Twin Speex: Time Traitors Book II

by Padgett Lively

  The woman looked back one last time at her companion before stepping through the ring and disappearing.

  *

  Odette felt it before any of the others, a vise tightening around her head. The pain forced her from in between dimensions to materialize upon a beach. She rubbed her temples and breathed deeply the richly oxygenated air. The tide was at its lowest ebb, and the white sand beach stretched out, wide and deserted. Sandstone cliffs shone pink and yellow in the setting sun.

  The pain quickly subsided, and she stood watching a line of pelicans fly low over the blue-green waves. A foamy rush of cold Pacific water lapped over her toes, and she lifted her skirts to register with mild surprise her bare feet.

  “It happened again.” Ambrosius stood beside her and followed her line of sight out to the horizon. “How many times is it now?”

  “I don’t know,” she answered, “Too many to count.”

  Odette looked around her and noted the presence of the other Liberi. The group consisted of only a few of their numbers, the ones who had been with her and Ambrosius when it had occurred. From past incidents, she knew that every Liberi had felt the pain and been forced from the in between to the material plane. It was fortunate they had appeared on an empty beach. They were not always so lucky, having popped up on a city sidewalk and, once, on the wing of an airplane.

  “Can no one really find from where these disturbances are originating?” She sighed more to herself than anyone else.

  “Our investigations have led nowhere,” he replied stoically.

  She nodded absently, then turned from the ocean to look at the others now crowding around them. She could feel their minds, thoughts questing out in wordless form. It had become second nature now, interpreting their feelings. Odette needed no real fluency, however, to grasp the overriding frustration that coursed through the group, a frustration she shared.

  “They have hidden it well,” she admitted, although she had no idea who “they” were or what “it” was, just the search, the endless search for this new and most grievous assault upon the timeline.

  “I believe it is the randomness which obscures its origins,” Ambrosius mused. “There is no pattern, nothing to follow.”

  She stood for a breathless moment, letting the implications of his words sink in.

  “What can we do?” she asked wearily.

  He looked out at the far horizon and down the coastline where the blue Pacific met the ragged cliffs.

  “Keep looking,” he finally answered.

  She said nothing more but cast her mind out, spreading the molecules of her body and disappearing from sight.

  Twenty-Five

  JON SINCLAIR STOOD in the parlor of Benjamin Franklin’s elegant and civilized abode. In his buckskins and boots, he seemed as exotically out of place among the delicately carved and cushioned furnishings as he was supremely confident in his bearing. His careful and fluid movements reminded Odell of a wolf stalking the edge of a wood, his pacing steps brought him to stand before the fireplace, a wary eye on the proceedings.

  With him was an older man of indeterminate age, perhaps in his mid to late thirties. He was very dark complexioned, almost as dark as Ava. Odell knew that this was for good reason. For Joseph Louis Cook, or “Colonel Louis” as he was known to his troops, was the son of a black father and Abenaki mother. Cook himself had been raised in the Mohawk community and was a staunch supporter of the colonial cause.

  Odell knew this only because Ava had told him. She admitted to a limited knowledge of early American history except when it came to minorities and women. They were the only people in that room who knew that the rank of Lieutenant Colonel would officially be bestowed upon Joseph Cook by the Continental Congress, making him the highest ranking person of both African and Native American descent in the Revolutionary Army.

  He was a striking figure. Odell could see that he was lean and hardened by the months spent with General Benedict Arnold’s army traversing the Canadian wilderness on their ill-fated mission to drive the British out of Québec City. He sat in an armchair across from Benjamin Franklin. While he wore the same buckskin trousers as Jon Sinclair, he topped his off with a crisp linen shirt, over which he had buttoned a dark blue and very well-tailored waistcoat. A rakishly tied white cravat complimented the ensemble and set off his dark skin to startling advantage.

  “I had expected to meet you in New York.” Benjamin Franklin nodded graciously to his guest. “It is good of you to save me the journey.”

  Joseph Cook nodded as well, but briskly, precisely. “Not at all, Doctor Franklin. Jon, Mister Sinclair, suggested our meeting would elicit less notice if I came to you.”

  Benjamin Franklin cocked an eyebrow at the tall young native standing next to the fireplace. “Wise advice. I am closely monitored. My leaving Philadelphia would definitely be considered an event, so to speak.”

  Odell observed the two men seated in armchairs slightly turned toward each other and had the sensation of watching the president meeting with a world leader in the Oval Office. He wondered if it had always been thus, the bodies turned in polite, yet peripheral positions, each man offering subdued compliments, hands shaken. But instead of a bank of cameras situated in front of them recording this cordial exchange, there was only a fireplace and Jon Sinclair’s muscular frame leaning against the mantel.

  The other occupants of the room were arranged in varying degrees of social station behind them. He and Gabriel seated on a sofa against the wall, while the wooden chair upon which Ava perched was pushed up against the closed parlor doors at the very back of the room.

  He and Ava exchanged a quick glance; her confusion at being included in this meeting was evident. Since Independence Hall, Odell had been aware of the barely discernible prodding of Benjamin Franklin on the outer borders of her life. He knew the old man was up to something, and that this something involved Ava. It was the only explanation for her inclusion in certain important gatherings and events.

  She had been at the farmhouse of Franklin’s abolitionist friends when they plotted the network of supply stations and escape routes that would be necessary for an effective incursion into the southern colonies. She had volunteered to be part of the initial group to scout out possible allies and deliver information and arms to freemen and slaves alike. It was a gesture to which both he and Franklin objected. She had acquiesced to their concerns, Odell’s for her safety, Doctor Franklin’s for reasons of his own. Ava had known that her chances of joining Hugh and his band of reconnaissance operatives were slim. Hugh had barely withstood Gabriel’s objections, but had finally won out by reminding him that choice was the essence of freedom, and he was a free man.

  Sitting now in Franklin’s Philadelphia parlor, with Hugh barely a week gone on his mission, Odell had the dubious satisfaction of seeing his plans begin to congeal. He thought of the enormous conceit of anyone who proposed to change the course of history, but he knew the American Revolution to be an imperfect effort, one that had left its most noble elements open to destruction over two hundred years later. Still, he could feel a cold sweat pool beneath his collar and the palms of his hands become clammy as he contemplated the audacity of his scheme.

  “Joseph Brant.”

  Odell’s thoughts were recalled to the present at the pronouncement of that name. He looked over at Ava, who had straightened a bit in her seat at its mention.

  “He is in England as we speak,” Joseph Cook practically sneered. “It is my information that he intends to seek the King’s intervention in Mohawk land grievances. This, in exchange for our participation as British allies in the coming war, of course.”

  “Can he do that?” Franklin was quick to respond, “Can he speak for the Six Nations?”

  Sinclair stiffened contemptuously. “No one man speaks for the Nation. Brant is vain—”

  Cook held up a hand, abruptly stopping this loose speech. He looked shrewdly back at Benjamin Franklin. “Brant takes much upon himself, but he is well-respected a
nd has many supporters. There are those who believe the colonists to be our biggest threat. They would need strong assurances to make an alliance with the Americans.”

  “And I am prepared to make those assurances,” Franklin replied matter-of-factly.

  “You are but one man,” Cook countered with a smile.

  “Naturally, there will be a committee process.” Benjamin Franklin looked intently at his guest. “It will not be easy. Building a new nation is not an easy task, but it is one in which I ask your people to join us.”

  Cook sat back and furrowed his brow. “One nation?”

  Odell’s body tensed, and he leaned forward, astonished at Franklin’s proposal. Certainly one nation, a mixed nation of free people, was to be the final product. But he suspected it would be the work of decades, a gradual process enshrined in some manner within the constitution. He had thought of the myriad ways the words of this august document could be worked to lead its people down the path of inclusiveness. He had discussed it often with Gabriel, but never with Franklin. Odell smiled tightly. That the old trickster was one or, more likely, several steps ahead of him should not have come as a surprise.

  Jon Sinclair pushed away from the mantel and strode over to stand before Doctor Franklin. “You want the Six Nations to join with the colonists in creating this new country?” He asked, not bothering to hide the amazement in his voice.

  “Yes, exactly,” Franklin replied crisply, “as well, the freed black man.”

  They looked at him, puzzled.

  “No slavery,” Franklin explained succinctly, “of any sort.”

  They were speechless. Ava, sitting at the back of the room, couldn’t figure out whether Franklin was trying to sabotage their efforts or was playing a deeper game than any of them could figure. She watched as Odell and Gabriel stood and walked over to join the three in front of the fireplace. The conversation had taken on that deep, serious tone of people exploring an idea of tremendous meaning. She knew that her input would not be welcomed and strained her ears to try and catch the quick back and forth of words.

  Instead, she caught the sound of a light intake of breath and felt the doors behind her give very slightly, as if a weight had been lifted from them. She looked over at the men deep in conversation and stood, quietly removing her chair from against the doors. She barely opened one and poked her head around it just in time to see the slim back of a young boy turn the corner into the foyer. Another glance at the group in front of the fireplace assured her that she would not be missed.

  Ava exited the room and rushed to catch him as he was leaving the house. Using the front door in the middle of the day would elicit comment. Instead, she turned and walked as sedately as possible through the house to the kitchen. She snagged her cloak from a hook next to the back door and rushed around the house to the busy street in front.

  Ava had a good idea who’d been eavesdropping on the meeting, but was perplexed at his possible reasons. She took a quick glance up and down the street and, for a brief moment, thought she had lost him. But the boy’s dark gray waistcoat came back into view as he turned the corner onto Fifth Street, heading north. Ava wrapped the cloak around her and pulled the hood securely over her head. She turned back around and followed a narrow alleyway behind the house to emerge in the middle of Fifth Street and just steps behind Billy.

  He seemed to be holding himself in check, walking with studied nonchalance. She noted the tense set of his shoulders. He was actually trying not to hurry. At first Ava thought he might be headed to the college where he took classes, but they passed the turnoff for Market Street and were approaching Arch Street.

  “Ava.”

  She practically jumped and looked with alarm at the boy who seemed to materialize out of nowhere at her side.

  “Mister Jimmy! You scared the life out of me!” she hissed, the remnants of fear shading her voice with irritation.

  He lightly touched her elbow and steered her onto a small side street.

  “No, I’m—” she began to explain.

  “I know. Just wait.”

  Ava stood fidgeting anxiously and looking out onto the street when she noted a familiar figure cross over and take up her pursuit of Billy. Evelyn, cloaked and carrying a basket of produce, nodded stealthily as she passed them.

  Ava took a deep breath and asked, “What’s going on?”

  “We’re not entirely sure,” he replied. “We’re just following up on a hunch, Evelyn’s hunch, to be exact.”

  Ava looked perplexed as they stepped out again onto the street and turned back toward Benjamin Franklin’s house. She had been so busy with Odell and Gabriel’s schemes that she now had only peripheral knowledge of the spy ring’s activities and Hershel’s investigation. The couple of days Cara had requested to root out the traitor turned into several, and Gabriel had expressed some impatience at withholding the information from Franklin.

  “What does Mister Billy have to do with…,” she hesitated, “you don’t think—”

  They turned up Chestnut Street and almost collided with Odell, his face tight with worry. “Ava!” he cried relieved and checked his overwhelming desire to snatch her into his arms.

  Ava, for her part, cast her eyes down demurely. Jimmy was a Quaker and good friend, but his involvement in their activities was restricted to spying. He had no knowledge of their political strategies, and knew Ava only as a particularly trusted servant, one who had grown up with the family and was given unusual liberties. But he was an astute observer, and it behooved them to tread with care around him.

  “I’m sorry, Mister Odell, but I saw young Mister Billy listening at the parlor door and followed him.”

  Odell’s momentary lapse was quickly replaced by his typical Sphinx-like expression. “Billy?”

  “Evelyn’s on his trail as we speak,” Jimmy responded. They turned and walked together back up the street to Benjamin Franklin’s house. They stopped in front of it, and Jimmy added, “He… well… Evelyn feels that Billy has become oddly secretive, almost uncommunicative. He’s always been a little jealous of her prominence in the Thornton group, but lately,” he shook his head in bewilderment and continued, “it’s like he doesn’t care, but with this attitude of superiority… aloofness.” He pulled at his ear and grinned at them. “I see it too, but Evie explains it better, ‘It’s like he’s got a secret and he wants to keep it, but he wants you to know he’s got one,’ ” he quoted.

  “I understand you perfectly,” Odell assured him. “But surely Evelyn… none of you actually believes he would betray his grandfather’s cause.”

  “And his father’s cause?” Ava countered.

  Odell nodded remembering Franklin’s son, William, was the Royal Governor of New Jersey and a steadfast loyalist. The revolution had caused an irreparable breach between father and son, with William now under house arrest by the colonial militiamen. Odell had never given much thought to how this affected Billy, but he could imagine him a relatively easy mark for persuasive loyalists.

  “Do we know if he’s had any contact with his father or others connected to him?” Odell asked.

  Jimmy shook his head, uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation. Billy was often immature and puffed up with his own importance, but Jimmy wouldn’t believe his friend a traitor. In fact, it had taken some convincing on Evelyn’s part to get Jimmy to help her.

  “We just need to eliminate him as a suspect,” Jimmy insisted. “Find out what he’s up to, if anything.”

  Odell’s sharp eye was quick to note Jimmy’s discomfort, and he nodded again, content to let the matter rest until, or unless, they had better evidence.

  *

  Evelyn stood back among a small grouping of lilac trees on the corner of Fifth Street and Cherry Alley. As luck would have it, three young matrons stood just to the side and in front of her. They were engaged in a low, earnest conversation that seemed to involve a mutual friend and her marital woes. The subject was of such interest to the participants as to leave
Evelyn virtually unnoticed by them and effectively hidden from the boy who stood not half a block down from her.

  He was not alone. Billy stood with another man in front of the brick façade of the German Lutheran Church. They were talking intently, but Evelyn was too far away to hear anything. Her brow furrowed with concentration and suspicion as she observed the slight man whose hand rested with an oddly caressing grasp on Billy’s forearm. Only an inch or two taller than her friend, the man was exceedingly slender. His well-tailored clothes were of a fine quality, and his shoes looked new and barely scuffed. Instead of a hat, he had pulled over his head the hood of a heavy woolen half cape. She saw the tendrils of a yellow-haired wig escape from beneath it. His face was completely obscured.

  Having employed the same mode of camouflage, Evelyn knew that this was no accident of dress, but a deliberate disguise. The man did not want to be seen or recognized.

  “Joshua can’t deal with the baby on his own, even though its Maggie’s business that keeps them in that house.”

  Evelyn refocused her eyes on her near surroundings as the women walked toward her. Her concealment was on the move, and in the next few steps, they’d be by her.

  “Well she can’t watch him while keeping the store, now can she? I don’t think it’s too much to ask he watch his own son.”

  Evelyn hesitated only a second and then casually slid in among them, employing her usual tactic of feigning interest in the contents of her basket and walking with her head down. She knew there was no way to get near Billy and the man out here on the street. Maybe that was the whole idea; they could see anyone coming from several feet off, and Billy could easily claim he was just helping a stranger with directions.

  Evelyn ground her teeth. Billy! What was he up to? She had to get closer.

  Rounding the corner onto Fifth Street, she separated from the group by heading north. She turned east onto a small street that bisected the block between Cherry Alley and Arch Street. Evelyn knew it came up behind the church, but was unsure whether it had ingress into the churchyard.