“Some system.”
“Admittedly, I’ve come to dread these little encounters.”
We walked along the backstreets and passed several of the glass structures I had noticed before.
“The pyramids? Oh, they’re entrances to the shelters,” Mortimer explained.
“Shelters, like for bombs?”
“No, no, the clouds of radiation that drift by on occasion.”
“What radiation?”
“I’m not really sure… some old atomic plants to the south of us. It all depends on the weather, wind currents and such. I’m sure you’ll hear the sirens‚ not to worry.”
***
“As I’ve said repeatedly and politely, Mr Jardel, we need to leave this present post haste. It’s not going to get any nicer.”
“Alright… I’ve seen enough.”
“I know just the place,” Mortimer said and flagged down an oncoming car. We got in and he barked a destination into a microphone. We merged into a stream of very orderly traffic and circled the Arc de Triomphe. It took me a minute or so to realize this was a self-driven taxi. All the other vehicles looked absurd as well— more like bumper cars than real ones. We were whisked up the Champs-Élysées and dropped off at a bridge along the river. Mortimer grabbed my arm and held my sleeve up to the scanner.
“There, you’ve paid our fare, your movements have been thoroughly monitored, and presumably, you’ve included a twenty percent tip for the robotic driver.”
We walked across to the middle of a bridge, the Pont du Carrousel. I looked down at the murky waters of the Seine.
“We’re jumping from here?”
Mortimer pointed to a large statue of a seated woman on the other side. “No, we must climb a bit higher, into her lap.”
“Whose lap?”
“The Mistress of Industry.”
I looked at the statue again. “What about your cane? Does it work?”
“It does.”
“I thought it was broken.”
“I had it fixed.”
“And you’re willing to give it up?”
“Give it up? What do you mean?”
“If we soft jump back.”
Mortimer thought for a moment. “I suppose… It’s worth being young again, and I’m sure I’ll find another.”
“Another what?”
“Another cane.”
“How do you expect us to jump with any accuracy without using it?”
“I have a plan in mind.” Mortimer started hauling himself up to the base of the statue. “You must give me a boost. I’m too old to climb by myself. Hurry, we don’t have much time. Surely, someone is likely to take notice of us.”
I followed him up. “We’re in the right place at least.”
“Paris, you are meaning? Yes, I agree. Even so, it will be quite a fall.”
“A fall?”
“A hundred and fifty years to the past is quite far when we are to jump. I don’t need the cane to know that.”
I looked down again. “Right. I’d feel better if we were jumping onto an awning or something… even a haystack.”
Mortimer was busy adjusting the cane. “Here, I’ve set the date. See for yourself: The thirtieth of May, twenty-fifteen.”
“You’re off by a day,” I pointed out.
“Am I?”
“Should be May thirty-first.”
“Are you sure? I thought the month of May only has thirty days.”
“Very sure,” I said.
Mortimer changed the setting again. “Well, thankfully, we can be very accurate. Early evening… Shall we say, seven o’clock?”
“Wait, your plan is to jump with the cane but at the last second throw it away?”
“Yes.”
“How do I know you won’t just hang onto it?”
“Why would I? I don’t want to end up as a dying old man in a different present. I’d be no better off.”
That made sense to me.
“You’ve used the cane before, have you?” Mortimer asked.
“Just once.”
“Then you know how it works… or rather how it feels.”
“Yes, kind of like a sixth sense.”
“An apt description. Somehow, one is filled with the knowledge of exactly how to leap. Quite a satisfying feeling.” Mortimer handed me the cane. “I now know exactly where to go,” he said.
“Wait… maybe we should jump together?”
“I’ve given you the cane and you can see the date is correct. It’s best if you jump on your own.”
“What if I don’t let go in time?”
“That’s up to you, Mr Jardel.”
It seemed we were both out of options. Our interests had aligned, and I almost felt pity for him. He jumped and blinked from the present. I followed, hoping for the best.
chapter seventeen
sixty something
It was a soft, soothing jump through time to the past, and it only took a moment for me to know exactly where I was: Mr Mekanos’ apartment. This was a huge relief. Madame Madeline sat across from me smoking a strong Gauloises, and Anika was by my side. She gave me a look.
“Are you alright, Patrick? You look a bit queazy.”
“I’m good, much better in fact.” I smiled and fought back an onslaught of deja vu. The double side door creaked open and Mortimer stepped into the room. He also seemed to be followed by a trail of shadowy ghosts, the kind I had grown accustomed to seeing, but they collapsed into themselves and dissipated in the blink of an eye.
Pavel introduced his new friend, Viscount Remitrov. I shook his hand, but limply. “Is something wrong?” I asked. I could see a shadow cross his face. He seemed disorientated for a moment, and gave me an uncomprehending smile, like he was some empty vessel just waiting to be filled. Somehow I was terrified by this.
“Doesn’t speak a word of English, Patrick. You’re wasting your breath,” I heard Pavel say. The Count continued his grin; it seemed no more sinister than I remembered. The sound of a jack hammer filled the lull; muffled and a long way off, but I was still startled by it.
Count Remitrov shuffled across the carpet and sat in a nearby chair. I watched him open his ledger and he started scanning the pages with a finger. I stared hard at the Count, rudely I suppose. Then, in one terrifying moment, the benign, indeed, even innocent Mortimer was consumed by his future self. He had jumped back into consciousness just like I had. I could almost see him fill with evil. His eyes burned with anger and his smile turned mocking and sinister.
“Javelin, my friend,” Pavel said to the Count, “Could you do us an extremely large favor and pop downstairs for supper? Perhaps these croissants you enjoy so much, with jambon and gruyère fromage.” Pavel turned and called out to the rest of us, “Coco lattes all round?” Everyone nodded. “The money’s on the table…”
The Count smiled and departed with a slight bow.
“Now, let me take a look at my handiwork… this famous cane of yours…” Mr Mekanos turned to me. “Imagine, looking at something I won’t design for another hundred years. Boggles the mind.” He gave his double laugh.
“Were you ever there?”
“Where?”
“A hundred years in the future.”
“Not that I know of, but apparently I was.”
“How do you mean?”
“The cane. Certainly, I created it— hmm?”
“Wait a second,” I said.
“What is it?”
“I don’t think we’re getting dinner.”
“What are you saying, Patrick?”
“You spoke to the Count in English and he seemed to understand every word, even if I didn’t.”
“And?”
“Well, you mentioned before he doesn’t speak English.” I ran up to the foyer. “And he’s taken the cane.”
“Good gracious,” Pavel exclaimed. He was completely distraught, but then examined my expression. “You don’t seem terribly upset, Patrick. Why are you smiling like th
at?”
My plan worked. At least for now. I had fooled the great and powerful Mortimer.
***
I will give credit to Pavel for his meticulous attention. He planned everything down to the tiniest possible detail. I was relegated to carrying things back: doubloons at least, the yttrium necklace, and all the various notes he had written out. Pavel would hard jump too. “But I have all my tools to carry…” he complained more than once. It was presumed Anika would be soft-jumping.
Even so, traveling to 1964 seemed like a bad idea. I was hesitant, half recalling that I was once a little kid in Athens around then… Or was that a doppelgänger? I didn’t want to slip back into being a child again. And Pavel had no plan for this contingency.
“Don’t worry, Patrick, should it come to that, I’ll take good care of you. Like a big sister,” Anika said.
“Thanks,” I managed to reply but hardly felt comforted. There was a danger for Anika as well since her awareness seemed limited. It’s likely she wouldn’t remember anything at all.
Still, Mr Mekanos assured us that’s where Edmund Fickster was. I wasn’t so sure about that either.
“Ah, but I spoke to Edmund only last Thursday.”
“How’s that? I thought he was trapped in the sixties.”
“Someone helped him escape and he dropped by for a visit.”
“When was this?”
“Thursday, as I mentioned.”
“Who helped him escape?”
“He wasn’t at all sure, some sort of magistrate, I think he said.”
“If you saw him last week, how could he still be in the nineteen sixties?”
“I’m only saying that if we travel there, we’ll find him, since that’s where he was then.”
“Right…” I couldn’t even convince myself. “And you’re sure Edmund knows where Fynn is?”
“Absolutely, have no worries.”
“Is there a good place to jump nearby?” I asked.
“We might try the balcony.”
“That’s a long way down.”
“Hmm, yes, and probably not the right time of day.”
“Is there somewhere else to jump from?” Anika asked.
“There are some lovely secluded benches along the Champs-Élysées, quite near the Punch and Judy show. It’s a bit of a walk from here.”
“We’ll take a taxi,” Anika decided, “and it sounds like the perfect place. Whenever I jump, I end up in the nineteen sixties automatically. So we’ll just trust my instincts.”
Mr Mekanos picked up his box of tools, his top hat was replaced with a beret, and he suddenly looked like a plumber on his way to work. “Ready?”
“I guess it’s as good a plan as any.”
Pavel took me aside. “A quick word of warning, Patrick… You can only hope that Anika remembers who you are once we arrive, or you’ll have to charm her all over again.”
Mr Mekanos insisted on jumping on his own, though he was happy enough to receive a direction from Anika. She turned him about ninety degrees. He had some elaborate sextant with him and a clear plastic box full of crystals and wires. He gave us a smile from under his mustache, a double ha-ha, and leapt into oblivion.
Anika and I jumped together. I felt her hand slip from mine, but disappear or dissolve are better words. Then came the searing pain. I braced for it, knowing it would disappear in a moment. I arrived intact, the pain abated. Okay, hard jump, maybe not so bad.
When I landed, Anika was nowhere to be seen, nor was Pavel Mekanos. “Figures,” I muttered and looked around to find myself in a barren rock-strewn meadow. The landscape was surprisingly hilly and I spotted a coastline not so far below me. That was probably a good sign. It was pouring down rain though, and I guessed the season to be autumn. That’s all I could be certain of. I didn’t want to consider that I could be just about anywhere in the northern hemisphere and anyplace in time or history. Soon I spotted some telephone poles with wires, and a village not so far distant.
I started walking up a narrow mountain road. It was lined with well-made masonry walls, like a twisting tunnel open to the sky. Along the way, I sifted through my pocket full of doubloons to find Pavel’s various notes with addresses scrawled on them. I thought to try our first rendezvous point, a cafe in the center of La Turbie, a small French town on the border of Monaco… Good, a cafe. Bad— when I finally found the place, it was a Coco Shop according to the sign outside; and still no trace of Mr Mekanos.
I wandered the winding streets, roads enclosed by high stone walls and cinderblock buildings. Any car that passed was a traffic accident just waiting to happen. Some hours later I came to Anika’s address: a modest two-story house with a terra cotta roof and a garage underneath.
When I found her at the door, she had no idea who I was. “Don’t you remember me?”
“No, I can’t say that I do. What’s your name?”
“Patrick.”
“Doesn’t ring a bell. What can I do for you, Monsieur?”
This was beyond frustrating and it probably crossed my expression. Anika took some pity on me.
“Perhaps I’d recognize you if you were dry,” she said with a smile. “Come in at least and I’ll lend you a towel.”
I fumbled through my pockets, sorting through the various notes Pavel had given me. The rain had started to wash away the ink on some, but the one written in Anika’s own hand briefly summarizing the situation was pretty much intact. She read it very carefully and perhaps more than once.
“It’s your own handwriting,” I pointed out as she read. “Not an elaborate forgery.”
Anika stopped and looked at me, then grinned broadly. “I think it’s marvelous,” she said and gave me a big kiss. “It’s even better that we know each other, even if I don’t quite remember.”
I thought it best not to mention her father for the moment, though some curiosity lingered. It was a decade before her parents had met, Tractus and Lorraine; and even though adopted, I couldn’t begin to understand how that worked. I did show her the neckless and she seemed to recognize it.
The next day Anika started planning logistics. “The first thing you’ll need is a passport and a driver’s license. You do drive, yes?”
“Of course.”
“I know someone who can help. A bit costly though. Have you any money?”
I held out a handful of doubloons.
“Oh, very nice. They’ll fetch a good price. The documents should only take a few days to prepare. In the meantime, we might relax. I can show you the sights, and we’ll do a little shopping.”
“Shopping?”
Anika looked me over. “You’ll be needing some new clothes, I think.” She masked a giggle. “No one wears dungarees around here.”
“No?”
“Slacks or trousers… And we should find you a stylish trilby.”
“I don’t think so…”
“Alright, have it your way, but we must get you a black turtleneck, matching pants and shoes before we begin our surveillance.”
***
One afternoon I woke from a nap in a cold sweat. A terrible dream stayed in my mind:
“Bring in the next prisoner,” I heard myself say while sitting in a wooden box on a raised platform. I was wearing robes of some sort and a rather silly hat. Two guards dragged in a man who could barely stand and dropped him to the ground. He struggled to his knees and looked up at me with intense, burning eyes. He was immediately familiar but I couldn’t quite place him.
“Has this prisoner come before me previously?” I asked at large. There were a few murmurs in the room.
“Not to my knowledge, Lord Magistrate.”
“Very well, what charges are being brought?”
“Blasphemy, and heresy,” a bailiff replied.
“These accusations are quite serious, Aiuto Sceriffo.” I heard myself say. “But I am here on il Duca’s behalf. I am not here to judge crimes against the church. Has this man broken any civil laws? Does he trespass against
our serene Duchy? Is there some general criminality?”
“The Duke is the church,” a man next to me spoke out. “If his crimes go against one, they go against the other.”
“Ah, fellow counsel, I take your point, but this morning we are only hearing crimes against the common law. If the church has a case against this man, they can have him when I’m done.”
“As you say, my Lord.”
“What is the prisoner’s name?”
“Janek,” the bailiff replied.
“Is this his Christian name or given name?”
“I am not one to say.”
“How long has he been imprisoned?”
“Twenty-three years.”
“Have you any evidence against him?”
“Since such a long time has passed, the evidence has… well… it’s been mislaid.”
“Mislaid? What sort of evidence was it?”
“Witnesses, most of them are now dead.”
“Does the prisoner have a means to pay?”
“To pay, your honor?”
“For his sentence, his accommodations.”
“No, your honor.”
“His family has not come forward with a stipend?”
“No. He is a vagrant.”
“I see…” I turned to the man before me. “What say you to the charges?”
The prisoner made no reply.
“Perhaps he does not speak our language. He looks like a foreigner to me. Have you tried speaking to him in Greek?”
“He remains silent to all our questions, whatever language we put to him.”
“Innocente,” the prisoner finally croaked in a raspy voice, but it was a voice I knew well.
“And what of his sentence?” I asked.
The bailiff looked at me with some surprise. “He’s to be executed forthwith.”
***
Mr Mekanos never appeared in the weeks that followed, and as the days went by, my hope that he would pop in out of nowhere diminished severely. As for the task at hand, Anika was extremely diligent, methodical and professional.
We found Mortimer’s villa, a large compound secluded and perched on a hill just outside the village. It had a spectacular view of the sea. We staked out the place for days from a safe distance with binoculars. Anika noted his habits, his comings and goings, the household staff, and security measures. It wasn’t long before she determined Thursday was Casino Night for Count Mortimer, as we had come to call him.
Low City: Missing Persons (A Tractus Fynn Mystery Book 3) Page 23
