Fortune

by Craig W. Turner

  “Very good, sir,” Dexter said. “Fix us with four of your finest lumberers.” He gave the sarcasm right back to him.

  “Four?”

  “There are four of us here, are there not?”

  Cadwallader looked at the two Colonials with them. They could see his wheels were turning. The fact that they were a dark-skinned man and a woman probably blew his mind, too. Their interactions with people would get easier when they got to Philadelphia and separated, but Cadwallader would have a nice topic of conversation to go with his evening ale.

  He turned and opened the gate. Taking his time, he separately pulled the reins of four “lumberers,” and presented them to the group.

  “Can you provide saddles, as well?” Dexter continued after inspecting the horses. He looked ridiculous doing so, but Jeff couldn’t help but think he probably did know what he was doing. The smart bastard.

  “Oh, sir, I’m sorry,” Cadwallader said, suddenly with a completely different tone. “I believe I only have four saddles available – and one of them is my own.”

  Dexter must’ve thought they’d screwed around enough, saying, “I’m prepared to pay you 100 Pennsylvania pounds for your service to the King. Surely that’s enough to find yourself another saddle.”

  Cadwallader grunted. “Surely it is,” he said slowly, stunned. The fee was about three times what Dexter said the items should have cost. “I will draw up the saddles immediately.”

  “We’ll need one musket, as well. With ammunition.” Jeff looked at Dexter, who shrugged. There was no way of knowing if Cadwallader actually had a weapon to sell, but Dexter must have thought it was worth asking.

  A changed man, the stablemaster marched into the building and came out quickly with a teenage boy and four saddles. As they deftly fit them onto the horses, the boy went back inside and re-emerged carrying a musket. Cadwallader led the team to Dexter, who reached into his pocket and pulled out the priceless paper money from his personal collection. Without the emotion with which he’d put the money into his pocket, he handed it to Cadwallader. Jeff hoped that perhaps the knowledge that his money would be going to an American hero would satisfy Dexter. Especially after he’d just berated him as part of their charade.

  Within a few minutes, the four of them were leaving town, the interested looks of the townspeople, and Dexter’s historical paper money behind, and were headed up another dirt road toward Philadelphia. While this road, like the other, was bordered by farmland, it was heavy with traffic – individual riders, stages. It was the commerce of the day flowing from Chester to the city where everything was taking place. They rode hurriedly, but not with such haste as to grab attention. Eventually, as they reached a higher concentration of buildings that marked their entry to Philadelphia, the traffic became thick enough that they slowed to a trot. After a short while, they were in a bustling area that appeared to be the center of town, so Emeka and Abby broke off without fanfare and disappeared down a cross street.

  “Where’d that accent come from?” Jeff finally had the opportunity to ask Dexter.

  “Which accent, chap?” Dexter said, laughing.

  “Well, it was impressive. I hope I don’t have to do any talking. I sound as much like a British soldier as I do a KGB agent.” They rode in silence for a moment. “That must’ve been hard for you, giving up that cash. At least it sounds like you couldn’t have given it to a better man. But I know it was part of your collection.”

  Dexter was silent, staring at the buildings passing by.

  “Well, I just want you to know that I appreciate all you’ve done,” Jeff said. “I hope the story of doing something no one else can say they’ve experienced and being here makes up for the-”

  “Right there,” Dexter said.

  “What?”

  “Right there.” He pointed at the building to their right, a small storefront with a sharp brown door and thick burgundy curtains inside the window. A sign hanging on a banner pole jutting out from the building read Pennsylvania Chronicle. “That’s Ben Franklin’s place.”

  “It’s what?”

  “It’s Benjamin Franklin’s newspaper,” Dexter said, nearly unable to contain his enthusiasm. “Wow. I’ve seen illustrations of the street here, but this is unbelievable.”

  Jeff was still caught up in the sentiment of wanting to thank Dexter for his work. “You want to go in?”

  “What?” Dexter turned to him excitedly, like a child whose father had just told him they were stopping for ice cream on the way home from church. He immediately caught himself, though. “No, we can’t. We shouldn’t.”

  “We have time.”

  “Time isn’t the only factor,” Dexter said. “We were worried about a dummy like Robert Miles figuring out that we were not from his time, and you want to take this charade to one of the most intelligent people that ever walked this planet? In British soldier uniforms? When you can’t even pull off a British accent? Not the smartest thing we could do.”

  Jeff laughed. “I didn’t say it was smart. You just don’t get a chance like this very often. I suppose the odds are pretty good he’s not even in there.” He realized that Dexter had brought his horse to a stop, so he did the same.

  “No, he probably is, as long as he’s in town.”

  “Can you come up with a story as to why a Red Coat might drop into his place? What if I don’t go in? You just go in quickly, make a quick conversation, and leave.”

  Dexter was thinking about it, but then shook his head. “No. Even if I came up with something, smart people get to be smart people by asking questions. A British soldier walks into Franklin’s office, he’s going to be pretty curious as to why.”

  “I would imagine, yes, given the state of things.” Jeff was still amused. Clearly Dexter wanted to go in. He was enjoying teasing him.

  “Though, I suppose I could say simply that I was ordered to check in on various offices along the street. You’re right, given the state of things and what Franklin should already know about the direction the colonies are going, he might not think it’s all that strange.”

  “And what they know about Franklin,” Jeff said. “Just do it.”

  Dexter was smiling now. He nodded excitedly at Jeff. “Yeah?”

  Jeff waved him on his way. He really hoped that no one had heard that exchange, because they would’ve found it ludicrous – two Brits gushing over a Colonial. Especially one that probably wasn’t regarded warmly by the King. He chuckled to himself as his friend dismounted.

  Only for a second, though, as the force of Dexter’s leap from the horse sent his smart phone spinning from his pocket onto the cobblestone street. As those phones are known to do, it erupted into pieces, flying in every direction.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Jeff said quietly, but will all the sternness he could muster. “Why did you bring that thing?”

  Dexter looked terrified. “Jeff, I didn’t mean to. I made a call before we left and I guess I just forgot I had it on me.” He scrambled and scooped up the various components, throwing them back into his coat pocket without putting it back together. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  “Could you imagine what could happen if that gets into anyone’s hands?”

  “I know, I know.” He climbed back onto his horse, refusing to make eye contact.

  Jeff looked around the street to see if anyone was paying attention to them, but fortunately, it appeared everyone was wrapped up in their own business. He turned his attention back to Dexter. “Aren’t you going in?”

  He shook his head. “No. That was a good reminder of why not.”

  “Well, you’d better make sure that stays completely out of sight until we get back.”

  “It will. Let’s go get this done so we can get back quickly.”

  “I better not hear that thing go off.” He knew it was in pieces, but wanted the last word.

  “Who’s going to call me, Paul Revere? Let me know the British are coming?”

  Alright, Jeff thought, that
was clever. But he wasn’t going to admit it to Dexter because he was pissed. After that diatribe about smart people, he drops modern-day technology onto the ground outside of the office of one of the smartest men on earth. That’s the last thing they needed – to get back to their present time and find out that Franklin invented the cellular telephone.

  The two of them continued down the road until they reached a treed courtyard, where they dismounted and took a seat on a short stoop surrounding a small fountain. They watched people pass by for about ten minutes. Jeff took in the atmosphere – Colonials making their livelihood, some selling on the street, some carrying loads of whatever. A handful of children playing what looked like jacks on the front porch of one of the homes. A collection of British soldiers roaming the streets with little direction, but with an air of purpose.

  He tried to put out of his mind that Dexter had made the dangerous mistake of bringing his phone with him, but was having trouble doing so. Especially since he was consistently saying he was deathly afraid of making changes that could have lasting consequences. Jeff had honestly been surprised when Dexter said he needed to bring a small, hand-held blowtorch with him to deal with the heavy chains he expected to be holding the jewel box, but he understood it was a means to an end. The phone had no such purpose. It would be something they specifically reviewed when they got back.

  With no one paying them much attention, Dexter quickly pulled the pieces of his phone out and slapped them back together. Jeff watched him for a moment, then said, “It’s your own rule, man.”

  “Jeff, I screwed up, alright? It’s going in my pocket and it won’t come out. Let it go.”

  He shook his head, mostly trying to pretend it hadn’t happened. “Alright, we’re set here. What’s next?”

  Dexter pointed down the block toward a row of connected gray brick buildings. “The third one down is Major Garvey’s temporary home while he’s in Philadelphia. Three days ago, he received the shipment of stones from the King, to be distributed to officers in the Royal Army. But he doesn’t have any intention of doing so – at least not yet. They’re in there waiting for us.”

  “And Garvey?”

  “We wait here until we see him arrive, and then we’ll approach him with our urgent message from Colonel Windermere.”

  “And you’re sure he’ll invite us inside?” Jeff asked.

  “Well, no, I can’t be sure. But our message demands an immediate response, so the hope is that he’ll invite us in while he writes his own message back.”

  “And if he doesn’t?”

  “Then Emeka’s behind the building with Plan B – break in through the basement window.”

  “No, I know that,” Jeff said, still watching the people milling around as he talked. A woman walking with a small dog caught his attention – she was dressed almost identically to Abby. It was going to be difficult to hold things against Dexter given the precision with which he’d put together the operation. “What do we do if he doesn’t invite us in?”

  “I suppose we wait for his response and then leave.”

  “I still don’t understand why we don’t use Plan B in the first place.”

  “Because it’s riskier. Someone will hear and someone will come to defend the house. That plan relies on Emeka’s skills at infiltration. This plan relies on strategy. And... Wow, I didn’t think my timing could be that good.”

  Jeff looked up to see what Dexter had seen, and watched as a carriage approached the front of the third building down. Sure enough, a red coat emerged from the carriage and the man in it stood in front of the building talking with a small cadre of similarly-dressed soldiers who gathered around. The man was the tallest of the group, but in uniform there was little to discern him from the others.

  Dexter patted Jeff on the leg excitedly. “C’mon, let’s go,” he said. “And don’t say anything.”

  The two mounted their horses and galloped with haste toward Garvey. Within 90 seconds they were there, but the Major had already climbed the small flight of stairs and was about to go through the front door. He stopped and turned, however, when he heard the horses’ hooves slow to a stop just steps away from him. Not surprised to see two Red Coats approaching, he stood at attention awaiting their approach.

  Gracefully, Dexter dismounted and hopped up the stairs, pulling a small leather satchel – also from his collection – from his pocket and extending it to Garvey. “An urgent message from Colonel Windermere, my lord.”

  Garvey pulled the package from his hand, unfolded it, and took a moment to inspect it. Jeff watched his face closely to see if he gave a reaction, which he did not. He simply read the message, reflected on it for a moment, then refolded it into its pouch, never knowing the note was created on a color laser printer. He stood for another moment, thinking, then turned and reached for the doorknob.

  Jeff clenched – they weren’t getting in.

  But then Garvey turned to Dexter. “Follow me,” he said. Dexter, in turn, nodded to Jeff, who dismounted and followed his friend up the stairs.

  They were inside, following Garvey through the house. The foyer, and what appeared to be a living room that had been transformed into an office of sorts, were lined with dark cherry, and the hard wooden floor creaked beneath their feet. A large desk was positioned across from the fireplace that was not lit, and natural morning light shined through the large front windows. An ornate red and gold carpet lined the floor, and an obnoxiously-oversized British flag hung over the mantle.

  Jeff’s mind immediately went into worry mode – that they might have misjudged the likelihood that Garvey would leave the room. Not to mention that the entire plan depended upon the chest of stones being in plain sight.

  Dexter nudged him and motioned with his chin toward a brown box sitting on the mantle. Jeff had no idea how he knew that was it, but he decided to believe him. He became fixated on the box to determine if there were traps or pitfalls that they hadn’t anticipated.

  Garvey, meanwhile, took off his coat and draped it on the back of his chair, leaving Jeff amazed that even the navy blue long-sleeved undershirts that Dexter had outfitted them with were historically accurate. Then, he sat down at the desk, opened a drawer, and flipped through a handful of documents, not finding what he needed. If things went to plan, Garvey would head upstairs to where he kept his private records before giving up.

  While Garvey searched, Jeff noticed Dexter trying to get his attention again. He motioned with his chin this time, not at the box on the mantle, but at a large chest actually sitting in the fireplace. He’d been inspecting the wrong crate. He wondered what was in the brown one.

  The chest in the fireplace came with a whole new array of challenges. In addition to the foremost one – that it was chained to the floor – it appeared to be incredibly heavy. It had no handles, so it would have to be carried from underneath, probably in tandem. Jeff tried to hit the gym twice a week, but looking at the size of the chest, he knew he wasn’t going to be lifting it himself.

  He looked around without being too obvious. They also needed to make sure that no one else came into the building behind them. There was a contingency for having to use some force, but of course it was not preferable. He didn’t know the protocol, but surmised that since they’d been invited in and no one else had, they were in the clear on that front for the time being.

  Finally, Garvey slammed the drawer shut, muttering British expletives under his breath. “Please wait here,” he told them, then disappeared out of the room toward the rear of the house. They listened to Garvey’s footsteps as he climbed the wooden stairs.

  Jeff and Dexter sprang into action – Jeff racing across through the kitchen area to the back of the house, where he threw open the porch door as quietly as possible, letting Emeka, still dressed as a Colonial, though. They tiptoed through the house back to the living room, where Dexter had his blowtorch out and had already cut through two of the four chains binding the chest to the floor.

  “Quickly,” Emeka sai
d quietly. Dexter ignored him, boring into chain number three. Jeff, paranoid, stood guard in the hallway, watching the front door for any unwanted entries and listening intently for Garvey’s returning footsteps.

  Chain three fell to the floor with a clank. Too loud for comfort. Dexter started on number four.

  Jeff heard heavy footsteps upstairs. Three steps, then they stopped. “Hurry up,” he whispered.

  “Calm down,” Dexter said. He was surprisingly calm himself.

  Boom – the fourth chain fell and Dexter was able to pull the chest out several inches to get his fingers behind it. “Here, help me,” he called back, and Emeka darted across the floor to grab one end of it.

  Jeff heard the footsteps coming from upstairs.

  He estimated the time it would take them to get to the back door. Even hurrying, they were going to meet Garvey halfway.

  He ran down the hallway to the bottom of the stairs and looked up. Garvey had not yet appeared and Jeff didn’t want him to appear. Emeka couldn’t go out the front door, as the sentry and driver, at least, were still there. The only way out was the back, and they had to outrace the Major to get there.

  Not knowing what exactly to do, Jeff called up the stairs, “Major, sir, is there anything you need from us?” It was probably the worst British accent in the history of accents, but as he could now see out of the corner of his eye Dexter and Emeka coming down the hallway with the chest, he thought an answer down the stairs might give them an indication as to how much time they had.

  No answer, just footsteps.

  Emeka, taking matters into his own hands, wrestled the chest away from Dexter and carried it himself the rest of the way through the kitchen and out the back door. Jeff followed him out, with Dexter right behind.

  Dexter, however, stopped at the door and turned back to the inside. Abby had now joined them, and was poised with the time travel device to send them back with their mission accomplished. He looked at them, thinking for a moment, then said, “Go, now.”

  Emeka threw the chest onto the grass and took a step back toward Dexter, but Jeff grabbed his arm tightly and pulled him back.