Sparks? Shocks? Now those were things to worry about. But three words worried Patrick more: “travel through time.”
He wondered, How did Mr. Tesla get inside the Imagination Station?
The Elevator
“Follow me,” Tesla said to Beth. “The copies of my US patents should be in my office.”
Beth started to protest. “Really, you don’t have to—”
“Oh, but I do,” he said. “Someone is trying to steal my work. I need proof it’s mine.”
Tesla led the way to the edge of the roof. He walked like a proud man. His back was straight. His shiny black shoes made quick, sure movements.
Beth saw a ladder not too far away. It went straight down the side of the building. The metal rungs led to a fire-escape landing several floors down.
Tesla climbed down the ladder.
Beth gulped when she saw how high above the ground they were. Then she followed. She made sure her hands held firmly and her feet landed squarely on each rung.
Tesla stopped at the eighth-floor landing and opened the door. Then he shut it again.
Beth waited calmly as the scientist opened and closed the door again. He opened and closed it a third time. Then he held the door open. Beth shrugged and followed Tesla down a hallway.
The hotel carpet was white with large gold flowers. Small chandeliers with crystals and gold filigree hung from the ceiling.
Tesla passed a door marked Utility Room. He paused at the service elevator. Then he flipped a lever on the wall.
Beth heard gears grinding. The elevator shaft was the size of a small garden shed. She could see it through the metal gate-like door. Beth thought the open hole looked dangerous.
She peered down the shaft and saw long, thick cables. She saw gears the size of trash-can lids. The elevator was coming toward them.
The elevator stopped at their floor. Beth noticed it didn’t have a ceiling.
Tesla unlatched a lever that held the gate closed. He slid it to the side. The gate folded like an accordion.
Beth stepped inside.
On the elevator wall was a large, round, gold-colored crank.
“Which floor?” Beth asked.
“The third floor, please,” Tesla said. He entered the elevator and slid the gate closed. Then he locked the latch, unlocked it, and then locked it again. He did this one more time.
Beth waited until Tesla finished. Then she pressed the elevator button with the number three on it.
Tesla turned the crank. The elevator began to descend.
“Cool,” Beth said. “I’ve never been in an elevator like this!” She looked at Tesla. “Did you invent this, too?”
The scientist’s face turned red. “I did not,” Tesla said. “My invention would have been completely electric. No manual cranks or levers.”
They rode the rest of the way in silence.
The elevator stopped at the third floor. Tesla opened the gate.
Beth stepped out. “Which way to your room?” she asked Tesla.
“Left and then left again,” he said. He fiddled with his moustache.
She followed the scientist to a large white door. The brass plate on it read 333.
Beth walked inside the suite. It was filled with metal parts, tools, and weird electrical coils. Some of the coils were tall enough to touch the ceiling. This room was obviously a lab and not an office. It reminded Beth of Whit’s workshop.
Tesla headed straight to a small window. Beth could see a pigeon perched on the ledge. It pecked at the glass pane.
Tesla tapped on the glass three times. Then he opened the window. The bird hopped inside. “Hello again, little beauty,” he said to the pigeon.
Is that the same bird that landed on Mr. Tesla’s shoulder? Beth wondered. It was white with some gray wing feathers.
Beth looked around for filing cabinets that might hold the patent papers.
The adjoining door to the rest of the suite was open. Beth peered inside. It was an office and a bedroom. It had a telephone, a telegraph machine, and one small filing cabinet.
An older, African-American boy was inside. He wore a white shirt and an orange bow tie. He was sitting at a wood desk with a large writing surface. The desktop tilted so the boy could write on it easily. It looked as if he was drawing.
“Are your patent files in the other suite?” Beth asked the scientist.
Tesla went to the door to the adjoining room. “Gerald Norman,” he called.
The boy stood. “Yes, sir?”
“This is Beth,” Tesla said. “She’s a friend of the inventor John Whittaker.”
Gerald nodded.
Tesla said, “Bring me the records for the cosmic radiation converter.”
A frown flashed across Gerald’s face. “I can’t, sir,” he said. “They aren’t here.”
“Lost?” Tesla said.
“No, sir,” Gerald said. “They were left behind at the Wardenclyffe lab when it closed down.”
“You mean when my tower was destroyed. At least the lab building is still standing,” Tesla said. Then his face turned red.
“Millionaire J. P. Morgan stopped funding my experiments,” he said to Beth. “He stopped believing in me. I watched dynamite blow up my life’s work. My creditors sold the scrap metal to pay back my debts.”
“What was your life’s work?” Beth asked.
“A transmitter tower,” Tesla said. “It was designed to broadcast signals around the world without wires.”
“Oh,” Beth said. “Like a cell-phone tower that relays radio fre—” She stopped short. She remembered too late that she was in the 1920s. Cell phones wouldn’t be invented for at least fifty years.
Tesla’s eyes narrowed to a squint. “You’ve been snooping through my notes,” he said. The scientist pointed at her. “Who sent you to spy on me?”
“No one,” Beth said. “Don’t you remember? You showed up in Tokyo and brought me here.”
Gerald gave a little cough. Beth and Tesla turned toward him.
The boy was holding a large piece of paper. “Did I get the landing system right?”
Beth looked at the drawing. It showed a helicopter-like contraption. The sketch was amazingly detailed.
“Wow,” Beth said. “You’re good. Who taught you to be a draftsman?”
“My grandfather,” Gerald said. “Lewis Latimer.”
“His grandfather used to work for Thomas Edison!” Tesla said. His face had a sour expression.
“You don’t have to hire me, Mr. Tesla,” the boy said. “I can find work with someone else.”
“No, no,” Tesla said. “Your grandfather trained you well. Lewis Latimer has always been an honest man and a good patent consultant.”
Tesla smiled. “He helped Alexander Graham Bell get the patent for the telephone. Latimer filed the patent with only two hours to spare. The competitor got to the patent office too late. That story is legend.”
Gerald said, “Then go see my grandfather. You can trust him. He has copies of your patents. They’re at the law firm of Hammer and Schwarz.”
“Ahh!” Tesla said. “Edwin Hammer is a Thomas Edison fan. I wonder if he let Edison see my patent for the transporter machine.”
“Would that be bad?” Beth asked.
Tesla smiled. “If Thomas Edison likes the ideas,” he said, “he might fund the project.” Then his smile turned upside down into a frown. “Or he could see something I missed and create a new patent.”
Tesla motioned to Beth to follow him to the door. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s get those patents. I want to protect my rights.”
Beth headed toward the door. She passed a bookshelf. A Bible sat on one of the shelves.
“Do you believe in God?” she asked Tesla.
“Hmm,” he said. “My mother did.” He pointed to the Bible. “She gave me that when I was a boy.”
“Do you read it?” Beth asked.
“Not often,” Tesla said. “But the passages about lightning in the book of
Revelation are fascinating. And I believe God created the world with enough power for our needs. That power can be harnessed for our good.”
Beth looked hesitant. “But the Bible isn’t just a book about electricity. It tells about God’s power in all things. And how He wants people to give Him credit for it.”
“I know something about the Bible,” Tesla said. “The ninth commandment says not to lie or bear false witness. The Model T transporter machine is my invention. I’m an honorable scientist. You’ll see I’m telling the truth!”
Mr. Meltsner
Patrick was alone in the kitchen of the Imperial Hotel. He was on rice ball number 602. He heard a low humming noise. He wondered what it was.
Patrick moved in the direction of the sound. It was coming from the garden patio. He went outside.
The white, modern Imagination Station appeared. It was in the exact place the car Imagination Station had stood. An old man in a suit with a bow tie sat in the car. He waved when he saw Patrick.
The old man got out of the machine slowly. His shoulders slouched. He had on round, wire-rimmed glasses.
“Greetings, Patrick!” the old man said.
His voice seemed strangely familiar to Patrick.
“Who are you?” Patrick asked.
The man smiled. He said, “Who else? I am none other than your old friend Eugene Meltsner!” The man took a couple of steps toward Patrick.
Patrick’s eyes opened in surprise. “You really are old!” Patrick said. “And your hair is white!”
Eugene spread his arms wide. He started to shuffle toward Patrick. “Kindly don’t force me to walk all the way to you,” Eugene said.
Patrick stepped forward and gave his friend a hug.
“You walk slowly. And you kind of stoop now too,” Patrick said. “Should I call you Mr. Meltsner?”
Eugene laughed. “It would seem appropriate,” he said. “It’s been forty-nine years since you saw me in the jail cell.”
Patrick scrunched his eyebrows. “We’ve never aged in an adventure before,” he said. “You’re much older, but I’m not. What happened?”
“It’s a lengthy narrative,” Eugene said. “I’ll tell it to you once we find Beth. She should be with Nikola Tesla in Manhattan. That’s what my computer says. I’ve been waiting for you two to appear in my time line.”
“How did you know I was here?” Patrick said. “The tsunami from the Tokyo earthquake interrupted our trip to New York.”
“I was able to trace the Model T Imagination Station’s movements,” Eugene said. “I still have my laptop and figured out how to charge it. As soon as I saw the Model T land here, I attempted to communicate with you to give you the message about Mr. Tesla. Did you hear it?”
“Part of it,” said Patrick. “But Mr. Tesla hit the controls while you were talking. I think he might have broken the speakers. All we heard was that we needed his help. But we shouldn’t let him use the machine. Since he was already in it, we figured Beth should take him back to New York.”
“Ah,” muttered Eugene. “Now it all makes sense.”
The Imagination Station started to make a low humming sound.
“It’s time to go,” Eugene said. He motioned toward the modern Imagination Station. “Mr. Tesla has access to the Model T Imagination Station. We have to make sure he doesn’t keep it too long or . . .”
“Or what?” Patrick asked.
“I shudder to think of it,” Eugene said. “Nikola Tesla is one of the most brilliant men who ever lived. But he won’t understand the power source Mr. Whittaker invented. It could blow up if Tesla tinkers with it.”
“Can’t we go back to Whit’s End and fix the machines there?” Patrick asked. “I don’t trust either of the Imagination Stations.”
Eugene shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he said. “The machines will stay in 1923 until they’re repaired. We can travel to places, but we can’t travel to a specific year.”
Patrick heard voices coming from the hotel grounds. “Will anyone be able to see us leave?” he asked.
“Unfortunately yes,” Eugene said. “Everyone in 1923 will be able to see the machine appear and disappear. It’s a minor glitch, if you will. Nothing really when you consider the risks I’ve taken.”
“Risks? What risks?” Patrick asked.
“I needn’t get into all of them now. One was coming here where everyone can see us,” Eugene said. “Let’s depart before someone comes and asks what we’re doing.”
Patrick helped Eugene get inside the Imagination Station. Then Patrick climbed into the machine and shut the door.
“I wish I could say good-bye to Mr. Inumaru,” Patrick said. “I’ll be gone when he gets back to the kitchen. He might think I ran away from my job rolling rice balls. I had 9,398 left to make.”
“You can write him a letter,” Eugene said. “They do have mail in 1923.”
Patrick settled into the comfortable seat. He looked at the dashboard. The red button in the middle was flashing. He pushed it.
The Imagination Station started to shake. Then it rumbled. It seemed to move forward. Patrick shut his eyes. It felt like a roller coaster out of control.
The machine whirled.
Suddenly everything went black.
Lewis Latimer
Beth and Tesla came downstairs on the guest elevator. Beth said a cheerful good-bye to the doorman. Then she and the scientist left the Hotel Marguery just past noon. They walked along Park Avenue to the law offices of Hammer and Schwarz.
Small trees lined the sidewalk. They were ablaze with fall colors. A few red leaves floated like little kites in the wind.
Red streetcars glided along tracks in the street. Yellow taxis and large black cars wove in and out of traffic. Newspaper boys darted along the sidewalks in knickers and caps. Men wearing dark suits and hats hurried to appointments.
A few women also walked along Park Avenue. Beth thought their dresses were pretty with their bows and fringe. She knew the young ladies were called flappers. Their hats were small and fit tightly on their heads.
Tesla often stopped walking to feed pigeons. Or sometimes he ducked inside a stone doorway and hid. He would stand there with his face against the door for a moment. Then he would look over his shoulder and begin walking again.
“Why are you dodging into the doorways?” Beth asked when he ducked into a doorway again. “What are you hiding from?”
“I don’t like to look at a woman wearing pearls,” Tesla said. “I have to hide my eyes till she passes by.”
Beth’s mouth dropped open. Pearls were in fashion in the 1920s. Many women wore several long strands around their necks.
“And I especially don’t like pearl earrings,” he said. He tipped his hat in Beth’s direction. “I’m glad you don’t wear jewelry.”
Then Tesla started walking down the sidewalk again. The heels of his shiny black shoes softly thudded on the pavement.
Suddenly there was a flapping of wings. The same white pigeon as before landed on Tesla’s shoulder. He walked on as if that weren’t unusual.
Beth had to hurry to keep up.
Tesla stopped in front of a door in a tall gray office building. The bird flew off his shoulder. It perched on a nearby bush.
Beth liked the small stained-glass panel at the top of the door. A brass plaque below the window read Hammer and Schwarz, Patent Attorneys.
The scientist grabbed the handle and pushed the door open. A bell above the door jingled. Then Tesla closed and opened the door twice more.
Tesla went inside. Beth followed.
The office was cozy. The carpet had a rose design. There was an umbrella holder with two black umbrellas. A weird-looking rack stood in the corner behind the door. A coat hung from it.
A long wood counter blocked them from going farther inside. On the counter was a little brass bell. The handle was carved in the shape of a bulldog’s head.
Tesla picked up the bell and rang it three times.
An old Afri
can-American man appeared from somewhere in the back of the office. His skin was the color of light caramel. The hair at his temples was completely gray. He wore round, wire-rimmed glasses.
“Why, it’s my old friend Nikola Tesla!” the man said. “Good day!” He reached over the counter. He offered his hand to Tesla.
“Hello, Lewis,” Tesla said. “Excuse me. I cannot shake your hand.”
Beth winked at Latimer. “He burned his hands in a lab accident not long ago,” she said. “He doesn’t need to see a doctor.”
Tesla said, “Exactly.”
Latimer winked back at Beth. She had a feeling he understood Mr. Tesla’s dislike of touching people.
Latimer changed the subject. He said, “I see you have a new companion.”
“This is a new friend, Beth,” Tesla said.
The man beamed a smile. “I’m Lewis Latimer,” he said. “Nikola and I had the honor of working for Mr. Edison. And we both worked on improving and installing streetlights.”
“But I lost the patents on that, too,” Tesla said. “Edison didn’t want to invest in my idea. I had to turn the patents over to another company. And they also chose not to put money behind my idea.”
“It’s a tough business being an inventor,” Latimer said. He held out his hand to Beth and said, “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Beth took the offered hand and shook it.
“I’m here to make sure no one is using my patents without permission,” Tesla said. “The two important ones are 787,412 and 685,957. They’re for converting cosmic radiation into electric current and basic energy transfer.”
“Of course,” Latimer said. “I researched those patents just this week for three gentlemen. One was Mr. Edison.” He moved some papers around on the counter. “Here they are,” he said. He pushed the stack of papers toward Tesla.
“You said Edison was interested in my radiation power source?” Tesla cried. “I don’t want him looking into this. At least not until I can show him it works. And it does! I’ve got a working model!”
Madman in Manhattan Page 2
