preoccupied with elaborate rituals revolving around a minute by minute observance of the passage of time.
Stacey refused to play, however, gave him a non-committal beta plus, after class quietly asked Conrad what had prompted the fantasy. At first Conrad tried to back away, then finally came out with the question that contained the central riddle.
‘Why is it against the law to have a clock?’
Stacey tossed a piece of chalk from one hand to the other.
‘Is it against the law?’
Conrad nodded. ‘There’s an old notice in the police station offering a bounty of one hundred pounds for every clock or wristwatch brought in. I saw it yesterday. The sergeant said it was still in force.’
Stacey raised his eyebrows mockingly. ‘You’ll make a million. Thinking of going into business?’
Conrad ignored this. ‘It’s against the law to have a gun because you might shoot someone. But how can you hurt anybody with a clock?’
‘Isn’t it obvious? You can time him, know exactly how long it takes him to do something.’
‘Well?’
‘Then you can make him do it faster.’
At seventeen, on a sudden impulse, he built his first clock. Already his preoccupation with time was giving him a marked lead over his class-mates. One or two were more intelligent, others more conscientious, but Conrad’s ability to organize his leisure and homework periods allowed him to make the most of his talents. When the others were lounging around the railway yard on their way home Conrad had already completed half his prep, allocating his time according to its various demands.
As soon as he finished he would go up to the attic playroom, now his workshop. Here, in the old wardrobes and trunks, he made his first experimental constructions: calibrated candles, crude sundials, sand-glasses, an elaborate clockwork contraption developing about half a horse power that drove its hands progressively faster and faster in an unintentional parody of Conrad’s obsession.
His first serious clock was water-powered, a slowly leaking tank holding a wooden float that drove the hands as it sank downwards. Simple but accurate, it satisfied Conrad for several months while he carried out his ever- widening search for a real clock mechanism. He soon discovered that although there were innumerable table clocks, gold pocket watches and timepieces of every variety rusting in junk shops and in the back drawers of most homes, none of them contained their mechanisms. These, together with the hands, and sometimes the digits, had always been removed. His own attempts to build an escapement that would regulate the motion of the ordinary clockwork motor met with no success; everything he had heard about clock movements confirmed that they were precision instruments of exact design and construction. To satisfy his secret ambition — a portable timepiece, if possible an actual wristwatch — he would have to find one, somewhere, in working order.
Finally, from an unexpected source, a watch came to him. One afternoon in a cinema an elderly man sitting next to Conrad had a sudden heart attack. Conrad and two members of the audience carried him out to the manager’s office. Holding one of his arms, Conrad noticed in the dim aisle light a glint of metal inside the sleeve. Quickly he felt the wrist with his fingers, identified the unmistakable lens-shaped disc of a wristwatch.
As he carried it home its tick seemed as loud as a death-knell. He clamped his hand around it, expecting everyone in the street to point accusingly at him, the Time Police to swoop down and seize him.
In the attic he took it out and examined it breathlessly, smothering it in a cushion whenever he heard his father shift about in the bedroom below. Later he realized that its noise was almost inaudible. The watch was of the same pattern as his mother’s, though with a yellow and not a red face. The gold case was scratched and peeling, but the movement seemed to be in perfect condition. He prised off the rear plate, watched the frenzied flickering world of miniature cogs and wheels for hours, spellbound. Frightened of breaking the main spring, he kept the watch only half wound, packed away carefully in cotton wool.
In taking the watch from its owner he had not, in fact, been motivated by theft; his first impulse had been to hide the watch before the doctor discovered it feeling for the man’s pulse. But once the watch was in his possession he abandoned any thought of tracing the owner and returning it.
That others were still wearing watches hardly surprised him. The water clock had demonstrated that a calibrated timepiece added another dimension to life, organized its energies, gave the countless activities of everyday existence a yardstick of significance. Conrad spent hours in the attic gazing at the small yellow dial, watching its minute hand revolve slowly, its hour hand press on imperceptibly, a compass charting his passage through the future. Without it he felt rudderless, adrift in a grey purposeless limbo of timeless events. His father began to seem idle and stupid, sitting around vacantly with no idea when anything was going to happen.
Soon he was wearing the watch all day. He stitched together a slim cotton sleeve, fitted with a narrow flap below which he could see the face. He timed everything — the length of classes, football games, meal breaks, the hours of daylight and darkness, sleep and waking. He amused himself endlessly by baffling his friends with demonstrations of this private sixth sense, anticipating the frequency of their heartbeats, the hourly newscasts on the radio, boiling a series of identically consistent eggs without the aid of a timer.
Then he gave himself away.
Stacey, shrewder than any of the others, discovered that he was wearing a watch. Conrad had noticed that Stacey’s English classes lasted exactly forty-five minutes, let himself slide into the habit of tidying his desk a minute before Stacey’s timer pipped up. Once or twice he noticed Stacey looking at him curiously, but he could not resist the temptation to impress Stacey by always being the first one to make for the door.
One day he had stacked his books and clipped away his pen when Stacey pointedly asked him to read out a prcis he had done. Conrad knew the timer would pip out in less than ten seconds, and decided to sit tight and wait for the usual stampede to save him the trouble.
Stacey stepped down from the dais, waiting patiently. One or two boys turned around and frowned at Conrad, who was counting away the closing seconds.
Then, amazed, he realized that the timer had failed to sound! Panicking, he first thought his watch had broken, just restrained himself in time from looking at it.
‘In a hurry, Newman?’ Stacey asked dryly. He sauntered down the aisle to Conrad, smiling sardonically. Baffled, and face reddening with embarrassment, Conrad fumbled open his exercise book, read out the prcis. A few minutes later, without waiting for the timer, Stacey dismissed the class.
‘Newman,’ he called out. ‘Here a moment.’
He rummaged behind the rostrum as Conrad approached. ‘What happened then?’ he asked. ‘Forget to wind up your watch this morning?’
Conrad said nothing. Stacey took out the timer, switched off the silencer and listened to the pip that buzzed out.
‘Where did you get it from? Your parents? Don’t worry, the Time Police were disbanded years ago.’
Conrad examined Stacey’s face carefully. ‘It was my mother’s,’ he lied. ‘I found it among her things.’ Stacey held out his hand and Conrad nervously unstrapped the watch and handed it to him.
Stacey slipped it half out of its sleeve, glanced briefly at the yellow face. ‘Your mother, you say? Hmh.’
Are you going to report me?’ Conrad asked.
‘What, and waste some over-worked psychiatrist’s time even further?’
‘Isn’t it breaking the law to wear a watch?’
‘Well, you’re not exactly the greatest living menace to public security.’ Stacey started for the door, gesturing Conrad with him. He handed the watch back. ‘Cancel whatever you’re doing on Saturday afternoon. You and I are taking a trip.’
‘Where?’ Conrad asked.
‘Back into the past,’ Stacey said lightly. ‘To Chronopolis, the Time City.’
Stacey had hired a car, a huge battered mastodon of chromium and fins. He waved jauntily to Conrad as he picked him up outside the public library.
‘Climb into the turret,’ he called out. He pointed to the bulging briefcase Conrad slung on to the seat between them. ‘Have you had a look at those yet?’
Conrad nodded. As they moved off around the deserted square he opened the briefcase and pulled out a thick bundle of road maps. ‘I’ve just worked out that the city covers over 500 square miles. I’d never realized it was so big. Where is everybody?’
Stacey laughed. They crossed the main street, cut down into a long treelined avenue of semi-detached
