Seamus didn’t like the sound of that one bit. Mr. Grey was not the only one Mr. March was hunting.
“We should go,” said Hazel. “Right now. We can pay and leave and head down to Mexico, to South America. We can work there. Or even go to Europe.”
“I’m tired of running,” Mr. Grey said softly. “He’ll hunt me to the ends of the earth. This earth, or another one. I’ve known that, but I hoped it wasn’t true.”
The man named Santiago pulled over his chair, flipped it backwards and sat straddling it. The other man, Julius, stayed at his table and pulled a small book from his pocket. He sat reading and sipping his sarsaparilla.
“So, what brings you to town?” Santiago addressed Miss Sanchez, who hadn’t spoken a word through their meal.
“We’re looking for shipping work, carrying cargo,” she said.
“And you just arrived in town, I presume?” he said. “You don’t seem like locals.”
“We’re only here until we can get work, then we leave,” she said. “March or no March.”
“And do you have someone for whom you are working?”
Seamus wasn’t at all comfortable with giving this man information, and he wanted to stop Miss Sanchez. More than that, he wanted this man to get away from the table. Every instinct in him shouted that Santiago was not a good sort of person.
“Do you know of someone?” Miss Sanchez asked. Good girl, don’t give him more than you need to.
“Yes, in fact. As I’m sure you know, an earthquake recently struck. There’s a man who has been in town only a few months, though by now he knows the name of most every man, woman and child in the city. He’s helping with the reconstruction, and is supervising some of the import of construction materials, even funding some of it, at a hefty interest rate, I’m sure. He’s an Irishman, name is McCullen. He’ll have work for you. His office is only a few blocks away. I could walk you over, if you like.” This last line was addressed solely to Miss Sanchez.
“McCullen?” she said. “He’s here in town? He didn’t leave?”
“So you know him? Curious, don’t you think?” he said. “How many acquaintances we share?”
Chapter 36
October 1, 1864
Los Angeles, California
Hub world
Neil studied Santiago, the man who might be a criminal, a bounty hunter or even an assassin. Seamus looked on impassively. Neil knew that Seamus was wearing his poker face, and that he welcomed Santiago to the table like he’d welcome the bubonic plague. But if this man held information they needed, then the four of them, five if you counted Mr. Escobar, had to endure his presence. Two of the five, the female two, were not having as hard a time of it. Santiago was joking with them, telling them a highly improbable tale involving the daughter of a farmer who purchased a dog that turned out to be a coyote. Hazel laughed, and Neil could tell it was her real laugh, not her polite one. He wanted to punch Santiago in the face.
“So the coyote hid up under the girl’s enormous hoop skirt,” said Santiago, “while her father looked everywhere for him. And when he was gone, the coyote ran off into the hills, never to be seen again.”
“As delightful and amusing as that tale is,” said Seamus, “we need to be seeing Mr. McCullen. Can you direct us to him?”
“I will take you there personally, if the ladies would care to accompany us.”
“Fine,” said Neil. “Let’s go.” He stood and stalked out the door, leaning up against the front of the building until the rest of the group emerged. The man named Julius, who was decidedly less irritating than Santiago, decided to come along. If Julius and Santiago wanted March dead, then that suited Neil just fine. The enemies of his enemy might not be his friends, but they might be useful.
Santiago guided them through the streets, making sure he was sandwiched between Miss Sanchez and Hazel the entire time. The two women seemed not to mind his company, and if they were playing along to get him to cooperate, Neil couldn’t fault them for it. Seamus still looked as serene as the moon, even when Miss Sanchez laughed hard at something Santiago said.
The house Santiago indicated was modest, but if McCullen had only been in Los Angeles a few months, he had done very well for himself. The man who opened the door was in his mid-thirties with sandy brown hair and he seemed clearly delighted with the group assembled on his doorstep.
“Ah, Seamus my boy,” McCullen clapped Seamus on the shoulder. “And Miss Sanchez,” he took her hand. “And Miss Dubois, I am glad you are free of your … legal entanglements.”
“Could we come inside?” asked Seamus. “I’d rather us not linger about on the streets.”
“Yes! Do come in. Do come in.” McCullen let them inside. The house was furnished in what Neil knew from previous experience was upper middle-class furniture and decorations, slightly nicer than warranted by the exterior of the house. McCullen rang for a servant and ordered tea.
“I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure,” he said to Neil.
“Neil Grey,” he said and shook his hand.
“Ah yes, I have heard of you. But I had thought you were a bit older.”
Neil didn’t answer, but he knew McCullen was clever enough to guess that time travel was involved.
“Have you eaten?” McCullen asked the group. “Do you have a place to stay?”
“Never mind that, Oren,” said Seamus. “Why are you here? Why didn’t you go? The earthquake was a week ago.”
McCullen waved his hand in a magnanimous gesture. Neil got the impression that he liked offering them things they needed, that it put him in a position of power, although with the patina of gentility and generosity.
“I simply couldn’t leave you behind,” he said to Miss Sanchez. “It would have been so ungentlemanly, and with Hazel in prison, I had no way to know that you would be able to get the second machine. You could have been stranded here, and that would be unconscionable.”
Miss Sanchez looked puzzled and flustered. “You stayed … for me?”
“Now don’t feel uneasy about it. It was simply a friend helping another friend. Both of us were accidental travelers, and I think we should look out for one another, just as Seamus and I, as fellow countrymen, have assisted one another in the past. Besides, the people here seemed to need me. This city, it’s so new, so rough. Nothing like the Irish cities that have been there for centuries, or even the cities of the Eastern United States. Those are all so civilized. Out here, it’s lawless and wild. Wouldn’t you agree, Santiago?”
“That’s just how I like it,” he said with a wolfish grin.
“Speaking of lawless,” said McCullen, “an old friend of mine contacted me. And when I say ‘friend’ I use the term very loosely. For this is the man who left me stranded in 1961.”
“If you were of no use to him, he would have abandoned you,” said Julius. “It’s my brother’s way.”
Neil was all at attention now. He knew from Seamus and Hazel that McCullen had claimed to have known Mr. March and had even been assisted by him in making engines that produced unnatural amounts of energy. But if Mr. March was now contacting McCullen again, the web around Neil was tightening. And he didn’t like that at all.
“Mr. March has it out for you, Seamus,” said McCullen. “He doesn’t like us working on the time machines. I assured him that I would not do such a thing. But he wouldn’t believe for a moment that you wouldn’t be relentlessly studying the machines and trying to make them useful to you.”
“He’s right about that. But even if I work a lifetime, I’ll never be able to travel at will. Why, with just a thought, he can create time holes.”
“Warrens,” said Santiago.
“Pardon?”
“He makes warrens. Interconnecting tunnels, some going one way, some another with openings in unexpected places. Th
at’s what he is, like a hare, darting in and out of them, eluding those who hunt him. He’s not a Door, properly speaking, but he’s similar.”
“Why are you looking for him?” Neil asked Julius. “If he’s your brother, what has he done that is so terrible?”
“He’s interfering with the timelines. And he’s interfering in the affairs of people. See, our kind are under an agreement, as loose and difficult to enforce as it is, not to perform certain actions. We do not kill people. We are not to overly influence events.”
Santiago snorted. “And they all become lawyers when it comes to defending themselves, because almost all of them do just that.”
“That’s enough,” said Julius, looking pointedly at Santiago. “We are what we are.”
“And what is that?” asked Hazel. “What are you, exactly?”
All eyes turned to Julius, and Santiago was half smiling, as if anticipating a treat. When Julius simply shrugged, Santiago said, “Just tell them, old friend. I’m all ears as well.”
“We have a common purpose, and that is to locate my brother,” said Julius. “Let us focus on that.”
“The Twelve are very secretive,” said Santiago, waggling his eyebrows at Hazel. “Some are good, like true-hearted Julius here and his sister September. Some are cruel, like April. Some have more, shall we say, situational principles, like Augustus.”
“You know Mr. Augustus? He’s here?” said Hazel.
“He is. But no one ever truly knows what The Twelve are up to.”
Yes, thought Neil, who knew? If the Twelve were not allowed to kill people, then it made sense that Mr. March had needed him to do it. He had been used, just as McCullen had, as a cat’s paw, harming people and influencing events to fit Mr. March’s purposes. McCullen and he did the things March did not wish to do himself. They were useful pawns. That had been bad enough, but to be hunted by Mr. March, to not be free of him, and to have his very presence endanger Miss Sanchez, the Professor, and most especially Hazel was too much.
He wanted to leave, to flee, to draw Mr. March away from all of them and keep them safe. And if that meant his death or enslavement, then he would choose death. He would be no one’s tool again. He would live free or die, as the saying went.
“As I was saying,” said McCullen, taking a tea tray from the serving girl and setting it on the table, “Mr. March paid me a call. He believed me, I think, when I said that I was not working on mastering the use of the time machine. However, he would not believe the same of you, Seamus. He was convinced that you were going to figure it out and make use of the machines, perhaps even creating more. Before, you could only move through time, but now you can go between worlds as well. This, to him, cannot be. He will not allow it. I fear, my friend, that he aims to kill you.”
“Well that’s not going to happen,” said Hazel. “Not while we’re around.” She looked at Neil. “Right?”
He nodded once. Hazel loved the Professor like a father, and if it mattered to her, it mattered to him. Besides, he had grown to like Seamus. The man was generally good-natured and frighteningly intelligent in the area of mechanics and physics. He was also irritating and sometimes talked too much, but he cared a great deal for his loved ones, and Neil had to respect that.
McCullen found them rooms upstairs, and the next morning after breakfast, Hazel and Neil went for a walk to get out of the overcrowded house. Mr. Escobar stayed behind, which suited Neil just fine. He liked the little primate, but having some time with just Hazel was a luxury nowadays.
They went out to the beach and sat on the shore.
“We could go, right now,” said Hazel. “I have Skidbladnir in my pocket, and though the dragon is not as fast when she doesn’t have a crew, she can move. We could go and sail somewhere. Never be found.”
“You’d never leave the Professor and Miss Sanchez.”
“No, I wouldn’t,” she sighed. “Or Mr. Escobar and the crew. Mr. March wants you either dead or obeying him, and he seems to just want the Professor dead. And if he thinks that’s going to happen, he can think again. He’ll kill the Professor over my dead body.”
“And if he wants to kill you, then he’ll have to kill me first. And I think Mr. Escobar might try to protect you too.”
She chuckled. “He’ll be very busy with all the killing.”
They sat for a while in silence. Neil couldn’t tell what Hazel was thinking, but when she was happy, she usually talked or sometimes sang or hummed. This time, she just looked out at the waves. Eventually, they decided to head back. They turned the corner onto McCullen’s street when they saw a figure waiting outside.
“My God, it’s him,” said Neil. “He’s found us.”
Chapter 37
October 1, 1864
Los Angeles, California
Hub world
Hazel grabbed Neil’s arm, as if she could keep him from progressing toward Mr. March. Neil was strong, unnaturally so, but Mr. March was something inhuman. In a fight, she didn’t know which one would win. And if Mr. March could open his time warrens, he could slip away, appear somewhere else and attack Neil that way. Or at least, she imagined he could. In her mind, the man had been built up into a monster, brilliant, ruthless and powerful.
“Don’t go,” she hissed, pulling him harder. It had no affect on him physically, but he still paused instead of dragging her along with him.
“He could have done something to Felicia and Seamus,” he said.
Hazel’s hesitation vanished, and she walked forward with Neil, wanting to run into the house and shout for the Professor. But she kept her gaze level and her stride strong. Inside, she might be terrified, but she would not allow anyone to harm the Professor.
“My boy!” shouted Mr. March, and hurried toward them, arms outstretched.
Then Hazel heard shouting, two men yelling at each other in Gaelic, and then Miss Sanchez yelling at both of them in English. They were all right then. They were safe and alive. Mr. March had not harmed them. That meant he had not gone inside to kill the Professor, but was instead waiting for them, or rather, waiting for Neil. She would be an afterthought if she was thought of at all.
When Mr. March drew closer, Hazel saw what a slight man he was. He was taller than she was, but not by much, and was rather narrow across the shoulders for a man. He was exceptionally fair, one of the lightest-skinned people she had ever seen, even lighter than the redheaded Irish people she knew back in New Orleans. His eyes were pale blue and almost looked lavender, as if a drop of pink had been added to the blue of each.
“Mr. March,” said Neil, and Hazel detected a touch of warmth in his voice. Neil had told her how March had cared for him and had been like a father. A part of her wanted to leave them alone, feeling like she was invading their privacy, but she couldn’t leave Neil.
“I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” said Mr. March. “I’ve wanted so much to see you.” He was within a few feet of them now, and without hesitation, he wrapped Neil in his arms and embraced him. Neil reached around and hugged him back, but then stepped away.
“Please come back,” said Mr. March. “I’ve missed you. Our work, it suffers without you. No one I’ve hired holds a candle to you. No one. And not simply because of your skills. It’s who and what you are. I don’t want to continue on without you.”
“Then maybe you shouldn’t. You’re doing things you shouldn’t be doing. And you sent someone to kill me near Savannah.”
“Let’s discuss this,” said Mr. March. “I want to be completely honest about everything and clear up any misunderstandings. Please.”
And with that, he slipped between her and Neil, putting an arm around each of their waists. She was about to pull away, but Neil hadn’t. In fact, he was looking down at Mr. March with something akin to affection. Mr. March’s touch was light, not groping or uncomfortable, and si
nce his attention was focused on Neil, she felt like he was including her out of good manners.
“Now, I know you left word with September Wilde that you no longer wished to continue in my employ. And I respect your autonomy and the good reasons you think you have. But I want to make my case. The work you are doing, it is good work.”
“You had me kill innocents.”
“No, I did not. I have the proof right here.”
He pulled an object from his jacket pocket, about the size of a book, but much thinner and with a sheet of glass on one side. It glowed, and he touched it here and there. Hazel wondered if it was a computer, for it matched the descriptions that Neil and Miss Sanchez had given her. Whatever it was, he used it in plain sight of everyone on the street. Neil must have noticed also, because he steered them to a quieter street and they stopped in a deserted area near what looked like a run-down park.
“Boston Applied Robotics,” said Mr. March. “Right there. Weapons program. Very covert. I have documentation, files and files of it. You can look through it whenever you like. And in Las Vegas, I had an investigator confirm that the girls were dead. Then I had the bodies autopsied with modern methods, not the 1980’s kind, and DNA samples of the killer matched Rick Gallo in each case.”
Neil glanced at the computer, or whatever it was. “How do I know you didn’t falsify the information? I have no way of knowing.”
“Well,” said Mr. March, and his tone hardened just a fraction, “you can always ask your little friend here.”
“What do you mean?” asked Neil, but he stiffened visibly, and every instinct Hazel possessed told her that he knew exactly what Mr. March meant. When she was young, she had stood in the doorway of her house in New Orleans and Neil Grey had been outside. He had given her a newspaper and had pointed out something in it. Her uncle had died suddenly on a train.
The Time Corps Chronicles (Complete Series) Page 52
