It was closing to seven o'clock as the stallions reached the Ponyville clock tower. The tall brick building seemed to loom over them, backlit against the stars of the darkening sky, the illuminated clock face staring down at them like a gigantic eye.

Turner used his own personal key to unlock the entry door and led Phillip inside. The interior of the clock tower was dark, with creaking wood floors covered with oil stains and cold stone steps that led upwards to rooms filled with large gears and other mechanisms. A deep, echoing tok resounded throughout the building with every passing second, and the gears rumbled as they moved. Turner reached up towards the light switch on the wall and flicked it, but nothing happened. Frowning, he flicked the switch up and down a few times, but still got nothing. "Oh, great," he muttered. "The power must be out again."

Something on the back of Phillip's neck tingled, but he ignored it. Taking out his flashlight, he strapped it to his shoulder and turned it on, creating a powerful beam of light.

"This way," Turner said, leading the way up the stone steps. The two spiraled up towards the third floor. Turner pointed Phillip towards the southeast corner, handing him the rusty key. Phillip walked forward, panning his flashlight over the floor. Over in the corner, just barely discernible against the wood floor, was a small keyhole. Crouching, Phillip took the key in his mouth and placed it into the keyhole. The key fit snugly, and Phillip turned his head to unlock it.

That's when he heard a cry behind him. Looking up, he saw Time Turner down on his knees, shaking. A figure stood behind him, a muscular blonde unicorn, holding a knife to his throat. "That's right, Finder," the figure said, his sadistic grin glowing in the light of his flashlight. "Just open it up and give us the treasure, and I'll consider letting your friend live."

More ponies—at least fifteen—emerged from the darkness, all of them armed, and Phillip suddenly realized that the power outage was no accident. "The Canter Nostra, I presume. G'day." Already, his mind was racing, making out a plan. He had no doubt that he could take down all of these wankers, but there was a stumbling block: Time Turner. He'd prefer to get out of this without having his friend's throat cut.

He looked back at Turner, who looked back at him, his blue eyes swimming with fear. Turner glanced at a set of gears and weights next to him, examining them like gauges on a machine. An idea seemed to spark in his eye, and he looked back at Phil, mouthing silently. Forty-seven seconds.

It took a moment for Phillip to understand, but he quickly realized what Turner had in mind. "Look, mates, I'd really love to give you that stolen money," he said. "But first, you need to let my friend go."

"Show us the money first," the gangster holding the knife to Turner's neck said.

"How do I know you won't just kill him when you have the money?"

"It's a matter of faith," the thug replied. All around him, the other criminals shifted restlessly. "You just gotta believe."

Sixteen seconds, Turner mouthed.

"I've never been a pony of faith," Phil answered.

"Enough," the gangster snarled, pressing the knife closer to Turner's neck. "I know what you're trying to do: stall so you can think up a plan."

"Wrong," Phil said, a grin crossing his face. "I've already thought of a plan."

At that moment, the clock tower struck seven o'clock. The clanging of the bells echoed through the entire building and inside the heads of the ponies within. Turner and Phil were prepared and braced for the sound, but the other ponies were taken by surprise. They staggered, clutching their ears in pain. The leader stumbled back, removing the knife from Turner's throat. Immediately, the clockmaker ran to Phillip's side. Shutting off his flashlight to hide their movements, Phil pressed down on Turner's neck, forcing his head down as he guided him towards the stairs, knocking two goons out of the way.

"Get after them!" the leader shouted as the last peals fell away. The entire group chased after them, stampeding down the stairs onto the next two floors, spreading out to search every hiding place. But to their bewilderment, neither stallion was to be found.

"You two, block that door!" the leader shouted, pointing to two goons with sawn-off shotguns. "Everypony else, spread out and start searching! Get that key back, but those two don't leave here in one piece, capiche?" With shouts of assent, the other gangsters spread out and began searching the lower two floors of the clock tower.

Back up on the third floor, Turner and Phil emerged from a small alcove that they'd hidden in. "What now?" Turner whispered urgently, his hoof tracing circles in his mane again.

"We can't go downstairs, and the windows are too small to climb out of," Phil replied, peeking down the stairs to examine the shifting lights from the floor below. "And I can't fight these guys without endangering you." He looked back at Turner, who was now shifting nervously from one hoof to the next. "We need to signal for help."

Turner let out a little whimper, his eyes darting around the dark room at the multiple gears and weights, all of them rumbling, ticking and clicking in a regular whimper. Gears, he thought, his mind racing in panic. Gears, all made to fit and well-oiled, moving weights. Precisely calculated movements, marking time, perfect rhythm, moving clock hands, ringing bells...

Bells!

"I have an idea," he whispered. "I need to get to the gearbox on the top floor."

"You lead, I watch your back," Phil replied, taking out his baton and allowing it to fall open slowly. The two stallions crept up towards the up stairs, glancing behind them every two steps. Pounding hoofsteps behind them, coming up the stairs. The two of them slipped behind a set of large gears the size of carriages as a pair of ponies equipped with flashlights entered.

"You really think there's actually a huge case of money hidden in here?" one of them said in a voice like gravel.

"Would those two be here if there wasn't?" the other replied. "Come on, let's check over there." They moved past their target's hiding spot, passing close enough for Phil to reach out and grab them, but he desisted from attacking. Once their pursuers were out of sight, Phil and Turner began to move, creeping up towards the stairs.

Phil noticed that Turner, in his fear, was subconsciously holding his breath. "Try to breathe steadily," he whispered in his friend's ear. "It'll help calm you down."

Taking his advice, Turner focused on his breathing, setting up a rhythm in his head. Inhale for three seconds, hold for one second, exhale for three seconds. Repeat. Just like a pendulum, marking time. Focusing on something besides the terror did wonders: he felt his heartbeat slow and his hooves stopped trembling. Calmer now, he lead the way up towards the top of the tower. Voices and clattering from the gangsters followed up after them, but Turner ignored them.

Their pursuers hadn't reached the upper floors yet. Finally, the two reached the top floor. Phillip stood next to the doorway, watching for anypony who came up while Turner hurried over to the gearbox. "You sure you know what you're doing?" Phil whispered.

"Yes, I know what I'm doing," Turner said, carefully opening the gearbox to expose the clicking, whirring mechanisms within. Taking a wrench from a nearby toolbox, he set to work, rearranging the gears inside. Gears that were connected to the drive train that controlled the bells.

"Good plan, mate," Phil nodded, understanding his idea.

"There he is!" a voice shouted. A pony charged into the room, directly at Turner, his eyes blazing with fury. Unfortunately for him, he didn't see Phillip, who stunned him with a baton strike to the throat and knocked him out with a blow to the back of his head. Quickly, Phillip pushed the unconscious form in front of the door to serve as an obstacle. "Keep working. I'll hold them off."

Another pair of ponies stampeded up the stairs, both of them drawing clubs. Phillip parried the first attack with his baton as he punched the other pony in the nose. A pitched battle began between the criminals and Phil began. With Phil standing in the doorway and a growing pile of bodies in front of him, his attackers were forced to come after him one or two at a time, but there were a lot more of them than him, and he could only fight for so long.

Behind him, Turner continued to work. He had tuned out the fight behind him: his focus was solely on the mechanism before him. This was just another clock that needed to be fixed...quickly.

"A bit faster, please!" Phil said, ducking beneath a wild swing at his head and countering with an upward baton strike to a groin.

A bead of sweat traveled down Time Turner's neck, but he did not wipe it away. The final adjustment would take him only twelve seconds. He just had to have faith that Phil could...

"Oof!" Phil grunted, stumbling back as a sloppy, but vicious uppercut struck him in the face. Pushing past him, the unicorn leader ran at Turner, whose eyes widened with horror upon seeing the incoming danger. Charging forward, Phil grabbed his foe's tail in his teeth, bucking another thug as he did so. Tugging the unicorn back to the door, Phil pushed him back onto the ground, but was seized from behind. Several more thugs jumped on him, dragging them to the ground in a tangled pile of flailing limbs, biting teeth and bellowed curses.

"Done!" Turner said triumphantly, giving his wrench a final turn. The gears turned with a series of clicks that traveled along the gear train. Beneath them, a series of weights began to drop, tugging on chains that reeled back up to the bells at the top.

Ding-ding-ding! DONG-DONG-DONG! Ding-ding-ding!

Ding-ding-ding! DONG-DONG-DONG! Ding-ding-ding!

Time Turner's impromptu SOS broadcast throughout the town. He let out a relieved breath, wiping his brow. "Brilliant! Now we just—"

He was interrupted by a hoof on his shoulder. Turning, he saw the blonde unicorn behind him, grinning as he held up a knife. With a terrified cry, Turner did the first thing that came to mind: he swung the wrench in his hoof with all his might. It struck his attacker in the jaw, sending him spinning away. The unicorn's eyes rolled and he fell over with a loud thump, knocked out cold.

"Did I do that?" Time Turner murmured.

He had no time to think about what he had just done, because another attacker appeared, swinging a baseball bat at his head. Turner ducked and weaved, but the attacks kept coming, backing him up against the wall. The bat came down at his head. With both hooves, he blocked the attack with the wrench, struggling against his enemy's superior strength. He heard Phil cry out furiously, but he was still pinned down by a couple of thugs.

He looked with wide, horrified eyes at the vicious grin on his attacker's face, smelled his horrible breath. This was it: his time was up. How ironic that he was going to die here in the clock tower, where he had spent so much of his life. The gears that he had so faithfully oiled and cared for were now going to be witness to his death!

WHAM!

Something flew through the air and slammed hard into the thug, knocking him down. That something smiled happily up at Turner. "Hi, honey!" Ditzy said, stomping on the thug's head for the knockout.

Behind them, Phil knocked out the last two crooks by slamming their heads together with a loud crash. Panting, he retrieved his trilby from the ground as Ditzy and Turner embraced.

"What kept you? It took you one minute and thirty-seven seconds to get here!" Turner said in relief, hugging his wife tightly.

"Neither rain nor snow nor sleet nor vicious criminals!" Ditzy replied, giving them both a salute.

"Good work," Phil said. "Now there's just this." He pulled the rusty key out of his vest.

"Oooh, can I see that?" Ditzy said eagerly, holding out her hooves. Without a thought, Phil tossed the key to Ditzy. "Oops!" Ditzy cried out as the key bounced off her outstretched hooves and into the gearbox. With a series of clinks and clatters, the key fell down into the darkness, lost for good.

"My bad," Ditzy whimpered, flattening her ears against her head.

Turner kissed her on the cheek. "Maybe it's for the best, dear," he said. "That money's caused more trouble than it's worth." With a smile, he took his friends by the foreleg and guided them out as other ponies began to file into the tower. "Why don't we go home?"

Author's Notes:

And that's that. We'll wrap up this little ditty in the next part.