The lid of the pocket watch sprang open.

There was no bang. No flash tearing through the workshop. Not even the ticking of the forty-three clocks grew louder.

Instead, every sound vanished for the length of a heartbeat.

Lio saw Master Deren open his mouth. He saw Nara—the girl with the red sleeve—take a step towards him. He saw a drop of water fall from the edge of the table.

The drop stopped in mid-air.

Then it travelled upwards.

The puddle beneath the door drew itself together. A broken glass on the workbench rebuilt itself from its shards. The sooty flame of a lamp shrank, disappeared into the wick, and flared to life again a moment later.

Lio heard his mother laugh.

Not outside the door.

Behind him.

He turned.

For a fraction of a second she stood beside the worktable, exactly as he remembered her: dark hair pinned up, flour on her cheek, hands planted on her hips.

“You’re late again,” she said.

Lio stepped towards her.

A hand caught him by the collar.

“Don’t,” the girl said.

The workshop snapped back into night.

His mother was gone.

Deren stumbled against the cabinet. The open pocket watch lay in his hand. Where the dial should have been, a black circle turned slowly. Tiny silver signs raced around it, far too quickly to read.

“Close it!” Lio shouted.

Deren pressed his thumb against the lid. Nothing happened.

“I can’t anymore.”

The girl swore under her breath.

“Then we have to go.”

“Who are you, anyway?” Lio asked.

“Nara.”

“And how do you know me?”

She raised the unscrewed lantern lens.

“Later.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It is. Just not one you like.”

The horn sounded again from the harbour. This time a second note followed, deeper than the first.

Deren went pale.

“Two,” he said.

“What does two mean?”

“They’re releasing the chain.”

Nara seized Lio by the wrist.

“If you’re going to the lighthouse, it has to be now.”

Lio looked at Deren.

“I’m not leaving him here.”

The old clockmaker looked up. For the first time since Lio had known him, he did not look stern, tired or irritated.

He looked afraid.

“Yes,” he said. “This time, that is exactly what you do.”

“Master—”

“I opened the watch. Not you.”

Deren placed his free hand on the worktable. His fingers trembled.

“And if you find something out there that promises to give you a day back, don’t listen.”

Lio thought of his mother.

Deren must have seen it in his face.

“Especially then,” he said.

Nara pulled Lio towards the back door.

When they stepped outside, Deren slid the bolt into place behind them.

The alley was empty.

Tiraven lay in darkness, but it was not the darkness of an ordinary night. Lamps burned in some windows. In others, bright morning shone. Behind one pane a man was shaving. Two houses farther on, the same man was already sitting down to lunch.

A cart stood crooked on the cobbles. An apple had fallen from a basket.

Lio watched it roll over a stone, stop, then leap backwards into the basket.

“What’s happening here?”

Nara kept walking.

“The city can’t decide which moment belongs to it.”

“And you say that as if it’s normal.”

“Normal? No.”

She glanced back.

“Familiar? Unfortunately.”

Lio stopped.

“You’ve been here before.”

“I’m here every day.”

“You know what I mean.”

Nara said nothing.

She still held the lantern lens in her right hand. Now she lifted it in front of her face.

Through the glass, the alley changed.

A narrow road of dark cobbles appeared between two houses.

Lio blinked.

Without the lens there was only a wall.

Through the lens, a street passed straight through it.

The street from his map.

“That doesn’t exist,” he said.

“That’s a fairly weak objection today.”

Nara held out the lens.

Lio looked through it.

The road wound between the houses, crossed the market square and descended towards the harbour. Wherever it ran, the stones shone with a faint blue light.

People walked past without noticing it.

“Why can’t the others see it?”

“Because it isn’t there yet.”

“I can see it.”

“You built it, too.”

Lio lowered the lens.

“Enough.”

“Of what?”

“Answers that only make everything worse.”

Nara breathed out.

Then she pulled up her red sleeve.

There was no blood beneath it.

The cloth had been soaked with dark dye. A thin scar ran from her wrist to her elbow. Small signs had been cut into the skin, like the ones that had spun around Deren’s pocket watch.

“You want a good answer?” she asked.

Lio nodded.

“I’ve met you.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow.”

Lio said nothing.

“You gave me this lens. You told me to come to your workshop today. You said you wouldn’t know me and that I shouldn’t waste time explaining.”

“That’s impossible.”

“You said that tomorrow, too.”

“If you met me tomorrow, then morning does come.”

Nara looked at him for a long moment.

“Maybe.”

“What do you mean, maybe?”

“I don’t know whether it was your tomorrow.”

The third horn sounded.

Something moved down in the harbour.

The black ship lay between the masts.

Now Lio could see it more clearly. The hull was so dark it seemed to swallow what little light the harbour lamps gave. No sails. No flag. The heavy chain hung from the bow, with the small black sun suspended from it.

Figures stood on deck.

They did not move.

And yet Lio had the feeling that every one of them was looking directly at him.

“How many horn calls are there?” he asked.

“Seven.”

“Of course there are.”

Nara smiled for the first time.

“Tiraven likes that number.”

They followed the blue road.

It crossed the market square. The dry fountain in the centre was filled to the rim with black water. It did not reflect the sky, but a bright afternoon.

A little boy stood beside it, throwing the same coin in again and again.

The coin fell.

A splash.

Then it was back in his hand.

The boy did not seem to notice.

Lio started towards him.

Nara pulled him on.

“Don’t touch every moment you don’t understand.”

“That’s rich coming from you.”

“I’ve had plenty of practice recognising bad decisions.”

“Because you make so many?”

“Exactly.”

At the quay, the cobbles ended.

At least for anyone without a lantern lens.

Through the glass, the road continued.

Straight across the water.

Dark paving stones lay on the waves as if someone had built a street on the sea.

“No,” Lio said.

Nara placed one foot on the first stone.

“Yes.”

“That will never hold.”

“It held tomorrow.”

“Stop saying that.”

“Then stop asking.”

She walked on.

The stone did not sink even a finger’s width.

Lio looked back.

The clock tower rose above the roofs. No light in the workshop. No movement.

He thought of Deren alone with the open watch.

Then he stepped onto the water.

The stone beneath his feet was cold and solid.

The black ship lay to their left.

When they were halfway across the harbour, one of the figures on deck slowly raised an arm.

Nara stopped.

“Don’t look.”

Of course Lio looked.

The figure wore a long coat. Where its face should have been there was only a smooth, pale surface.

It raised one hand.

A pocket watch dangled from its fingers.

Lio’s pocket watch.

He recognised the tiny notch in the rim. He had made it two years ago when the case slipped from his workbench.

Except his watch was at home in a drawer.

“Nara.”

“Keep moving.”

“It has my watch.”

“I know.”

“How?”

“Because it got it from you yesterday.”

Lio stopped.

“Yesterday?”

Nara closed her eyes for a moment.

“That’s the part I was going to tell you at the lighthouse.”

The fourth horn rolled across the harbour.

The chain at the bow of the black ship jerked.

One link came free of the quay.

“Then move,” Nara said.

They ran.

The road led to a small rocky island off Tiraven. The old lighthouse stood there, abandoned for years. Its white walls had turned grey and its windows were blind with salt.

The door stood open.

“Was it open tomorrow?” Lio asked.

“No.”

“Finally, something new.”

Inside, it smelled of cold stone and old oil.

A spiral staircase climbed upwards. Hundreds of lines, names and dates had been cut into the walls.

Some names were almost unreadable.

Others looked fresh.

Nara raised the lantern lens.

More writing appeared in the blue glow.

Lio read names he knew.

Harbourmaster Senn.

Yara from the bakery.

Master Deren.

Seven dates stood beside Deren’s name.

Six had been crossed out.

The last was today.

“What is this?” Lio asked.

Nara did not answer.

She climbed several steps and stopped suddenly.

“Lio.”

He could hear from her voice that something was wrong.

A name had been carved into the stone beneath her hand.

LIO.

Not small. Not hidden.

Cut deep into the wall.

Beneath it was a date.

Lio had to read it twice.

Yesterday’s date.

“That can’t be,” he said.

He ran his fingers over the letters.

The stone was cold.

Fine white dust still clung to the final groove.

The inscription was fresh.

Above them, a clockwork mechanism began to tick inside the lighthouse.

Slowly.

Once.

Twice.

Nara looked up the staircase.

“We’re early.”

“For what?”

A light came on above.

Warm. Golden.

Like morning.

And from the lantern room, Lio’s own voice said:

“Finally.”

To be continued.

“I’ve met you.” — “When?” — “Tomorrow.”

From Chapter 2