Masters of Time

by Sarah Woodbury

  Honestly, she hadn’t really believed they would travel to Avalon when she’d jumped. She’d hoped for it—or at least part of her had done so—but she’d really been thinking about swimming. Both she and Arthur were good swimmers, Arthur having learned last summer from Huw, and there were worse things than falling into the Thames. Because Westminster was on the western side of the city, and thus upstream from London proper, the river wasn’t even that dirty.

  She’d planned to swim with him to the Lambeth Palace shore and get away that way. She hadn’t been allowed to spend very much time on her own outside castle walls—okay, no time—but she wasn’t completely stupid, and she’d had a tiny bit of a plan. People were often nicer than you thought they might be, and when she was with Arthur, they tended to treat her well because of him. Four-year-olds, especially cute ones, drew adult sympathy.

  It wasn’t as if she thought she could walk all the way to Wales or anything, but getting out of the castle with Arthur had seemed a better idea than staying in it. The black abyss had swallowed them whole, so she’d known when they’d landed in a heap on the grass beside the train station instead of in the river that she’d traveled. She’d thought the stories David had told her had prepared her for Avalon, but they hadn’t—hardly at all. Those first minutes with Arthur had completely overwhelmed her, and she’d sat on the bench to think because she’d had no idea at all what to do.

  And then Christopher had come, and whatever faith she’d lost after learning of Dafydd’s possible death had been renewed. She really did think that Mark was right and whatever magic was inside Dafydd was still working in her favor. As she stared at the rows of Welsh banners, she took their existence as a sign that it would continue to do so.

  “Can I help you?”

  They all spun around to look at the young woman who’d appeared in the doorway. She had dark skin like Darren Jeffries and was dressed almost identically to Christopher in brown pants and a blue shirt.

  “We’re waiting for someone,” Christopher said.

  The woman shrugged. “It’s almost five o’clock, so we’ll be locking the doors in a few minutes.”

  Christopher pulled out Jon’s phone and looked at it. “We’ll be out of here by then.”

  “Okay. Thanks.” She left.

  Keeping the phone in his hand, Christopher looked at the others. “We’d better wait outside.” He led the way out of the hall and started down the steps, but before he reached the bottom, one of the heavy double doors opened, and a man entered.

  They all pulled up in response, including the man, who said, “Christopher Shepherd?”

  Christopher identified himself with a nod.

  “Mark Jones sent me. I’m Jim Jenson.”

  Beside her, Jon gave a visible sigh of relief. Gwenllian didn’t know who Bruce Banner was, but the man was dressed in what Gwenllian understood to be a suit and tie (she’d only ever seen Callum and Darren Jeffries wearing that kind of clothing), albeit somewhat rumpled, as if he’d wadded his clothing into a ball before putting it on. Water glistened on his shoulders, and Gwenllian could see past him through the open door to the rain puddling on the ground behind him.

  The man held the door wide and gestured them through it. “Come with me.”

  Christopher hesitated. “Where are we going?”

  “Somewhere safe. I’ve made reservations at a hotel. We’ll be completely anonymous.”

  “Okay. Lead the way.”

  They hustled through the rain after the man, following him to where he’d parked his car, one twice as big as Christopher’s. Christopher kept moving, however, heading towards his small vehicle, which was parked farther down the street. It was raining hard, so Gwenllian didn’t stop until she reached the passenger side door.

  The man, however, came to a halt by his vehicle and called after them. “It would be easier to go in my car.”

  “I don’t want to leave mine here because it will get towed,” Christopher said. “Just tell me the name of the hotel in case we get separated in traffic.”

  “The Hilton in Valley Forge.” The man didn’t argue further, and entered his vehicle.

  Christopher then waited for the man to leave his parking space and pull past them so he could follow him. Meanwhile, however, Christopher pressed on his phone with one finger and then gave it to Jon. “We’re on our way in my car. He’s leading.”

  “Okay, Christopher,” Mark’s voice bellowed out of the speaker, far louder than before in the diner. “You need to stay smart and loose.”

  Gwenllian leaned forward from her place in the back seat. “What’s going on?”

  “That’s not Jim,” Christopher said. “Mark doesn’t know where Jim is. This guy knew where we were, and he looks a bit like Jim, but it isn’t him.”

  Jon looked skeptical. “How do you know?”

  “Dude, I took a picture and texted it to Mark!” Christopher said.

  “Oh,” Jon said. “What happened to the real Jim Jenson?”

  “You let me worry about that,” Mark said. “I need you to get yourself someplace safe.”

  Arthur tugged on Gwenllian’s arm, and she bent to him so he could whisper to her. “He had a thing in his ear.” To Arthur, everything he didn’t know the name for became a thing, which in his lisp came out usually as more like fing.

  Gwenllian straightened. “Christopher, Arthur says Jim has a thing in his ear.”

  Christopher looked at Gwenllian through the mirror that hung from the front window glass. “What kind of thing?”

  This time Arthur spoke for himself. “It was inside.” He stuck his finger in his ear and swiveled it. “It was the same color as his skin.”

  Jon turned around to look at Arthur. “Like a hearing aid?”

  Arthur looked blank, and Gwenllian spoke for him. “What’s a hearing aid?”

  “They don’t know, Jon. They don’t have those,” Christopher said. “It could be a hearing aid. Did it have a wire sticking out of it, Arthur?”

  Arthur shook his head.

  Mark was still on the phone. “What are you talking about?”

  Jon brought the phone closer to his mouth. “Arthur saw something in the man’s ear. We’re wondering if it’s a communication device.”

  “Depends on who he’s working for or if he’s freelance,” Mark said. “Christopher, are you being tailed?”

  Christopher jerked his chin to look in the front mirror, though this time he was looking past Gwenllian out the back window. “I don’t know.”

  Gwenllian and Arthur turned at the same time, Arthur standing on the seat so he could see better.

  “Arthur should be buckled, Gwenllian. It’s too dangerous to ride like that.” Christopher stopped the car.

  At first Gwenllian thought he’d stopped so she could fix Arthur’s seat belt, but then he started going again before she’d finished. The cars in front and behind them went at the same time.

  “Coming up in about a quarter-mile,” Mark said from the phone, “you need to do exactly as I say.”

  “Okay,” Christopher said.

  “You’re going to take a right, go until you can take another right, speed as quickly as you can until you hit a T, take a left, drive a thousand meters and pull into Bernie’s Car Wash on the left, which currently has no clients. It’s the kind where you drive straight in. Can you do that?”

  “Right, right, hit the t, left, left into car wash. Got it,” Christopher said.

  “I’m tracking you, but there might be some delay in the GPS. You just passed Henderson, correct?”

  “Yes.” Jon answered for Christopher.

  Gwenllian had no idea who Henderson was, presumably the son of Hender, but she was glad that Jon and Christopher did.

  “How far ahead of you is the fake Jim?”

  “Two cars,” Christopher said.

  “Slow a little until just before your turn and then speed up and take it. Your car is fast, isn’t it?”

  Christopher laughed. “Oh yeah. Hang
on, guys.”

  Gwenllian was thrown into the door as Christopher took the turn and sped to the next corner. She tried not to scream as she gripped the door handle and was thrown against the door again for the next turn. She glanced at Arthur, afraid for him, but his eyes were open, and he had a huge smile on his face.

  “You okay back there, Arthur?” Christopher asked.

  “Yes!” Arthur said.

  In hardly any time, they turned into a large empty space that Jon called a parking lot. Christopher gave the attendant a white and green piece of paper that he took from his pocket, and they drove into the darkness of what Gwenllian had to conclude was the car wash.

  “Make sure the windows are up,” Jon said, and without Gwenllian doing anything, her window went up the last inch.

  Water began to spray all around the car so Gwenllian could no longer see through the windows. It was as if a giant monster was attacking the vehicle. Christopher and Jon—and even Arthur—appeared unworried, so Gwenllian tried to pretend that she wasn’t frightened either.

  Mark spoke from the phone, “Did you lose them?”

  “No idea,” Christopher said. “But I’ve pretty much given Gwenllian and Arthur the grand tour of the twenty-first century, haven’t I?”

  “How’s that?” Mark said.

  “Chocolate chip pancakes and a visit to a car wash.”

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  16 June 2021

  Christopher

  As Christopher made the offhand comment to Mark, he thought he sounded calm and mature, disguising the fact that his heart was beating a million miles an hour. Back at Bryn Mawr, he’d palmed his phone, surreptitiously taken a picture of the fake Jim, and then texted it to Mark. He’d done it as a precaution and honestly been shocked when Mark texted back that the guy was an imposter.

  The car worked its way through the car wash, its wheels locked into the conveyer belt, and Christopher sank deeper into his seat. He felt a little bit safer, just for a second, but the burden of Gwenllian’s and Arthur’s lives had never felt heavier. If not for his pounding heart, Christopher might have thought he was dreaming. He’d been excited to meet a real FBI agent, and now he was running from a fake one. Stuff like this didn’t happen to regular people.

  “What am I supposed to do when the wash finishes?” Christopher said.

  “I’m working on it,” Mark said.

  Jon held up one finger in imitation of their high school calculus teacher. “I know where we can go.”

  “Where?” Everyone spoke together, including Gwenllian from the back seat.

  “My friend Gary and his family are out of town for the week,” Jon said. “Christopher can park his car in the back of their property, and everyone can stay in their guesthouse.”

  “A guesthouse, eh?” Mark said.

  “Lots of people have them out here,” Jon said.

  Christopher had grown up on the Main Line, so he knew that anyone who could afford property anywhere in the area had serious juice behind them. Christopher’s family was rich compared to 99% of the country, but they were in the bottom quarter for Radnor, so he didn’t usually feel very rich when most of the other kids around him were taking annual trips to Europe.

  He’d been to Wales, it was true, but they hadn’t stayed at a castle, and it was only on the way home, after what his dad called their traumatic week, that he’d upgraded their flights to first class. The Black Boar Inn had been the most exciting place they could possibly have stayed, but it wasn’t luxurious. His parents didn’t believe in showering their kids with stuff. At the moment, Christopher was appreciative of their thriftiness, since he really did have the fastest car in the school, even if it was over twenty years old.

  “We’re coming out of the car wash,” Christopher said to Mark.

  “Be ready to drive,” Mark said.

  It was as if they were held in suspended animation, all praying that the fake Jim hadn’t figured out what they’d done and wouldn’t be parked in front of the car wash when they came out. Christopher hadn’t spotted a tail, but that didn’t mean a) there hadn’t been one; or b) that if they’d had one, they’d lost it. Or, now that he thought about it, c) Jim hadn’t put a tracking device on one of them or the car.

  It was still raining, which was probably why the car wash had been empty. It was kind of stupid to wash your car in the middle of a rainstorm. The second he passed a truck, the mud spit out from its wheels would get his car dirty again.

  “Can you see Jim?” Mark said.

  “No,” Christopher and Jon said together, and then Christopher hit the gas.

  The little car zoomed out of the parking lot. Last winter, when David had told Christopher the whole story about the aborted attempt by David and Anna to pick him up at his friend’s house all those years ago, David had vividly described the winding roads and lanes that made up the Main Line. The way the streets wandered had confused Anna and David, but Christopher had grown up here and, more importantly, had been driving these same roads for two years now. Mark was trying to give Christopher directions, but Christopher knew where he was and where he was going. He also knew where the cops liked to hide out, and for all that he aspired to be one, he would be delighted to avoid a speed trap today.

  “Anyone following, Jon?” Mark must have given up on talking to Christopher, which was probably for the best since he was too focused on his driving to answer.

  “Not the way Christopher is driving.” Jon clutched the door handle. “We may not survive this.”

  “I don’t see the downside of crashing,” Christopher said—and meant it. He checked behind him to change lanes and caught another glimpse of Arthur’s face. He was still wide-eyed and smiling. Gwenllian wasn’t quite as cheerful, but she wasn’t as close to screaming as Jon.

  Christopher hit a straight-away that he wouldn’t normally have driven down this fast. Gary’s house was off to the south, but he was wary of going directly there and wanted one more chance to shake off any pursuer. He blew by the Radnor Country Club and the Overbrook Golf Club and, at the last minute, took a right, circling through some housing tracts—what his dad called strip mine developments—and then back onto a larger road.

  He pulled off to the side for a second to allow two cars to pass him. Once they disappeared around the curve ahead, he pulled back onto the road and then almost immediately turned into Gary’s place. He sped down the paved driveway, canopied this time of year in leafy branches. In another ten seconds, his car was invisible from the road.

  He reached the back of the property and stopped, making sure the hedge that surrounded the main house screened them from anyone entering the front door. “We’re here, Mark.”

  “You’re sure about this, Jon?” Mark said. “Don’t they have a caretaker?”

  “Yeah, me,” Jon said. “Taking care of all these mini-farms while their owners are on vacation is my job for the summer.”

  Christopher looked at his friend. “You didn’t tell me that. That’s cool.”

  “Really cool,” Jon said, showing more enthusiasm. “It’s a lot of work, but it pays really well.”

  They closed the connection with Mark and got out of the car. His phone to his ear, now talking to his father, Jon led them to the back door of the guesthouse. He moved aside a potted plant on the top step, bent for the key, and used it to unlock the kitchen door. He then ushered everyone inside.

  Christopher found the light switch, and the blue and white open plan kitchen lit up as if it was welcoming them. When he turned to look at Jon, however, his friend was looking worried.

  “I should go home. I put off my parents by saying that we’ve been at a movie, which is why I didn’t answer their texts for a while, but Dad wants me home. If I don’t go, he might find a way to track where we are through the GPS.”

  “When we drove away, your dad was talking to someone on his phone—did anything come of that?” A now familiar rocky feeling took over Christopher’s stomach.

  “He didn�
��t say directly, but I don’t think so. Just now he complained about dealing with a patient all day who isn’t recovering from surgery as well as my Dad would like. He’d almost forgotten what happened with you.”

  Christopher gave a low laugh. “All this time I’ve been worried. Just tell him I dropped you off so you could take care of Gary’s place, and then you walked home.”

  “You’ll be back?” Gwenllian said to Jon.

  “In the morning,” Jon said. “They want me here at six to feed the animals again, and my parents know it.”

  “What if you’re late?” Gwenllian said.

  “Just stay put until morning. I’ll be here. I promise.”

  The boys looked at each other for a second, and then Christopher surprised himself and Jon by sticking out his hand. “Thanks.”

  “You bet.” The boys shook. “What kind of friend would I be if I let you take care of your time traveling cousins from the Middle Ages all by yourself?”

  Christopher spent the next hour getting Gwenllian and Arthur fed, bathed—because they couldn’t come to the modern world without getting the full bathing experience—and then settled in twin beds in one of the rooms off the kitchen. As a final touch, he put on an old Star Wars DVD. He figured a galaxy far, far away was about as preposterous and impossible to believe as the fact that they’d time traveled, so why not blow their minds completely?

  He was pretty sure that he wasn’t going to sleep at all. He wanted to talk to his dad, and he felt lost without his phone. The guesthouse had WiFi and a tablet for guests to check their email. While he was wary about doing anything online, in the end he decided that anonymous web surfing wouldn’t be traceable to him and fired up the tablet. Then it occurred to him that he had an online phone account, and his dad did too. He didn’t have skills like Mark, but he knew a thing or two about disguising his IP address. After some finagling on the internet, he finally called his father.