“That’s a lot of clocks…”
“I have a great many friends.”
“And the paintings? Are these real?” I asked.
“Of course, but real in what way?”
“Um, are they originals?”
“Oh yes, gifts chiefly. I’m good friends with many of these artists.”
“But I’ve seen some of these in the museum.”
“Ah, that’s the better place to pose your question then.”
At that moment one of the side doors opened and a familiar woman traipsed into the room while smoking a strong cigarette in a long holder. It was Madame Madeline from the Library. We had met once in 1933. She was not an old woman. In this incarnation, Madeline appeared to be in her twenties, young and breathtakingly beautiful. She wore a long flowing robe of silk, printed with colorful orchids. Her hair was cut to the top of her shoulders and came to a little flip.
“Why, I haven’t seen you for eighty years if it’s a day. How are you, Patrick my dear?” She gave me a hug and a kiss, a bit more than polite. Madeline turned to inspect Anika. “So, this is the love of your life?”
I was a bit embarrassed but managed to answer all the same, “This is Anika, Fynn’s daughter.”
“Of course it is,” Madeline said grandly. “Wonderful to meet you, my dear.” She smiled. “I see you’ve grown into a fine young woman.”
Anika shot me a glance.
“Oh, don’t be too jealous, my dear. This version of Patrick doesn’t find me at all attractive. We’re just good friends.”
“Very nice to meet you,” Anika said shyly.
“Of course we’ve met before, though you may not remember. You came to Giverny with your father and played in the garden.”
“I don’t recall this,” Anika said.
“Of course you don’t, you were just a little girl, maybe five or six… but you had a marvelous time…”
“Do you live here?” I asked.
“Heavens no, I’m just visiting for the weekend. I thought I’d spend a few days with my good friend Pavel. I live in Provence… at the library.”
“Which library is that?”
“The Library for International Elevation. Le Bibliothèque Internationale pour—”
“Yes, yes,” Pavel interrupted impatiently. “But none of this tells me why you two are here. State your purpose, if you please.”
I turned to Mr Mekanos. “We’re looking for Tractus Fynn. He’s gone missing.”
“Missing you say? Not at all. I know exactly where Fynn is. He’s in the Yemen.”
“What’s he doing there?”
“How should I know?”
“When was this?”
“Hard to say… he’s visiting Sheik Abbas, I’d suppose.”
“Have you seen Sheik Abbas?” I asked.
“Lately?” Pavel laughed.
I nodded.
“No, he’s quite far from here.”
“Traveled back to the distant past?”
“No. He’s also in Yemen, and definitely in the present… a bit of political trouble these days. I wouldn’t recommend visiting, if that’s your idea.”
“If Fynn is there with him, I have to go.”
“Are you mad? Don’t you value your life?”
“Of course…” I replied, flustered.
“How good is your Arabic?”
“Nonexistent.”
“You’ll be dead within an hour.” He looked me up and down. “Can you ride a camel?”
“Not really.”
“What good are you then? You must have a death wish.”
“When exactly did Fynn go to Yemen?”
Pavel glanced around the room at his clocks. “Hundreds and hundreds of years ago. When was it— fifteen hundred and something?”
This conversation was going nowhere until Madeline came over and whispered into Pavel’s ear. He seemed puzzled at first but a smile formed beneath his enormous mustache.
“Madeline has just informed me that we are speaking about different timelines.” Pavel came over and shook my hand. “Welcome to the apocalypse.”
“What?” I was completely surprised by this.
“Well, the post-apocalypse, to be more accurate. The four horseman, they rode through Europe twice in the last hundred years,” Pavel explained and paused to gauge my reaction. “It’s all been rebuilt of course. But, third time’s the charm, I always say.”
“What’s that got to do with Fynn?”
“My dear boy, we are living in his post-apocalyptic world, and while I must say it’s rather cozy, there’s not a drop of espresso to be had.”
“Espresso?” I asked, equally surprised.
“It’s a beverage, like tea or coco…”
I laughed. “So you know about coffee?”
“We know about cafe…” Mr Mekanos said and laughed. “Oh, how I do miss sidewalk cafes,” he exclaimed.
“Oh yes, and cafe au lait,” Madeline said, then burst into laughter. “You’re not the only one who keeps track of such things, Patrick…”
“Ha-ha, Madeline has become quite the expert at importing it illegally. Considered contraband nowadays, of course.”
“I don’t suppose you could make a cup?”
“No, fresh out, I’m afraid.”
“Indeed, and that’s why we’re so eager that you find Fynn and put things back to normal,” Madeline called out.
“What’s my father got to do with cafe?” Anika asked.
“He must have missed his appointment with the Imam.”
“I’m not sure I’m understanding any of this,” she complained.
“It’s quite simple. Your father has to go to Istanbul again…” Pavel explained.
“Why?”
“To convince the Ottomans to write a fatwa about coffee, and thereby introduce it to the Western world.”
“When?”
Pavel was about to reply but had to wait for the jackhammers. There was a relentless attack of noise that shook the entire loft. A bit of ceiling fell to the carpet. The rattling finally subsided and he continued, “Fifteen twenty-four. I think it was a Tuesday.”
“Well, shouldn’t that be a big clue as to when my father is?” Anika asked.
“What?”
“He must’ve have disappeared before that time.”
“Ah, you’re completely right, my dear.”
“So, you do know where Fynn is,” I said.
“Not in this particular timeline.” Pavel paused and stared at me. “Why— do you know where he’s gone?”
“No, that’s why we’re here.”
“I see. Well, I haven’t seen Tractus in nearly a century.”
“That long?”
“Have you searched for him?” Madeline asked from her chair across the room.
“That’s what we’re doing right now.”
“He’s not here, if that’s what you’re hoping,” Pavel said.
“Obviously not.”
“Have you checked his usual haunts?”
“I’m not sure where those are… or when.”
That caused Mr Mekanos to chuckle. “Well, there’s Sand City of course, though I expect you’ve checked already. And…”
I couldn’t quite hear the end of his sentence, the jack hammers had geared up again.
“…Paris, is one of his favorite cities, fin-de-siècle Paris, as it were.”
“Fin-de-siècle?”
“Turn of the century.”
“What, like fifteen years ago?”
“Wrong century.”
“Anywhere else?”
“He spends a lot of time in Geneva… though that was quite some time ago. And he’s rather fond of Cairo, if I recall… again, quite far in the past.”
“I seem to remember Tractus enjoyed his visits to Marseilles,” Madeline offered from across the room.
“Oh yes, the Chateau D’if.”
“Is that a hotel?” I asked.
“Not exactly,” Pavel replied
.
“When was the last time you saw Fynn?” I said as patiently as I could.
“Hmm, good question. Let me think for a moment…” Pavel began considering aloud. He glanced over at one of the clocks. “What’s today— Saturday is it?” he asked rhetorically. “Nineteen sixty-four, I think.”
“That’s less than a hundred years ago.”
“Is it?” Pavel gave me his double laugh.
“Where were you?”
“I’d rather not speak of it.”
“The Flatlands?” I ventured the question.
He glared at me. “Yes, if you must pry.”
“What about his friends? Maybe they’ve seen Fynn.”
“Excellent thinking, dear boy… his friends…” Pavel said.
“Carlos?” I asked.
“Mr Santayana? Oh no, Fynn wouldn’t want to visit him. He lives in quite a different history.”
“How about Brigadier Thomas?” I asked.
“My brother and Myra are off on some fool’s errand to kidnap Lenin,” Madeline remarked.
“Myra?”
“Mrs Hatchet from the Library. Surely you remember her?”
“Who could forget?” I replied. “What’s this about Lennon?”
“Lenin, my dear boy, Vladimir Ilyich Ulyanov. They aim to kidnap him,” Pavel explained.
“Why?”
“Why, to bring him from Switzerland to Mother Russia.”
“Do you think Fynn went with them?”
“Doubtful. He hates meddling in politics.”
“When was this?”
“Last Tuesday.”
“Did they succeed?” I asked.
“You’d know better than me. What’s your history say about it?”
“What year was that?”
“Nineteen seventeen, a Thursday, I think… though they do use a different calendar than us.”
“Seems familiar somehow.”
“That’s all you can say? What do you remember about your history then?”
“Obviously not enough.” I paused. “Sorry.”
“Are you saying you have no idea who Lenin is?”
“No…”
“Well then, what?”
“There was a revolution in Russia, October, nineteen seventeen, the Bolsheviks…”
“Yes, that’s it exactly. So they were successful after all,” Pavel said with a wide smile.
“Well then, they should be back any day now,” Madeline added happily. “You should wait for them to return, I’m sure they’ll be more than pleased to see you again.”
Anika took me aside for a moment. “Who are all these people you are speaking about, Patrick?”
“Friends of your father… unique friends, or acquaintances. I met them all once at the Library.”
“None of them are very familiar.”
“That reminds me,” Madeline said, “I haven’t seen Bruno in years.”
“Bruno?” I asked.
“Mr Giordano, an Italian gentleman, quite a good friend of your father’s,” Madeline said in Anika’s direction.
“Yes, Bruno…” Pavel agreed. “Philosopher, cosmologist, burned at the stake in Rome as a heretic.”
“When was this?”
“Monday, though quite sometime ago. Sixteen hundred, I think.”
“And Fynn went back to save him? It sounds like something he’d do.”
“It does indeed, ever the good Samaritan, Fynn was.”
“Was he?” Madeline asked from her chair.
“What?”
“Ever a Samaritan?”
“Not sure, actually,” Pavel considered. “Perhaps a Sumerian though…”
“Well?” I asked again. “Do you think that’s where he’s gone?”
“He did, or he has, several times, if I remember correctly.”
“You mean he saved Bruno?”
“I do.”
“Who was burned at the stake then?”
“Ah, well, I’d rather not say, nor do I remember exactly.” Mr Mekanos paused as the hydraulic chiseling from downstairs went on unabated for several moments. “Though, I can’t recall the last time I did see Mr Giordano… hasn’t paid me a visit for quite a while either. In fact, I think he owes me money.”
“I did speak with two people who knew Fynn,” I tried to steer the conversation back.
“Who is that, dear Patrick?” Madeline asked.
“Zalika for one.”
“What did she say?”
“She was a little vague, but she also thought Fynn was in Yemen.”
“There you have it. I was right all along,” Pavel said and gave his double laugh.
“Can she be trusted?” I asked.
“Hardly,” Madeline scoffed. “I’m surprised she even spoke to you, as a commoner.”
“What does that mean?”
“Oh well, I think she’s next in line for the throne.”
“The throne of what?”
“Queen of Sheba or some such title.”
“That’s not for some time, Maddy dear.” Pavel took me aside and led me across the room. “Poor Madeline, she’s prone to confusing the future with the past, though she fares rather better in the present,” he said in a whisper.
“I can almost hear what you’re saying,” Madeline called out to us.
Pavel laughed. “Truth is, I’m just about the opposite.”
“You confuse the past with the future?”
“Sometimes, but between the pair of us, we usually get things straight.” Mr Mekanos smiled and waited for the jack hammer to start up again. “If you must know, Madeline doesn’t get along with Zalika,” he said quietly. “But I’m sure she’s harmless. Seems to want what’s best for her countrymen, and that’s all.”
“Zalika mentioned something else… Drummond’s daughter,” I said in a louder voice.
“How extraordinary,” Madeline exclaimed. “A daughter, you say. Of course, I have met his brood, all males though.”
“I’ve heard rumors,” Pavel said. “A nasty piece of work.”
“You’ve met her?”
“Heavens no, why would I want to?”
“Who told you about her?”
“Who was it, indeed? Lunch with Lothar, if I remember.”
“Lothar, the giant?”
“That’s the one.”
“I didn’t peg him as a traveler.”
“He’s not, well, not much anymore.”
I traced a scar on my forehead and Pavel nodded grimly.
“Who was the other person, Patrick?” Madeline called out.
“Lillian Boole.”
“Lilly, you say? Hmm, quite nice as a little girl but she’s grown into a serpent of a woman.”
“Really— what makes you say that?”
“Oh, I’m being too harsh, I’m sure… but I seem to recall, she was rather light-fingered.”
“Meaning?”
“Lilly was always borrowing books from the Library and not returning them. She’s very lucky I don’t charge overdue fines.” Madeline chuckled slightly. “She is rather odd though, never seems able to make up her own mind.”
“How so?”
“She’s somewhat moody.”
“Can you say anything nice about her?”
“Well, she has an uncanny knack for telling fortunes… Tarot cards. Between you and I though, I think she cheats.”
“Cheats?”
“She peeks into the future.”
I was feeling somewhat exasperated and took a deep breath. “Let me put this as simply as possible: if Tractus Fynn were here in this present, where do you suppose he’d be?”
Pavel considered for a moment. “Why, right here with us of course, and we’d all be drinking champagne.”
I took another breath and probably sighed. “Do you think it’s possible that he’s gone to the future?”
“Anything’s possible… but I’d say it’s very unlikely. What would he do there? Crime practically solves itself. Besides, he w
ouldn’t have left us stuck back here without espresso. He would have fixed it by now.”
“Well, if I were searching for Fynn, I’d travel to the past,” Madeline said from across the room.
“I’d prefer not to.”
“Why ever not?”
“The past changes the present.”
“Of course it does, but what’s so good about this particular present, I may well ask.”
“I don’t see that you have another choice,” Pavel said flatly. “You must go back in time. You certainly won’t find Fynn here, nor the future for that matter.”
“What about Edmund Fickster?” I asked.
“Edmund,” Mr Mekanos repeated. “Why, that’s brilliant,” he said excitedly. “Edmund knows exactly where Fynn is.”
“He does?” I asked, feeling some relief.
“Of course…”
“Well, where’s Edmund then?”
“Ah, Edmund, yes… Mr Fickster is in a spot of trouble at present.”
“Meaning?”
“He’s trapped in nineteen sixty-four.”
“Trapped?”
“Flatland Prison. It’s always nineteen sixty-four at the Flatlands. It doesn’t exist anywhere else, not in normal time.”
“How about geographically?”
“Oh, it’s in the Aegean Sea.”
“How can it only exist in nineteen sixty-four and no other time?” I asked skeptically. “That defies common sense, not to mention the laws of physics.”
Mr Mekanos laughed. “Normally I would agree… but there you have it. So simple, it defies explanation.”
“Wait…” I thought for moment. “That doesn’t make any sense either.”
“Well, if you want to find Fynn, you have no choice but to travel back to nineteen sixty-four.”
“And rescue Edmund from the Flatlands?”
“That would be grand.” Mr Mekanos smiled.
chapter thirteen
double doors
Thankfully the jackhammers had ceased for the day. In the newfound quiet, the sound of ticking clocks filled the room, and one of the double side doors creaked open again. A familiar man entered and I was immediately appalled. It was Javelin Mortimer, aka, Professor Mallinger— Tractus Fynn’s mortal enemy. He walked quietly across the carpet and sat in a comfortable chair. He didn’t seem to recognize me or Anika. This iteration of Mortimer had a classic black eye patch but was dressed all wrong, at least not right for this particular present, wearing a minimalist suit and a skinny ska tie. He seemed about my age, and was clean shaven.
Low City: Missing Persons (A Tractus Fynn Mystery Book 3) Page 16
