“Hmm. Well, they’ve been there for hundreds of years. Maybe life is something you sort of acquire?”
YES.
They waited in silence, except for the occasional thud as the minute hand climbed the night.
“It’s—been quite nice having you around the place, Bill Door.”
He didn’t reply.
“Helping me with the harvest and everything.”
IT WAS…INTERESTING.
“It was wrong of me to delay you, just for a lot of corn.”
NO. THE HARVEST IS IMPORTANT.
Bill Door unfolded his palm. The timer appeared.
“I still can’t work out how you do that.”
IT IS NOT DIFFICULT.
The hiss of the sand grew until it filled the square.
“Have you got any last words?”
YES. I DON’T WANT TO GO.
“Well. Succinct, anyway.”
Bill Door was amazed to find she was trying to hold his hand.
Above him, the hands of midnight came together. There was a whirring from the clock. The door opened. The automata marched out. They clicked to a halt on either side of the hour bell, bowed to one another, and raised their hammers.
Dong.
And then there was the sound of a horse trotting.
Miss Flitworth found the edge of her vision filling with purple and blue blotches, like the flashes of after-image with no image to come after.
If she jerked her head quickly and peered out of the tail of her eye, she could see small gray-clad shapes hovering around the walls.
The Revenooers, she thought. They’ve come to make sure it all happens.
“Bill?” she said.
He closed his palm over the gold timer.
NOW IT STARTS.
The hoofbeats grew louder, and echoed off the buildings behind them.
REMEMBER: YOU ARE IN NO DANGER.
Bill Door stepped back into the gloom.
Then he reappeared momentarily.