The Clock That Wouldn't Tick

They carried the orange thread into the kite shop. Niko held the strand against a wooden kite spool. The sizes refused to match. The spool wobbled free, rolled off the counter, and toppled a shelf of paper birds. Colors tumbled through the air. A blue kite draped over Ada's head. "So much for my perfect lead!" she squawked. Niko scooped the loose spool into his tool belt. Brass teeth were nowhere among the paper wings. A thin line of cinnamon dust led out the back door straight toward the bell tower.

Cinnamon dust coated the stone steps. Niko climbed the bell-tower stairs while Ada circled past the arched windows. At the top sat Pip, a trembling gray mouse, beside a tiny wooden flour cart. Three brass gear teeth served as its wheels. "I only borrowed them," Pip squeaked. "My cart needed rolling." Ada puffed her feathers, ready to scold. Niko peered at the darkening square, then eased down beside the cart. "First we fix the clock. After that we fix your wheels." He slid the brass teeth free of the axle ends, cradled the wooden axle, and wrapped it with the orange thread.

Niko, Ada, and Pip rushed back to the town clock with the teeth, the axle, the thread, and the spool. Niko pressed each brass tooth into its empty notch. He lashed the wooden axle across the gear with orange thread so nothing could slip. The main wheel turned at last. Ada twisted the kite spool onto Pip's cart as a new wide wheel. The big hand shuddered past thirteen. Row by row, lanterns flickered alive across the square. Then the clock spoke. Not a tick. A loud proud HONK. Niko's jaw sagged open. Ada wheezed until she tipped over. Pip clapped both paws over his ears and grinned at the bright square below.