by Rysa Walker
After a moment, I knelt down to his level and loosened the small pocket in my bodice, sliding the CHRONOS key out just a bit. His eyes grew wide and several conflicting emotions moved across his face—probably relief that I believed him, but mixed with a touch of what looked like fear. I realized that he associated the medallion with the Cyrists.
“I’m not a Cyrist,” I told him quickly, taking his small hand in mind. “I don’t like them, either. And I think you’re right not to trust your other boss.
“What’s your real name?” I asked, even though I knew beyond any doubt what his answer would be.
“Kiernan,” he said. “Kiernan Dunne, same as me dad was.”
“Kiernan,” I repeated. “It’s a nice name. Or would you rather I called you Mick?”
“No,” he said. “I don’ much like it, but ain’ many people c’n be bothered wi’ learnin’ t’ say me real name. Mick’s easier for ’em, so I don’ argue. Are you really called Kate?” he asked, with a skeptical twist of his mouth.
I nodded, deciding that, given his views of my aunt Prudence, he probably wouldn’t want to know that Kate was actually based on my middle name. “What color is the light on the medallion for you, Kiernan? It’s blue for me—a very bright blue, brighter than any sky you’ve ever seen.”
“It’s green for me, Miss Kate. A deep, pretty green like…” A blush crept over his face and then he looked back up at me. “Like your eyes.”
“That’s really sweet, Kiernan,” I said, squeezing his hand before I let it go to tuck the medallion back into its hidden pocket. “So tell me, do you know what this medallion does?”
“It c’n make you disappear, at least some of the folks at the farm could do that. It’s a holy object for the Cyrists. They said we were special, me and me dad, ’cause we could see the light and make the books send messages. Sister Pru wanted me to work on it ever’ day, but it gives me a headache somethin’ awful. Me mom ain’ never been able to see it and there were a lot of others who couldn’ see it either. Only a few of the people at the farm actually brung one of them—they call ’em keys—with ’em when they came to the farm. An’ other than me dad, they handed the key things over to Sister Pru and the other leaders.”
“Is that why Sister Pru and your dad fought?” I asked. “Your dad wouldn’t give up the key?”
He shook his head. “I don’ think so. She ain’ ever tried to take it from me, either. Tol’ me to keep it after me dad was gone.”
The wheel jerked slightly as it began its second revolution, and I could hear the squeals from those who were now at the top, where the movement would have felt much scarier. I looked at Kiernan for a long moment and tried to piece all of what he had told me into the larger picture. I couldn’t see any clear patterns, however, and eventually decided I would have to rely on my own instincts and give him just a basic outline.
“You don’t have to feel bad about not being completely truthful with me earlier,” I said. “I wasn’t a hundred percent truthful with you, either. I am really called Kate, and I am really following the same two people you were. The man is really a bad guy—all of that is true—but I’m not a newspaper writer. I guess you could say that I’m a messenger of sorts. And you were right to think that the lady with him is in danger. That’s what I’m here to tell her. But I’ve got to do it very carefully.”
He nodded and then tilted his head to one side. “So the lady in the purple hat… why did she cover for us if you aren’ really a writer? Or is that a real paper, that gazette you talked about?”
“No,” I said. “I made it all up. She just…” I pulled the chain of the bracelet away from my wrist and held up the tiny hourglass charm. “I think she recognized this. She knows the lady who gave it to me.”
“Oh, so it’s like a signal she should trust you?”
“Exactly,” I said, rising to my feet carefully as the wheel reached its highest point and then stopped, swaying slightly. I winced a bit as I caught my balance—the blister was clearly getting worse and it didn’t help that these compartments were standing-room only. “I’d rather not try to talk to her again now, given that your boss—Prudence—is still there. But the good news is that I know where the other lady will be later this afternoon. Can I count on you to help me get there?”
He smiled, clearly relieved to know that he hadn’t lost both of his jobs in one fell swoop. “Yes, Miss Kate. I’d be mos’ happy to help.”
I gave his shoulder a squeeze. “Why don’t we enjoy the rest of the ride, then?” I said. “Afterward, you and I can find someplace quiet to sit down and figure out our next steps. And maybe we could make it a place where I can take off these bloody shoes?”
The spot that Kiernan found was nicely secluded—a patch of grass just below one of the bridges that led to the Wooded Island, where I could not only remove my shoes but actually soak my feet. The water looked clean enough and felt wonderfully cool on the back of my heel, which sported, just as I had suspected, a very large blister. The only thing that kept me from hurling the stupid shoes into the lagoon was the fact that there was no Finish Line nearby where I could find functional replacement footgear.
I leaned back against the embankment to relax, glad the dress was green so that I didn’t have to stress too much about grass stains. Kiernan had volunteered to go in search of some lunch, and I was happy to take him up on the offer. It wasn’t quite noon yet, but I had forgotten about dinner in my own timeline, after the huge sandwiches from O’Malley’s for lunch, and I was now starving.
Kiernan came back about ten minutes later with hot dogs, fresh fruit, and more lemonade. Having read Upton Sinclair’s The Jungle in history class, I wasn’t too keen on any hot dog from 1890s Chicago, but I took a few bites, mostly of the bun so that Kiernan wouldn’t think I was too prissy to eat it. He seemed quite happy to trade off the rest of my hot dog for his apple. When we had finished, I pulled one of the energy bars out the brown paper I’d wrapped them in and offered him a piece.
“Not bad,” he said. “Chewy and sweet, too. They sell these in New York?”
I nodded, washing it down with lemonade. That wasn’t where Connor had bought it, but I was pretty sure they sold them in New York and pretty much anywhere else in the country, although definitely not in 1893. I wondered how much Kiernan knew about the CHRONOS key from his time on the Cyrist farm, and what his reaction would be if I told him he was eating something purchased by his great-grandson.
When we finished eating, I reluctantly drew my feet out of the water and propped them against a large stone to let them dry in the sun.
“Miss Kate!” Kiernan exclaimed, pointing. “What happened to your toes?”
“What?” I glanced down, half expecting to see a leech or a cut or some other trauma, but there was nothing odd. “What are you talking about?”
“Your toenails. They’re all red—it looks like blood!”
“Oh,” I laughed. “That’s just nail polish. It’s chipped off in a few places.”
“It looks like paint.” Kiernan sniffed disapprovingly.
I sighed. This was one of the anachronisms that Katherine would probably have caught as I prepared to leave. Did young women paint their nails in the 1890s? Had nail polish even been invented yet? I had no clue.
“Well, it is paint, sort of,” I said.
“Me mom says…” He shook his head and fell silent.
“What does your mom say, Kiernan?” He didn’t answer. “No, really, I won’t be angry. What does she say?”
“She says only whores wear paint,” he said, staring down at the grass. “They usually wear it on their faces, though. I never even heard of painted toes.”
“Well,” I replied, “what your mom says might be true in Ireland and maybe even in Chicago. I don’t know, since it’s my first time here. But in New York, all of the finest ladies polish their nails—toes and fingers. Some of them even glue tiny sparkly stones on the middle of their fingernails.”
“Really?” he
asked, sliding a bit down the bank to look more closely at my toes. “It looks like the paint is still wet. C’n I touch it?”
“Sure,” I said with a laugh, holding out one foot toward him. “The polish is completely dry—it’s been dry for days.”
He reached out a tentative finger, touching the nail of my big toe, and I had a sudden vivid memory of Trey tracing the outlines of my toes as we sat on the couch in my room, just after Katherine disappeared. I felt a bit guilty—I’d promised Trey I would stay away from tall, dark strangers at the fair. Kiernan certainly didn’t fit the tall part of the description yet, and there wasn’t anything even remotely romantic about his interest in my toenails, but I was pretty sure that Trey would be jealous if he knew. So after a moment, I tucked my foot demurely back under my skirt.
I didn’t have a watch, but since Kiernan already knew about the CHRONOS key anyway, I looked around to make sure that no one else was watching and then pressed the center to pull up the display. It was a little after noon. The mayor’s group would be leaving the grounds of the Exposition around a quarter to one to take the train into the city, where the large Auxiliary Building was located. I pulled the Expo map from my bag and flipped it over, spreading it out on the grass in front of me.
“You don’ need the map,” he said. “I c’n find any of the exhibits…”
“What about in Chicago itself?” I asked, and he responded with a crooked grin.
“Prob’ly. I been there three times—all the way to the main downtown. Our room is closer here to the fairgroun’, but I went in wi’ me dad when he was lookin’ for work las’ spring.”
“Do you know how to find the Auxiliary Building?”
“Easy,” he said. “I been there once already. The ladies from London were here for some World’s Congress for Women or somethin’ like that, an’ they wen’ there t’ listen t’ speeches. That’s pretty much all they do there—people stan’ up an’ talk an’ then more people talk. It’s no fun at all—but I s’pose that’s where the lady wi’ the purple feather is goin’?”
“You guessed it,” I said. “I’m really hoping to avoid the trip into the city, if we can. The plan is to try and catch her before she gets on the train, but if I can’t get a moment to speak to her alone, we’ll need to follow them.”
“There’s a lot of differ’nt stations here, though…”
“They’ll be at the Sixtieth Street station—the one closest to where they’re having lunch.”
He looked as though he was about to ask how I knew this, so I tried a bit of redirection.
“Can you go find a garbage bin?” I asked, handing him the wrappers and banana peels and other remnants of our lunch. “I’m going to see if I can squeeze my feet back into these blood-y aw-ful hor-rid rot-ten shoes,” I added, whacking the boots with my hand with each syllable. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to trade with me? Yours might be too small, but I bet they’d still be more comfortable.”
He giggled and shook his head. “No, Miss Kate. I don’ even think me mom would trade you—those boots are pretty enough if all you gotta do is sit, but not too practic’l for workin’ or walkin’ or stuff.”
“Amen to that, kiddo.”
“So why did you buy them?” he asked.
I felt a slight pang as I remembered asking my mom that same question about her heels the night we had dinner with Katherine. It seemed like an eternity had passed instead of only a little more than a month.
“They were a gift. I’d much rather have on my Skechers,” I answered, holding up my hand as he started to ask the inevitable question. “And yes, those are something else they sell in New York.”
I waited until he was out of sight to pull a small tube of antiseptic cream and an adhesive bandage from my bag—both of which were almost certainly not for sale in 1893, even in New York. After taking care of my feet, I pulled on my stockings and tackled the shoes. They took forever to get on without Connor’s buttonhook thingy, and they were still uncomfortable. The long soak in the lagoon seemed to have reduced the swelling a bit, however, and a quick test proved that I could walk without too much pain.
The embankment where we had eaten lunch was on the side of the lagoon closest to the Midway, only a few minutes’ walk to the Sixtieth Street station. We arrived a bit ahead of the expected twelve-forty-five departure so that we could, once again, find a place to sit relatively unobserved before Katherine’s group arrived. I sent Kiernan off to buy us a couple of subway tokens, just in case we did have to board, and to find us a spot on a bench.
Meanwhile, I doubled back one block to visit the “necessary” that I had spotted on our walk over. The “Public Comfort Station” was much larger and more modern than I had feared it might be, although the multiple layers of clothing were still a royal pain.
I was rearranging my bonnet in the small dressing mirror above the sink when I felt a light tap at my elbow. It was Katherine. She grabbed my arm and yanked me around the corner.
“I thought that I saw you coming in here,” she said in a low whisper. “Mrs. Salter—or whoever she is—followed me. She’s in there.” She jerked her head toward one of the stalls. “If you want to talk we need to leave now—we have only a few moments. I can’t seem to shake that woman.”
We dashed across the street toward the buildings that the various states had sponsored to parade their individual accomplishments, history, agriculture, and industry. The California Building was directly opposite the restrooms. I followed Katherine through the doorway and over to a gigantic tower made entirely of oranges, which I had to admit looked much more impressive in living color than it had in the black-and-white photos that I had seen. The display was apparently getting a bit overripe, however, as the unmistakable tang of molded citrus swirled in the air around us.
Once we were out of view of the entrance, Katherine held up my wrist to compare my bracelet to her own. The chains were different, but the charms were identical—a single jade and pearl hourglass, with a small chip in exactly the same place. “Tell me who you are, where you got this bracelet, and why you are here,” she said.
“I can’t answer the first question,” I told her. “But the answer to the second question is that you gave it to me. And I’m here to tell you that you need to return to CHRONOS headquarters immediately. Go straight to the stable point near the cabin. I’ll get a messenger to contact Saul—”
“But why? This isn’t standard protocol!” she said. “I’ll be back at the same time whether we finish our work here or not. CHRONOS doesn’t interrupt the jump even for a family emergency.”
“What is standard protocol if the historian is in danger?” I asked. “You are in danger, even if headquarters doesn’t know it.”
She didn’t answer, so I continued, looking her directly in the eyes. “Listen carefully. I’m going to tell you as much as I can. I can’t tell you everything without—well, you understand, right?”
“You don’t want to mess up the rest of the timeline if you can avoid it.”
“Right. Tell HQ that you’re sick and cancel your next jump.” She started to interrupt again, but I held up a hand. “You’re creative—you’ll think of something. A stomach bug might be convincing given recent events. Oh, and keep that appointment with your gynecologist, okay?”
Her eyes widened, and I continued. “Your suspicions about Saul are correct,” I said, and then paused, trying to decide how much I could tell without changing her actions. “He’s been bringing medicines from your era back to this one. But you cannot confront him about it until he returns from the next jump to Boston—the one you’ll be skipping.”
“Why do I need to skip that jump?” she asked.
“Because I don’t want to have to travel back, track you down, and extract you again at that location!” I said, a bit exasperated. “You need to stay put in your own time for the next few days.”
I made myself take a deep, calming breath and continued. “When Saul gets back, try to convince him to talk t
o Angelo—but wait to tell him about the baby, okay? You’ve got a solo trip planned next week, correct?”
She nodded. “To Boston, 1853.”
“You do need to make that trip. It’s…” I hesitated. “It’s safe.” I didn’t sound very convincing on that point, even to myself. The image of Katherine’s face after her fight with Saul floated before me, and I couldn’t help but remember her description of Angelo’s and Shaila’s deaths, but I pressed on. “And it’s important.”
“Is that all?” she asked.
“Try to avoid Mrs. Salter?”
“Who isn’t actually Mrs. Salter, according to you. A woman, I might add, who looks quite a bit like you, beneath the superficial differences in hair color and the glasses. Who is she? Is she the reason I’m in danger?”
I shook my head. “I’m going to have to follow the lead of my mentor here and tell you that’s strictly on a need-to-know basis, and—”
“And I don’t need to know. Funny. That’s the same line my mentor uses.”
“Well…” I shrugged. “It’s not exactly an original thought. Suffice it to say that if you can avoid her on the way back to the stable point, it would probably be for the best.”
“That may be easier said than done.” She narrowed her eyes slightly, and I could tell she was still trying to decide whether to trust me. “So tell me, how did that charm get chipped? The little hourglass?”
“An altercation between a carriage door and a starstruck young CHRONOS agent, as I understand it. Mr. Douglass is over at the Haiti exhibit, so you might want to avoid him as well—just in case he remembers the incident and asks you to return his handkerchief.”
Katherine gave me a cool, measured stare. “I’m the only one who knows that story, so you must have gotten it from me… but I have a very hard time believing that I would have directed you to interfere like this. It’s entirely against—”
