by Riser Troy
For a moment, they silently considered their options, the only sound that of Emily’s laboured breathing. ‘Can’t we just – I don’t know – time jump out of here?’ she asked.
‘I’m not sure what would happen,’ said Honoré. ‘We might end up back in our own time and place never knowing when or where our friends here may appear to change our past.’
He turned again toward the locked door.
In frustration, he began to pound, and then to shout.
Emily joined him.
Chapter Nine
Tom had been the caretaker of his mother’s home ever since he had come back from travelling the world. Sometimes it seemed to him that he hadn’t had any kind of life at all before Mr Lechasseur and Miss Blandish had leased out the entire upstairs of his mother’s house and converted it into their personal flat. From soldier to servant, he thought, grimly. Still, he had no reason to complain, he kept reminding himself. Mother’s boarders may be peculiar – even standoffish – and their cohabitation may be a local scandal; but they paid well, on time, and every bit of upkeep they requested – and paid for – benefited his family as much as it did themselves.
So bringing them their breakfast, lunch and supper really shouldn’t be considered that demeaning a chore, he told himself, as he carefully balanced his tray while fumbling with the keys to the flat.
He heard the pounding and muffled shouts as soon as he got the door open.
‘Mr Lechasseur?’ he called, placing the tray upon the table. ‘Miss Blandish?’
The pounding came from down the hallway.
Leave it alone, he thought. You’re not paid to stick your nose in.
But one of the voices did sound very much like Miss Blandish’s … and she seemed distressed.
Cautiously, he stepped down the hall, guided by the noise until he came to the door with the thick plank barred across it.
‘Help!’
Tom quickly lifted the board from its position and stepped back as the door burst outward at him. Honoré tumbled forward flat on his face, Emily Blandish following suit, knocking the wind out of him as she fell on top of him.
‘Lord above!’ Tom proclaimed. ‘Mr Lechasseur! Miss Blandish! Are you all right? Who did this to you? Shall I call the constabulary?’
‘Where are they?’ Honoré asked, scrambling to his feet, his eyes adjusting to the light.
‘I didn’t see anyone leave,’ Tom said, stammering. ‘I’ll have the authorities here right away.’
‘Don’t bother, Tom,’ Honoré said. On the floor lay a picture frame, the glass slightly cracked. The photograph was of the teenaged Lechasseur, still on the porch of his grandmother’s house, sitting next to her – and her alone.
‘It’s started,’ he hissed, and placed the photograph carefully on a nearby table.
Honoré rubbed his aching shoulder, and began checking through the other doors down the hallway, looking for Jonah. He didn’t have the time or inclination to think up an explanation to cover their situation. What could he say: our evil twins locked us in here before time-travelling into the past to pull off some nefarious deed or other?
‘Are they still here, then, Mr Lechasseur?’ Tom asked. He looked over his shoulder, suddenly cautious and aware of his surroundings. He picked up a walking stick from beside the front door and gripped it like a bayonet.
Emily stepped in close to Tom. ‘Tom,’ she fairly purred. ‘We’ve always placed a great deal of confidence in your … discretion regarding our living arrangements here.’ She winked slyly at him. ‘Surely a man as well travelled as you can think of a few different ways a man and a woman might find themselves …’ She cast her eyes sidelong at the closet and blushed. ‘… in a rather embarrassing situation?’
‘Oh?’ he said. ‘Oh! Oh, you mean …’ He relaxed his grip on the stick slightly. ‘I should … I should probably go, then …’
‘We just thank heaven you came when you did,’ Emily said. ‘We were running out of ways to amuse ourselves.’
The red-faced Tom nodded, backing toward the door, nearly tripping over his feet as he found the knob and let himself out.
‘That wasn’t nice,’ Honoré said, trying another door. This one was locked tight.
‘I suppose not,’ she said. ‘But with any luck, we’ll be gone and our doubles will be the focus of Tom’s disapproval. I doubt it will matter to them.’
‘This door is locked,’ Honoré said. ‘I’d wager our man is in here.’ He knelt down and began jimmying his penknife in the keyhole.
Emily leaned in close to watch. ‘You don’t really think you can pick the lock using just …’
The door clicked and swung slightly inward. Honoré looked up at her with a satisfied smirk.
‘I stand corrected.’
‘He’s here,’ said Honoré. In the room, Jonah Rankin lay sprawled out on the bed, atop the eiderdown. Honoré and Emily hurried over to him, and began shaking him.
‘Come on, old man,’ Honoré said. He gently slapped his cheeks to rouse him. ‘Wake up. Up and at ’em.’
Jonah grumbled and groaned, opened his eyes, saw Honoré, and back-scrambled away.
‘Don’t hit me!’ he slurred. ‘I ain’t done nothing.’
‘Shhh, easy old man,’ Honoré said. ‘Just settle down. I’m not going to hurt you.’
‘Let me,’ Emily said. ‘Jonah? Do you remember me, Jonah?’
Jonah looked her up and down. ‘You. You were with him when he clocked me good!’ He gently touched the red and swollen mark near his temple where Lechasseur had taken him down with the sap.
Of course he’d remember that, Emily thought, chiding herself for overlooking something so simple. She had been there, of course. ‘No, Jonah. At the coffee shop, remember? A little while ago? We sat outside that little café?’
‘Coffee,’ he mumbled. ‘Yeah. That was you.’ He looked over at Honoré. ‘That was both of you. Why did you beat me? What’d I ever do to you?’
‘This may be a bit hard to swallow, Jonah, but that wasn’t me,’ Honoré said. ‘The guy that hit you, I mean.’
‘Not you?’
Honoré sighed. ‘No, he just looked like me. I know it’s confusing … but we’re not from here, and the other two are. We’re the same people, but different.’
Jonah’s eyes widened. ‘I know about that,’ he said. ‘Same people, but different places and different histories.’
‘Exactly,’ chipped in Emily. ‘We’re from a different history than the ones who hurt you. A different world.’
‘Different world?’ Jonah asked incredulously.
‘Alternate times,’ Emily said gently. ‘A “what if” reality.’
‘And you two can jump back and forth between them?’ Jonah made bunny-jumping motions with his hands. He paused. ‘And you’re saying none of it was my fault?’
‘Not a bit of it,’ said Emily.
The old man mulled it over. ‘No, it can’t be,’ he said. ‘Mirror universes, all that: dream stuff, fantasy.’
‘Look –’ Honoré began. He caught himself when Jonah recoiled. He started again, more gently. ‘Look. I know this is difficult to get your head around. I mean, it was hard for me to get a grasp on it when I first learned I could time travel.’
Jonah gave a dismissive wave of his hand. ‘By my reckoning, young man, we’re all time travellers. We go at about 60 seconds per minute.’
‘You know exactly what I’m talking about,’ Honoré said.
‘Take baby steps, Honoré,’ Emily said. ‘Lead him along slowly. Remember how it was for us.’
‘I don’t think you can travel in quite the way that we can,’ Honoré told Jonah. ‘It takes two – a sensitive and a channeller – to travel through time and space.’ At least, he thought, without one of those belt things.[3] ‘But you seem to be able, somehow, to travel betw
een different realities. And we really need you to do it again, now.’
‘Do what?’ Jonah said, apparently uncomprehending. ‘Just let me go. Leave me alone.’ He buried his face in his hands. His voice was muffled and low, but Honoré could still discern the words. ‘Let me die.’
‘We can’t do that,’ Honoré said, gripping Jonah’s shoulders and setting him back down on the bed.
‘Honoré!’
‘We don’t have time for this,’ Honoré said. ‘Those two could be back at any second. We need our man here to click his ruby slippers together or whatever it is he does, and get us all back to our own timeline, with its airplanes and reconstruction and War and everything.’
‘War?’ Jonah said. ‘You remember the War?’
‘Of course I remember,’ Honoré said.
Jonah’s eyes grew vacant as he momentarily lost himself in memories. ‘No-one remembers,’ he said. ‘They all think I’m mad. But I do remember! I remember everything!’ He grasped Honoré’s lapels tightly. His grip was desperately, surprisingly strong. ‘Do you remember the War?’
Honoré looked into the eyes of the old soldier. ‘I remember.’
‘What about the Salient? Do you know the Salient?’
Emily looked enquiringly at Honoré.
‘The Salient? You mean Ypres? They first used gas at Ypres.’ Honoré turned to Emily. ‘The Germans used chlorine. It was about as ugly as you can imagine.’
‘No-one else remembers,’ Jonah said. ‘Maybe you’re as addle-headed as I am.’
Emily put a gentle hand on Jonah’s shoulder. ‘The reason no-one else remembers is that those other two people, the two who look just like us, they went back in time and made those things not happen.’
‘They can do that?’ Jonah said. He looked up at them. ‘You can do that?’
‘Perhaps,’ Honoré said.
‘So I’m not mad,’ Jonah said. His face broke into a wide grin, and he shook Honoré with glee. ‘I’m not mad!’
‘No, you’re not mad,’ said Honoré. ‘But we need you to get us back home. Now.’
‘Back to the War?’ Jonah asked, incredulously. ‘Why? Now that I know what’s been going on, why would I want to go back?’
Honoré spoke slowly, letting the impact of each word settle into the old man’s understanding. ‘Because things happen as they are supposed to happen,’ he said. ‘These people can’t prevent nature from correcting itself, they can’t keep history stable – their version of it, anyway. Soon, this reality will pop like a soap bubble. And you are their only way out.’
‘Not a bad idea,’ Jonah said.
‘No, except that they’re going to kill a whole lot of people to get their way, including you, when they’ve finished.’
‘Then let me go,’ Jonah pleaded. ‘Let me go, and I’ll hide and they won’t find me, I swear.’
‘We need you to return where you belong.’
‘I don’t want to go back!’ Jonah shouted. A burst of adrenaline fuelling his desperation, he tossed Honoré back against the door. ‘I remember that world, and want no part of it.’
As he ranted, his body began to crackle with bluish lightning.
‘Honoré,’ Emily said.
‘Be ready,’ he replied.
Emily took Honoré’s hand and advanced on the raving man.
‘… bugs in a jar,’ Jonah Rankin said.
‘Now,’ Honoré said, reaching out and taking Jonah by the arm.
The web of energy expanded around all of them. Honoré could feel it this time, its current running through his limbs, making his hair stand up. The room became a dim image, as though seen through several feet of salt water, and Honoré could just make out the door being thrown open and an image of himself and Emily rushing at them, shouting something, leaping toward them with outstretched arms.
The walls fell away, the pretty trappings and expensive curtains melting, changing into drab, flat sheets shutting out the light of the sun. The fine wallpaper peeled and faded before their eyes. One last, blinding flash, and Honoré was back in familiar environs. He breathed deeply of the musty air.
‘Are we home?’ Emily asked. ‘Really home?’
‘I think so,’ Honoré said. He could hear Jonah’s low mumbling somewhere in the room. He would find the man in a moment, offer him some reassurance.
‘Well, thanks for your help,’ came a familiar female voice from behind them. ‘We were wondering how to get Jonah to cooperate.’
Honoré and Emily span round and found themselves face to face with their own twisted reflections.
Chapter Ten
Em looked disdainfully around the flat, running a fingertip along a ledge and rubbing the dust between her thumb and forefinger. ‘Honestly, Honoré. Charity does begin at home, you know. How can you expect to correct this world when you seem hopelessly unable to help yourself?’ She shook her head and clucked her tongue disapprovingly, wiping her hand on her hip. ‘It’s a good thing we’re here to do it all up proper. But where to start?’
‘And you call me lazy, eh, sher?’ Lechasseur joked.
‘You two have done enough,’ Emily said. ‘We aren’t letting you do any more.’
‘Well, we didn’t expect you to let us, darling,’ Em said, laughing. ‘We wouldn’t even think of wasting our time trying to convince you.’
Emily looked to Honoré. ‘What’s she on about?’
‘They mean to kill us,’ Honoré said, stating the obvious. ‘They know that anything they try to do, we’ll just undo behind them. That’s why they haven’t bothered to time-jump out of here already.’
‘“What’s she on about?”,’ Em said, mocking her double. ‘Was I ever so bloody stupid?’ She lifted her hand to reveal a slim knife held in it. ‘It will all be over rather quickly,’ she said. ‘We are both quite proficient at this sort of thing, I promise you. Unfortunately, I can’t promise it will be painless.’
Lechasseur advanced, a similar knife held loosely in his own hand. The man’s face wore the dead-eyed, lopsided, predator’s grin that Honoré had come to detest. Readying himself for combat, Honoré let his vision relax, focusing his gaze upon his other self, using his gift.
A feint with the knife. A sidestep, the feint withdrawn. An overt thrust to the belly. A spin. Withdrawn for a wide slice to the throat. Ducked. Withdrawn.
The attacks began to blur in Honoré’s vision, even as he realised what was happening. Just as he was looking ahead to anticipate each of Lechasseur’s attacks, so Lechasseur was using his ability to counter each of Honoré’s defensive moves. Each potential future movement was being written, erased and rewritten. The time-snake images of Honoré’s vision began to recoil recursively, turning in upon themselves like some chronal Ouroboros swallowing its own tail.
In the physical now, neither man had made a move; they remained as still as statues while the air between them began to shimmer and crackle from the forces at play.
‘Bloody hell,’ Em muttered, and heard her voice reverberate in a shout – taking her by surprise because she wasn’t shouting. She turned abruptly, too late to do anything to stop Emily from executing a perfect roundhouse kick directed at Lechasseur. The Creole saw the kick coming at the last instant, letting fly his blade at Honoré, who was also distracted by his partner’s unexpected attack.
The knife span through the air even as Emily connected with Lechasseur, sending him sprawling backward onto the floor, where his head struck the corner of the hearth with a sickening thud. The edge of the spinning blade found Honoré’s upper thigh …
… and inexplicably glanced off.
‘Honoré!’ Emily cried, doubly shocked by her friend’s danger and by her own actions. Honoré clutched his leg, surprised himself that there was no blood, although he could tell there was soon going to be one almighty bruise there.
Em squatted ove
r her fallen partner, then glared back up, her lips curled back in a vicious snarl. ‘Right, then,’ she said, brandishing her own knife. ‘No more games.’
‘No!’
Jonah Rankin did not understand any of this. Travelling in time, travelling between worlds. These were idiocies, fantasies pulled from Boys Life or pulp magazines. They didn’t have a place in his world. Trying to comprehend the motives of Em and Lechasseur threatened to distract him from the purely physical matter at hand. He willed his mind empty, his muscles ready. Gathering what energy he had, he balled his fists up and rose from the ground where he had crouched.
‘No!’ he shouted. ‘No more!’
Jonah Rankin no longer had the tightly-muscled physique of his youth. But nevertheless, his legs thrust him across the space of the room, his focus locked on the blade Em wielded with deadly intent. His brain felt on fire as the blade came closer, and a blue electric energy began to crackle about him. Em span to face him, the point of her knife upturned. Jonah leapt upon her, pushing her backwards. They fell right across the prone form of Lechasseur.
Em mouthed a curse, the sound of it garbled and lost as the energy surrounding Jonah sparked with a brilliant blue intensity, growing to encompass the three of them, filling the room with the burnt battery smell of ozone. The dazed Lechasseur looked at Em with confusion as Jonah’s blood trailed down her arms. The old man was impaled on her blade, his weight momentarily pinning them all down. ‘No … more … wars …’ he rasped. Em twisted her head toward Honoré and Emily, her eyes glowing with hatred and rage.
And then they were gone.
Epilogue
Time passed. The days came and went with no further sign of Em and Lechasseur. Still, Honoré and Emily were uneasy. For one thing, both had became temporarily obsessed with the minutiae of existence, trying to catch disparities in the details – brand names on cereal boxes, film star names, football teams, the faces of politicians and royalty, any small thing that might mean this reality, too, was wrong.
