“We need to be very quiet, as quiet as we possibly can. Give it fifteen minutes. Okay?”
Jack and Penny exchanged glances, looked back at Reuben and nodded. Penny checked her watch.
Reuben didn’t need a watch to gauge the time. His mind was already in the habit of tracking the minutes. Only three or four had passed since they had noticed that The Smoke had fallen silent. That meant that in ten or eleven minutes Reuben would know if he was right.
They waited, straining their ears for any sound, watching the net for any telltale trembling. It was an unnerving wait, for it seemed that at any moment The Smoke might leap into action, charge toward the bars, or burst out with a bloodcurdling scream. They all knew that the watches rendered one blind, and yet they all felt as if The Smoke was watching them, waiting for his moment.
Reuben felt it—but he didn’t actually believe it. He closed his eyes and gave over all his attention to listening. If The Smoke reappeared even for an instant, Penny or Jack would see him. Reuben, meanwhile, waited for the sound he knew as intimately as his own breathing, the tiny ratcheting of a watch spring being wound. He didn’t expect to hear it, and indeed he didn’t. The tense period of waiting ended. He opened his eyes and looked at the others.
Jack shrugged. “Nothing.”
“He didn’t reappear,” Penny said. “But he ought to have, right?”
Reuben turned to stare again at the sagging net. “I don’t think so.”
“So what, then?” said Jack. “You think having two watches gives him extra time?”
“No,” Reuben said. He thought about it again, just to be sure. He was. “I’m going in,” he announced. “Leave the door locked just in case. I’ll squeeze through the bars.”
Jack had him by the elbow before he could take a step. “I can’t let you do that.”
Reuben looked up at him, and whether it was the certainty in his eyes or the sadness, something in them won the argument before it began. Jack frowned, troubled, but he released his grip.
Penny didn’t try to stop him, either. Reuben had a feeling that she had begun to understand, too. He walked forward, felt her touch him lightly on the arm as he passed, but that was all.
Bracing himself for the pain, he squeezed through the bars. He held his stinging ears for a moment, then wiped the tears from his eyes and climbed up onto the net. Slowly he crawled toward the middle, and just when he reached it, everything went black.
“Reuben!”
Penny and Jack had cried out at the same time.
“It’s okay,” Reuben said. He found his way forward until his hand brushed against The Smoke’s body. He flinched, froze, gathered himself. He pulled his hands inside the sleeves of his sweatshirt and began his search, patting his way up and down the man’s arms.
The right hand clutched a watch. The left hand, too.
So he was right.
The words had been running through Reuben’s mind for almost fifteen minutes now:
The possessor of both shall know no fear of death;
Though time may pass, he shall feel it not,
Nor feel aught pain or loss with any breath
He draws; nay, who holds these both shall have no mortal care,
Until such time as he lose possession, which God grant he will,
For it is not fitting that any man,
Be he low and wicked, or a good man or great,
Exist for long in such abnormal state.
“You were right about the inventor, Penny,” Reuben said, sitting back on his heels. “That poem of his was every bit as tricky as everything else he made. Having both watches doesn’t give you eternal youth. It drains you of all your energy. It’s too much. And the safety mechanisms, the springs—they stop working. So the watches keep going and going.”
“Is he… dead?” Penny asked, her voice hushed.
“No, I can hear him breathing. He’s just lying here, holding on to the watches. And he won’t ever let them go. We’ll have to save him.”
Reuben sat in his private darkness. The others wouldn’t see him if he touched his watch one last time, felt its smooth metal under his fingers, imagining its beauty. He could see it perfectly in his mind’s eye. How he had loved it.
“You okay in there, buddy?”
“Reuben?”
He kept his hands inside his sleeves and moved away, back into the world of the visible, where his friends could see him.
“Do you have the watches?” Jack asked.
Reuben shook his head. He crawled to the net’s quivering edge and knelt there, gripping one of the bars for balance. “I think Penny should take them, if that’s all right with you two. I think he’ll be too weak to move, but we should tie him up first, just to be safe. Then I’ll kick the watches out of his hands, and, Penny, you can grab them—I’ll explain how to do it so that nothing happens to you. And then you’ll hold on to them. Just you, okay? No offense, Jack.”
Jack gave him a long, searching look. “No,” he said at last. “That’s okay. That’s smart. Penny, are you up for it?”
“Yes,” Penny breathed. She had tears in her eyes. She looked as if she’d just been given the greatest compliment in the world. And indeed, from Reuben’s point of view, she had been. “Of course. I’ll do it.”
But for a minute none of them moved, only gazed at the spot where they knew The Smoke to be lying, holding on to both his precious watches.
“Do you think he could tell what was happening?” Penny murmured.
“Maybe,” Reuben said. “Though it obviously happens fast.”
“But why would he hold on to them? If he felt that happening, why didn’t he drop them?”
Reuben knew the answer, but it took some time to find the words. “If you’ve been carrying the watch long enough, you think of it as your special protector,” he said finally. “If something scares you, your instinct is to reach for the watch, to hold on to it. Letting go is the last thing that occurs to you.”
Reuben felt pressure against his hand. Penny had reached through the bars and taken it. He looked at her, then looked away again. He sighed. “Yeah,” he said, giving her hand a grateful squeeze. “The very last thing.”
After they had accomplished their respective tasks, Reuben and his friends lingered in the basement long enough to give The Smoke a final regard. He was still breathing but had yet to regain consciousness. In his ill-fitting suit, curled up on his side, Cassius Faug—or whatever his true name was—looked to Reuben like both an old man and a little boy. And perhaps he really was both.
“Time to go,” said Jack.
They agreed that The Smoke had probably left his Directions guarding the gate. He wouldn’t have wanted the men inside the mansion, where they might accidentally discover his secrets. And so when Reuben had reclaimed his shoes and Jack had coiled up the rest of the rope (he’d needed only a short length of it to bind The Smoke’s hands and feet), they proceeded to the upstairs bedroom at the back of the mansion.
Arriving at the window, however, they immediately saw Directions standing inside the hole in the property wall—and not just one group of them, but two. They formed a curving line from rosebush to rosebush.
“Looks like he called in some extra help,” Jack said. “This does not make me happy.”
Reuben studied the men through the curtain. “See how he has them arranged? You couldn’t sneak past them even with the watch.”
Beside him, Penny was swiping at locks of hair that clung to her damp forehead. She wore Reuben’s sweatshirt now and was fairly sweltering in it. “Maybe we could just go out and explain things to them?” she suggested doubtfully.
“Okay,” Jack said. “I’ll go and tell them that their terrifying boss was just a man who could make himself invisible, and they don’t have to worry about him anymore because we took away his magic watch. I’m sure they’ll let us go then.”
“Well, wasn’t that our original plan? To take away his watch and then call the authorities?”
“The pla
n was to call them from somewhere else. I’m a wee bit concerned about getting bludgeoned.”
“I’ll go myself,” Penny declared, with, Reuben thought, an admirable degree of bravado. “They aren’t going to bludgeon a young girl.”
Jack looked just as impressed as Reuben. Still, he turned Penny to face him and said, “Maybe not. But do you think I’m going to let my little sister approach a group of dangerous men? All of them nervous? Probably with orders to tackle anyone they see, anyone at all, anything that moves? The answer to that is no. I am not.”
“Let’s have a look at the front,” Reuben said.
The front was worse. No fewer than twelve men lined the gate. Reuben recognized Frontman and his crew among them. All the Directions in the city were gathered on the property now, covering every possible exit. The Smoke had been taking no chances.
They turned grimly from the entranceway windows.
“I don’t see a good way out of this,” Jack admitted.
None of them did. Penny pointed out that they might safely make phone calls from inside the mansion, but even if they convinced the authorities to come, there seemed to be no way to avoid getting caught up in the investigation, no way to leave the premises unnoticed.
“Let’s don’t make the phone calls just yet,” Reuben said. He was pacing now, rubbing his temples, trying to work up an idea, any idea. “There has to be another way. There’s always another way.”
“Um, guys?” Penny said. There was a note of wonder in her tone. She had turned back to the windows, was pressing her nose up against the glass. “You’re going to want to see this.”
Jack followed her gaze. His eyebrows lifted. “Well, what do you know? Looks like we have your other way right here, kid. For better or worse.”
Reuben hurried back to the window. What he saw beyond it was at first confusing, then exhilarating—but also thoroughly unsettling, for it was clear to him, as it surely was to the others, that their lives were about to get very messy.
Just then the neighborhood church bells began to clang furiously, their brassy clamor reverberating even inside the mansion. Coinciding as they did with the pandemonium at The Smoke’s gate, Reuben at first had the impression that they were sounding a public alarm. But then he realized that they were simply announcing the hour.
Noon, he thought. The opposite of midnight.
Full light.
They would all learn later how it had come to pass. How after they had parted with Mrs. Genevieve, she had felt herself at the brink of a breakdown. How she had moved agitatedly about her quarters, from wall to wall, as if in search of an exit.
She had made tea. She had dusted. She had tidied her rooms. Nothing helped, but she continued to busy herself. She kept thinking, What were you supposed to do? And she kept answering herself: Stop them. You should have stopped them. You should have found another way.
What had stopped her from stopping them?
Fear.
Mrs. Genevieve knew this, but she kept trying not to know it. Until, finally, she looked straight at it. If she hadn’t been afraid, the watchmaker asked herself, what might she have done? No. That wasn’t the question to ask herself now. It was too late for that. The question to ask herself was this: If you weren’t afraid, what might you do now?
The answer came slowly. The first part was that she must rely on her own judgment, not on the judgment of children, however well-meaning they might be, nor on that of a reckless young man who, however good-hearted, was clearly too desperate for excitement to be relied upon. It had all happened so fast! If they’d had more time, if Mrs. Genevieve hadn’t been afraid, what might she have done?
No, she reminded herself. What might she do now?
Then the rest of the answer came to her, and she had to sit down. She thought she could feel her galloping heartbeat in every part of her body—her face, her hands, her feet. Her plan would require her to be braver than she’d ever been. But for this did she not have Reuben as inspiration? And the little girl, as bold as her dramatic red hair? If nothing else, the children had understood that there could be no solution without boldness.
Therefore Mrs. Genevieve must be bold, too.
Even as she was gathering herself, the watchmaker found something—something unexpected—that bolstered her courage. It was as if she were being rewarded for having resolved to do the right thing, no matter the cost. It was a very strange and good feeling, she thought, as she picked up the phone. To feel happy despite being afraid.
“Here. Yes. This is perfect.”
When the watchmaker stepped out of the taxicab in the neighborhood of Westmont, she looked to be physically ill. She had been trembling as she paid the cabdriver, and for a moment she clung to the open door as if for balance. The driver rolled down his window and asked if she was all right, but Mrs. Genevieve didn’t answer, only forced herself to march up the steps to the church. For a moment she leaned against the doors, steadying herself. Then readying herself. And then she swung one of the doors open and burst inside.
An organ had been playing, but the music stopped abruptly with a squelch of dissonant notes, for the organist had been startled by the banging door and the sudden shouting from the direction of the nave. Every face in the congregation turned toward the shouting Mrs. Genevieve, who strode down the aisle waving her arms frantically.
“Help!” she shouted. “Oh, help! A child is in danger! You must help me, all of you!”
For a moment no one moved. The members of the congregation looked at one another with questioning expressions, as if unsure whether to trust their own eyes and ears. Then, at exactly the same moment, two mothers sprang to their feet and hurried toward Mrs. Genevieve, their own children and husbands immediately jumping up to follow them.
That broke the spell. The entire congregation was on its feet now, everyone talking, some shouting, some giving directions, but all of them focused on Mrs. Genevieve, who with a sweep of her arm beckoned them to follow her out.
Moving together as a large group, feeling a rising communal anger without yet knowing the cause, they followed this unknown woman along the street, past the park, block after block, right to the very gate of the Counselor’s mansion. There was no small amount of misgiving as it became clear where they were headed, and no one but Mrs. Genevieve understood what was happening, for she answered their questions only with the admonition that they must hurry, that every second counted. But no one faltered, no one turned back. Lacking explanations, lacking anything specific to be frightened of, all that mattered was the child in danger. This was what the watchmaker had counted on.
“Open this gate!” Mrs. Genevieve demanded, speaking to the shocked assembly of Directions on the other side of the bars. The men had been watching the approaching crowd in utter consternation. They had tried to convince one another that the crowd would veer off, headed elsewhere. Now here they were, being ordered to open the gate by this elderly woman, with her flashing eyes and her little army of well-dressed families.
“This instant!” Mrs. Genevieve shouted. “Open the gate this instant!”
The Directions were all gaping at her, every one of them. Their eyes moved from her face to take in the crowd, all the expressions of concern, alarm, and anger, then returned to her face, her stern expression and her startling blue eyes commanding them to do as they’d been told.
“Oh,” said one of the men. “Um…”
Another found his voice. “Sorry, ma’am. We can’t do that. Under orders of the Counselor.”
“Then go and get him!”
“We’ve been instructed not to do that, ma’am. Not under any circumstances. We’re not to leave this post until we hear from him.”
Those around Mrs. Genevieve, having heard this exchange, began to pass the word that she wanted the gate opened and that the Directions were refusing.
“Open the gate!” a mother’s voice shouted, immediately echoed by another, and soon the entire crowd was chanting, “Open the gate! Open the gate! O
pen the gate!” The chant grew very loud, and it had a markedly shrill, piercing quality, for the voices of several children, who had by far the most enthusiasm for loud chanting, could be heard above all the rest.
The Directions looked helplessly at one another. It was clear from their faces that they wished they were anywhere in the universe but here.
Then it was noon, and the church’s bells started ringing, and there came the sound of sirens, too, sirens growing louder by the moment—such a clamor and commotion the likes of which no one present had ever experienced, certainly not in Westmont in the vicinity of the Counselor’s mansion. The crowd was growing angrier and louder. And then the police began to arrive. Two cars, then three, then more and more.
Out of the first leaped a determined-looking young officer with walnut-colored skin, shining buttons on his faded blue uniform, and perfect posture. He didn’t hesitate but marched straight up to the gate, the crowd parting for him without needing to be asked. The chanting died away, everyone shushing everyone else so that they might hear what was said.
(Looking out through the entranceway windows with his friends, Reuben recognized, of all people, Officer Warren from the Lower Downs. If he had been surprised to see Mrs. Genevieve, he had at least understood how she’d known to come here. But Officer Warren? Reuben was baffled.)
The young policeman held up a sheet of paper. “Open this gate immediately,” he said, raising his voice for the benefit of the crowd. “I have an emergency warrant to search the premises.”
None of the Directions seemed to wish to be the one in charge. Some even took a subtle step backward, away from the gate. “You have a warrant to search here?” one of them asked, unable to contain his surprise.
“The address appears plainly in the warrant,” Officer Warren declared, “along with the name of the property owner, Mr. Cassius Faug.”
“How do we know that’s real?” one of the Directions challenged. Or perhaps entreated. From his tone and expression, it was difficult to tell whether the man was desperately hopeful or desperately afraid.