Meerut had been combed over, the surrounding areas searched, but there was still no sign of Danny. It had been a few days, and with each passing one, Daphne felt the lump in her stomach grow harder and heavier.
There wasn’t much to go on. Meena said they had arrived at the tower, found the water around it, and then the tower exploded. She had awoken as she was being carried away from the rubble.
“The last thing I remember of Danny,” she’d said, “was him yelling at me to get away from the tower.”
Meena was still in a daze, still processing everything that had happened. Akash could usually be found at her side or hovering nearby. Today, though, his protectiveness had begun to infuriate her, which was a good sign. If she had enough energy to get angry, she’d be all right.
Daphne remembered when the new Maldon tower had fallen. How it had crushed Lucas, but not before a gear had buried itself in his chest.
The thought was too close to her own private horror. The Dover tower might not have been leveled, but she could have died that day. The clock spirit helped her restore Dover’s time before her own ran out.
Dryden, Harris, and Crosby were frazzled. It was bad enough that towers were falling and no one knew why. Now an English mechanic was missing.
How would Danny’s parents react to the news? Or Danny’s friends?
Or Colton?
It was obvious now that she and Danny had been forced to split up for a reason.
She was such an idiot.
Taking a deep breath, Daphne tried not to wallow in those thoughts. They would find Danny. She would find him.
At least they’d brought back his things, which had been dumped in his cantonment room. Kneeling, she opened Danny’s pack and rifled through the clothes that needed washing, the shaving gear, the jar of aloe he’d used to protect his skin from the sun. Daphne’s hand brushed a piece of paper. She drew it out and unfolded it, her breath catching. It was a drawing of Colton. Danny must have done it; she recognized his lines from the clockwork sketches in his case reports.
A sudden sadness passed over her, and she carefully put the picture away. The look Danny had captured in Colton’s eyes was not for her to see.
She sat on the bed and stared at the far wall. Why would they take Danny? Why would they single him out? Where would they take him? It didn’t seem real. It felt as though Danny would come strolling into the cantonment at any moment, asking why everyone was so worried.
They needed a plan. So far, Dryden’s only idea had been to lure the terrorists with something, but what could possibly draw them out of hiding? They could have their pick of any clock tower.
Daphne’s only contribution had been to look up the French phrase she’d read on the chapati in Lucknow: feu-de-joie. “Furious joy.” A code of some sort?
It has to mean something. Why else would that man have gotten so angry about me seeing it?
Her head whirled in restless circles until she was interrupted by a knock at the door. Shaking herself, she got up and answered.
The private on the other side tipped his hat. The burnt orange sky behind him was blurred with navy blues and rich purples. “Evening, Miss Richards. Someone said I might find you here.”
“Does the major need me?”
“No, miss, nothing like that. There’s a messenger for you. Asked for you by name.”
Frowning, she opened the door wider and saw a boy standing behind the private. He was dressed in the English style with a white dust-stained shirt and dark vest, his cap pulled down low so that she couldn’t see his eyes. He studied his feet, refusing to look up.
“Is that all right, miss? Or do you want me to get an officer?”
“No, it’s fine. What message—?”
The boy finally met her gaze, and the words were stolen from her throat. He looked at the private, then back at Daphne, amber eyes pleading.
“I …” She slowly cleared her throat. “Thank you, private.”
The soldier saluted and went on his way. They waited in tense silence until he was around the corner, then Daphne frantically gestured the boy inside.
Once in the room, she forced herself not to slam the door. When she turned around, he’d removed the cap and held it between his pale hands, hands that had once been tinted bronze.
“Colton,” she whispered.
He tried to smile. “Hello, Daphne.”
“What—you—” Breathing had suddenly become difficult. She walked past him and sat on the bed before she passed out. “I’ve gone mad. The Enfield clock spirit is in India.”
“You’re not mad. I’ve come looking for Danny.”
“This shouldn’t even be possible. How are you—?”
He turned around, showing her a flat, leather-covered pack on his back. “It has my central cog. A few smaller gears, too.” He looked over his shoulder at her. “Please don’t steal it again.”
“Colton …” He turned back around, desperation filling his eyes. “You need to explain. From the beginning. How are you here, and why?”
“The beginning? It’s a long story.”
“I need you to tell me.” She scooted over, and he sat next to her, dropping a small pack at his feet.
“Can’t you just tell me where Danny is?”
“I need you to explain this first.”
He looked up at the ceiling. “All right. From the beginning.”
She heard it all: the attack on his tower, his trip to London, the threatening letter, the flight from England, the train ride halfway to Agra, being shot at, and the walk the rest of the way. He was dusty and weary, his voice slow and methodical, like an automaton on its last gust of steam.
Even with all this information, even with the incredible details Colton wove into his story, she sensed that he was keeping something from her. There was a muted quality to his eyes, as if he had seen something that went beyond words.
When he was finished, he sat watching her expectantly.
She opened her mouth a couple of times before she found what to say. “Why would anyone attack the tower, then keep the town Stopped? Time is running freely in every other place that’s been attacked. Why not do the same to Enfield, if that’s their goal?”
“That’s why I need to see Danny. The other part—” He searched through the pack and showed her the letters and the photo. “He’s in danger. You probably are, too. They warned me that if I didn’t come here, something was going to happen to him. I asked for him when I got here, but the men said he wasn’t available. What does that mean? Daphne, can’t I just talk to him? Where is he?”
A lump formed in her throat, and she swallowed it away with effort. “Colton—”
“I tried to get here as soon as I could.” He began talking faster, growing more distressed. “The note said they would do something if I didn’t come, so I—Daphne? Where is he?”
She closed her eyes tight. “He’s missing, Colton. There was an attack, and in the commotion, he must have been taken. We don’t know where he is. I’m sorry.”
The room was silent. She opened her eyes, afraid Colton had left. But he remained sitting beside her, absolutely still, staring at nothing. Slowly, he curled toward his knees and put his head in his hands. He had come too late.
Daphne knew how to fix broken clocks. She didn’t know how to fix a broken spirit.