Even the door looked like a giant grandfather clock. "Does that thing really work?" asked Kell, as it closed behind them. "Yup," answered Mags without hesitation. "And before you ask, so do all those." She started walking down the long, dim hallway, paneled in ticking clocks of all shapes and sizes. The synchronized ticking was tangible. Kell stared, then hurried to catch up.

"So," he said, "you think he's going to help us?"

"Maybe," she replied. "If he likes us, then maybe."

"Do you think he'll like us?"

"Sure," said Mags. "If he's eaten, if he's had a nap, if all his clocks are working, if he's not sick. If he's not he's just mad about nothing." They reached the clock-faced door at the far end of the hall. "Stop thinking about it. There's nothing we can do to affect it now we haven't already done."

"Okay," said Kell. He looked up at the clockface, large as a bank vault door. "Wow. The Tocklord."

"Let's do this," said Mags.

The door ticked over to the time of their appointment and swung open. Inside, a two-year-old sat on a throne made of clocks. Kell swallowed, and prepared to make his pitch.