Alan Campbell - God of Clocks

Arrows lanced upward from the town defenses as bowmen let loose. A second barrage followed a moment later. Dill raised the tavern above his head, and roared.

“Don't overdo it, Dill,” Rachel muttered.

Transfixed, she watched the pretend battle unfold. Dill crushed the palisade wall and roared and stamped craters into the ground, careful not to hurt a soul, while unbeknownst to him the Burnt water militia acted out their own charade. They fought back convincingly, loosing their arrows freely because they knew Dill could not be harmed. Events, as Rachel remembered them, unfolded precisely as they should have.

Garstone tugged at her arm. “Miss Hael, I don't think it's wise to remain here. The automaton might decide to head this way.”

“He does, Garstone. He's coming straight for us.”

“All the more reason for us to depart.”

They ran for cover in a dead-end alley round the corner of a nearby house, just as Dill came thundering down the main thoroughfare. He stopped at a wharf, scooped up a small boat from the lake, and then turned and threw it at the advancing forces.

“It's all happening the way I remember it,” Rachel said. “Nothing's different.” She glanced over at her older self, but that woman was too busy watching the lakeside to respond.

Dill roared again and retreated into the lake, his massive ironclad boots smashing boats and jetties to splinters.

And then he froze, let out a terrible groan, and slowly toppled forward to his knees. The resulting wave pitched boats up out of the harbour and slammed them onto the dry land beyond. Cold water sprayed Rachel's face, and she heard Iron Head's men cheering as they rushed forward.

And then she heard a cry for help coming from within the arconite. To Rachel's ears it didn't sound particularly convincing.

Garstone apparently agreed. “I believe that attempt at distress came from you, Miss Hael,” he said. “It is fortunate that you didn't actually need the cry to sound authentic.”

Iron Head and his men played their parts well. They gathered nervously around Dill's jaw, gaping at the fallen giant with genuine awe. A moment later Iron Head himself came forward. Rachel could not hear much of the conversation that took place between the captain and her former self, but those snippets she did manage to catch sounded more or less as she remembered them.

A runner broke through the ranks of the Burntwater militia, calling out for his captain. In the moments that followed, all hell broke loose.

“This is it,” Rachel said to her two companions. “Menoa's arconites have arrived. This is where the fake battle becomes a real one.”

Garstone snuck a glance at his watch. “Perhaps this would be a good time for us to head back to the boat,” he said. “If you are going to meet yourself on schedule, we do not have much time left.”

Rachel had to agree, and yet she was reluctant to leave. Her former self had just stepped out onto the promenade. Mina followed a moment later, cradling her dog in her arms. Basilis immediately began to bark.

“This is an evacuation,” Iron Head yelled. “Women and children to the barges and skiffs. Holden, signal the pilots. Spindle, take your men-you already know what to do. I want twelve units, four to the east…”

Rachel shrank back against the side of the building. Mina's dog had spotted them. Even now he struggled against his mistress's grip, his little eyes fixed on the three intruders.

“… Bernlow, Malk, Cooper, Geary, Wigg, someone else-you, Thatcher-keep the attackers divided, and away from the wharfs. Harry them and then retreat, but don't let those bastards step on you.”

Rachel didn't know what to do. She recalled Basilis barking like that after they'd stepped outside. Still, nothing had noticeably changed. She glanced back.

Mina was staring directly at her. Their eyes met for an instant, and then the thaumaturge looked away. She said something to Rachel's other self.

Nothings wrong with him. He's obviously just barking at you.

Mina! You knew I was here all the time.

The scene continued to unfold exactly as Rachel remembered it. A series of great crashes came from the south. On the opposite side of the promenade Dill set the Rusty Saw tavern down upon the ground. Oran stormed out to argue with his brother. Soldiers were running back up towards the Burntwater defenses in response to the new threat. Three horn blasts sounded the evacuation.

And on it went. Transfixed, Rachel watched herself and Mina carry Hasp up onto Dill's open palm. She watched as Dill raised his hand up towards the heavens. When he finally lowered his hand once more, only Mina and Rachel's other self stepped down.

“We've just put him in Dill's mouth,” Rachel explained.

Garstone gave a gentle cough. “Fascinating,” he said without a mote of conviction. “Shall we retire to the rowboat now, Miss Hael?”

“I'm supposed to do whatever I feel is right,” she reminded him, “otherwise I might corrupt this timeline. Well, I want to see this.” She turned to the older version of herself. “You must have lingered here, too, because that's what I would do. Hell, it's what I'm doing now. We'll leave as soon as the explosions go off. It leaves me plenty of time to get out onto the lake and meet myself.”

“Very well, miss,” Garstone said.

A thought occurred to Rachel. “You weren't in the boat,” she said to Garstone.

“Wasn't I?”

“No. I was alone on the lake.”

Garstone made a sound of surprise. “I suppose this version of me must have died, miss. After all, this is a particularly dangerous environment.”

She looked at him. “Perhaps you just decided to stay here?”

“I don't think that's very likely, miss. I have no intention of leaving you behind. Sabor would never approve of that.”

“You might have been injured.”

“That is certainly possible, Miss Hael. Although it would have to have been a severe injury to cause me to abandon you. If one cannot walk, one crawls, and if one cannot-”

“Well, what if you were unconscious?” she said. “You couldn't follow me then. You wouldn't even have to be particularly badly injured.”

Garstone glanced at his watch. “Yes, no doubt that's it, Miss Hael,” he huffed. “It explains my absence from the boat perfectly.”

“Yes,” Rachel said, “it does.” She struck him hard on the side of the head, knocking him out cold. The small man crumpled to the ground in his faded brown suit.

Rachel grabbed him under his armpits and hoisted him up. “Help me carry him onto one of those boats,” she said to her other self.

“You know I can't interfere, sis. Not yet.”

Rachel groaned. “When I become you,” she said, “don't expect any help from me.” She thought about that for a moment, and then shook her head. “Forget I said that.”

She dragged him backwards to the opposite side of the alley, away from Dill and the Rusty Saw, and propped him up while she surveyed the promenade. All of Oran's men and their whores had by now alighted from the stricken tavern. Hundred of refugees were already converging on the harbour. She spotted Rosella and Abner Hill, and felt a pang of regret. Would she be able to grab some gold for them now, while she still had a chance?

No, she couldn't risk it. Any decisions that affected the future, as she knew it, might trigger the events that led to the end of this world.

Her older self hung back, watching carefully.

“This can't be where I fuck up,” Rachel decided. “Any version of me would have done exactly the same. None of us would have left him here to die.”

Crowds jostled along the waterfront as the town barges steamed in from deeper water to dock against the wharfs. One unit of Burntwater militia was already herding people onto smaller boats, but most of the other soldiers now raced back into the town or began to fling burning torches against the dockside buildings. Fire crackled and leapt up the walls of the nearest warehouse.