Page 67 of No Place in Time

Finn took them.

“Yes, very much.”

∞∞∞

By midmorning, Alys and the children were gone, and Finn was alone with the machine.

He examined it in the daylight streaming through the window. The timing mechanism was the fundamental problem, the gears that controlled the jump. Anton’s work. He set to the task, hands moving with remembered purpose as he muttered about alignments and resistance. A small file, a slight adjustment, and a wheel clicked into place.

There. Now the distance. Ten years, he thought, the number a silent prayer. Enough to be safe. Enough for Julian to have moved on. Enough for him and Cecily to start over. The hope was so sharp he spoke her name.

Suddenly, the quiet of the cottage felt different. A pressure in the air. Watched. He froze, then moved to the door and looked out. Empty fields, still woods. Then he saw them: fresh footprints in the mud beneath the window. Not his. Not Alys’s. A cold dread seeped into him.

What had he muttered aloud? Had he said her name? He couldn’t be sure. But whoever had been there had seen the machine. That alone might be a death sentence. It was a catastrophic mistake, born of solitude and desperate hope.

He went back inside and closed the shutters. He worked the rest of the morning in silence, his hands steady on the tools, his mind racing. Whoever had been listening knew about the machine. Knew about Cecily. Whatever time he had thought he had to plan, he had less now.

He forced himself to focus. He had to finish the repairs. The final gear clicked into place. Finn tested the mechanism again, turning the wheel slowly. It moved smoothly, all the gears catching in sequence.

That should do it. He sat back. He’d repaired the machine. Or repaired it as best as he could without Anton’s expertise. It would work. It had to.

Now he just had to get to Cecily. He would not—he would never again—test it without her by his side.

∞∞∞

Alys returned with the children in the late afternoon. They burst through the door, muddy and excited.

“Did ye fix it?” Wat asked, eyes on the covered machine.

“Can we see it work?” Emma added.

“It’s dangerous,” Finn said. “No one touches it. Promise me.”

The children nodded solemnly.

Hugh tugged at Finn’s sleeve. “Are ye really leavin’?”

Finn looked at the boy’s upturned face and said nothing for a moment. Then he said, “Yes, soon.”

“But why?” Hugh’s eyes were wide. “Don’t ye like it here?”

“I do. Very much. But I have to go.”

Alys called from the fire. “Come help with supper. Leave Finn be.”

The children retreated reluctantly, casting glances back at both Finn and the machine.

∞∞∞

When evening came, Hugh fell asleep with his head against Finn’s leg. Wat watched Finn the longest, his expression unreadable, before finally turning to his pallet to sleep.

Alys banked the fire, then brought him a bowl of pottage and sat across from him. For a while, neither spoke.

Then Alys said quietly, “Ye’ll be leavin’ soon, then?”

“Yes.”

She nodded, looking at her hands. “The children will be upset. They’ve gotten used to havin’ ye here.”