“I am only seeking justice.”
“Justice? Whose justice?” the Cardinal said sharply. “Man’s justice or the eternal justice of god, our lord? Which do you suppose is worth pursuing?”
“I must bow to your wisdom, your Eminence.”
Doctor Pomodoro whispered in the Cardinal’s ear again, though I couldn’t hear what was said.
“And how is it that this prisoner speaks to no one but yourself?” the Cardinal asked me. “I’ve been told you visited with this man in his cell and held long conversations… yet he remains mute to all others.”
“I believe the man is a scholar—”
“A scholar, you say?” the Cardinal cut me off. “And this beard, so well trimmed. Is the man a Turk as well?”
“No, a prisoner of some twenty years,” the bailiff said.
“Hmm, I’ve never seen a prisoner so well dressed, and in a clean linen shirt. Should we also provide him with a silk doublet, woolen hose and a velvet tunic, eh?” Many in the hall laughed at the Cardinal’s comment. “The prisoner is in remarkably good condition, it seems to me.”
“Perhaps he has a stipend to cover the costs of his imprisonment?” one of the other magistrates from the bench observed.
“And what of his sentence?” I asked.
The bailiff looked at me with some surprise. “He’s to be executed forthwith.”
A ruckus came from the balcony. Either Chloe or Lilly had climbed onto the balustrade and started to walk back and forth like an acrobat. She used Mortimer’s cane for balance. A song came from her lips; she had a beautiful clear voice, and a kind of aria came forth, though I could barely understand a word: When salt eats bricks, and sugar is commonplace…
I look down at Fynn the prisoner. He gave me a slight nod. Chloe had wholly captured the attention of the crowd. I slipped quietly from my box.
“Constantinople has fallen this very day, this very hour,” she called in a sing-song voice as she tiptoed across the railing, precariously balancing some twenty feet from the ground. “Beware, beware, the Turks are at your door. They’ll burn your cities low. Beware, beware, of Greeks bearing books, for you’ll learn things you should never know.”
All eyes were fixed upon her, except Fynn’s and mine. He stared at me and raised an eyebrow. I drew a bit closer to him. One other person in the hall was also oblivious to the performance: her sister, be it Lilly or Chloe. Anytime one sister got close enough to the other, she would reach out and try to wrest away the cane. It was likely they would both fall to their deaths.
Not a single person noticed when I came up to the prisoner’s side. Even the guards stood in rapt attention to Chloe’s antics. More people were jostling in from the Piazza Grande. Chloe or Lilly, still balancing precariously, reached into a leather bag. She took out a handful of coins and flung them into the crowd below. There were murmurs, and people bending over, reaching for new found riches. Another handful of coins soon followed, showering down… and another…
Fynn took me by the elbow and zigzagged through the bending mob. Not a soul noticed as we slipped outside to the colonnade. I could only guess what happened next. I heard Chloe or Lilly shout, Primum non nocere. The crowd gave a collective gasp. She probably jumped from the balcony and blinked from existence. There was yelling and screaming, then angry shouts of recrimination. Maybe someone had noticed our hasty departure after all.
I seemed to know Modena better than Fynn at this point, and led him along a narrow street— the further from the Piazza Grande the better. I remembered a vacant house nearby, took a side alley and shouldered my way into the abandoned building.
We looked around for a hiding place. The main room was hardly furnished but shrouded in sheets of linen, and there was an enormous scaffold. Some sort of painting project, I thought, but no one had been there for quite sometime. I helped Fynn climb to the rafters.
Our pursuers were not close behind but appeared some hours later. Two guards made their way into the house and started to rummage around, looking under tarps and tables. We hid in the shadows, though our legs dangled in the sunlight. Anyone who cared to look up would have easily seen us. I sighed with relief when the soldiers finally left.
“No one in this era ever thinks to look up,” Fynn said, and laughed to himself.
I wasn’t so sure.
“We should be safe for the moment.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Siesta… they won’t resume their search till evening.”
chapter twenty-one
fynn story
I left Fynn in the abandoned house and returned to my own. It was something of a risk, I figured, but one worth taking. My extended family: brothers, uncles, cousins and alike were fast asleep for the afternoon. Quietly, I loaded up on what food I could find and grabbed my leather satchel. The evening was gathering strength when I returned to find Fynn climbing down from the scaffold.
Soon, it was dark enough to hit the meandering streets again, and we hurried through the shadows towards the edge of Modena, roughly heading north and east. I could hear soldiers shouting and footsteps running, for now in the opposite direction.
“I must rest a moment, Patrick. I am feeling depleted.” Fynn sat himself heavily against a stable railing. I could smell the horses then looked around and recognized the barracks— not a good place to be as a fugitive. I pointed this out to Fynn and he gave me a weary smile.
“They’re searching for us,” I reminded him gently.
“Yes, no doubt… we must…” he began to say, but his expression changed. He charged towards the barracks and beckoned me.
“What?”
“Ah, what better place to hide, eh?”
“What are you talking about?”
“We shall join the search for ourselves,” Fynn said with a smile. “Off with your heavy robe— find a helmet and a leather vest… over there.” He pointed. “Grab that pitchfork, why don’t you?”
A group of soldiers jogged past and Fynn pushed me out the door. “Follow them. We will join their ranks for the present.”
They were an odd bunch to be sure, a hodgepodge of men and uniforms, and of all ages— probably upwards of fifty men and boys. We lined up in the piazza. A commandant rode across our ranks barking orders, the only man on a horse and in full plate armor.
It became clear that most of the soldiers were to scour the city, building by building. But there had also been a report of strangers traveling on the roads. Our contingent was ordered north; every cart and wagon should be thoroughly inspected. We marched out into the dark plains by torchlight. Nonetheless, there was no sign of the escaped prisoner or the errant magistrate.
Late that night our company stopped to camp alongside some ancient Roman walls. A huge fire was built and a wagon appeared bearing supper which was doled out to anyone who asked. Wine flowed freely as well.
“Primo sonno,” Fynn said as we sat just away from the group, eating a kind of stew and stale bread.
“What?”
“First sleep,” he whispered in English this time. “After dinner will be our best chance to escape.”
“Well, I’m sick of eating mutton, eggplant and pasta stew day in and day out,” I said, then realized it was probably a very insensitive remark. I was sitting next to a man who had not eaten properly for the last twenty years. He seemed unfazed by the comment.
“It may be goat soup tonight,” Fynn said and slurped at his bowl, “With lentils… It’s rather good.” He leaned back against the wall and adjusted his odd pointy helmet. “Tell me about il Dottore Pomodoro, Patrick.”
“There’s not much to say. I hardly know him. Why?”
“He visited me in my cell but said not a word… and such a funny name… Doctor Golden Fruit.”
“What?”
“Well, in modern usage, pomodoro means tomato, though you’d be hard pressed to find one for another hundred years or so.”
“I guess I won’t be eating pizza anytime soon.”
“We always want what we cannot have.”
One by one the conversations around us died out and the soldiers dropped off, drowsy or asleep. We edged away from the fire and out onto the dark plains. “Best we stay off the road for now,” Fynn said and walked along at a good speed. “Take heart, Patrick. Look up at the heavens. Have you ever seen so many stars in your life before?”
Fynn was right. I’d never seen a sky like this; a swath of milky way careened overhead, albeit at a walking pace.
“We will go as far as we can and from there, begin a new life, with a bit of luck.”
“A new life?”
“Retire as soldiers, I will say.”
I laughed. “And become what?”
“That will depend on the sort of clothes we come upon.”
“What?”
“We shall see what we find.”
After what seemed like hours of trudging through the darkness, I heard bells in the distance. They were not at all musical, but had a dull tone, a kind of clanking noise. Fynn heard them too and pointed. Up ahead, the silhouette of some structure broke the crest of a low hill. It seemed to be an abandoned barn, though that stretches the word’s meaning. Three intact walls and a thatched roof covering half the floor. Inside were some dozen unattended sheep, bleating nervously when we arrived, and two mules tied together in a stall. It was also the source of the monotonous bells. We had at least found sanctuary for the rest of the night.
***
“It’s a bit difficult to remember. Give me a moment. For you it was but a short time ago. For me it was a lifetime…” Fynn drew a deep breath but remained silent for a while, just staring into the darkness. “When you failed to show up for Saturday brunch, I grew alarmed. After several days had passed I decided to come look for you.”
“What did you do?”
“I recall you had it in your mind to save Murray from his fate, in nineteen thirty-three.”
“That’s right.”
“I guessed that’s where you were bound… and when I discovered the cane was missing as well, I grew quite concerned.”
“Did you travel back to find me?”
“Not at first. I was very careful about looking for you, Patrick— methodical one might say. Initially, I searched the present thoroughly. To everyone I spoke with, it seemed as if you had been erased.”
“Erased?”
“A poor choice of words— forgive me…”
I was a bit stunned and had no reply at first. “I ceased to exist?”
“It’s quite inexplicable.”
“The past changes the future,” I muttered.
“As you say.”
“What went wrong?”
“It could only be that you did not live your life in Sand City as you remember it… the familiar present that we shared.”
“But I remember it… and you do too— right?”
“Of course.”
“Well, what happened to me then?”
“Who can say with any certainty? I only know you traveled back to save Murray, the past. Your method of return bypassed your usual life and it seems you strayed into Gary Sevens’ timeline.”
“The cane,” I said. “That’s what messed things up.”
“You may be correct about this.”
“So how do I get back to my normal timeline?”
“I’m not sure you can.”
“Ever?”
The word hung in the silence. It was all too much to understand. Fynn shifted uncomfortably. He finally spoke after some minutes: “I must say, I’m surprised to see you take the news so well.”
“I’m not sure it’s really sunk in yet.” I rose abruptly and started to pace the barn. The sheep bleated and opened a path as I walked back and forth. I turned to Fynn. “What did you do next?”
“I searched the future,” he said gently.
“What?”
“It was entirely possible that you went charging into the future by mistake.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Accidentally, as I’ve said.” Fynn smiled. “I immediately jumped ahead a few days, as few days as possible, to see if you might be there.”
“Was I?”
“No.”
“Where did you end up?”
“Eh?” Fynn turned to me.
“Geographically.” I smiled.
“Ah yes, quite close for me, upstate New York, the Adirondacks, I think.” He laughed. “In any event when I made my way back to Sand City, it still seemed as if you had never existed— at least not in a familiar way.”
“How could you tell?”
“I checked the Chronicle for your byline and saw none.”
“There was still coffee though?”
“There was.”
“No one remembered me?”
“Sadly, no. Only Anika had a dim recollection of your existence.”
“That’s nice of her. What then?”
“Well, further into the future, I checked your usual haunts: Seattle, Portland… however, you were nowhere to be found.” Fynn paused. “I began to suspect you had traveled to a different timeline.”
“How could you tell?”
“It seemed to be the only possibility left to me. So, I broke my own prohibition… and, at great risk I traveled to the past…”
“The past?”
“Yes, I jumped back a few days; again, as few days as possible to warn you of a potentially bad outcome…”
“Was I there?”
“No. Again, there was no trace of you, only your doppelgänger, Gary Sevens.”
“That’s bad.”
“Indeed… from there, I traveled to several of your known locations by conventional means.”
“A train?”
“Mostly, yes… Los Angeles, again Seattle, Portland… I even thought you might be lingering in Colorado.”
“Colorado… That, I do remember.”
“As do I,” Fynn said. “You were not there this time, but I had a long chat with Jamal Morris.”
“And?”
“He reminded me of a case we worked together… some twenty years previous, in Pennsylvania.”
“When was this?”
“Nineteen ninety-two, if I recall.”
“No, I mean when did you meet with Jamal?”
“Oh, give me a moment… I would say it was several months before your disappearance.”
“My disappearance?”
“You must understand, Patrick, from my perspective it was you who went missing.”
“I’m beginning to see that.” I paused to collect my thoughts. “Jamal talked about this murder in Pennsylvania… and some others… but he never mentioned a visit from you.”
“How could he? It was an entirely different timeline.”
“You did write him a letter.”
“Did I? I don’t seem to remember that…” Fynn paused. “Ah, but you’ve spoken to Jamal recently, eh? How is he?”
“Seems good.”
“And Franny?”
“Also good. In fact, she’s compiled quite a report for you to read.”
“A report about what?”
“Oh, the dozen policemen who were shot in the feet, like a serial killer.”
“Yes, how curious. I recall something about it even now. You have this report with you?”
“No, it’s in a bank, in Amsterdam.”
“I look forward to reading it.” Fynn paused for a long moment. A look of concern crossed his face. “You must promise me something, Patrick.”
“Sure, what?”
“That you must never travel to New Hope Pennsylvania in America, under any circumstances.”
“Okay, why?”
“Even if I ask you,” Fynn went on, “Even if I insist.”
“You’re making me nervous, Inspector.”
“Do you promise?”
“Of course. What’s this all about?”
“It’s a dangerous place for you. Enough to say that.”
&nb
sp; “It’s not enough. What happened?”
“If you go, you will only find ghosts. Apparently it is a place you’ve visited before.”
“You’re not making any sense.”
“Very well, if you must know, I found you there dead… twice.”
“Twice?”
“Different versions of you, but yes. Two Patricks or perhaps two Garys were shot by the same assailant.”
“Doppelgängers?”
“Indeed. It was most upsetting.” Fynn fell silent for a time.
“What did you do next?”
“Ah, I thought to travel back to nineteen thirty-three and stalk Murray himself, waiting for you to arrive.”
“Did I?”
“No, you were already there, or a version of you, wandering about New York City.”
“Was I like a homeless unemployed guy?”
“No, you seemed to have means, but you were quite disorientated, having very little awareness of your condition, or your situation, I might add.”
“I don’t remember that.”
“I don’t suppose it was even the same you. Perhaps it was Gary Sevens.”
“What happened?”
“There was little I could do.” Fynn made a face. “I left him there.”
“You just left him there?”
“Well, not unassisted. I provided him with a generous sum of money and directions to the Library. And he seemed to recall where Sand City was, at the least.”
I sat down again next to Fynn. The sheep quieted; my thoughts hadn’t. “This kind of thing happens to you all the time, doesn’t it?”
“On the whole? Yes, quite often.”
“So it’s no big deal?”
“More so for you than for me, I’d suppose. Such it is for a traveler. Whenever we arrive in a new present, it is slightly different from what we remember. It is necessarily so.”
“You still haven’t explained how you ended up here.”
“Ah, well, foolishly… in hindsight, it was a terrible idea… I traveled to that crime which Jamal Morris talked about. It was difficult to resist, recalling how you were killed at that juncture of time and space.”
“Jamal mentioned something about floaters.”
“Then you can understand why I was compelled to investigate.”
Low City: Missing Persons (A Tractus Fynn Mystery Book 3) Page 29
