In Times Like These Boxed Set

by Nathan Van Coops

  “Good idea.”

  We make our way back through the house, and Linus sees us as far as the front steps, still holding the compass in his hand. We make our exit as politely as we can with Viznir’s vocabulary and find our way back down the street.

  Once we’re out of sight of the house, I break into a run. “I think that went pretty well, don’t you?”

  “He was very accommodating,” Viznir agrees, his pack jostling on his back as he keeps pace beside me.

  “And you didn’t even have to shoot anybody.”

  “Doesn’t sound like our competition had that luck,” Viznir mutters. “Where’s the next gate?”

  I try to read the map as I run. “It doesn’t show a gate symbol, but it shows the repository. It has to be near that, right?”

  “Should be. Let’s just get there quickly before whoever was shooting draws the Praetorians.”

  Roman citizens stop to stare as we careen through the streets, but no one attempts to slow us down. When we reach the location on the map noted as the repository, we’re standing outside a shop nestled among at least two dozen others, on a lower terrace of the Quirinal Hill. I double-check the map and turn toward the shop. It’s less busy than its counterparts to either side, which sell woven goods and bread respectively. The shop we want is selling sundials. The shopkeeper is a wizened old man, one of the only legitimately old people I’ve seen in Rome. He wears his age with a distinct air of satisfaction. As we approach, he bows and gestures us inside.

  The shop is narrow, perhaps twelve feet wide, but deep. The interior is cool and a little stuffy. More than a few of the items on the shelves are layered in dust. A second room is barely visible through a curtained doorway. Not having a particular need for a sundial, I step into this second room and look around. A centurion is standing guard near a heavy wooden trunk. To his right, a wooden table is laden with metal trinkets of varying shapes and sizes. Unsure of what to do next, I turn to Viznir, relying on his Latin again. It turns out I don’t need to, however, because the words that come out of the centurion’s mouth are in modern English.

  “Welcome, gentlemen. The repository is just here.” He gestures to the wooden trunk and goes so far as to open the lid for us.

  I step forward and remove Linus’s ring from my pocket. I spot my name in a small cubby inside the chest. As I lean to place the ring inside, I note that two other receptacles are filled. Tad Masterson and Jonah Sprocket.

  Wow. The kid with the dog beat us here? How did he manage that?

  I get a flush of satisfaction looking at the empty space labeled Horacio Amadeus. When I place the ring into the receptacle, my bracelet beeps. The display showing my time flashes, and the stopwatch function is replaced by the number three. I show it to Viznir. “Good thing we crossed the river, huh?”

  A clatter comes from the front of the store, and before Viznir has a chance to respond, the curtain is thrown aside by Marco Thomas. He has his assault rifle to his shoulder and does a rapid sweep of the room with the barrel, hesitating for a fraction of a second on me, then aiming the gun at the centurion. Andre backs into the room, keeping the curtain open and his weapon aimed toward the entrance of the shop. Marco scowls at the centurion and pulls the stock of his weapon closer to his cheek. I notice he has blood splattered on his face and collar.

  “Whoa, dude. He’s cool,” I say, taking a step toward the centurion.

  The centurion doesn’t even flinch at the sight of the rifle. He merely gestures to the wooden chest in the same manner he did for me. “Welcome, gentlemen. The repository is just here."

  Marco reaches into a pack on Andre’s back and extracts some type of medallion. He shoves it into the repository while still keeping his gun raised in our direction. His bracelet beeps.

  “Where’s the gate?” he barks.

  The centurion gestures toward the table of assorted items to his right. “Your exit will be by anchor. Please select the item labeled with your place number and follow the attached jump coordinates.”

  Marco finally raises the barrel of his gun toward the ceiling and steps to the table. His fingers hesitate briefly over the pendant labeled #3, but after catching me watching him, he instead touches the bronze bust of a Caesar next to it. He swings his gun onto his back.

  “Dre, we’re out.”

  Andre abandons his post by the door and joins Marco by the table, shouldering his own weapon. Marco picks up the scrap of parchment with the jump coordinates and enters them into a Temprovibe around his bicep. He and Andre clasp forearms, and while Marco presses his hand to the anchor, Andre activates the Temprovibe. The actions appear well rehearsed. A moment later they’ve vanished.

  “What a cheery bunch those two are,” I say.

  The centurion cracks a smile. He gestures me toward the table. I pick up the scrap of parchment with our jump coordinates and enter them into my chronometer, then hand the slip to Viznir. I’m considering the Latin inscription on the pendant when the curtain is flung open again, this time by Jettison and Cliff.

  “Hey.” I smile. Viznir steps back and gives the two men some room.

  “Travers!” Cliff exclaims. “Didn’t expect to see you here. We’d heard you were trailing the pack this round.”

  “We made up some time.”

  “I can see that. Who’s this?” He looks Viznir over critically.

  “Oh, right. Viznir Najjar, meet Cliff Sutherland and Jettison Marsh.”

  Viznir extends a hand. “I’ve seen your name on the lists of past chronothons, Mr. Sutherland. You have an impressive record.”

  Cliff accepts the handshake and grunts. “This race is about the kid here.” He gestures toward Jettison. Jet gives Viznir’s hand a perfunctory handshake, nods to me, and steps past us to the centurion.

  “Welcome, gentlemen. The repository is just here.”

  Jettison places a black-handled dagger into the chest and watches his bracelet blink his position.

  “Where’s Genesis?” I ask.

  “She’s not far behind, but we can’t wait for her,” he says. “She’s going to have to play it careful getting in. There’s an army of Praetorians marching up the hill searching door to door.”

  “Some idiot shot up the barracks on his way through.” Cliff scowls and turns to me. “Wasn’t you, was it?”

  “No. I think it was Thomas and Watts. They were through a minute ago.”

  Cliff nods. “I figured you’d have a bit more sense than that. You better get moving if you don’t want to meet the Praetorians. They’re some ornery bastards when they’re angry, and those two riled ’em up good.”

  “We were just leaving,” I reply. “We’ll see you on the other side.” I gesture to Viznir, and he places his fingertips on the pendant next to mine. I grip my chronometer with my free hand and count off.

  The centurion nods to me. “Fortunum, gentlemen.”

  “E pluribus unum,” I reply.

  The centurion laughs.

  We blink.

  13

  “Some people dislike other people. Some people dislike themselves. Time travelers have the unique opportunity to dislike other selves.” –Journal of Dr. Harold Quickly, 1967

  We’ve only moved a couple of days, but we’ve relocated out of the city. The pendant at my fingertips is now resting on a table on a flagstone patio. I straighten the pendant and read the inscription. Tempus Fugit.

  I can relate to that one.

  The view beyond the patio is rolling green hills, vineyards, and a spectacular orange and pink sunset. I’m still marveling at it when someone addresses us from behind. I turn to find a jovial-looking, bald man in a toga walking toward me with his arms wide.

  “Welcome, Benjamin Travers. You are, of course, right on time!” He stops a few feet away and beams at me. “Third place at the moment. A place of honor, to be sure. I am Octavius Theophilus Gracchus, but you can call me Phil.”

  “Nice to meet you, Phil.”

  “Welcome to my home. Come. Let your g
uide take your things, and I’ll see you both get settled.”

  He turns and marches back the way he came, up a set of marble steps that lead to the main building of the villa. I look at Viznir and shrug, then follow.

  The stairs lead to the main landing and a dining area of couches that looks out over the impressive view of the valley. The couches are arranged in a U shape, converging at the center of the back wall. The floor of the dining area is a mosaic, and I note with curiosity that the tile work includes pictures of food and other images scattered throughout. Phil gestures to some servants and directs them to Viznir. “These men will see you to your place in the guides’ quarters.” He turns to me and frowns. “Don’t you want to have your man here take your things?”

  I catch Viznir’s look of irritation as I respond. “No, that’s fine. I have some things in here I’d like to hang on to, so I’m good.”

  “Okay. Your choice. Come, I’ll see you to your room and you can get yourself cleaned up for the feast.”

  “Feast?”

  “Of course, my boy. You’ve reached your first rendezvous with an extremely good ranking. It’s time to celebrate.”

  I turn to Viznir. “Okay, I guess we’ll have to catch up later.”

  “Yeah. Got it.” He frowns and follows the servants.

  I turn back to Phil. “Hey, before I forget, I promised another racer I would get a message to an official. Are you considered a race official?”

  Phil grips the chest of his toga and smiles. “As official as you’ll find in ancient Rome.”

  “Okay. This guy from round one, Dennis, was having a problem with the time gate. He said it wouldn’t open for him, even though he put his objective in the repository. Does that sort of thing happen often?”

  Phil purses his lips before speaking. “Oh, I imagine it was a mix-up on the part of the racer. This Dennis you speak of probably had the wrong item or is confused somehow. He also could have been too slow to get through. These gates open on a timer, you know. You can’t be dilly dallying around when you’re supposed to be moving through.”

  “Yeah, I gathered that. But what’s going to happen to Dennis?”

  “I’ll pass a message along to the committee. I’m sure they’ll sort the situation out. If he legitimately did what he was supposed to, they’ll let him keep racing. I imagine he’ll be pretty far behind, but don’t worry; you’ll probably see him at the next rendezvous. Now come along. I’ll show you to your room.”

  Phil leads me down a covered hallway to a room the size of a small studio. He opens the door and gestures for me to enter. Two women are waiting inside and smile graciously at me.

  “Fausta and Lucinia will help you dress for the feast. It’s a formal affair, and the toga can be a bit tricky for first timers. Have you worn a toga virilis before?”

  I shake my head.

  “I had my house attendant assign you women servants. Fausta can do wonders with a toga, but if you prefer boys . . .”

  “Nope.” I raise my hand. “No, no. This is going to be plenty awkward enough. No need to overkill it.”

  Phil grins and gives me a conspiratorial wink. “This is ancient Rome, my boy. You can loosen up those scruples.” He claps me on the back and disappears out the door.

  I cringe and brush my shoulder off reflexively. Don’t need my scruples loosened by the likes of you.

  Fausta and Lucinia smile at me pleasantly, and I bow my head in resignation. An uncomfortable half hour later, I emerge from my room, garbed like a Roman citizen with the exception of the athletic shorts I’ve snuck on below my toga. The women have also wrapped the toga around me in such a way that I have a sort of pocket around my left arm, into which I’ve stashed my pen and Dr. Quickly’s journal, not wanting to leave it in the room unattended. The women direct me back to the main dining area where I find a couple of the couches occupied. Tad Masterson is lounging on the couch nearest Phil, smiling at the two women servants feeding him morsels of food. On the opposite side of Phil, Jonah Sprocket is an unusual sight in a special children’s toga, while still wearing his oversized snail helmet. He’s sitting straight up with his legs dangling over the edge of his couch. A servant has brought him appetizers and is stooping respectfully with a platter for the boy to choose from. There’s no sign of the dog. It makes me wonder if, somewhere on the premises, Viznir has been seated next to Barley.

  Phil gestures me toward the couch on the far side of Tad. I nod to Tad as I pass, and he grins at me with a mouthful of raisins. “I couldn’t believe it when Phil here said I’d be sharing the patio with you, Travers.” He sits up and shoos the servants away. “Heard you were dead last coming out of Egypt. Fainted was it?”

  I gather up the folds of my toga as best I can and take a seat. “Not last. Dennis was last. Have you heard anything about him?”

  “Dennis? No, that old windbag will be hours behind us if he made it through. Unless he pulled the same stunt you did somehow. What’d you do, Travers, pack a hang glider in that satchel of yours? No one even saw you on the road from what I heard.”

  “You have contact with the others?”

  “Preston and Deanna fell behind, but we have a radio. They keep me apprised of things. Nobody saw you, though.”

  “I took a shortcut. Not short enough, I guess. You two must have had a nice head start.” I gesture toward Jonah.

  Tad frowns. “I don’t know how that little punk did it. He was well behind in Egypt, but he was right on me in Rome. I know he had to have ditched that dune buggy. No way that was fitting through the gate.”

  I watch the boy patiently selecting appetizers from the man in front of him. “I guess he’s just more clever than we are.”

  “That little shit’s going down next round.”

  I’m startled by the anger in Tad’s voice. “Hey man, he’s just a kid.”

  “The hell he is. You don’t know him like I do.” Tad goes back to reclining on his couch and gestures for more wine.

  I retreat to the opposite corner of my couch and try to get comfortable. Phil leans close to Tad and begins joyfully discussing the diversions available in Rome. I accept a cup of wine from a servant and pull Dr. Quickly’s journal from the sleeve of my toga. I flip to the back where I’ve been logging my jumps with Mym and work on catching up on my entries. I’ve gotten as far as Ireland when Marco appears. I have to stifle a laugh at the look of mortification on his face about being seen in a toga. His discomfort is obvious as he makes his way to the couch next to Jonah. Being seated next to a nine year-old does nothing to improve his disposition, and he looks about the room with an expression of boiling hostility.

  Jettison appears next, but he seems every bit as comfortable in his new attire as he did in his tracksuit. He bows graciously to our host and then takes the couch next to me. A servant materializes from the wings to offer him wine. Another approaches me with a platter, and I set the journal down to see what he’s brought. The platter is loaded with breads and nuts, so I take a handful of each and deposit them in my napkin. Jettison leans over to see what I’ve got. “Ah, that’s a safe bet. Just watch out when they bring the fish sauce.”

  “No good?”

  “Not unless you like your fish putrefied for a couple months before you eat it.”

  “Ew. Yeah, I’ll probably pass on that one.”

  I set my napkin on the table and go back to my journal.

  “What do you have there?” Jettison asks.

  “Just keeping a log. I’m bad at getting behind on my entries.”

  “Oh, right. Forgot you were an analog. Not sure I’d have the patience for that myself. Cliff’s usually an analog, too. Seems tedious to me.”

  “You aren’t scared someone will get ahold of your trace and track you?”

  “That’s less scary than getting fused into myself somewhere because I forgot to log an entry.”

  I consider the journal in my hands. “Yeah, I see your point.”

  The next servant arrives with a platter of what
looks to be small rodents. The servant explains as best he can in broken English that they are roasted dormice. Jettison and I both shrug and take one. By the time the snails arrive, my taste buds know they are braving foreign territory, but then Phil unleashes his main entrée, stuffed cows udders, and I balk a little. I let Jettison bite into his first. When he doesn’t immediately start gagging, I take a cautious bite. It’s not bad.

  “Hey, Ben.” Jettison is looking at me while still holding a handful of the udder. “I’m sorry about Charlie. That had to be horrible, finding him like that.”

  I set my food down and wipe my fingers off. “Yeah. Thanks. But I should probably be consoling you. You and Genesis knew him much longer than I did. I really only met him yesterday. Seemed like an awesome guy. I was really looking forward to having him as a guide.”

  “Charlie was great.” Jettison nods. “We only saw him occasionally as kids when he’d visit our dad for business, but he was always good to us. Can’t imagine why anyone would want to kill him.”

  “How was Cliff today?”

  “Not great. It definitely threw him off. In some ways I’m glad we had the race to concentrate on. Not sure what he would have been like otherwise.”

  “I felt that way, too. Anything to keep from thinking about it too long.”

  Phil has apparently been tuning in to our conversation because he slaps the table. “Benjamin, I almost forgot. I’ve been given a message to give you.” He snaps his fingers and a servant steps forward from the wall behind him. “Get me the package for Benjamin Travers.” The servant bows and disappears around the corner.

  “I trust you’ll be happy to know the results of the inquiry about you.”

  “About me?” I sit up straighter on the couch.

  “Of course. The accusations against you regarding the murder of your guide. It’s my understanding that all charges against you have been dropped.”

  “When were there charges against me?”

  “Oh, you must have been considered unreachable by the representatives from ASCOTT. Formal accusations were lodged against you in Ireland by a group of fans that claimed they had seen you murder your guide. The inquiry sorted the mess out in short order, but they wanted me to deliver the official paperwork to you.”