Twin Speex: Time Traitors Book II

by Padgett Lively

  Evelyn wasn’t enthusiastic about the move. She had, however, believed in the reason behind it. She was proud of her father and his work. Evelyn knew her mother’s involvement was important, as it was with the transition houses. She worked hard, but always from behind the scenes. Evelyn had heard her mother speak eloquently and at length on both issues, but never in public.

  It was puzzling. Her mother was no timid mouse. She had once been a prima ballerina for the Theatre Royal, a position that required political acumen as well as artistic virtuosity. She definitely kept her daughter in line, Evelyn thought ruefully.

  But here was an even bigger mystery; to what “fight” was her mother referring? Slavery? Evelyn was confused. She knew the situation in the colonies to be explosive, and there was serious talk of revolution. Was she referring to that? How was it their fight? How was it her mother’s?

  “Evie! Ho, Evie, are you even listening to me?” Billy tried to curb the irritable edge to his voice.

  She looked back at him and smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry, Billy. Your mother…”

  He swallowed and looked broodingly out again at the sea. When had she become so pretty? Since the age of seven or eight, he had seen Evelyn two, maybe three times a year, generally during school holidays. Often, she and her family would join him and his grandfather on trips to the coast or the Lake District. Once, they hiked the highlands of Scotland and wandered through the ancient ruins on the Isle of Man.

  They had fallen into the easy relationship of brother and sister. Adventures were planned and carried out in secret; silly games were invented and played with serious endeavor; revenge was plotted and abandoned; arguments were fierce and quick to dissipate; he was always glad to see her, but never really sad to leave her behind.

  What had changed? Certainly not the thick, wild head of black hair, dark complexion, and strong, willowy figure so like her mother’s, or the startling blue eyes she had inherited from her father.

  Billy envied, and sometimes resented, her quick wit and intelligence. With her thoughtful and scholarly focus, she more readily grasped his grandfather’s musings and eclectic interests when Billy was often left in the dark. He had overheard her speaking at length with him about the changes in water temperature and what it might mean in regards to the origins of the Gulf Stream, as was named the current of water that ran within the ocean. She had understood almost immediately the charts Billy had offhandedly passed to her that day he had learned of his connection to the great Benjamin Franklin.

  Evelyn had been nothing but kind and understanding during these past few days while he accustomed himself to his new status. She had overlooked his sulky, churlish behavior with the unnervingly distracted air of an adult. He had found the more she absently nodded understandingly, the more irritated he became. The more she left him alone, the more he wanted to be with her.

  “There you are.”

  They turned as one. Hugh Harris stood highlighted against the blue sky, sails billowing out behind him in an appropriately dramatic backdrop to his masculine splendor. Billy gritted his teeth. Evelyn smiled warmly.

  Hugh winked in a teasing fashion and returned her smile. “Your parents are looking for you, Evie,” he said.

  “Where are they?”

  “In the great cabin,” he replied. “Your presence is also requested, Mister Franklin.”

  He was teasing Billy as well. Ever since the revelation of his parentage, Hugh often addressed him as “Mister Franklin.” This was typically followed up by a friendly pat on the back or elbow nudge to the ribs. It was accomplished with the easy confidence and manly grace that accompanied everything Hugh did. From anyone else, the title could well have sounded taunting, but Hugh’s voice was tinged with affection and instead it sounded right—a gentle joke that gave a once nameless boy his proper place in the world.

  Billy would have liked to resent Hugh, but he couldn’t. He admired him and aspired to such unconscious poise. He knew the other boys at his old school would have been appalled at his admiration of an African man, although it wasn’t easy to tell. Hugh was, in fact, more white than black.

  He was the youngest son of Ignatius Harris, his grandfather’s coachman. Ignatius had been born in London, the son of an escaped slave and the white daughter of a local coach yard owner. Ignatius himself had married a white woman, and together they had five sons.

  Hugh made an impressive figure. Over six feet tall like his father, he was broad and strong. His handsome face and graceful carriage never failed to garner appreciative looks. His African heritage was not noticeable in passing, or in the confines of a dim coffeehouse. Only closer scrutiny revealed the bronzed skin the result of blood and not the sun; only upon removing his hat would one notice the tightly coiled curls of blond-streaked hair.

  Hugh clerked for Evelyn’s father, Gabriel Wright. Over Gabriel’s protests, he had decided to join them on their colonial venture. Gabriel feared that the widespread and tenacious nature of the slave economy in the Americas would endanger Hugh’s own liberty. But Hugh had successfully argued that the revolution they all knew to come would usher in a new era of freedom for all men. Gabriel was unconvinced, but relented, reluctant to leave behind so able and promising a young lawyer.

  Evelyn perked up at mention of the great cabin. She had never been allowed entrance into that august chamber. Her parents and Doctor Franklin, as well as Aunt Cara and Uncle Hershel, dined regularly with the captain, while she, Billy, and Hugh were relegated to the galley or their own cabins for meals.

  Captain McKiddie was not an imposing figure. He was smaller even than Uncle Hershel. Evelyn and Billy often joked that his surname was appropriately descriptive for so slight a man. Their private joke was soon tinged with serious respect, as it became evident that there was no finer seaman in the British fleet.

  Throughout the journey, Evelyn had tried to wangle an invitation to the great cabin where she knew the maps and instruments for navigation to be kept. Her few attempts to demonstrate her knowledge of cartography and astronomy were met by the captain with either a quick, indulgent smile or an even quicker, curt dismissal.

  Evelyn hurriedly packed up the instrument and charts and scrambled toward the stern. Billy was hard on her heels, while Hugh followed at a more sedate pace. At the cabin door, they were met by Mister Brown, the first mate, and ushered in together.

  Evelyn’s first glimpse of the great cabin did not disappoint. She stood with glowing eyes and a silly grin on her face as she took in the view from the large bank of windows spanning the stern. A highly polished wooden dining table took pride of place at the center of the room, upon which were spread maps, charts, and the indispensable sextant. The walls were painted white and lined with shelves, beneath which stood a secretary’s desk and chair. A large standing globe was flanked by two red-upholstered armchairs, and the captain’s bunk was tucked away into a cozy wall alcove. There were other various and sundry objects which escaped Evelyn’s inspection as her attention was claimed by her mother.

  “Evelyn.” Odette’s face was shadowed, silhouetted as she was against the large windows. Evelyn could hear the amused indulgence in her voice and knew she was smiling at her daughter’s victory in at last breaching the inner sanctum.

  “Billy, Hugh,” Odette continued in a more sober tone, “you’ve been asked here because we have received news from the colonies.”

  This brought Evelyn up short… news from the colonies? How? They were in the middle of the ocean, still at least a week out from port.

  Focusing her attention, she noted that the room was really quite crowded. Her father, Aunt Cara, Uncle Hershel, and Doctor Franklin also joined the captain and first mate in the cabin. Captain McKiddie and Mister Brown maintained a rather tense and grim demeanor and both stood stiffly off to the side. It was an unusual upending of precedence by giving her mother the command position in the middle of the room.

  “News? But… but how?” Evelyn stammered.

  At this, a man emerge
d. He had been observing unobtrusively, partially hidden on the window seat behind Odette. He was a startling sight. Taller even than Hugh, the man was reed thin, but with a muscular frame. Evelyn could tell he was very old. His face was heavily lined, and his beak-like nose stood out in fierce contrast to the unearthly calm of his eyes.

  His eyes! Evelyn sucked in her breath, but before she could speak, Odette replied, “This is Ambrosius Speex. He boarded late last night from a small jolly boat.”

  Evelyn saw Captain McKiddie and Mister Brown shift uncomfortably, but they said nothing.

  Ambrosius cleared his throat and said in a low, quiet voice, “Yes. I was set adrift from a British schooner out of Boston.” He cleared his throat again. “Suspected, I’m afraid, of being a colonial spy.”

  Evelyn looked from her mother to this man and then over at her father, who stood with one shoulder leaning against the bookshelf. No one moved, and Evelyn found herself asking, “Are you?”

  Ambrosius gazed at Evelyn with her mother’s eyes, and she was sure without knowing how, that his answer would be a complete fiction.

  “No, I am not. But the situation in the colonies is such that paranoia and suspicion run rampant. I had booked my passage quite literally at the last moment, and was accused by an overly nervous matron of being a spy.”

  “They put you over on the suspicions of a silly woman?” was Billy’s incredulous and rather impolitic reply.

  “That ‘silly woman’ was the housekeeper for Thomas Gage, the military governor of Massachusetts. She claimed to have seen me conversing with ‘rabble’ on the docks before boarding. I guess I should be grateful they didn’t put me over without a boat,” he concluded, a faint smile upon his lips.

  “What is the situation in the colonies?” It was Hugh who spoke, cutting, as usual, to the heart of the matter. His voice was calm, but Evelyn heard an undercurrent of excitement and anticipation.

  “War,” Ambrosius replied gravely. “England is now at war with its former colonies.”

  Eight

  ODELL WATCHED FROM the cover of an alleyway as Ava knocked on his front door, and Marta let her in. She was within the house a bare twenty minutes before reemerging with a gym bag and conspicuously holding a pair of men’s running shoes.

  A nondescript car parked at the corner pulled out and slowly passed her. No doubt to turn into a side street further up and follow her progress as discreetly as possible. Odell counted to one hundred and twenty before preparing to cross the street, but he drew quickly back again as a figure detached itself from a neighboring entryway and walked in the direction Ava had taken. He gave himself another two minutes, then carefully crossed the street and entered the house.

  Marta was waiting for him in the doorway. “Sorry,” she whispered, then laughed nervously and said in a more normal tone, “I didn’t see the officer in the entryway.”

  Odell had called earlier to fill her in on their plan and ask about any surveillance. “I don’t know how you could have,” he reassured her. “I didn’t see him either. I’m just impressed you spotted the unmarked car.”

  She waved a dismissive hand. “In my old neighborhood, we get lots of practice.”

  He nodded and drew in a deep breath. “Well, I’d better get to it. I’m not sure how much time I have.”

  “Okay, Mister Odell, you go on up. I’ll make you some tea, we… I have some of those fancy macaroons your mother spent too much money on…” her voice trailed off, and she shook her head sadly as she headed into the kitchen.

  Odell quickly ascended the staircase and turned down the hallway toward his mother’s bedroom. He entered and made sure the curtains were tightly drawn before flicking on the light. He stood holding the pendant in his hand, not quite sure what to do next.

  The room was very elegantly laid out in a rather haphazard French style. The large, opulent bed had an aged golden frame with curved feet and was flanked by two white Queen Anne style bedside tables. An upholstered screen partitioned off one corner, and a large gold-trimmed wardrobe covered the opposite wall. An overstuffed chaise lounge was placed in front of a small fireplace with a beautifully carved mantle. Hanging from the ceiling, an antique crystal chandelier cast shards of light about the room.

  Odell walked over to the fireplace. Above the mantle hung a beautifully rendered abstract portrait of his mother as both Odette and Odile in Swan Lake. It was a masterpiece really; the white and black swan intertwined in such a way to portray them both apart and as one. When a child, he often stared at the painting until cross-eyed as it seemed to whirl with movement. He shook his head to dislodge the dizzy feeling behind his eyes and felt the pendant warming in his closed palm.

  Could it be that easy? he thought.

  Odell stepped up to the mantle and ran his fingers along the bottom of the picture frame. They stopped about midway as he felt the slight click of a little lever. The painting swung out from the wall, and he saw a smooth, opaque windowpane of glass. It was no bigger than a laptop computer screen. He felt along its surface and came to a small, circular indentation in the upper left-hand corner. He took the pendant and pressed it into the spot.

  It glowed with an intense blue light and melted back into the thick glass making a gentle crackling sound. The glass disappeared, and Odell stood staring into the depths of a black velvet-lined safe.

  He was astonished. Until now, the possibility that his mother was the source of this mystery had not seemed real. He followed the clues where they led, but in the most rational part of his brain he assumed they would go nowhere. Certainly not to Ivy’s bedroom and this alien technology.

  Odell ran his fingers through his hair and then reached into the safe to pull out the items within. He walked over to the bed and arranged them on the beautifully embroidered coverlet.

  There were three objects. The first appeared like nothing more than a rough-hewn stone cube, about four inches in width. It was dense and heavy and would have made an excellent paperweight. The second was a thin metal cylinder that telescoped out into a spyglass and was engraved with rune-like characters. And the last was no bigger than a cell phone with blinking lights, several small dials, and a thumb-shaped notch.

  Odell picked it up and fitted his thumb within the notch. The room spun, or rather the walls spun, flashing by in a blur of speed. It produced a mini whirlwind that lifted his hair and flipped the pages of a book on the bedside table. The floor remained stationary, but Odell still had to shut his eyes afraid he would be sick. Gradually the spinning slowed, and the wind died down. He opened his eyes and ventured to look around.

  Odell wasn’t exactly surprised by what he found. He knew from his own experimentation with time travel that he had entered some sort of cosmic way station. It was different than a temporal inter-dimensional flux, or TIF. Like a river, a TIF flowed up and down the timeline. This was more of a crossroads, a place where decisions were made and possibilities explored.

  He had theorized that such a phenomenon existed, but the unreal sensation of standing at the intersection of millions, perhaps billions, of possible timelines made this moment almost incomprehensible. He stood on the cusp of the future, where anything could happen; he perceived the shadow of the past, which should have been sacrosanct.

  His surroundings resembled nothing so much as a scene of cheap special effects from a second-rate sci-fi flick. The walls of the room had disappeared. Only the bed with the objects upon it stood in the middle of what looked to be a windswept plateau. An unearthly blue glow enveloped him, and the far-off mountains and rock structures looked cut from cardboard. Only the black sky with its infinite blanket of stars looked real, as did the man who stood facing him across the bed.

  Odell knew immediately that this was the man who Ivy had met in the cemetery, the man Ettie had described as “alien.” Odell understood how she had come to that conclusion. If anyone looked like a human sculpted from some unyielding material, he did.

  “My… Ivy is dead.” It was a question and a statem
ent. Odell barely caught its meaning. The sound of the man’s voice seemed to travel slowly through some thick, viscous substance.

  Odell nodded in acknowledgement of the fact.

  “Then we don’t have much time. The phantasometer will soon cease to function as a transporter, although it may continue to predict trans-dimensional shifts.”

  Odell shook his head and breathed deeply. His lungs filled with the heavy air, and his ears popped as if descending from a great altitude. His head cleared, and the atmosphere around him lightened.

  He said, “I’m sorry. Who are you and what are you talking about?”

  “My name is Ambrosius Speex, and I am one of the last surviving proditoris aevus. I am also your mother’s husband, if one can use such a word for our kind.”

  “Proditoris aevus… traitor?” He looked at the man sharply. “I thought she was referring to her killer.”

  “I admit that ‘traitor’ is the word that rather jumps out. Latin is more fundamental than most human languages, but it is still very imprecise. We do not typically use this term ourselves, however it is descriptive and not entirely inaccurate. In this case, ‘aevus’ means passage of time. And ‘proditoris’ is, of course, traitor… traitor of time, time traitor, whichever you prefer.”

  “Time Traitor?” Odell looked down in confusion. “You are a Time Traitor. What does that mean?” His head snapped up again as he remembered what else this man was. “Husband! Are—”

  “No,” he interrupted calmly. “I am not your, or your sister’s, father.”

  “But my other sister… Odette? You are clearly related to her. How—?”

  “It is not impossible for twins to have two different fathers.”

  “No, not impossible…” Odell shook his head slowly. “But Ivy would have… well, she would have…” Odell broke off, uncomfortable speaking of his mother in such terms.