Clockwork Twist : Missing by Emily Thompson

while they dove into the fray of excited diners, armed with empty plates.
    Just as he’d imagined, all of the food that Myra had happily gathered for him was exquisite. After the seemingly endless sea of passengers had fairly well devoured the buffet, Twist and his companions decided to take a stroll on the promenade deck, which ringed the ship continuously on the third level. After the noise and commotion of the crowded dining hall, Twist was eager to get into the open air.
    He was, however, quite disappointed to discover that the rest of the passengers seemed to have had the same idea. It wasn’t long before the deck was swarming with people. Twist pulled his arms close to himself and kept most of his attention on not bumping into any of the moving bodies around him. Myra, seeing the problem quickly, wrapped one copper arm around his back, trying to shield him as best she could from the crowd.
    “Perhaps we should go back inside,” she said to Arabel.
    “Oh, excuse me,” said a gentleman in a gray suit after he’d walked into Arabel by accident.
    “Yes, now would be good,” Twist muttered, searching for the nearest door through the constantly moving bodies.
    “Over here,” Arabel said to Myra as she hurried through a sudden clearing.
    The three of them rushed through a doorway and into a narrow hallway of rich cherrywood. Continuing on, they found a large set of gilded double doors slightly ajar. Arabel pushed the doors open to reveal a huge, empty room. The ceiling rose beyond the third deck and into the second, where a set of five enormous crystal chandeliers filled the empty air. A large square of highly polished wood in the center of the floor was surrounded by pillars of the same dark cherrywood as the walls.
    “I know what this place is,” Myra said with a wide smile as she let her hands fall away from Twist and hurried into the center of the open floor. “It’s a ballroom! I love ballrooms.”
    “It’s so quiet in here,” Twist said softly. His voice echoed slightly off the wood.
    “Come, Twist, dance with me!” Myra said, beckoning him closer.
    “There’s no music, my dear,” he said, forcing some lightness into his voice in the wake of the stress he’d found outside.
    “Oh, who needs music?” Myra said flippantly.
    Arabel laughed to herself. “It’s too bad we don’t have one of those new portable music players they make in Austria,” she said wistfully. The image of Jonas listening to his music player—lying on his back in the sunlight, his eyes open to the sky—flashed instantly to Twist’s mind. “They’re lovely,” Arabel went on. “I knew someone who had one, once.” Her smile darkened slightly as she frowned. “Who was that?”
    “It was Jonas,” Twist said. “He has one. He loves music.” As he spoke, he felt his excitement rise. If she could catch even the slightest memory of Jonas, then maybe she could regain all of her lost memories.
    Arabel’s eyes chilled with disappointment when she looked at Twist. Myra took Twist’s hand and drew his attention, while her unease crept into his Sight despite the smile on her face.
    “I’ve never asked you, Twist,” Myra said brightly. “What kind of music do you like?”
    “Wait a minute,” Twist said, looking back to Arabel. “Try to remember, Arabel. Who had that music player? What did he look like? Can you remember seeing him?”
    “It wasn’t my brother,” she said, her face utterly devoid of mirth now.
    An electric jolt of excitement streaked through Twist’s thoughts like a gunshot. “Your brother? How can you be sure it wasn’t your brother?”
    “Because I don’t have one,” Arabel said tightly.
    Twist’s delicate hopes crashed on the wooden floor at his feet with a ringing silence. He hardly noticed as Myra hissed disapproving words at Arabel. He took his hand back from her and turned away, taking steady breaths to calm himself. While he heard Arabel snap at Myra and Myra’s voice rise defensively,