Writers of the Future, Volume 29 (19 page)

“Want? They're too mindless to want. They merely destroy. They are
entropy. Death. If I ever find a mechanism in this clock that rules their existence,
I swear I will smash it.”

“But—” said Neil.

“Bring out the metal piece you found, boy.”

Neil drew out the iron. The gold insect he'd squashed still hung by one
leg.

“What?” The old man snatched the iron from Neil's hand. Nonsensical
gouges crossed the surface of the black metal as if it had been worried at by some
blind animal.

“No,” the old man moaned as he hugged the black metal to his chest. “Not
this.”

“What is it?”

“This is a piece of the Grande Complication itself.”

“How do you know?”

“I know its every moving part. This piece was mounted directly upon the
World Clock's old Grande Complication. If the jam cracks the golden gears beneath,
it could unmake the world.”

The old man stretched to touch the delicate gold clockwork above. “I am
going to have to disassemble this part of the World Clock somehow. I don't even know
what it would break if I did.” His fingertips traced the sun and the moon and a
handful of other strange spheres Neil had never seen in the sky. “I can fix these
again,” said the old man. “Put them back the way they once were, after I'm through.
I know I can. I must.” His brow was furled, fearful.

The old man pulled the truncheon from the tools he'd laid out. He held
the tip of it against the assembly as he whispered something Neil couldn't hear.
Then he swung it against the golden gears with unexpected strength.

The clang of the metal rang through Neil's entire body like a cathedral
bell again and again. “I must repair it!” shouted the old man as he smashed the
truncheon against the gold wheels.

“Stop!” cried Neil as if the blows were raining down on him. “Please
stop!”

The old man dropped the truncheon and slumped down the wall,
gasping.

There wasn't a scratch in the polished gold, but as the old man struck
the gears, Neil had felt something inside his head twist and almost break.

“You're hurting the clock. You've got to stop.” Neil gripped the arm of
the old man's coat.

“But I must fix it,” croaked Mr. Harrison. He seemed shrunk against the
wall, almost smaller than Neil. He reached a bony hand out to the boy. “You. You
must do it. This must be why the clock called you.”

“I don't know how.”

“You must know something. Maybe something your father taught you?”

“I'll try,” whispered Neil, taking the truncheon from the old man's
hand. “Just don't hit it anymore.” Mr. Harrison closed his eyes.

Neil slipped the truncheon into one pocket and put the wooden top in
another. He picked through the tools, but none seemed familiar, so he took Jack from
where he roosted on the valise. “You're coming with me.” He tucked the bird into the
lapel of his jacket. Jack cooed softly.

Mr. Harrison loomed over Neil, slipping the black iron key around his
neck so that it dangled near the bird's head. The little gold pinion trapped in the
key's head was the only thing that gleamed. “Take this. Perhaps this will wake for
you when the World Clock needs it most.”

Neil nodded and slipped it into his collar, where it scratched against
his skin.

Neil clambered back up the arch of the ceiling. He listened at the
silent gap, and then, when he thought his arms would almost give out, he pushed
himself through. The space was even harder to squeeze past with his pockets full,
but he focused on climbing toward the growing glow until it bathed him like
moonlight.

With a push and a wriggle, he reached the top, drawing a big breath that
became a gasp of surprise. The soft glow was not issuing from the darkness above. It
came from the world outside.

A huge wheel, similar to the clock face of Big Ben, stretched like a
window next to him. Neil felt dizzy as he approached. The view dropped, as if he
stood on the tallest tower in London. Ferris-wheel gears stretched high across a sky
of strange stars. The glow came from a huge number in the sky—a roman number IV
bigger than a harvest moon. Far off in the firmament hung V and VI. The World Clock
glimmered beneath it like a city, vast and perfectly still.

“It's beautiful,” said Neil. Beneath the sound of his breath, he heard
the seething buzz of wings. He glanced back over his shoulder, his hand reaching
automatically to touch the bird tucked against his heart.

The dark space above him where the arbor rose up was as tall and dark as
a belfry, and something hung in the center that was larger than any bell.

The silhouette of black clockwork stretched out to touch everything.
Something about the gears seemed to be moving, as if they spun by themselves while
the rest of the clock lay dormant.

Neil stepped closer and saw thousands of jeweled ruby eyes staring down
at him. The insects crawled and scrabbled over every surface of the black metal. A
large embalming globe, like the ones below, was bolted to the very top, but this one
had cracked open like an empty bowl.

Jack burbled with excitement and launched himself from Neil's collar.
“No,” cried Neil as the bird fluttered up to land among the black gears. In an
instant, Jack snapped up a gold locust and downed half of it. Just as quickly,
several of the creatures swarmed up the bird's legs and set Jack flailing. He
flapped blindly, deeper into the seething clockwork.

Neil reached for his pockets. He drew out the top and dropped to his
knees, spinning it with all his might.

He grabbed for the gears beneath him and strained to hold on. The air
filled with jeweled locusts spraying outward in a skittering cloud through the
machinery of the far walls.

The world slowed its spinning and Neil shook his head. He could see the
Grande Complication now, skittering with the chronophage that remained. It spread
outward like a huge black flower wilting from the golden stem of the arbor. Jack
landed atop the cracked embalming globe above, a twitching locust in his beak.

Beneath the globe, Neil saw an irregular shape jammed amidst the gears.
It was rough, like the bark of a tree, and honeycombed with hundreds of holes.
Little golden locusts stuck their heads from the gaps and stared at him with
glistening eyes. The bulk of it was jammed in the wheels as if it had fallen and
been crushed. Neil could see the remains of a leathery yellow stalk on the bottom of
the broken embalming globe above.

“I found it! I found it!” yelled Neil at the top of his lungs.
“Something's fallen in and jammed it, like you said!”

Neil scrambled up and onto the black metal, the iron biting his fingers.
Jack fluttered down about him, gorging on the locusts that came near.

“What did you find, boy?” Mr. Harrison shouted far below, his voice
almost lost in the echoes.

“It's a nest or egg, I think.”

“Of the chronophage? You must destroy it.”

“But—”

“Wait. Wait a moment. Be careful when you smash it. The jam is apt to be
under a lot of pressure. I will try to hold it if the clock starts to move.”

Neil crouched and ran the truncheon across the surface of the egg case.
He knew just how to break it. Could feel just how it would come apart in his hands,
like one of his father's clocks. He stared long and hard at the little faces peeking
out from inside. The golden skin. The red jeweled eyes.

“You're part of the World Clock, aren't you?” whispered Neil. “You're
not the ones breaking it at all.”

“All right, boy,” Mr. Harrison said. “I'm ready here. Destroy it.”

Neil gripped the truncheon. “No.”

In the profound silence that followed, Neil wasn't sure that Mr.
Harrison heard him.

“Are you daft?” the old man called. “You must destroy them, now, before
they destroy the world!”

“No. They're alive. The clock is alive too. I'll prove it.”

“Damn you, boy, where is my truncheon?” Neil could hear the old man's
curses, the clank of tools.

The buzzing inside the egg case grew as Neil slipped the truncheon
against it like a lever. The egg shifted a little and the iron gears beneath his
feet creaked. He bore down and began to rock it carefully, stopping only to flick
off locusts that scurried onto his skin. The gears groaned louder.

Neil cried out “Please, I've just about—”

The world became motion. The wheels that Neil balanced himself on spat
the egg out with a roar, even as they flung him backward across the spinning teeth.
Neil's yell was matched by the old man's bellow far below. The world screeched to a
halt.

Neil clung to the edge of the Grande Complication. He pulled himself
back up to where the egg case lay. The only sound was the occasional flutter of
glassy wings.

“Boy,” the old man moaned.

The clockwork groaned all around Neil but held still.

“Jack!” Neil yelled as he picked himself up. The pigeon was nowhere to
be seen.

“Hurry,” Mr. Harrison said.

“I'm coming, sir.”

Neil slid the egg into the broken embalming globe above, like a nest
tucked onto a branch. Then he dropped from the edge of the black gears and climbed
down fast as he dared.

The old man lay on the floor by a twisted wrench, his arm buried to the
shoulder in the gears he'd tried to hold back. Coin-sized drops of blood dripped
from the teeth of the wheels.

“You're bleeding. You need a doctor.”

“There is no doctor for me.” The old man reached for Neil. “You must
hold the key. You must
become
the Time Keeper.”

“But I don't—”

“Please. You must serve the clock or this world will end.” The old man
drew the chain from the boy's collar with his one good hand. Neil hesitantly
accepted the key that pressed into his palm.

“Now speak after me. The World Clock is the heart of time.”

“The World Clock is the heart of time,” repeated Neil.

The old man released slowly, leaving the key in the boy's fist. “I am
its keeper.”

“I am its keeper,” Neil whispered.

“I swear to protect the keeper's work.” The man continued chanting, even
as Neil fell silent. “Yes,” whispered the old man, looking through Neil with wide
and feverish eyes. “It comes to pass. The key is glowing. The world is…” Mr.
Harrison trailed off, his eyelids flickering.

The key in Neil's palm did not glow. It lay there still and cold. The
old man's breath rattled to a stop and did not start again.

Tears began to trace down Neil's cheeks. He took the motionless hand and
held it, sitting the way he never had the chance to do on the workshop floor by his
father's side. He sat until the tears dried. The clock remained mercifully
silent.

Neil glanced over his shoulder at the portal. It had shrunk, as if the
scab were healing itself. He looked around at the great golden clockwork, drew the
truncheon out of his pocket.

The first thing he did was break the green globes that hung on the
nearest complications. A single tap and they shattered and went dark. Then he
smashed the black gears that connected into the polished wheels.

Under the truncheon, they broke like hard, stale candy, pieces
scattering everywhere. He climbed up the shaft, smashing black metal as he went. The
metallic buzz of wings was everywhere now.

Climbing up into the top, he came to the Grande Complication itself.
This took the longest, but he pounded at it until the pieces rained down like broken
glass. Locusts landed and worried at his clothing but he flicked them away,
unafraid. They had plenty to eat all around him. Each iron wheel he smashed revealed
polished gold underneath. He worked until he stood upon the golden compass rose of
the true Grande Complication. As he wiped the sweat from his brow, he noticed that
the golden arbor rose through the center, but it did not connect.

He'd never had much of his father's gift for seeing how things fit
together, but this time he felt the missing piece as if it were his own heart. Neil
drew out the black iron key.

He picked up the truncheon and smashed the key until it cracked. He drew
the small gold pinion ever so carefully from the key head and slipped it into
place.

ILLUSTRATION BY OLIVIA XU

The World Clock rang, gears slamming into a tension he could feel in his
bones. The chronophage buzzed around him. Neil stood, trying to keep his
balance.

“Jack? Jack!” called Neil. He looked about and saw the bird preening his
tail on the broken globe above, looking plumper than before.

“We'll leave the rest to the chronophage, Jack. They will take care of
it now.” Neil tucked Jack inside his jacket and ran. The clanking grew louder.
Shattered ironwork began to rain down through cracks as the clock strained to
move.