We stepped into a meadow.
I stopped, blinking in the sudden brightness. Warm sunshine bathed my face. Wildflowers bloomed in all directions, their colors like gems scattered over gently swaying grass. Birds chirped, and butterflies fluttered in the air.
And a wooden cottage sat in a small clearing, its mullioned windows winking in the sun. Smoke ascended from a stone chimney. A well-tended garden grew along one side.
A ticking sound filled the air.
No,severalticking sounds. I strained, gazing around, because I could have sworn the sound hadn’t been there a second before.
The moment the thought entered my head, the ticking multiplied. Now, dozens of rhythmic, constant ticking soundspushed against my ears. They overlapped, out of sync and building until my eyes threatened to cross.
“We’re here,” Albie said.
“Great,” Tavish said, sounding anything but pleased.
The cottage’s door swung slowly open. The ticking sounds swelled.
“Come on,” Albie said, leading us forward.
As we neared, a harried, masculine voice drifted through the open door. “Come in! Come in! Time is wasting.”
Albie led me over the threshold. Tavish stayed glued to my back. The ticking grew thunderous. Inside, the cottage was larger than it appeared on the outside, with a high ceiling and walls lined with shelves. Clocks covered every available surface. There were hundreds of them—maybe thousands.
Grandfather clocks with pendulums swinging in hypnotic rhythm. Cuckoo clocks with tiny birds poised to emerge. Pocket watches hanging from hooks. Hourglasses of every size, sand trickling in endless streams. Sundials. Water clocks. Something square and black caught my eye. I moved toward it, drawn by the flash of what appeared to be a digital screen.
“Is that a?—?”
“Welcome, I guess,” a man said, bustling from somewhere. Short and thin, he wore a long velvet coat the color of plums over a leather apron. White hair stood up from his head in all directions. Square, silver glasses perched on the end of his bulbous nose.
“You’re late,” he barked, moving behind a workbench I hadn’t noticed before. Or maybe it hadn’t been there before. I turned back to the iPhone I’d spotted, but it was gone, replaced with a wooden cuckoo clock carved to resemble a Swiss chalet.
“We didn’t have an appointment,” Albie said. When I turned back, he’d approached the workbench.
The man, who could only be the chronomancer, propped his fists on his hips, the two halves of his jacket parting to reveal more of his leather apron. Several pocket watches dangled from chains around his waist.
“Oh, really?” He looked at his wrist, where at least a dozen watches climbed up his forearm. “Could have fooled me.” He dropped his arm. “I’m kidding,” he said deadpan. “I can’t be fooled.”
Albie frowned. “Kidding?” he said, sounding confused.
The chronomancer waved a dismissive hand. “Never mind.” He looked at me suddenly, then pointed. “She gets it. Am I right?”
“Um. Yes?”
A shrill chiming sound made me suck in a breath. To my right, a little wooden bird thrust from an opening in one of the cuckoo clocks. Tavish growled, looking like he contemplated snatching the bird from its perch and crushing it.
“Well?” the chronomancer demanded. “What do you want?”
“I need your help,” I said. “I traveled through standing stones. I belong in 2048, and I need to get back.”
The chronomancer looked me up and down, taking in my jacket and long skirts. “You sure about that?”
“I borrowed these clothes.”
He turned and rummaged through a drawer in a cabinet full of them—and the cabinet most definitely hadn’t been there a second before. But it filled the wall now, the drawers like a card catalog in a library. He opened and shut them as if he hunted for something. The clocks ticked around us, several chiming in a discordant, jangling song.
Albie stepped closer to the workbench with a determined expression on his face. “Portia is?—”
“I’m very busy,” the chronomancer said without turning.
