Keepers of Forward Motion

The Clocktower of Whispering Winds On a Tuesday that tasted like butterscotch, something impossible

happened in the town of Mumbleton. Between the bakery and the bookshop, where there had

always been a narrow alley full of puddles and cats, there now stood a clocktower.

Not just any clocktower, mind you, but one that twisted up into the clouds like a corkscrew

made of moonlight and old brass. "That wasn't there yesterday," said Pip,

adjusting her spectacles. "That wasn't there five minutes ago," said her brother Tobias,

who had walked past this very spot on his way to buy shoelaces. The clocktower hummed. Its gears didn't

tick-tock like normal clocks. They sang peculiar tunes—songs that sounded like forgotten