Time out of Time

by Maureen Doyle McQuerry

  Timothy’s forehead thumped onto the desk. The girl sitting behind him sniggered. Blood rushed to his face. He peered from the corner of his eye, careful not to turn his head, to see if anyone else had noticed. The bored, slack faces were reassuring. How many of them also navigated alternate worlds? For the last week he’d puzzled over the map now safely hidden behind a loose piece of paneling in the back of Sarah’s closet along with the crown. He’d gotten nowhere. Every night, with curtains drawn, he and Sarah pulled the map out of its leather pouch and spread it across her bed. Despite being very good with ciphers, he couldn’t find a code-breaking technique that worked on this one. There were two kinds of trees in the forests, fat round ones and a few skinny trees with bare branches. There were strange animals in the borders. What was significant?

  While Mr. Petty, each of his three chins waggling, droned on about the human circulatory system, Timothy considered Mr. Twig’s warning that whoever had the map would never be safe. Every time he unrolled the map, he felt exposed, as if he were being watched. Just thinking about it made him shiver. The map had become a presence that beckoned him, even in his sleep.

  “Remember to take notes. There will be a quiz on this documentary next week.” Mr. Petty stalked the room. Timothy rested his chin on his hand and tried to pay attention to the film. But instead of taking notes, he sketched a coastline on his paper. It echoed the coastline of the map where the ship sailed. But, try as he might, he couldn’t remember all the details.

  Outside, the rain was relentless. Christmas was coming. During winter break he’d have more time with Sarah and Jessica to solve the map’s riddle. His eyelids drooped as the film drew to a conclusion, when suddenly the PA system squawked to life. His head snapped to attention just inches before smacking the desktop again.

  “The winter assembly will begin in five minutes in the gym. Please arrive quietly and sit with your sixth-period class,” the principal announced.

  With a sigh of relief, Timothy stood and stretched. All around him, students noisily scraped chairs across the worn linoleum, jostling their way to the door. Mr. Petty called to them in his high, petulant voice, “Remember to walk, not run, in the hallway, and stay with me!” But no one listened. They pushed through the door, flooded into the hall, and, like a rushing river, tumbled their way toward the gym. Timothy let himself be swept along and dumped through the gymnasium doors. Friends shouted to one another, students in the bleachers pounded their feet on the risers just for the sound of it, and the band squeaked out “Winter Wonderland.” He climbed to one of the highest benches, finding a seat next to Gillian. She was lost in her latest anime book, her tongue peeking out of her mouth in concentration. She barely looked up.

  “Hey, Timothy,” she mumbled. She pulled her tongue back in and flipped a page.

  Far below, he could see Jessica, wearing her student-body-VP shirt. Student council members and cheerleaders lined the floor in front of the bleachers. They were bouncing with practiced enthusiasm, encouraging each grade level to cheer louder than the others. Misery. Timothy hunched down to wait the assembly out.

  The special guest—every assembly had a special guest, Timothy had noticed—was nobody very special at all, just Morley the Magician. He made his living attending school assemblies and birthday parties, repeating the same magic tricks Timothy had learned years ago. Timothy thought he would rather do just about anything than Morley’s job, day after day, facing audiences of sticky-faced toddlers or wisecracking teens.

  This time, however, there was a new twist to Morley’s act. After drawing flowers from a hat, after making balls disappear and linking rings that then magically separated, he rolled out a cage that housed a sleek black bird. It was larger than any crow Timothy had ever seen. The hum of voices silenced in anticipation.

  A warm sensation against his hip made Timothy reach into his pants pocket. The Greenman’s leaf grew hotter even as his finger closed around it. He drew it out, clenched in his palm, and looked around the gym. An ordinary day in an ordinary place. There must be something wrong with the leaf. Or perhaps it was warning him to be careful when he left school? He wished he could talk to Sarah or Jessica. In the meantime, he zipped the leaf into the front pocket of his backpack.

  “Let me introduce my assistant, Rankin the raven. Ravens are among the most intelligent animals known to man.” As he spoke, Morley opened the cage door and drew the bird out on his arm. “Their intelligence is far superior to that of their closest relative, the common crow.” The raven cocked its head as if in agreement.

  “I will now need a volunteer from the audience.”

  Dozens of hands fanned the air. Morley leaned close and whispered into Rankin’s ear. He straightened. “My assistant will choose the volunteer.”

  Timothy leaned forward on the bleachers.

  Morley held his arm aloft, and with one thrust of its wings, Rankin flew into the audience. The students howled with laughter. Some covered their heads with their arms. Timothy made himself as small as possible and pulled his backpack tightly against his shoulders. Rankin was flying straight toward him, he was sure. But the bird detoured to snatch a sparkling earring that dangled from a girl’s ear. Several students applauded. The bird dropped the earring and was back on course. Timothy ducked too late. The bird landed on his head.

  On the gym floor Mrs. Robinson, the principal, blew a whistle. “Enough!” She turned to Morley. “Call back your bird; this is getting out of hand!”

  The raven’s sharp feet dug into Timothy’s scalp. Timothy tried to shake the bird off. Rankin clung to his hair. Timothy threw up his arms; the bird hopped to his shoulder. The students roared their approval. Climbing halfway down Timothy’s back, the raven pried at the zipper of his pack. It began to poke its pointed beak into every pocket. Morley smiled a long, thin smile, intently watching Timothy and Rankin.

  “Get off me!” Timothy stood and tried to knock the bird from his backpack. Then the gym’s lights went out. The crowd hooted and hollered. They stomped their feet. A few teachers tried ineffectively to calm things down. Nobody listened. The only light filtered in through the small windows above the top risers.

  Timothy remained standing, his heart thudding. Shadows moved around him. The raven made clicking sounds as it clung to his backpack. Then, in the dark and chaos, the bird shrilled. An icy finger of fear worked its way down Timothy’s spine. The students’ voices crescendoed in triumph. There was no longer any rule or order. If he tried to escape in the dark, he risked tumbling down the bleachers.

  Timothy remembered the crows at the Market, unruly, raucous birds, but they were nothing like this raven. They had fought against Balor in the battle. Mr. Twig’s voice played in his head: “I can’t tell you when it will come, only that it will come.” His thoughts flew to the map hidden in its leather pouch in Sarah’s closet, and just as quickly he tried to conceal his thoughts, to make his mind go blank.

  The emergency generator kicked in, and the gym filled with light. Teachers blew whistles, the band began to play “Frosty the Snowman,” and the general pandemonium subsided.

  Mrs. Robinson took Morley’s arm to guide him off the gym floor. He whistled for Rankin. Immediately, the bird flew from Timothy’s bag to alight on the man’s outstretched arm. Timothy scanned the gym floor for Jessica. She was staring straight up at him.

  “Are you okay?” she mouthed.

  Timothy’s heart contracted. The leaf! No wonder it had been hot! What an idiot he had been to ignore its warning! He reached for the zipper on the bag’s pocket. The zipper was open, the pocket empty! Here, in the middle of an ordinary day, in the most ordinary place he could imagine, he had been found, and the leaf was gone.

  SCOTLAND!

  ARK CAME EARLY NOW. Headlights shone in the dusk as Timothy made his way home from the bus Thursday evening. Why would the magician’s bird steal his leaf? That was easy: Without it he would never know if danger was present. Who had it? Now, that was a more difficult question. And if they, who
ever they were, had found the leaf, had they found the map, too? Timothy was sure they were searching for it. He looked over his shoulder. Three birds hunched like black knots on a telephone line. Were they ravens or crows? Could they read his mind? Timothy’s heart beat wildly. Cawing, the knots unraveled, and the birds swept down. Timothy ran, his backpack thumping against his side.

  In his yard, blackbirds chortled in the branches of the poplars. Were there always so many birds? Timothy sprinted across the yard, half expecting Rankin to swoop down and attack. Once inside, he ran straight upstairs to Sarah’s room. His breathing was loud and shaky. He drew the blinds before turning on the bedside lamp. Even behind the closed blinds, the overhead light felt too revealing. Then he pushed his way through the forest of skirts and pants to the very back of Sarah’s closet. He needed to touch the map. To know it was safe. He ran his finger under the loose paneling in the back of her closet. With a deep exhale of breath, he closed his hand around the leather pouch. The map was still there.

  Timothy sat on Sarah’s bed to think. Without the leaf, how would he know whom to trust? He held the pouch close to his chest, arms crossed over the stiff leather, and waited for his heart to slow. Mr. Twig had told him, had told all three of them, that the Dark would be searching for this map. School had always seemed mundane, not the sort of place for adventures. Now the memory of the raven’s prying beak made Timothy sweat.

  How long would the map be safe? He needed to find a more secure hiding place. He loosened the end of the leather pouch and inserted one finger. He could feel the map coiled within. It was urgent that he solve the cipher.

  “Timothy! Are you up there?”

  His father was calling from the base of the stairs. It was early for him to be home. Timothy checked his watch: just before five. His mother should return soon with Sarah from ballet practice.

  “Be right there!” he called in response. He slid the map back behind the closet paneling, hurrying so his dad wouldn’t ask any questions.

  As he ran down the stairs, Sarah and his mother swept in the front door. Their cheeks were rosy with the cold, and the tips of Sarah’s ears were red. Her hair was pulled back in the tight chignon of a dancer, and she carried her shoes and workout clothes in a backpack along with her books.

  “Sorry we’re late.” His mother pecked his father on the cheek and winked at Timothy. “I know you’ve got good news for us,” she said to her husband while unbuttoning her coat.

  Sarah raised her eyebrows at Timothy, and he shrugged and then furrowed his eyebrows, signaling to her that something was wrong.

  “Well, come in and get warm.” Timothy’s father threw an arm over Sarah’s shoulders and led them into the kitchen. “Timothy, Sarah, I’ve been thinking about this all day and figured I’d better just get home and tell you. We’re spending Christmas in Edinburgh!”

  Time froze. Timothy could see his father, mouth slightly open, eyes shining, expectant with delight. His mother was beaming. His own heart plummeted like a stone in water.

  Sarah shot a quick glance at Timothy. He tried to force a smile to his face. “Scotland?” The word came out like a squeak, as if all the air had been knocked from his lungs.

  “I’ve been asked to speak at a conference in Edinburgh on climate change. The conference is actually between Christmas and New Year’s, so I thought we might as well spend the whole vacation there.”

  Timothy’s mother took a tray of lasagna from the refrigerator and stuck it into the microwave. “Isn’t that exciting? Edinburgh! I can bring my paints, and we can do some sightseeing during your father’s meetings.”

  Timothy thought fast. He had to decipher the map. It was the only way he was ever going to find the Telling Stone. That meant he’d have to take the map with him. And what if the solution was here at home? He had planned to use the entire vacation to work on the map problem. “Ah . . .” He stalled.

  Sarah cut in. “Are you sure you two wouldn’t rather have some time alone together?” She looked from her mother to her father.

  She’s good, Timothy thought, very good.

  A small line appeared between their mother’s eyebrows. “We thought you two would be delighted—”

  “Oh, we are,” Sarah cut in again. “It’s just that you say you never get away.”

  “This will be a family trip. An opportunity to see a part of the world you’ve never seen. We can get away alone some other time.” Mr. Maxwell’s voice was firm.

  “Great!” said Sarah.

  “Yeah, that sounds great,” Timothy echoed, hoping they couldn’t hear the disappointment in his voice.

  “This is going to be a Christmas to remember!” His father grabbed a yogurt from the refrigerator, and his mother playfully swatted his hand.

  It sure is, Timothy thought. At any other time, he would have jumped at the chance to go, but now . . . He followed Sarah out of the kitchen and grabbed her arm as soon as they were in the hallway. “Today, at school, during the assembly, a raven stole the Greenman’s leaf.”

  “What are you talking about?” Sarah looked at him as if he were crazy.

  He explained about Morley and Rankin.

  “How could you let that happen?”

  “I didn’t let it!”

  She motioned him up the stairs. “What about the you-know?”

  “It’s safe. I checked. But the raven tried to open my bag, poked around in all the pockets. I’m sure it was looking for the map.” Timothy followed her to her room. Even in his own house, he found himself looking over his shoulder, listening for noises from the other rooms. “We can’t go to Scotland. We have to stay here and solve the cipher. We might not have much time before something else happens.”

  Sarah was already in her closet. Timothy could hear her burrowing behind the clothes.

  “It’s still here!”

  “I already told you that.”

  She reemerged with a scarf tangled in her hair.

  “We’ll have to take the map with us. Didn’t Mr. Twig say something about Scotland and rumors that the special stone might be hidden there?” A furrow of concentration pleated her brow. “This doesn’t sound like a coincidence to me.”

  “What am I going to do about the leaf? How will we know when things are dangerous?” Timothy did a backflop onto her bed.

  Timothy loved lasagna, but tonight the food was a heavy lump in his stomach. Sarah ate with concentration, staring only at her plate. His father was so busy telling them about the highlights of Edinburgh that all Timothy needed to do was nod occasionally while trying to devise a plan. First, he must find a safer place for the map. Then he had better tell Mr. Twig that they were going to Scotland. If he and Sarah and Jessica could just get a little time alone with the map before they left, to try to work out its solution—

  “Timothy, did you hear what your father just said?” His mother looked at him with a puzzled frown. “There’s a torchlight procession a few days after Christmas in Edinburgh. There are pipers and drummers and—”

  “Fireworks,” added his father. “And, best of all, they have a full-size replica of a longship that they burn at the end.”

  “A longship?” He’d read about longships, many-oared Viking boats. A life-size model would be amazing to see.

  But Sarah cut across his thoughts. “Would we be able to take a friend with us?”

  “For Christmas? I don’t think many families would want to have their children somewhere else at Christmas.” Their mother shook her head.

  “But what about Christmas Eve services and our Christmas stockings and—” Timothy improvised.

  “I didn’t know my children were such traditionalists,” Mr. Maxwell interrupted. “We can celebrate Christmas in a different country for once, you know. After all, we’ll still be together.” He wiped his mouth contentedly on a napkin.

  Timothy didn’t say anything else for the rest of the meal. Sarah must have been referring to Jessica when she suggested bringing a friend; he could tell by the way she’d
tried to catch his eye. Perhaps he could pretend to be sick. In his heart, though, he knew it was hopeless. Once his father got an idea in his head, it was impossible to change his mind; he’d guard it as fiercely as a dog with a prize bone.

  After dinner Timothy and Sarah sat on her bed, the map carefully unrolled between them. Timothy told Sarah again about everything that had happened at school. But the retelling couldn’t conjure the sense of sheer dread Timothy had felt when the magician stared straight at him and the lights went out.

  “Mr. Twig said something would happen. I just didn’t expect it to be at school and so soon!” Timothy burrowed his feet under the comforter. “We’re not safe until we find the special stone.”

  “Are the rowan branches still at the windows?” Sarah didn’t look up as she spoke. Her head was bent low over the old map, her hair fringing her face.

  “Yeah, I checked when I got home.”

  “Timothy, you’re good at codes. Why haven’t you been able to crack this one?”

  “Mr. Twig couldn’t figure it out, and he had the map forever! Besides, maps aren’t codes. I don’t know how to figure out a map of someplace I’ve never seen.” Timothy pictured the word stymied spread out before him in gleaming Scrabble tiles, thirteen points. It was a funny, old-fashioned word, but it expressed exactly how he felt.

  “But it can’t be impossible. After all, you’re the one who’s supposed to find the Stone of Destiny. You’re the Filidh.”

  He stared harder at the map, but no matter how hard he stared, the map wasn’t giving its secrets away. The dominant features were forests, two groups of mountains, and what appeared to be a coastline. But the forest could be anywhere. Nothing was labeled. Codes followed patterns. Once you found the pattern, the solution was possible, even if it took a lot of work. But maps, as far as Timothy knew, had to have a starting point. A You are here arrow would have been helpful. This map had no legend to guide them. “We have to go back to Mr. Twig’s. We have to tell him we’re going to Scotland and that I have a few more questions about the map.” Timothy checked the date on his watch. “We leave in less than a week. The question is, how are we going to protect the map until then?”