The entrance to the Clock Tower was not a door; it was a pendulum.
A massive, brass disc swung back and forth across the opening, slicing the air with a terrifying whoosh. To get inside, you had to time your jump perfectly. Hesitate, and you were crushed. Mistime it, and you were flung into the abyss.
Noah stood at the edge of the platform, watching the rhythm. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
"It's fast," Noah shouted over the noise of grinding gears.
"It's getting faster," Mittens yelled back, his fur blown back by the wind of the pendulum. "The city is stressed, Noah! The Purr-sident is panic-scrolling through time! He wants to skip to the end!"
"Then let's give him an ending," Noah said.
Tick. Tock. Tick... NOW.
Noah lunged. He grabbed Mittens by the scruff of his neck and threw himself through the gap. The wind of the brass disc brushed his heels as he rolled onto the metal floor inside.
They were in the belly of the beast.
The interior of the tower was a dizzying vertical maze of cogs, springs, and pistons. There were no floors, only catwalks suspended over drops that fell into darkness. And everywhere, there was the sound.
Click-clack. Whirrr. Thump.
It wasn't chaotic. It was rhythmic. It sounded like a giant, mechanical heart beating too fast.
"We need to get to the belfry," Noah said, pointing up. "That's where the Music Box is."
"Watch out!" Mittens screeched.
A panel in the wall slid open, and something emerged. It looked like a cat, but it was made of polished bronze. Its eyes were glowing red LEDs. Its tail was a serrated saw blade.
A Clockwork Cat.
"Intruder," the machine spoke, its voice a grinding of metal on metal. "Time is up. Please expire."
It pounced.
Noah ducked, the saw blade tail slicing through the railing where his hand had been a second ago. He scrambled back, pulling the heavy wooden Ark from his makeshift harness. He swung it like a bat.
CLANG.
The wood hit bronze. The Ark held—it was sturdy, built with love—but the vibration jarred Noah's bones. The Clockwork Cat didn't even flinch. It just recalibrated, its head spinning 360 degrees.
"Expiration imminent," it droned.
"Noah, the gears!" Mittens shouted, leaping onto a spinning cog. "Jam the gears!"
Noah looked around. He saw a loose piston rod lying on the catwalk. He grabbed it.
The machine lunged again. Noah didn't swing at the cat. He jammed the rod into the exposed gears of the wall mechanism behind it.
CRUNCH.
The gears shrieked. The rhythm broke. The sudden stop sent a shockwave through the platform. The Clockwork Cat, tethered to the system's rhythm, jerked violently and froze, sparks flying from its ears.
"System error," it glitched. "Time... out."
Its eyes went dark.
Noah dropped the rod, breathing hard. "They're tied to the clock," he realized. "If we stop the time, we stop the guards."
"We can't stop time, Noah," Mittens said softly, looking at the frozen machine. "That's the whole problem, isn't it? You can never stop it."
Noah looked up at the endless spiral of gears. "We can try," he whispered. "We can climb."