Timekeeper (Timekeeper #1)(14)

On the next level, Danny leaned the package against the stair railing and watched the hypnotizing effect of the clockwork’s movement. It had been a while since the gears were cleaned; someone would have to come back and do that. The maintenance crew in Enfield was not allowed to touch the clock pieces, only clean and take care of the tower on a basic level, and report anything unusual to the headquarters in London. Like missing numerals and hands.

Fear beat against Danny’s rib cage. Sweat dampened his collar.

Don’t panic, he told himself. Don’t panic. Don’t panic.

But he couldn’t stop thinking about something happening to this tower. The incident at Shere had been investigated, and Danny had been questioned. Though the authorities had found evidence of a bomb, no one could determine the reason behind the attack. Some thought it was terrorism. Some thought it was a misguided prank.

An exploding mechanism was one of the rarer dangers mechanics faced. Still, that moment hovered over him, in his sleep and in the back of his mind. A ghost of terror.

Now clock parts were disappearing from this tower.

You don’t even know if it’s connected, he reminded himself.

A cog the size of a dinner plate circled in the middle of the clockwork. The central cog was the most important component of the whole tower. Without it, the rest of the clock would refuse to run, and time would Stop until the cog was replaced.

The central cog of the Shere tower had sliced Danny’s chin open, turning his white shirt crimson. He could still feel the burn of it, the violent kiss of hot powder against his skin. The jarring skips of time like an arrhythmic heartbeat. Cuts along his body had seeped blood onto the gouged floor created by the skidding of smoking gears, and all the banging, screeching, screaming—

“Stop it,” he whispered, closing his eyes tight.

He held himself in busy silence, a stillness that wasn’t still, as there was movement in the tower all around him. Danny opened his eyes and gazed balefully at the central cog. He laid his fingers on the gear and left trails in the dust as it turned, like ripples in a pond.

“What are you doing?”

Danny jerked back and nearly tripped over the package. The blond apprentice stood on the staircase, frowning down at him.

“I …” How many times had a mentor told him not to touch the central cog, or that his fingers would be crushed if he played with the gears?

“I was just checking it,” Danny said. “To make sure it’s … there.”

You’re such an idiot.

Brandon’s amber eyes flashed, not even glancing at the cog. “It’s there.”

“Ah, you’re right. It is. Good.” Danny lifted the package to his shoulder, attempting to hide his burning face. “You like to arrive early, don’t you?” He received no answer. “Let’s get started.”

When they reached the clock room, Brandon’s frown dissolved into his earlier expression of curiosity. Danny noticed that the apprentice wore the same outfit as last time: tight trousers and a baggy shirt. His clavicle peeked out from underneath his collar. Danny swallowed.

“You know,” he started, then lost his nerve, unbuttoning his coat instead. When he looked back up, the apprentice was staring at him. “You need to wear different clothes for this sort of work.”

Brandon tilted his head to one side, then looked Danny up and down with a small smile. It was such a thorough assessment that Danny felt his earlier blush return like a wave of heat.

“Should I dress like you?”

“Yes, I suppose.” Danny typically wore a brown or black work vest, the silver chain of his timepiece hanging from a small pocket. His tall boots were worn, but most of the decorative copper gearwork near the heels remained intact.

The apprentice continued to smile. Danny had no clue what was so funny but wanted to change the subject as soon as possible.

He shifted on his feet and outlined the plan to install the minute hand. Brandon wouldn’t have much to do beyond serving as an extra pair of hands, and to observe. Brandon’s light eyes flitted around Danny’s face as he talked, sometimes glancing down at the chain of his timepiece or the still-wrapped minute hand.

Danny noticed the apprentice was as tall as he was, his waist slim under the large shirt, his body made of wiry sinew like a wound mainspring. Brandon had a nice face. Almost too nice. It was lean and smooth, and Danny wondered if he ever had to shave. He suddenly had the absurd urge to touch the boy’s jaw. Would that be strange?

His eyes trailed lower, and he barely stopped himself from gasping.

The apprentice’s left hand was deformed. It curled in on itself, shrunken within its baggy sleeve.

How did I not see that before? Danny thought, furiously trying to recall their first meeting. Perhaps he had been too preoccupied, but to not even notice …

Danny’s ears burned with silence, and he realized he had stopped talking. The apprentice watched him warily.

Danny cleared his throat. “Right. Let’s begin.” He wouldn’t—couldn’t—mention it now.

They again lowered the scaffolding down the clock face, into the bitter cold. Without his coat, Danny was shivering in no time. Brandon didn’t seem affected.

But it wasn’t just the cold that made Danny shiver. The height blurred his vision, and he triple-checked that the cables were secure. He remembered the easy way Brandon had scaled the clock face compared to the difficulty he’d had locating the right tools.