Something raw simmered inside her, equal parts fear and fury. “What have you done?” she whispered.
The boy looked at her, then at Meena, whose teeth were bared. “I haven’t done anything. The rebellion has failed, and I made the most of the distraction.”
Tremors ran through Daphne’s body, becoming stronger when she looked again at the dark splotches on the boy’s skin and clothes.
“Where’s Danny?”
He regarded her with half-lidded eyes, a sleeper fully in control of his dreams.
“Exactly where he needs to be.”
“You were out again.”
Colton opened his eyes and smiled up at Castor. His head was resting on his lap. Castor ran his fingers through Colton’s hair.
“What do you dream about when you sleep?” Castor asked.
Colton’s eyes traveled up to the clouds. An alder tree’s branches swayed and whispered above them, telling him secrets he wished he could keep.
“I dream about time,” he said. “And music. And the wind. And how old the earth is.” He turned his head and kissed Castor’s palm. “I dream about freedom.”
“But you’re already free.”
“Maybe.” He lined up his fingertips with Castor’s, nerve endings to nerve endings. “Or maybe I’m trapped in a dream that will never end.”
Castor’s lips touched his cool brow. “Then maybe you should wake up.”
The smell of oil roused him. Colton opened his eyes slowly. He sat slumped against a metal wall. In fact, he was surrounded by metal walls, only the one on his right was made of bars.
Colton slowly turned his head and saw that someone had leaned his cog holder against the wall of the corridor outside. They had taken off the leather cover, and the bronze metal gleamed dully in the torchlight. With his central cog so far away, his body had become more transparent. He lacked the strength to even stand.
“Where am I?” he mumbled. The last he remembered, he had been in the middle of a crowd of panicked soldiers.
And Danny had been shot.
The reminder was enough to make him sit up, groaning as his side protested.
“Danny,” he called. It was barely more than a whisper. “Danny!”
He gripped the metal bars and tried to stand, but it was impossible in his current state. He fell against the bars, shaking and enraged by his own weakness.
At this rate, both he and Danny would be dead.
The thought made him gather his remaining strength to shout, “Danny!”
A door opened at the end of the hallway. Colton watched as a figure came into view, but it wasn’t Danny. The young man was broad-shouldered and well-groomed. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up high enough for Colton to see that his right arm was made of metal.
There was a strange, sharp sensation coming off of him—something Colton had felt before. A compelling aura that fascinated and frightened him.
He knelt before Colton, fixing him with penetrating gray eyes. Colton stared back.
“So,” the young man said. “You’re Colton.”
“Who are you?”
“My name is Zavier. You’re on an airship called the Prometheus. We’re very happy to have you with us, Colton. We’ve heard a lot about you.”
Colton wrapped his hands around the metal bars. “Where’s Danny?”
“I know you don’t understand yet, but you will. You see, our plans have fallen through. There will be no second Mutiny in India. While the rebels lick their wounds, we need a new strategy. You’ll teach us a lot about the clock spirits, and where we’ll go from here. You’re going to be invaluable to us.”
“What if I don’t want to help you?”
Zavier took a slow, deep breath. “You need to think carefully about that. You wouldn’t want anything happening to Enfield, after all.”
Colton gripped the bars tighter. “Bastard.” He’d heard Danny use the word before, and it felt strangely good to say it now.
Zavier stood and gestured to the cog holder. “If you want these back, you’ll have to be nicer than that, Colton.”
It was then he saw a smudge of dark red on Zavier’s neck, partially hidden by his collar, where the strange pulling and ebbing sensation was coming from. It was metallic, thorny, seductive.
Blood.
Danny’s blood.
Colton threw himself against the bars. “Tell me where he is!”
“Think about it.” Zavier turned and walked back to the door. Colton pressed his forehead against the cold metal.
“Please, just tell me! Please!” He kept calling until the door closed, leaving him in darkness.
“Please,” he whispered, sliding to the floor, curling up against the pain and devastation wracking his body. “Please, please …”
He tried to find that small pinprick of power again, to grasp at any sign that Danny was here, that he wasn’t alone. Colton listened beyond the airship’s engines for a sign.
Far below, he thought he heard the ocean.
The British Raj, the Enfield Rifle, and the Rebellion of 1857
India won its independence on August 15, 1947.
That was only seventy years ago, and ninety years after the First War of Indian Independence (or, as the British called it, the Mutiny) in 1857.
India has a long history of occupation. When the Mughul Empire was on its last legs, the British East India Company—at first only interested in trade—defeated the French East India Company for territory, becoming the military and political force in India in the mid-1700s.
The Company was a private army whose numbers only grew as the decades went on. Even as they improved roads and introduced an early railway system, they treated Indian culture and beliefs with disdain, and actively eradicated traditions they considered to be “barbaric.” However, many Indian soldiers joined the Company, mostly those of Hindu, Sikh, and Muslim faiths.
The use of Enfield rifles by the Company created a conflict for the Hindu and Muslim soldiers who refused to bite off the cartridges lined with beef and pork fat, as this was in conflict with their religious practices. The British officers refused to listen to their complaints, commanding them to use the rifles anyway. With tensions already high between the British and Indian soldiers, and the Indians believing that the British were forcing Christianity upon them, this was one of the last disputes that led to the infamous rebellion.
(Although the British called it a mutiny, the Indian people tend to refer to it as the First War of Indian Independence. There’s been some criticism regarding the term, however, since there were earlier uprisings against the British before the 1857 rebellion, including the Vellore Mutiny in 1806 and the First Anglo-Sikh War in 1845.)