“Just this one, sir. Kessler was left aboard to mind the ship.”
“Very well. Heave the anchor and get us some sail. I want to be moving.”
“Aye, sir, but it will take all the lads getting to the rigging. We’re short handed and Edgars has naught but one hand.”
“Then get to it. I won’t take excuses.” I keep my voice firm but realize he’s right. This won’t be quick.
I turn to the nearest Ivan. “You gentlemen have any sailing know-how?”
Ivan shakes his head.
“Okay. Then you two just concentrate on keeping the fear of God in them. We’ll make do the best we can.”
Ivan nods and speaks quickly to the other him in his own language. The two split up and take positions on the fore and aft decks like menacing bookends, facing each other and giving all the pirates ominous glares. Viznir is carrying my pack as well as his own and is looking less than amused by the whole situation. I invite him toward the back of the ship. “Let’s find the captain’s quarters and see if we can find our objective. We can see what else we can learn about this ship.”
Viznir follows me through the doorway that leads aft. Two sets of steps run below from either side of a small hallway that leads to an ornate door for the captain’s cabin. I try the handle, but it’s locked.
“Dang it. I was hoping we’d at least get a few more charts of the area to see what we’re dealing with out there. It’s going to be tough to know where we’re going in the dark.” I shoulder the door but it doesn’t budge. “Maybe we can find another way in.”
Viznir hands me my pack. “Here. You may want your gun in case this plan of yours turns out to be as dangerous as it seems.”
I sling the pack over my shoulder and walk back out to the weather deck. I climb the aft stairs to the poop deck, and stand next to Ivan as he surveys the men in the rigging. He has his most intimidating expression on his face but he whispers out the side of his mouth, “I don’t know how to tell if they do it right.”
I smile and pat him on the shoulder as I look at the men untying things above us. “Me either. But we’ll know soon enough.” I walk to the back of the ship and lean over the rail to see if there is another way into the captain’s cabin. The bits of the windows I can see are closed and hard to access. I frown and look out at the beach. I let my pack slide to the deck. A three-quarter moon is rising over the island. I’m staring at the darkness of the trees where the skinny pirate had disappeared when I see movement. To my surprise, I recognize the shape of the man emerging from the tree line. The imposing dimensions and slightly bow-legged swagger are both distinctly Cliff. Jettison follows him. A moment later, I spy the dog. Friends.
I rummage in my pack and pull out my binoculars. Training them on the figures on the beach, I realize Cliff is doing the same thing looking my direction. I wave. He doesn’t seem to see me so I blink my flashlight a few times. A flash blinks back, but it comes from behind him. I move my binoculars to focus on the man with the flashlight. I finally get him into focus and he’s giving me a thumbs up. “What the hell?”
Viznir steps up next to me and squints toward the beach. “What do you see? Who’s over there?”
I frown and toss my binoculars back into my pack. “It’s me. Again.”
Viznir peers harder at the shore. “How’d you get back over there? And why?”
I pick up my pack and walk back to the steps. “I guess that’s what I have to figure out.”
Stupid time travel.
16
“Think four-dimensionally. Double-check your math. If you fail at either of these, your experience as a time traveler is going to be brief. And for heaven’s sake, if you do make it unscathed, be nice. Time travelers have a shaky reputation at best. Let’s try not to make it worse.”–Journal of Dr. Harold Quickly, 1941
A mess of scribbles clutters the back few pages of Dr. Quickly’s journal. I add a few more as I jot down all the times I have to calculate.
“Hey,Viznir, do you know how long we’ve been in this level?”
Viznir consults his tablet and shows me the digital readout the tablet has been keeping. “Your bracelet should say it, too.”
“Really?” I press the button next to the display on my bracelet and sure enough, it cycles through a couple other modes, including a time-in-level clock. “Cool. Thanks.”
“They did teach us a few useful things in guide school.”
“Okay. So I need a way to get those guys onto the ship, and just rowing back over there and picking them up is clearly not an option.”
“Why not?” Viznir asks.
“Because then there would be two of me.” I frown at my scribbles and try to process through the puzzle. I’m reminded of word problems from math class. Six time travelers need to cross a body of water. Two of them can’t be in the same place at the same time . . . I look around the ship. If I’m going to transport a bunch of people, I’ll need a place that won’t be disturbed. An idea strikes me and I take the journal and pick up my piece of driftwood. I then turn the corner toward the captain’s cabin to stare at the locked door. Viznir has followed me. “What are you doing? We already tried that.”
I get on my hands and knees and press my face to the deck, peering through the gap under the door. “I need something flat to use as an anchor.” I pop back up and look around the alcove outside the door.
“Would this work?” Viznir tosses me a rag from a peg.
“No. It needs to be rigid. Something that will keep its shape when I slide it under the door.” I scour the alcoves near the stairs to the lower decks. I spot a portable candleholder that has a flat wooden base. The receptacle for the candle is crusted with wax that crumbles away as I twist at it. Holding the flat plate portion steady and, with a little effort, the candle receptacle snaps off. I’m left with a round wooden plate about six inches in diameter. I brush the remaining fragments of wax from it and drop back to the floor. I test it to make sure that it will slide under the door, then set it down a few feet away in the open part of the hallway.
I straighten up and gesture for Viznir to follow me down the stairs. The lower deck is dark and smells of brine and unwashed sailors. I flick on my flashlight and look around. The structure of the ship has been reinforced with a variety of mismatched wood. It makes me wonder how much cannon fire it has withstood in its day.
Viznir clicks his flashlight on also and scans it around the narrow space leading to the main deck. His beam rests momentarily on the butt end of a cannon before he speaks. “So what are we doing now?”
I check my bracelet. “Nothing. We’re just making a window of opportunity.” I let the timer tick off another thirty seconds and scribble the time into my journal entry, then slap the book shut. “Okay. Let’s go back up.”
The wooden disk is as I left it. I lie back down on the deck and peer under the door. A rug lies approximately six feet away on the other side, but the area just inside the door seems clear. “Hey, give me your mirror.” Viznir passes it to me and I angle it under the door to look for any more potential hazards. I take my best guess at the force needed to have the wooden plate land shy of the rug, then shove it under. It clatters and wobbles as it slides over the deck, but stays upright and skids to a stop midway between the door and the rug. I try to gauge how much space it has around it and then stand back up.
Viznir is frowning at the door. “How are you going to use it now if it’s in there?”
“I’m going to use my window of opportunity.” I flip my journal open and dial the time into my chronometer. “If this works, I should open this door for you in a just a minute. Stay right here.” I stuff the journal into my back pocket and place my chronometer hand against the door. “I’ll be right back.” I push the pin and Viznir vanishes. I look down and the wooden plate is back where I left it in the middle of the hallway. I squat next to it and flip the switch on my chronometer from back to forward. Gently resting my fingertips to the plate’s lip, I press the pin again and blink forw
ard.
The captain’s cabin is dimly lit with moonlight shining through the aft windows. I straighten up, flick on my flashlight and browse around. The captain has outfitted the room nicely with rugs and ornamentation. Sabers and muskets are mounted to the walls alongside rigid taper holders and a few framed nautical charts. I spot the pistol I have for an objective mounted to the wall. Loose charts are strewn on an open table in the center of the room, weighed down by what appear to be pieces of a fractured cannonball. I survey the space and smile. “This’ll work.” I walk to the door and find a key still in the lock. The cabin door swings open on well-oiled hinges. I bow deeply as I gesture for Viznir to enter. “Entrez, monsieur.”
Viznir lets a faint smile curl his lips and enters the cabin to look around. I step past him to collect my piece of driftwood. Next I yank the rug from the floor and bundle it into a corner. I set the driftwood in the center of the open space and take a few measurements, jotting the notes on a fresh page in the journal.
“All right, if you can keep this room clear, I’ll go get the others and bring them back. I’m not sure how long it will take me, but I’ll aim to bring them here in a few minutes.” I take a couple more last minute measurements and wedge a few of the broken cannonball pieces from the table around my driftwood. “Whatever you do, just don’t let anybody move this thing.” I jiggle myself around on top of the driftwood, making sure it stays in place, then set my chronometer. “It shouldn’t move on its own with these light waves, but I hope we’ll be back before we really get underway. If these guys are ready to go before I’m back, let ’em get moving.”
“You know you could just leave them there,” Viznir says. “This is a race after all. You’re eventually going to have to stop helping your competition.”
“Eventually. But I already did this, remember? I’m over there, so I can’t very well back down now.” I recite the young Mym’s quote from Harry. “Creating temporal paradoxes is universally irresponsible.” I grin at Viznir and push the pin.
<><><>
I’m back on the sandy path that exits the woods. I’ve given myself a few minutes of space from when the other versions of me will first make use of the driftwood. I move south into the woods, past the spot where the second me will hide, and continue onward through the brush, headed in the general direction of the time gate. I use my map and compass to keep my bearings, but I’m cautious to steer well clear of the route Viznir and I took along the beach. Instead I make my way over the more difficult path inland, but close enough to the beach to keep an eye out for Cliff and Jettison.
I’m struggling through a particularly stubborn patch of vines when I hear a dog bark. I finally free myself from the mess of creepers as Barley comes bounding to me through the darkness. He jumps up and licks me before turning and racing back the way he came. Cliff, Jettison, and Jonah emerge from the trees fifty yards ahead of me, followed closely by Genesis and Mayra. They all look ragged.
“Hey, guys.” I brush the leaves off my jeans and stride over to meet them. When I get closer, I spot a cut above Cliff’s eye and a gash in his forearm. “Whoa. What happened?”
Jettison has a rip in the jacket of his tracksuit and his hair is a mess. He runs a hand through it before responding. “France was hell. We made it into the keep, but the fighting was bad. We barely made it out of there once the French attack started.”
“Is everybody okay?” I look to Mayra and Genesis. Neither appears hurt, but they both look exhausted.
“We are,” Jettison says. “But not everybody was as lucky. The French got one of the teams that was trailing us.”
“Oh God. Who?”
“Sam Tulley and his son Trent. You know them?”
I think back on all the faces from the dinner and the start of the race. “No, I don’t think so. What happened?”
“Bloody mess is what it was,” Cliff says. “French ran the son through with a pike and Tulley went berserk on them. Started shooting men right and left till they peppered him with their crossbows. It was a nightmare. We dragged the kid outta there, but he didn’t make it to the gate. He died in the woods on the way.”
I stare at their faces, unsure of what to say.
“It was tragic. And obviously, situation being what it was, that slowed us down plenty,” Jettison says. “And this level hasn’t been much easier. We went south from the gate because the map noted a fishing village that way, but by the time we got there it was too late. The teams ahead of us had taken all the boats, or trashed them. We found a couple that had been burned and sunk. The villagers described the arsonists as young and wearing matching shirts. We’re guessing it was the academy teams. We found Jonah here on the way back north. He said he went east but there’s nothing over there except cliffs.”
“And rabbits,” Jonah adds.
“How have you gotten on?” Cliff asks. He peers past me. “You lose your guide?”
“No. He’s okay. We found a ship on the north end of the island. It’s manned by pirates but we got some of the crew to let us aboard.”
Genesis looks surprised. “How’d you manage that?”
“We conned them into thinking we were otherworldly spirits intent on their souls. Worked okay so far. I’ve got a way to get you guys on board, too, but we need to get a move on. The captain and the rest of the crew are around somewhere. I’d like to get the ship under way before they find us.”
I do my best to explain the circumstances as I lead the way back to the beach. Genesis agrees to cover her bandaged neck with a scarf so as not to tarnish our already shaky reputation as invincible spirits. We take care to arrive after my previous departure and exit the tree line around the time I suspect the earlier me will be ascending to the ship’s aft deck. Cliff pulls out his binoculars and scans the ship without even needing a prompt from me, and I wait for my cue. The light flashes from the deck and I flash mine back before holding my thumb up. I can’t help but smile, knowing that the other me is staring back in confusion. Now to solve the rest of this problem.
“What now, Travers?” Cliff lowers his binoculars and looks to me.
“Now we have to make a jump back in time to find my anchor.” I lead the way around to the sandy path and find the spot my piece of driftwood once occupied. “We need to go far enough back to find the anchor, then we’ll use it to jump forward again to when it’s onboard the ship. Piece of cake.”
Jettison nods his approval and starts tapping his Temprovibe. “How far back are we going?”
I consult my journal entries. “An hour ought to be plenty. We’ll still be a good fifteen minutes ahead of when I first find it.”
The others dial in their respective time devices and I set my chronometer. We use local anchors like tree branches and rocks that won’t have changed position in the last hour, and blink. We arrive within a few seconds of each other and reconvene on the path. To my surprise, the driftwood isn’t there. “What the hell?” I consult my journal entries. The math is right. What happened?
Cliff fidgets with his gun. “You sure this is the spot?”
“Yeah, definitely. I used it twice, right here.” I point to the spot in the sand where the log ought to be.
“What does it look like?” Mayra asks.
“I don’t know, kind of wide and flat on top. It’s maybe this big . . .” I hold out my hands.
“Like that?” Genesis points into the weeds.
Sure enough, my driftwood is a couple yards off the path, partially buried in the grass. I pick it up and examine it, brushing a spider from the bark. “Yep. This is it.” I walk it over to the path and it finally dawns on me. No wonder it was right where I would see it. I’m the one who put it there. I plop the driftwood onto the sand. Time travel.
Jettison lifts the dog for Jonah and still manages to get a hand on my shoulder. The others gather around and grab various parts of me, making sure to keep their feet elevated higher than the bottom of the anchor. No one wants to end up embedded in the deck of the ship. I dial in my
settings, and once everyone is set, push the pin.
Viznir actually gasps when the seven of us appear in the cabin. The pirates are even more astonished when I lead the group onto the weather deck. The man with the pistols approaches me and eyes the new arrivals cautiously.
“Sir, we’re ready to make way.”
“Excellent. What’s your name, sailor?”
“Pims, sir.”
“Get us out of this cove and head northwest.”
“Aye sir.”
After a minute, I hear the splash of oars as the handful of sailors work to get the ship turned into the wind. I man the wheel to keep the rudder in position for the turn. The wind is light till we’re clear of the rocky outcropping to our left, but once we hit open water, the sails billow out to full and the men stow the oars. Pims shouts orders to the others as the ship gains speed. The moonlight illuminates the view enough that I can just make out the dark mass of our target island on the horizon. Cliff and Jettison wander the deck and consult with the other Ivan on the bow.
I’m enjoying the sea breeze and the sight of the stars and have just begun to relax when a boom and a flash of light jerks my attention to starboard.
“What was that?” Genesis asks.
There’s a whistling above us, followed by a splash to our port side. Three more booms and flashes follow from the right.
“That’s cannons!” Jonah exclaims. He points to the darkness to our right. I can’t tell if he’s scared or excited.
I instinctively begin steering to port to put distance between us and the new threat. Viznir fumbles for his binoculars and peers off the starboard side. Another cannonball sails overhead, but the accompanying splash is significantly closer.
“Pims!”
The sailor dashes up the poop deck stairs. “Yes, sir!”
“Who’s shooting at us?”
“The Spanish, sir. They’ve been hunting us for a week now.”
In Times Like These Boxed Set Page 74
