He stood on the corner and looked at his watch. It should have happened by now.
"Pardon me," spoke the lanky financier who had appeared at his side. "Do you have the time?"
Digby glanced at the man, irritated. It was taking too long. He patted his pocket, just to make sure. Why was it taking so long? A carriage rumbled past, pulled by two bored horses clopping across the streets wet cobblestones.
A suited man loomed over him and gave a cough for attention.
"I say, the time boy, do you have it?"
"What?" replied Digby, frowning.
The financier tilted his head, unaccustomed to such hostility. He peered over, hoping to steal a glance at Digby's wrist. Digby snatched his arm away and covered his watch with the cuff of his tattered jacket. Affronted, the man straightened himself by the lapel of his tawny suit, tutting and mumbling under his breath. The financier tapped his cane on the ground. He turned as if the jury in his mind had acquitted him.
"There's no need for such--"
"Would you just shut up," hissed Digby. "Just shut up. Please."
The man's jaw dropped, aghast. He glared. Digby saw brutality raging in those eyes, the thin membrane of civility liable to break at any moment.
But Digby met that arrogant gaze, daring him. Upper-class men like him had never known true violence like he had.
As if on cue, the man's anger waned, replaced with diffident embarrassment. He gave one last harrumph and then moved toward the back of the shelter on the corner. He sat down, unfurled the creased newspaper under his arm, and gave one final dismissive cough.
Digby turned back to his watch in horror. That wasn't enough to ruin it all, Digby thought; surely. He was so close. It wasn't an exact science, he had been told, but they had also taught him that interactions could cause problems.
He checked the central glowing crystal and tapped it. No response. Its five hands twitched with the beat of time, and he studied the layers upon layers of cogs twirling and spinning at differing speeds surrounding the crystal. The longer he looked, the more maddening its rhythms became. None of it made any sense.
His stomach rumbled. He ignored it, focusing on his watch. Without thinking, his free hand rested on the notebook in his pocket. The slight volume would change it all, he thought. He stopped himself from smiling by rubbing his sore cheeks.
A jarring pain in his gut brought him back from his thoughts. The pie shop across the street was empty. He could smell the gravy, almost taste it. The griping knot of pain tumbled around within him. He recalled the last time he'd eaten. Two days before, at the abbey; the old woman's gruel. He winced at the haunting memory of its gristly texture.
The watch chimed. His attention snapped to it. A sudden rustle behind him made him suspicious; they weren't supposed to know. He checked to see the nosey suited man dart back to his newspaper.
The hands were moving in all directions now, sweeping around faster and faster. Digby cleared the sweat from his brow. It was happening. He pulled the notebook from his pocket and held it in his hand. As the cogs turned dangerously fast, and gripping the book, he held his finger just above the crystal in the device's center. Then he saw it glow brighter, the orange hue highlighting his dirty fingernails. When the mechanisms of the watch were spinning so fast that they had become a blur, he heard another chime.
Digby bit his lip and pressed the crystal down, hard.
Fractal distortions burst from the device in waves, twisting his surroundings. Then, with a lurch, the flow of life around him shunted to a stop.
A pigeon taking flight above remained still, as did the pie-maker in his shop, as did the financier snooping to see what Digby was doing. Even Digby himself had stopped, frozen in time.
But the glowing watch hadn't. Its clock-face continued to swirl with motion at a dizzying rate.
In the middle of the street, a sudden wind lashed the cobbles. Lightning whipped the air as a bright, fierce ball of energy emerged. It grew larger and larger until it ripped in half, causing an impossible rupture in the middle of the road.
The collectors emerged from the portal, tall and slender with shimmering skin. They wore long, flowing robes and carried staffs adorned with intricate symbols. Each wore veils that darkened and obscured their faces.
The closest lifted its arm and beckoned the watch to return. It obeyed and zipped into its waiting, delicate hand.
With another gesture, Digby was released. He gaped as they approached him, their movements graceful and otherworldly.
One of them spoke, its voice low and melodic. "We have been waiting for you, Retriver.”
Digby's heart pounded in his chest. This was it, the moment he had been waiting for. He held out the notebook, his hands shaking.
"I have it; the papers you wanted. It's all here."
The collector took the notebook and leafed through its pages, nodding in approval. It passed the book to another, who gestured it out of existence with a wave of its staff.
"You have done well, Retriever. You will be rewarded for your service."
Digby couldn't believe it. This was everything he had hoped for, and more. He grinned from ear to ear, feeling a weight lifted off his shoulders. He wasn’t sure how he should respond, so he fell to his knee and bowed his head.
“Thank you.” He said. He had finally made it, he was going to be one of them.
Digby waited. Then after a moment of silence, he looked up.
The Collectors were gone.
Instead, the noise of the street flooded his ears as cart-horses returned to their pondering, pigeons swooped overhead, and he saw the pie maker in his shop bring down his hatchet on a cut of beef.
They had left him behind.
Digby stood up and brushed the dirt from his knee. He watched the street flow with time, hesitating on the slim chance they would return.
Then, when he realised they wouldn’t, with a heavy heart, he strayed off into the city, plunging his hands into his pockets as he went.
But, as he did so, his fingers found the distinct outline of a small, circular shaped piece of metal, with an unmistakable outline of a crystal in the middle.
He knew they hadn’t forgotten him. Digby smiled and walked back through the city with a skip in his step.