In the town square of the small town, the town hall stood like a big watch from a great-grandfather: with its polished tower helmet, cock in the wind and a dial that flashed with golden numerals. It was the end of summer, the sky was the colour of diluted paint and a fine rain covered the cobblestones with a thin mist. Lena, aged eleven, carried an old notebook with a green eraser under her arm. In it she collected words she liked and sketches of places she wanted to visit one day. Iwo, a year older, sounded a handful of screws and a tiny screwdriver in his sweatshirt pocket. He was interested in anything that had gears. - 'Mr Teofil said he was going to fix the mechanism today,' whispered Lena, hopping over a puddle. - 'Maybe he'll let us have a look. - Or he'll let us hold something important - added Iwo and smiled the kind of smile that unwittingly invited trouble. The door to the tower was ajar. From inside came the smell of oil, old wood and something metallic that resembled freshly cut wire. Deep down, somewhere above their heads, something was rhythmically ticking - like the heart of the building. - 'You can enter, but carefully,' Mr Theophilus spoke up, emerging from behind a pile of wooden crates. He had his hands wiped with a cloth and glasses that had long needed cleaning. - Clocks like calm and patience. Do you have peace and quiet? Do you have patience? - We have," they replied simultaneously. A spiral staircase led upwards to where the walls smelled cold and dusty. The steps creaked like an old pen on paper. Every now and then Lena glanced through the narrow windows at the market: umbrellas like mushrooms, people like dots. At one of the higher corners, Iwo tripped over a protruding piece of board. Before Lena had time to warn him, his shoe snagged on something metal. It creaked, as if someone was opening a secret - as if someone was tilting something that had not been touched for a long time. On the side, just inside the wall, a narrow panel slid away. Behind it flashed a small socket in the shape of an eight-pointed star. - Can you see it? - Iwo crouched down and blew. Dust danced in a narrow streak of light. - This is not ordinary. Lena slid her hand under the protruding threshold. Her fingers encountered something cool and smooth. She pulled out a small brass key. On its head was stamped the same star as in the socket. - 'Where did he come from...', she began, but at the same moment Mr Theophilus' voice came from below. - I'm going to get a new spring! Don't move the clues! - he called out and the clatter of his footsteps moved away towards the workshop. Lena and Iwo looked at each other. The same question lit up in their eyes that no one had spoken. The heavy door leading to the clock chamber creaked as they pushed it open. Inside, twilight reigned. Milky light streamed in through the large glass dial, tinting the interior the colour of morning mist. The toothed wheels - some larger than bicycle wheels, others as tiny as buttons - moved lazily, with a quiet, orderly hum. Every now and then, metal would bang against metal as gently as if making a polite bow to someone. - Look - Lena approached the circular frame of the shield. On its inner edge, where one does not usually look from the outside, small symbols were engraved: crescents, dots, triangles, wiry dashes. - 'This looks like a recipe,' muttered Iwo, tracing a row of marks with his fingernail. - As if something had to be set in a particular order. On the side wall they found a tile made of the same old copper as the key. The plate had a hollow centre, exactly in the shape of a star. Lena lifted the key. It was cold and a little heavier than she had expected. - If it fits... - she said quietly. - We'll check,' finished Iwo. The key went in smoothly. It popped with a soft click, and at the same moment the clock mechanism seemed to take a deeper breath. Somewhere downstairs there was a noise. Something shifted, something strained, something rattled at a different pace. - Oh dear - Lena slipped her hair behind her ear. - Can you feel it? The air in the chamber thickened, as if it had suddenly become a touch warmer. The face of the clock vibrated. Not the way a pane of glass trembles in a draught, but like the surface of water when someone throws a pebble. The numerals on the glass seemed to flow, to soften. The minute hand stood at twelve. The hour hand stood on the thirteenth, which was seemingly absent, and yet, here, from the centre, it was between the twelve and the one, marked with a tiny, modest line. - 'After all, the clock doesn't have a thirteen,' said Iwo, but his voice was as if he wasn't quite sure. Lena pressed her hand against the glass. Instead of a hard surface, she felt something cool and springy, which gave way under pressure like water and then came back into place. There was a soft, sweet smell coming from inside, with sea salt and cinnamon mixed in. - 'There's something on the other side,' she whispered. - You can't see the market - Iwo remarked. - Where are the umbrellas and pigeons? The dial no longer showed the market. Instead of a cobbled street, they saw a space the colour of dark turquoise. On it, far away, floated islands of black stone, overgrown with grass so soft it looked like a cloud. Between the islands hung bridges made of threads of light. In the depths, like a second tower, rose a tall, thin pillar, at the tip of which shone a bright pink point, like a star that had lost its way and decided to rest. - This cannot be true - Iwo rubbed his eyes. - And yet... Along the edge of the dial, the one with the symbols, one of the dashes flared, then another, a third. They lit up one by one, drawing a luminous pattern. As the eighth flared, somewhere above them a bell rang out, but not as it usually does - the sound was deep and soft, as if dipped in a veil. The first ringing went through the wooden planks of the floor, through their shoes, down to their knees. - Is it noon? - Lena asked, although she knew it wasn't. - There was already a beat for twelve o'clock. - 'And yet it beats,' replied Iwo with wide eyes. The second beat was closer, the third seemed to be laughing somewhere in the beams. By the seventh, the shield glass was already rippling visibly. Shadows appeared in the waves - tiny, quick, like the flight of small birds. Sometimes one shadow would stop, and then something like a hand could be seen touching the surface from that side. When it touched, a circle of brightness blossomed on the glass, as if someone had momentarily put a torch to the bottom of the lake. - Did you see? - Lena pulled her fingers back and put them out again. - 'Someone's just there...' - ...and it looks like they're waiting for us,' finished Iwo in a whisper. The tenth strike spilled a silvery sound through the chamber. Somewhere in the depths of the mechanism a lever moved and for a moment everything went quiet, as if even the dust had stopped in its flight. Then an eleventh sound rang out, slightly higher, and a twelfth, in which there was a note neither of them could name. At the twelfth, the tips of their fingers touched the soft surface again. Lena felt a slight tickle, as if someone were touching her hand with the tip of a feather on the other side. A figure stood out from the darkness of the turquoise space. Slender, dressed in something that resembled a long coat, she carried a lamp in her hand. The flame in the lamp was the colour of honey and a light that cast no shadows. - Hello? - Lena called out reflexively. The echo swallowed her voice and gave it back, but quieter, stretched. The figure stopped at the edge of one of the hanging islands. She lifted the lamp higher. The flame blinked like an eye. Something like a smile trembled in the air, something like an invitation. Lena felt her heart beat faster. Iwo clenched his fingers on the edge of the copper frame so tightly that his knuckles turned white. - You think... - he began. - ...That this is a passage - she finished soundlessly. The word hung between them like a bridge. And then, against all the rules, against the habits of all the clocks in the world, the tower bell struck for the thirteenth time. The glass, if it was still glass, bulged like a soap bubble, almost touching their noses. The air hummed and smelt with a bittersweet breeze that smelled like a book opened for the first time. All at once the symbols on the shield frame flashed, and in their glow something on that side took a step forward. Lena reflexively reached out her hand. The cool light licked her skin, as if checking to see if it was real. The flame in the lamp twitched and the shadow of the figure moved another half step closer. Somewhere in the depths of the mechanism, something clicked quietly - like a latched door handle. - 'Lena... - whispered Iwo, but he didn't have time to add anything more, because just in front of them the surface of the dial collapsed silently like the surface of a pond when a dragonfly flies over it.