Clockwork Bonds on the Pier

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The Fifth Bell and the Memory That Refused to Die
The clocks counted five, four, three, and then stopped at a number nobody had invented. Lumo kept both arms around Nilo while Rudo planted himself before the door, his red bulb shining like a warning lantern. Outside, Verren knocked again. “Orin, I know you're in there. Your clock has always been bad at pretending.” Orin held the silver tuning fork with trembling fingers. “Do not answer him.” “I wasn't planning to invite him for tea,” Rudo said. A blue line appeared beneath the door and climbed the wood like a crack in frozen water. Nilo watched it with enormous green eyes. “Is he angry?” “I don't know,” Lumo admitted. “But you don't have to go anywhere with him.” “Even if he built me?” “Especially then.” The door opened without moving. Through its panels they saw a railway carriage, blue seats, brass handles, and hundreds of tiny clocks hanging from the ceiling. An elderly man in a dark velvet coat stood in the aisle, holding a conductor's cap. His silver moustache was neatly curled, and his eyes looked tired. “Good evening,” Verren said. “I have come for the moment that was stolen from me.” Orin stepped forward. “You agreed to destroy the clock.” “I agreed to stop it,” Verren replied. “There is a difference.” Nilo raised a hand. “Before the arguing starts, may I ask whether trains serve breakfast?” Verren stared. “He speaks.” “Frequently,” Rudo said. Verren's expression softened. “Nilo. I remember making your first drawing.” “Orin says he built me.” “We both did,” Verren answered. “But only one of us remembers why.” He opened his palm. A glass sphere rested there, holding the image of a girl laughing in the rain. Orin turned away. “Don't.” “Her name was Elsi,” Verren said. “My daughter. One winter the fever came, and every clock in our house seemed to hurry. I asked Orin to help me save one afternoon with her. Just one.” “You wanted to remember her.” Orin spoke quietly. “We made the Clock of Unforgotten Hours. It could preserve a memory, but not return anyone to it. Verren tried to force the hands backward.” “And you broke it,” Verren said. “You broke the only road I had left.” “I broke the road that was taking everyone else's memories with it.” Beyond the doorway, the train windows filled with scenes: a baker forgetting the smell of bread, a child forgetting the sound of her father's laugh, an old woman staring at a birthday card she could no longer read. Nilo's green bulb dimmed. “They lost those things?” “The clock needed fuel,” Orin said. “It took moments from strangers whenever Verren asked it for one more minute.” Verren lowered his gaze. The carriage shuddered, and a distant bell rang once. Nilo covered his ears. “That isn't the fifth bell,” he whispered. “It's the first bell again, pretending.” He struck the tuning fork against his palm. The glass sphere in Verren's hand flashed, and the train became a narrow platform suspended above an endless black sea. Beneath it floated thousands of golden lights. “Memories,” Lumo breathed. “Unclaimed moments,” Orin corrected. “The clock has been holding them outside time.” Nilo stepped toward the threshold. Lumo caught his hand, but the little robot shook his head. “I don't want to go with him. I want to see whether I can help them.” “Then we go together,” Lumo said. Rudo sighed. “I was afraid you would say something heroic.” He picked up the music box. “I suppose somebody must carry the luggage.” The toaster called after them, “Bring back my waffle memories!” Orin led the brothers through the doorway. Verren watched them silently. At the far end of the platform stood a clock as tall as a house, its face divided into five circles instead of twelve hours. Four bells hung above it. The place for the fifth was empty. Its hands turned backward whenever nobody looked. “Where is the fifth bell?” Rudo asked. “Inside Nilo,” Orin replied. Nilo inspected his copper chest. “Your green light was made to hear the note that ends a memory without erasing it,” Orin explained. “The clock cannot understand endings. It keeps everything open, like a book with no last page.” Verren's voice broke. “And if he rings?” “The stolen moments can return to their owners. But the afternoon with Elsi will end.” For a long time Verren stared at the sphere. “I have kept her laughing for seventeen years,” he whispered. “I have not heard what she said afterward.” A black hand emerged from the clock's face, made of watch springs and strips of forgotten photographs. It reached for Nilo. Rudo swung the music box at it. The hand recoiled, and the box began playing a furious waltz. A second hand seized his ankle. Lumo grabbed Rudo, Orin grabbed Lumo, and all three skidded toward the clock. “I have a plan!” Nilo shouted. Nilo pulled the tuning fork from Orin's hand and struck it against his green bulb. A clear note rang out, so delicate that the platform's rain seemed to hang motionless in the air.