Lord of Time

by Michele Amitrani

  The lady busied herself and, after a few seconds, handed him the crepe filled with white cream.

  “Extra cream today,” the lady said. She gestured hastily toward Alfred’s stomach. “You thin. And pale, eh? Need more food. Eat more, okay?”

  “You’re right,” Alfred said, smiling. “Thank you.”

  “How work goes, eh?” she asked while wiping her hands with a towel. “Busy, busy?”

  “Always,” Alfred said, repeating the conversation they had most mornings. “You too, I see.” He glanced over his shoulders. “I think you’ve got the whole city in line for your kannies.”

  “Cheap food,” she said, nodding approvingly. “Good food. I make them happy. You know, customers talk to friends. They come to me for more. I take care of them. They take care of my bills.”

  “And the world is a happier place.” Alfred handed her a ten-dollar bill.

  “Too much,” the woman said, waving the money away with a polite but altogether weak effort.

  “I insist,” Alfred said, holding the money for her to take.

  “Young man is good man,” the lady said, broadening her already-wide smile while pocketing the money. “Every day he’s so generous. He makes me rich.”

  “You’re welcome,” Alfred said. “You have a great day.”

  While walking back to Main Street, Alfred thought that the Thai lady might have a point. He had always been a good tipper. How much money had he spent on kannies up to this point? He never really thought about that. Daily expenses like those could add up pretty quickly.

  Alfred decided he would tally up all the money he spent on food from that day on. He took his cell phone out of his pocket to write the memo down, but once the display turned on, he forgot his resolution entirely and instead started browsing the Internet. He typed a web address and started shopping for a pair of shiny, black shoes he really needed for his new job. His project coordinator had pointed out that his shoes were the wrong black. Alfred didn’t think there was anything wrong with them, but of course he didn’t want to upset his boss. So the past couple of days he had spent most of his free time trying to find the right pair at a fair price. Unfortunately, all the shoes his project coordinator had suggested were very expensive, and Alfred was reluctant to buy them. But he knew he could delay no longer. He could not risk becoming the black sheep of the office just a few weeks after getting the job. He had learned that blending in as fast as possible was the only way to survive in his workplace, and so he kept looking at the cell phone’s screen, his last shred of reluctance crumbling under the heavy pressures of his new life.

  His phone notified him that his purchase had been completed as he arrived at the end of Main Street and the center of downtown, where the buildings were taller than anywhere else in the city.

  Steel and glass and concrete made up that world of stores, sidewalks, and traffic lights. But there was something more, if one looked carefully enough, and Alfred was looking very carefully at that moment.

  A block away from the end of Main Street there was a tall gate with a metal plate, a welcoming note engraved upon it: “Welcome to Aion Park: Green Oasis at the Heart of the City.”

  Beyond the gate, there was a sizeable park enclosed in a tall, wrought-iron fence.

  Alfred walked toward that sign and past the gate, entering the green oasis. He was soon surrounded by trees, ponds, and chirping birds. The difference from the rest of the city was striking. It was almost like walking on another planet. A few people walked their dogs. Mothers with strollers shushed crying babies, and children scurried around freely on skateboards and roller skates.

  Alfred had discovered the park less than a week before while looking for a shortcut to his workplace. Because he didn’t have a car and wasn’t a fan of public transportation, he had been very happy to discover that cutting through the park saved him almost ten minutes of walking.

  Alfred breathed in the fresh air, pulled his phone from his pocket, and went back to browsing.

  “Excuse me, young man. Do you know what time it is?”

  Alfred stopped and looked up. On his left, a man sat on a bench surrounded by lemon trees. He was looking at Alfred from behind a pair of dark sunglasses, his lips curved in an odd smile. The man wore a thick raincoat the color of coal, which covered him from neck to knee. A beanie of the same color covered his forehead and ears.

  “I’m sorry.” Alfred glanced around, looking confused. “Were you talking to me?”

  “Indeed, I was,” the stranger said, nodding. “I was inquiring about the time, if you would be so kind.” He pointed at Alfred’s cell phone.

  “Sure,” Alfred said. “Sorry, I was just … I was distracted.” Alfred noticed that the man was wearing a wristwatch. “Oh,” he said, indicating the wristwatch. “Did it die on you?”

  “This?” the man brushed his wristwatch with a gloved hand and shook his head slightly. “This is working just fine, but it doesn’t keep the time. Not anymore.”

  Silence followed. Alfred decided the man had made some kind of joke he didn’t understand, so he smiled briefly, cleared his throat, and glanced at his phone. “Well,” he said, “it’s a quarter to nine.”

  “Good,” the main said, looking pleased. “And would you happen to also know today’s weather?”

  Alfred frowned. “Well … I …” he trailed off while the man looked at him expectantly. Alfred examined the sky, still crowded with clouds. “I think it’s pretty obvious that it’s going to rain.”

  “Is that a personal feeling or what your clever device suggests to you?”

  Alfred glanced at his cell phone. “Both, I guess.”

  “So you’re guessing what today’s weather might be. That doesn’t really answer my question. I’m still not sure if it’s going to rain today.”

  Alfred blinked. “I don’t think there is a definitive answer to that question, sir. That’s why it’s called a weather forecast.”

  “Forecast,” the man repeated as if tasting an extremely bitter fruit. “Wouldn’t it be nice to know it for a fact?”

  Alfred stood there, speechless. Before he could say anything else, the man pointed at Alfred’s half-finished breakfast.

  “Are you enjoying your khanom buang?” he asked.

  “What was that?” Alfred frowned, taken aback by the sudden change of subject.

  The man in black gestured toward his crepe. “That looks like one of the sweet delicacies sold by the lovely lady on Keeper Street. Am I right?”

  “Oh, this?” Alfred looked at his breakfast. “Yeah, you’re right. It’s quite good, actually.”

  “It must be,” the man said, lifting his arms up until he could lay them both over the back of the bench. “I saw you walking around here yesterday, and the day before yesterday. That was your breakfast every single time, wasn’t it? You must be a young man with a knack for habits. You know, I like good habits too.” He looked at a couple of people walking past. “I sit here and look at the good people of this city. People like you. Routine people. People who are never late. Always there when they are expected. Heading to work, I imagine?”

  “Yes, actually,” Alfred said. “I was just—”

  “Must be a fine job,” the man said, cutting him off smoothly. “Must be, if you are so careful to be on time every day.”

  “Well, it pays my bills,” Alfred said, shrugging. He glanced at his phone and inhaled sharply. “I’m sorry, it’s getting late. I have to go.”

  “Of course you do,” the man nodded, as if Alfred had stated a universal truth. “Late is bad, always. It was nice to meet you, mister …”

  “My name’s Alfred. Alfred White.”

  “Alfred,” the man mused. “A modern descendant of the Anglo-Saxon name Ælfræd, formed from the binding of the Germanic words ælf, meaning ‘elf,’ and ræd, meaning ‘counsel.’ A common name. A name for royalty, artists, and entertainers. A name for kings. Pleased to meet you, Alfred White.” The man stretched out his gloved hand and added, “Pacifi
c.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “My name,” the man said. “I’m called Pacific.”

  Alfred pocketed his cell phone, and the two shook hands.

  “Have an incredibly ordinary day, young man,” Pacific said, grinning.

  The handshake lasted longer than Alfred expected, and Pacific’s grip proved way too strong for his liking.

  Alfred walked faster to make up for the time he had lost. But he had to keep himself from looking over his shoulder.

  Pacific? What kind of name was that? Not to mention his clothes. He looked like a mixture of Neo from The Matrix and an undertaker. Definitely on the weird side. A few minutes later, Alfred reached the end of the park, walked through another gate, and once again found himself inside the world of steel and glass.

  Right in front of him, an imposing skyscraper, shinier than a diamond, dominated everything. This was his workplace: the newest building in the financial district, the very symbol of the corporate world that ran the city, and the latest pride of the City Council. It was one hundred and eleven floors tall and made with enough glass to encase a small planet. They called it the Spear.

  A stream of people headed toward the building, like an army of ants seeking the shelter of their anthill.

  Alfred passed the entrance door, which was flanked by two security guards, and put his badge on top of an iron pillar that flashed with a green light, granting him access.

  The inside of the building made everything and everyone seem small and insignificant. Alfred took one of the many elevators available and pushed the button to the twenty-fourth floor. The elevator was packed with silent people looking forward, their expressions completely blank. No one spoke. They hardly seemed to breathe. Some got off as the elevator stopped, and more came in.

  On the twenty-fourth floor, Alfred got out of the elevator, walked through a maze of white corridors packed with white collars, and finally got to his cubicle, the one farthest away from the boss’s office. The cubicle was furnished with a simple white desk, a computer, a chair, and a small paper shredder.

  On his left, Jack Smith was typing on a keyboard. Jack was double his age and triple his size. His eyes were constantly dull, his shoulders hunched, and ever since Alfred had first seen him, Jack was frequently snacking on some kind of cheap food. That morning he was munching on wasabi peas while sipping absentmindedly from a coffee mug.

  Alfred had spoken with him only twice since starting at the Spear: the first time to introduce himself, the second time to ask him where the bathroom was. Both times Jack had looked annoyed that his mouth was forced to do something other than chew.

  Alfred looked away from Jack and glanced at the cubicle on his right. That was the dominion of Mrs. Debby Johnson, with whom Alfred had spoken only once, when she had pointed out that his typing was far too noisy for her liking. Alfred had apologized, of course, and had proceeded to type as quietly as possible.

  The other people in the office mostly ignored him or pointed out things he was doing wrong, like wearing the wrong kind of tie, jacket, or hairstyle.

  From their comments and their attitude, Alfred had learned a very important lesson: if you wanted to survive inside the Spear, you kept your head down and did as you were told. According to his project coordinator, Mr. Solidali, very few hires lasted a month inside the Spear. If you made it to the second month, only then you were considered to be more than a body that occupied space.

  Alfred spoke with Mr. Solidali most. Mr. Solidali was a middle-aged man of average height with brown eyes constantly in motion, as if they were looking for something out of place.

  He was the right hand of the boss, whose office was at the center of the twenty-fourth floor. Crossing him meant crossing the universe itself.

  Alfred was about to sit behind his desk when he heard footsteps approaching.

  “White?” It was his project coordinator.

  “Good morning, sir,” Alfred said cheerfully, smiling to his superior. Then he ventured, “How are you doing?”

  Mr. Solidali disregarded Alfred’s question and instead glanced at his wristwatch. “You’re only five minutes away from the breaking point. Are you an adrenaline chaser, White?”

  Alfred swallowed hard. The breaking point was the office term for late. And late meant death for people like Alfred, who aspired not only to make it to the second month but also to start a career at the Spear. “No, sir,” Alfred said hastily. “I don’t do adrenaline, sir. I’m as far from an adrenaline chaser as … as …” Alfred opened and closed his mouth comically, trying to finish the sentence in some clever way but coming up with nothing better than, “As an old man just a sneeze away from death.”

  Alfred broke in a nervous laugh. He stopped almost immediately.

  Mr. Solidali looked at Alfred as if he were trying to decide something. In the end, he simply put a stack of paper on Alfred’s desk and said, “I’m going to need a detailed analysis of this report by noon. Make it two pages long. Heck, no.” Again he glanced at his watch and mumbled something. “Make it one,” he ordered. “I don’t have time for much fluff today. Gimme just the hard data this time, will ya? Keep off your sagacious remarks. Nobody needs to know the remarkably clever backstory of the word incentivize.”

  “Yes, sir,” Alfred nodded. “Got it.”

  Mr. Solidali inspected Alfred’s shoes as if an invisible presence had pointed them out to him. He pursed his thin lips, looked at Alfred as if the ozone depletion had been a devilry of his own device, and walked away with long strides.

  Alfred sat behind his desk and sighed.

  “Quiet, please!” came the shrill voice of Mrs. Debby Johnson.

  “Sorry,” Alfred said.

  A loud sniff, and then the typing resumed.

  Alfred started sorting the stack of papers.

  Less than one hour later, he had completely forgotten about the man called Pacific.

  2

  The Trickster

  Alfred White woke up to the sound of an alarm clock. He rose from his bed in a fluid motion, picked up his phone from the bedside table, and turned off the alarm. He then looked at the display with bleary eyes; it was seven thirty in the morning.

  He followed his carefully planned routine as he did every morning. He showered, carefully avoided his reflection in the mirror, dressed, went out.

  Once again, it was a cloudy day. The wind was even less forgiving than the day before, and the temperature had dropped drastically.

  Alfred joined the river of people trickling onto Main Street and passed the usual newspaper vendor, who was yelling about increased housing costs. Alfred walked on Main for a while, turned left and got into Keeper Street. He waited in line and ordered his usual breakfast from the Thai lady.

  The woman handed him the food with a smile that seemed copied and pasted from the day before. “Very nice shoes,” she said, eyeing Alfred’s brand-new black shoes approvingly. “Young man make more money, eh? He buys new things that make him even prettier.” Her smile widened as her eyes narrowed.

  “Well, thanks.” Alfred blushed. He cleared his throat. “Yes, I bought them yesterday. Glad you like them.” He paid in cash, tipping the woman even more nicely than he had the day before.

  “See you tomorrow, yes?” the Thai lady said as she put the money in her pouch.

  “You bet,” he replied.

  Alfred left Keeper and went back to Main Street. By the time he arrived in front of the park’s gate downtown, his breakfast was long gone. A notification appeared on his phone while he was walking in the park; it was an incoming email from Mr. Solidali. The subject line began, “Read this now!”

  Alfred stopped dead in his tracks, and his brain shut down as he focused on nothing except the message.

  “Yet another good morning to you, Alfred White.”

  Alfred looked up from his phone. Right in front of him was the man he had met the day before.

  “Hi.” Alfred blinked several times then added, a bit lost, “I … ahem
…” He trailed off for a few seconds. He didn’t remember the man’s name. Was it Perry? Potter, maybe? Alfred was really bad with names.

  After a long silence, he smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry. I completely forgot your name.”

  “Pacific,” the man filled in. “The name’s Pacific. Like the ocean.”

  “Right, Pacific.” Alfred gazed at his cell phone. “Good morning to you, sir.”

  “How are you faring today, young man?”

  “Not too bad,” Alfred said, nodding hurriedly. “Yeah, not too bad at all.” He needed to get to work quickly. The breaking point was fast approaching, but somehow it seemed rude to leave the man like that. So he forced a smile and asked, “How about yourself?”

  “Majestically well,” Pacific replied. He tapped his wristwatch with his index finger. “Would you be so kind once more?”

  “Wondering about the time again?” Alfred’s polite smile was very tight. He was wondering if the man had nothing better to do than bother passersby with silly questions.

  “Of course,” Pacific said. “Is there anything more important than that?”

  “Just out of curiosity, don’t you have a cell phone?”

  “A cell phone?” Pacific repeated, frowning. “Why should I have one?”

  “Well, they’re quite useful when it comes to talking to people.” Alfred gestured toward his cell phone. “They are also quite handy for checking the time.”

  “See,” Pacific said, settling back on the bench and casually smoothing his coat, “I meet the people I want to talk to in person. And regarding the time, why do I need a cell phone when I have you?”

  That was it. Alfred decided the man was obviously more than a bit weird. Pacific kept staring at him like he was actually waiting for an answer.

  “It’s ten to nine,” Alfred said dryly. He pocketed his phone and started walking away. “Have a good day.”

  “Ten to nine?” Pacific repeated, puzzled. “Are you sure?”

  Alfred stopped and turned toward Pacific. “What was that?” he asked.

  “I said, are you sure that is the right time?”