God of Clocks

slender blue-eyed girl alone. Now, flushed and panting, her reflection gazed out at Carnival with a look of frightened awe.

Menoa's soft voice filled the room like music. “There is nothing for you to kill here,” he said, “and no one to judge you. There is no longer any reason for you to carry scars.”

A sob burst from Carnival's throat. She kicked the mirror savagely, shattering it. Then she snatched up one of the shards and drew it frantically across her arm, again and again. Blood welled in thin lines. The pain shocked her, but she welcomed it with a sort of wild desperation. She fell to her knees, dropping the shard, and groped for it again with slick, bloody hands. She picked it up and drove it into her thigh, crying out in pain.

Again and again and again.

Menoa's voice returned, now hardened by anger. “This is not your creation to destroy,” he said. “Do you understand me? It is not yours to destroy.”

But Carnival was lost in her own pain and terror, driven by a compulsion that she couldn't fully understand. She needed her scars; her own soul required them. And so she used the glass knife until her frock hung in tatters and the white walls of Menoa's room were painted scarlet with her blood.

Smoke billowed from one of the uppermost suites of the Obscura. A sudden flare illuminated the high ceiling with ripples of red and yellow light. One of the Garstones called down for the others to fetch water, and then mildly added, “There appears to have been an explosion in the Camomile Suite.”

Scores of Sabor's assistants rushed down to the kitchen to fetch pails, pans, and carafes of water, carrying them back to the upper galleries. Hasp looked fearfully up at the growing fire, until Sabor announced, “Explosions are the work of men, not Mesmerists. Is it possible this attack has come from our future? That this is merely cannon powder from Burntwater?”

“There wasn't any powder left in Burntwater,” Rachel observed. “Iron Head's militia used it all.”

“Then our enemies simply took it before you used it,” Sabor replied harshly. “Stop thinking that every cause must precede its effect. Who knows how many universes now branch from this present moment? Menoa's forces are now in our future and our past, and they know where we are. We must leave this part of Time immediately.” He whipped open his map and frowned at it.

The massive double doors to the Obscura Hall boomed suddenly, almost leaping from their hinges.

The nearest Garstone to Rachel jumped. “I believe that was a battering ram,” he said, glancing at his pocket watch. “Our enemies must be outside.”

Rachel stared at the door. What manner of enemies? Without the camera obscura, they had no way of safely observing.

A second concussion hit the doors, and the cross balk cracked. Dill drew his phantom sword and positioned himself before the door.

Could such a ghostly weapon even harm the living?

Sabor scrunched up his map and set off, beckoning the others after him. Dill turned his back on the main doors and joined the group as they hurried up three floors and stopped outside the fourth timelock along the gallery. Garstones ran past them, heading in one direction with various water-filled containers, passing other versions of themselves who were returning with empty vessels towards the kitchen.

Another boom sounded below, and wood splintered.

The god of clocks peered into the suite beyond the timelock. “An eleven-year jump,” he said. “Unfortunately this suite appears to have been recently occupied.”

Rachel cupped her hands around her eyes and pressed her face against the glass. In the gloom beyond the two opposing windows she could just make out a stuffy lounge, the usual antique furniture faintly lit by starlight falling through a tall window. But then she noticed the blackened wainscoting and wall panels, the scorched shelves of a bookcase. A fire had been lit here, but had failed to take hold.

“Is there a better route?” she suggested.

From below came the sound of smashing wood.

“None with such a long reach through Time,” Sabor replied. “Nor any that is safer. The bastard universe has claimed most of the suites here, but this… this one should be untainted.”

“Get in there,” Hasp growled. “The castle's main doors are kindling. They'll be through them in a heartbeat.”

Rachel pressed up against Mina and Hasp as Sabor closed the inner door behind them. Dill hovered in the air in front of her, his translucent form partly absorbed by Mina's body. Sabor opened the outer door, and the sour smell of smoke assaulted Rachel's nostrils.

Mina covered her mouth with her hand as she hurried forward to look out of the window. “It looks peaceful. There's no sign of… anything.”

And indeed the whole castle was now silent. Rachel could no longer hear the commotion that had been so audible outside. They were in a cold, empty room smelling of fire damage.

Hasp glared at the singed furniture. “We could burn this place properly,” he said, “and stop those bastards from following us back here.”

It was quickly agreed.

They left the suite and moved back into the castle's Obscura Hall. Now all appeared normal here, with no sign of the damage that would come later. Looking over the balcony, Rachel reassured herself that the main doors were intact. Sabor called over the six Garstones working on that particular level and gave them instructions, and within minutes the rumple-suited assistants were dousing the suite with lamp oil.

Standing outside, Mina looked thoughtful. “Could this fire we're about to light be the source of the damage we saw in that suite?” she asked.

Sabor was now studying a different map that one of the Garstones had handed him. “No,” he said. “Not unless we did so further back in Time. The damage is apparent now.” He looked up suddenly from the map. “Garstone!”

Two of them appeared at once.

“Yes, sir?”

“Find a suite to take you back a few hours, and light the fire then rather than now. Let's preserve the integrity of this timeline if we can.”

“Right away, sir.” The pair disappeared again.

Rachel still found it difficult to wrap her head around these constant paradoxes. Those two assistants would return to an earlier Time to light a fire that would be out before they arrived here, all to keep things as they should be and prevent this doomed universe from deteriorating any faster than it already was. And yet Hasp had only had the idea after they'd seen the aftermath of that fire.

Time, as Sabor had said, need not be linear.

Soon smoke wafted out of the Camomile Suite, but as a result of which fire Rachel did not know. Had these flames been lit moments ago, or much earlier?

Either way, the results were as expected. No pursuers came through the timelock and, for the moment at least, the castle appeared to be secure.

The views from the camera obscura, however, were grim. Nineteen of the rooms now looked out upon the bastard universe. They watched giants striding across blasted, war-ravaged lands: the Flower Lake was polluted, its waters copper blue and streaked with ochre, its shores rimmed by glistening black trees. Soul Collectors' caravans and gangs of human road agents traversed crimson trails that looked like wounds cut into the ash-grey plains. Cages of bone squatted amongst the dust of Burntwater, each silhouetted against a pale yellow sky. In every silent image Rachel imagined she could hear screams.

“The universe outside these walls is no more spoiled than before,” Sabor announced. “Yet even greater numbers of the Obscura's windows now look out onto parallel worlds, as the Lord of the Maze continues to meddle in the past. Each time he makes a change, he creates yet another universe for his agents to infiltrate.” He tapped his fingers against the viewing table, and then he made some adjustments to the mechanism underneath. A cool blue dawn appeared before them, the forest lushly green and holding pockets of mist. “Our own timeline appears to be safe for now,” he added with a nod. “The previous attack must have come from one of our local futures.”

He ordered his assistants to bring him as many of the local Time maps as he'd be able to carry and, thus armed, the party hurried further back into the past again.