colton couldn’t bring himself to move him away. None of the children would see, anyway.
Beele and Hancock were speaking on the driver’s bench, their voices low.
“There must be something we’re missing,” Beele said. “Some piece of the puzzle. First the south of Africa, and now us. What’s the cause?”
“It’s almost as if time is rippling. It makes my skin crawl.”
“Do you think there’s anything we can do?”
Hancock was silent a while. Colton was about to drift off when the man spoke again.
“I think there is more to it than we originally thought. Have you ever tried … to control it?”
“What do you mean?” Beele asked, his voice even lower.
“Time. Have you been able to control it?”
Beele didn’t respond.
“It’s one thing to meditate,” Hancock went on, getting more excited with every word, “but I think I’ve found—some of us have found—that time may run deeper than we suspected. The other day, when I was cleaning my timepiece, I nicked my thumb. A bit of blood got onto the gears and, well, it felt strange. I played with the sensation a bit. It was as though the time of the watch was directly connected to my thoughts.”
Beele laughed softly, but he didn’t sound amused. “You must have swallowed seawater.”
“I’m serious. I don’t think Aetas merely wants us to watch over time. He wants us to control it.”
“Enough,” Beele muttered. “You’re talking nonsense.”
“You’ll see soon. We’re about to make great discoveries. Perhaps Aetas is simply telling us we need to stop relying on him and finally take the matter into our own hands.”
“I said that’s enough.”
The men fell silent, but Colton was wide awake. He watched a sliver of moonlight fall onto Castor’s pale cheek, turning it white.
Over the next few days, strangers arrived in Enfield. Men from London, who spoke with refined accents and insisted that they were here for anthropological research. The townspeople gave them a wide berth. Colton kept an eye on the strangers, wondering if they’d come because of the Aetas matter. Instructor Beele’s uneasy behavior all but confirmed it.
Colton and Castor spoke about the latest news in quiet voices. None of the other time servants could figure out what was happening, and the authorities in London were helpless. It was only the servants’ constant meditation on time that kept the complicated weaves safely blanketed over Enfield.
Colton sat outside his house one morning, eyes closed, focused inwardly. Neighbors usually left him alone when he did this, but today someone bumped into him, shattering his concentration. Colton opened his eyes with a small growl of frustration.
One of the London men looked down at him, frowning. “What are you doing?”
“I’m a time servant. I’m channeling Aetas.”
The frown deepened. “Don’t have to do that in the middle of the road, do you? Or do you lousy churls not have chairs? Tell me your name, boy.”
“Colton Bell, and I’ll meditate wherever I please.”
The man bared his teeth, but didn’t press the matter further, turning with a flip of his long green coat before strolling down the road that led to the village green.
The encounter sat oddly with him, as had everything that had happened in the last few days. Even well into the night, he couldn’t stop the nervous squirming of his belly, or the dull, frightened thudding of his heart.
It was nearly midnight and Colton sat in the middle of his bed, unable to sleep. Ever since the trip to the coast, Hancock’s words had been rolling around his head like marbles. There was something he had to try.
He looked to his right, to the sheet dividing his bed from his parents’. His father’s snores sawed through the air and his mother’s lighter snores whistled in harmony. On his left, past the other sheet, Abigail was quiet as usual.
Colton took a deep breath and slipped out of bed, trying not to make a sound. He bypassed the creaky step near the bottom of the stairs and lit a lantern, which he placed on the table. He sat within the lantern’s buttery glow and opened his hands to reveal the timepiece he’d been clutching.
It was his father’s, and it was very old. The silver exterior was carved with a scalloped design, almost like a seashell. It was the most expensive thing they owned.
Colton laid his tools out before him on the table’s surface. Carefully, quietly, he pried the timepiece apart to get to the gears within.
When he laid eyes on the smoothly turning mechanism, his heart started to beat faster. The parts were so tiny, so beautiful, so mysterious, that he couldn’t help but stare.
Colton grabbed the pocketknife his father had given him on his tenth birthday. He pricked his thumb, watching as a small bead of blood rose to the surface. Swallowing, Colton wondered if he should abandon his plan, put the timepiece back together, and forget what he had heard on the wagon.
But he had to know.
He pressed the bead of cooling blood to the gears. Something sharp ran through his chest and he had to slap a hand to his mouth to stop himself from crying out.
Time writhed around him. He felt it intimately on his skin, the way Castor’s fingers felt when they traced the lines of his body. He shuddered, his hands hot as they clutched the faintly glowing timepiece.
He replaced the face. Focusing on the awareness that raised the hairs along his arms, he silently commanded the timepiece to stop. The hands slowed, the ticking ceased, and the small bubble of time around him froze.
He couldn’t breathe.
Start. Start.
The hands resumed their journey, and the faint ticks of the second hand came back to life. He inhaled.
“Hancock was right,” Colton whispered. “We can control time.”
A rustle made him jump. He looked at the front door, then the window beside it. It could have been his nerves, but he thought he saw the flash of a pale face before it disappeared into the folds of night.
Colton was about to run to the door when he heard Abigail whimper upstairs. He hesitated before he put the timepiece down and hurried to her instead. She was tossing under her sheets, frantic and perspiring.
“Abigail.” He cradled her face with his hands, smearing blood on her cheek. “Abi, wake up. It’s just a dream.”
Her eyes moved under her lids, then opened slowly. Although her forehead was coated with sweat, she shivered.
“Colton,” she whispered hoarsely, her fingernails driving into his skin. “Colton, you’re here.”
“Of course I am. I’m always here.”
“You were gone. I couldn’t find you.”
He gently swept her hair back. “I’ll never leave you, Abi. I promise you’ll always be able to find me.”
When she was calm again, he wiped the blood from her cheek and gave her some water. He thought about the timepiece downstairs, and how he had to dismantle it to clean the gears before their father woke up. But Abigail couldn’t find sleep again, so he held her, wondering what he should say to Instructor Beele.
This discovery was going to change everything.
When Castor came over the next day, Colton led him out back to the garden. As they tilled the soil in preparation for the spring planting, Colton told him about his experiment the other night.
Castor listened intently as he worked, but when Colton reached the part about his father’s timepiece, he stopped and leaned against the hoe, eyes wide. “Colton, how could you do something so reckless?”
“I had to try. Hancock said it himself: time is changing. The way we sense it will change, too, if Aetas stays unreachable. Maybe he is doing it for a reason.”
“We can’t control time!”
Colton shushed Castor and looked around to see if anyone had heard. He saw no one, but felt a prickle of apprehension, as if someone were watching. He still wasn’t certain if he’d imagined the face in the window the night before. “We’re time servants. We work directly for Aetas. Who’s to say that we can’t do what he can?”
Castor shook his head. “That’s misusing our power. If we can control time with our blood, we’d all be at war within a second. Don’t you see that?”
“Of course I do. But that doesn’t mean—” The air shifted, and Colton turned his head. For a moment, he thought he could smell the sea. “Castor?”
“I feel it, too,” Castor said. “What—?”
Everything
The world spun upside down, the sun and moon collided, and Colton fell to the ground. Pain ripped through his body and he screamed. He felt like he was being flayed alive, like thousands of thorns tore into his flesh, burying into his bones.
Castor screamed beside him. The ocean roared. The earth trembled.
Then the pain ebbed like the tide, and Colton looked up to see the sky shrouded by an ominous gray barrier. Within a blink it was gone, replaced with watery sunshine. Another blink, and the barrier returned.
“What’s happening?” Castor yelled.
Colton struggled to his hands and knees, retching. He was being turned inside out. His guts writhed like snakes.
When he looked up, he gasped. The tilled earth sprouted crops not yet planted, carrots and beans and potato flowers. They grew at an impossible rate. Then, just as quickly, they shriveled and died.
“What is this?” he croaked. “Castor?” But another wave of pain hit, and he dropped to the ground. He curled into a ball and sobbed. Time and snapped and .
“Colton! Colton, get a hold of yourself. We have to find Beele.”
He looked up at Castor, his face pale and frightened, his brown eyes round, his hair in disarray.
And then he was looking at someone else, someone he didn’t know. Another boy, his face sharper and his hair darker, his eyes not brown but bright popping green. There was a slanted scar on his chin.
“Colton, what’s wrong?” the boy demanded in an entirely different voice. “Colton!”
“Who are you?” he rasped. “Where did you come from?”
But the boy had changed back into Castor, and helped Colton to his feet. Colton swayed and leaned into him, but he managed to stay upright. They hobbled around to the front of the house and froze.
The roads were lined with more houses than had been there this morning, crowding the countryside. Huge, clunking beasts of metal trundled down the streets on wheels.
“What are they?” Castor asked. A second passed, and then they were looking at their own Enfield again. Another second, and it was nothing but a grassy plain extending toward a forest.
Everything was spinning and
Colton turned and nearly ran into the side of his reappearing house. A scream tore through the air above their heads.
“Abigail!”
They hurried inside, where his parents had been knocked out by the force of time unleashed. They hurried up the stairs to Abigail’s bed, where she sat rocking back and forth, holding her head.
“Abi, what’s wrong?” When he reached for her, she disappeared. Colton whirled around. “Abigail! Abigail!”
She returned, still rocking, still holding her head. Colton wrapped his arms around her, determined not to let go.
“What’s happening?” she cried. “Make it stop! It hurts so much!”
“Aetas,” Castor said. “It has to be. What if he’s disappeared for good? What if time’s running free?”
“Please make it stop,” Abigail begged, holding onto him. “Colton, please.”
“I will, Abi. I promise I’ll make it stop.”
Before they could determine how, they heard a commotion on the stairs. Men burst into the room and grabbed Castor. One of them dragged him away from Abigail, still screaming as she held out her hands for him. He tried to free himself, but his captor smacked the side of the head, then yanked his arms up behind his back.
“Let go of my brother! Let him go!”
Colton and Castor were hauled downstairs, where his parents were rousing. When his father got a look at what was happening, he gained his feet with fearsome speed.
“What are you doing with those boys?”
The men kept his parents at bay, though Colton managed to lock eyes with his mother, her hand frantically reaching for him.
“Colton!”
Abi had stumbled down the stairs, wheezing and flushed, clutching desperately at the walls. Their mother caught her before she fell, and Colton heard her scream his name again before they were shoved outside.
“To the church,” one of the men said.
The boys were dragged to St. Andrew’s. Inside, wooden pews had been pushed up to the front altar, leaving the nave mostly barren. They were herded to one side and forced to sit with their backs to the wall.
“We haven’t done anything!” Castor yelled. “We’re time servants!”
“Exactly,” a man snapped. Colton recognized him as the one who had disturbed his meditation the day before. The mayor’s aide, Lucius, stood awkwardly by the man’s side. “Sit down and stay silent.”
One by one, more time servants were forced into the church and made to sit along the wall. Old, young, it didn’t matter. Colton’s skin tightened with unease, Abigail’s screams still echoing in his ears.
Eventually they were all assembled, even Inspector Beele, his face red and his expression indignant. Colton couldn’t remember a time when time servants had been treated this way, not since the dark ages when they were thought to have been witches. The thought only made Colton shiver worse.
The man from London stood before them, hands fisted at his sides. Time warped through the air like heat off of a bonfire. The church blurred around them, becoming a pile of rubble, filling up with pious churchgoers, then returning to the present.
“We were warned something like this might happen,” Lucius told them. “The time servants in London have been looking into this matter for weeks.” He glanced at the man in the green coat, then coughed. “Mr. Archer?”
The man, Archer, drew himself up taller. “It has been reported the country over that our connection with time—with Aetas—has possibly been severed. I’m here to tell you the truth. Aetas cannot be felt because he’s no longer here.
“Aetas is dead.”
The time servants sat in stunned silence. Then two little girls began to cry, and the others broke out in shouts.
“Silence!” Archer waited for their attention to return to him. “Aetas is dead! It has been reported by the Gaian priests that Chronos has killed him, likely for the sin of giving humans power over time. Now, because of your god, we all have to pay the price of Chronos’s wrath.”
The time servants didn’t call out this time. They just gaped in horror.
“This world will end if we don’t find a way to control time,” Archer went on. “And soon.”
“You had to manhandle us to relate the news?” Beele spat. “We may help you if you allow us to discuss the matter, but we can’t do anything useful if we’re tied up.”
Archer shook his head with a tiny, pitying smile. “You time servants think that your god will always protect you, that your power is mightier than the rest of us. Not this time. We have our own ideas.”
Beele paled. “What do you mean?”
“There have been experiments going on in London. One worked better than we ever dreamed. Now, we have finally settled on our best chance of survival, and we will grab it with both hands. If Aetas is dead, your powers alone won’t be enough.”
“Now, listen here—!”
But Archer ignored Beele, ignored everyone’s cries. He set men to guard them. Lucius wavered, looking like he wanted to give them reassurance, but he avoided everyone’s gaze and followed Archer out. Colton tested the rope around his wrists, gritting his teeth.
“What are they talking about?” Castor’s voice shook. “Aetas, dead? Is that true?”
“I don’t know,” Beele said bleakly. “But this is our duty, and our right. Whatever happens, we must stick together.”
Castor was breathing unevenly. Colton moved a little closer.
“Stay where you are!” a guard warned him.
“What do you think they’re going to do?” Colton whispered.
“I don’t know. Damn it, I’m scared. I’ve never been this scared before.”
“Calm down. We’ll find a way out of this.”
Lucius returned as the sun was setting. The time servants could hear angry voices outside the church, but the London contingent had set up a protective ring around it, preventing anyone from getting inside.
Archer followed behind the mayor’s aide. He walked up and down the line of time servants, eyeing each one critically. “You all hold the power to connect to time. Some might even say the power to control time.” Colton heard Beele’s sharp intake of breath. “This power is pivotal to us all, now. If time runs rampant, it’ll only be a matter of days until we destroy ourselves.” Suddenly, time warped and Archer was an old man—a skeleton covered in a leathery wrapper of skin. Some of the children yelped.
Then Archer was himself again, slightly off-kilter. He shook his head to clear it before continuing on. “I only need one of you to put our plan into motion. Does anyone volunteer?” None of the time servants moved. No one made a sound. “It’ll be much easier with a volunteer.”
Castor stirred, but Colton nudged him hard with his elbow. Their eyes met, and Colton shook his head. Castor bit his lip.
“Lucius,” Archer drawled, “you know these people well. Tell me, which do you think is the best choice?”
The mayor’s aide shrank back, shaking his head. “I-I’m sorry, but I—No. I’m sorry.”
“What about you?” Archer swung his gaze to Beele. “Who would you say is your best student?”
Beele’s eyes flickered to Colton, but the Instructor said nothing.
Archer gave a dramatic sigh. “I suppose I’ll have to choose myself.” He went down the line again, his eyes skimming over the smallest of the children and the oldest of the seasoned time servants before falling on those in between. Everyone dropped their eyes, trying to disappear into themselves.
Only Colton defiantly met Archer’s gaze. The man stopped before him, his upper lip curling. No doubt he was remembering their run-in the other day.
“I’ve been told,” Archer said, as if to Colton directly, “that one of you shows great promise in this particular field. So much so that there have been experiments of a sort happening right here in Enfield.”
Colton felt the blood drain from his face. Out of the corner of his eye, Castor turned to look at him.
“I’ve been informed that he was strong enough to connect to time on his own,” Archer explained, kneeling before him. “We need someone strong if this is to work.”
Colton’s lips trembled. He pressed them together, forcing himself to keep looking Archer in the eye. The man was oddly somber now, his earlier sneer wiped from his face.
“Colton Bell, was it?”
Slowly, Colton nodded.
“If you volunteer,” Archer said softly, “you’d be saving your town, Mr. Bell.”
His breaths were shaking as they left him, but still he didn’t look away from Archer. “How? How could I possibly stop what’s happening?”
“There is a way. I can’t say any more than that.”
Colton licked his dry lips. Time rippled up and down his arms, as if rubbing them in comfort. He leaned into the feeling, opening himself to the fury and the fire of time without Aetas’s control.
He thought of Abi in her bed, begging him to make it stop. His promise that he would fix it for her.
Colton gritted his teeth and again met Archer’s gaze. Stiffly, he nodded.
“No!” Castor made to get up, but the guard coming to take Colton kicked him, and Castor crumpled back to the ground. “No, stop! Take me instead! Don’t take him, take me!”
Colton was seized by a sudden panic. Something wasn’t right. He tried to elbow the guard holding him in the face, but a second man grabbed his other arm, and together the two of them dragged Colton through the church, toward the open doors.
“Castor!” he screamed. His own name was cried back, but he couldn’t see Castor’s face. Just heard his name, over and over.
“Castor!”
“Colton!”
“What are you doing?” the priest demanded as the flood of angry voices grew louder. “Release this young man at once!”
“Please say a prayer for us, and for him,” Archer said.
Colton fought again, frightened tears streaming down his face. “Castor!”
His name reached him one last time before the doors closed, and then he was out in the road, the men pulling him toward the village green. Shouts rang out through the dusk; he thought he heard his father above them all. Lucius ordered for him to be restrained.
Past the village green, Colton saw a glint of bronze. Someone had blocked off a square of unused land, where scraps of metal lay.
No, not scraps.
Cogs and gears.
Colton squirmed against his bonds, breathing heavily. The men forced him into the plot where he fell on his side, on top of the clock parts. Someone rolled him over onto his back, and his legs and shoulders were pinned down. The spokes of the gears bit into his skin.
“Let me go!” he shouted, struggling still.
“You agreed to help us, Mr. Bell,” Archer said above him. The last of the sunlight lit his hair like fire, shadowing his face.
“Not like this! I can help you, but there must be another way—”
“This is the only way,” Archer said. Now the man was the one avoiding his eyes. “Believe me, we don’t want this. We’re only doing what we must. I’m sorry, Mr. Bell.” He turned to the man on his left. “It has to be all his blood. Every drop.”
The knife gleamed red in the last rays of sunlight. Colton’s entire body froze with fear. He whimpered, making one last, feeble attempt to escape as the knife rose above him, a single stretch of a heartbeat.
And then the knife plunged in.
He grunted. The pain lanced through his chest, down to his feet, up to flood his brain with agony. Screaming—someone was screaming. His mother? Abigail? Castor? Blood pooled underneath him, soaking his shirt, running over the cogs and gears that lit up brilliantly at the taste of his blood.
“The throat, too,” Archer ordered.
Someone grabbed his hair and craned his head back. The knife left him with two mouths that gaped at the crimson sky above.
He twitched and jerked. The cogs grew hot. He choked on blood. His heart fluttered.
Time compressed around him, focusing on this one point of existence. It fed on him. It made him bleed faster, greedy for his life. Greedy for the power within his body that Aetas had planted so long ago. The complex knot of time unraveled, weaving into a new pattern. No more chaos. Now, there was order.
Death. And life.
“It’s working!”
It was the last thing he heard before death pulled him under like a hungry wave.
Colton woke to the smell of mint. He sat propped against the box, staring into the heart of nothing. His body was shaking. His throat began to convulse.
He dragged the cog holder nearer, clutching it to his chest. A thin, whining sound escaped him. He tried to stop it, but the keening grew louder, and longer, until he broke into tearless sobs. He banged a fist against the box marked FRAGILE, screaming and scratching at his throat and chest.
I died. I was human. They killed me.
It didn’t take long to remember the tower they’d built on the grave they had dug for him in that plot of land. The blood-soaked cogs had been installed in that tower. The cog directly beneath him had become the central cog, the main life force of the tower that ran Enfield’s time.
For hundreds of years, he had been walking on top of his own bones.
The compartment door slid open. “Hey! What are you doing in here?”
Colton stopped screaming. He stared at the officer with the blond mustache, the one who had patronized him at the station. There were other officers behind him. Slowly, Colton stood, his legs weak but sturdy enough to support him. He slipped on his cog holder.
“What are you doing in here?” the officer asked again. “Where’s your ticket?”
“I don’t have one.” Colton could barely hear himself. Barely feel himself. He was only that: barely.
“Stowaway,” another said.
The officer reached for his pistol. “Don’t make a scene, boy, and we might let you off easily.”
Without thinking, Colton turned and ran to the door on the opposite side of the carriage.
“Grab him!”
Colton darted into the next carriage, the one reserved for British passengers. Everyone turned their heads to see what was going on. Colton noticed an open window, one without bars. He dove toward it, shoving people out of his way. A woman screamed and smacked him with her parasol.
The soldiers followed. “Don’t let him jump!”
Colton had no intention of jumping. He instead climbed out of the window and onto the side of the speeding train. The wind almost knocked him off, whipping his hair into his eyes. Colton reached up to the top of the window, but one of the officers grabbed his ankle below.
Grunting, Colton kicked the man in the face until he let go, then scrambled up. He was so used to climbing his tower that the train felt easy in comparison. He hoisted himself onto the roof and stood there a moment, bracing himself against the wind. The train whistled, and if he squinted through the steam, he could see a river up ahead.
A small door in the roof banged open and soldiers poured out. Bullets flew around him, and one ricocheted off of his central cog. He stumbled forward with a pained cry.
“Stop right there, lad! There’s nowhere to go!”
Colton still ran, jumping onto the next carriage’s roof and ducking under their gunfire. The train just had to get close enough—
“Oy, lad! Stop!”
He hugged the pack to his chest and looked down as the train passed over the river. Glancing over his shoulder, he dodged two more bullets before jumping over the side.
The wind drowned out the soldiers’ shouts until he hit the water. The cogs at his back dragged him down to the bottom, and he let them. He sat on the riverbed, looking up through the murky haze as the dark shadow of the train sped by. He waited until it was long gone, waited several more minutes just to be sure, and started climbing up the riverbank.
Emerging from the water, he spat out a mouthful of muck. An old, brown-skinned man in a loincloth sat at the river’s edge, beating laundry against rocks. He stared openmouthed at Colton.
Colton walked onto land, wringing his clothes and shaking water from his hair. There was no sign of the train. Now what?
He walked until he found the train tracks. The best way to get to Agra, he supposed, was to follow them.
He stood under the Indian sun as his clothes steamed in the heat. He stared into the distance, feeling hollow. Feeling nothing. He could still hear the screams, those of his sister, Castor, and his own. He still smelled coppery blood.
His tower had been his sanctuary for hundreds of years, the clock the beating heart of Enfield. But now he knew the tower wasn’t his home.
It was his tomb.