The Gate of Days - Book of Time 2

by Guillaume Prevost

  “Very good. If they come back, please let me know. I’m in car seven.”

  The polished shoes vanished from Sam’s field of vision, and after a few seconds the tablecloth snapped up, uncovering them.

  “Come out of there!” A brown hand reached down to them. “Stealing clothes, hiding under tables — don’t you two ever do anything normal?”

  “Matthew!” Lily cried.

  The uniform, the voice … of course! The waiter was none other than Mama Lucy’s adopted son!

  Matthew shook his head. “I was watching you from the kitchen. You kids seem to attract nothing but trouble!”

  “That guy belongs to a gang that attacked my grandfather’s grocery store,” Sam explained quietly. “They didn’t get what they wanted, so they decided to come after us.”

  Matthew didn’t seem particularly convinced. “Well, that’s as may be. But if that guy is really after you, I know a place you’ll be safe.”

  A customer at one of the far tables was getting impatient. “Waiter, please!”

  “Right away, ma’am … Okay, I have to hurry or my boss will get mad.”

  He quickly led them to the other side of the car, to a compartment stacked high with sheets, tablecloths, and napkins.

  “I’m in charge of linens for the sleeping and dining cars, so no one will bother you in here. There’s not much room, but… Here, I’ll give you my key. If you get too hot, just open the window.”

  Several hours passed before Matthew appeared again. Lily and Sam used the time to make themselves a cozy nest among the bags of linens and finish the lunch they’d started. They also came up with a couple of theories about the man with the bowler hat’s real intentions, without being fully satisfied with any of them. Was he someone sent by the mob? An accomplice of the Arkeos man? The Arkeos man himself?

  Finally, as night was falling, they heard a soft knock at the door.

  “Open up. It’s me, Matthew.”

  He stepped inside carrying a bundle of dirty linen.

  “Your guy is a tough customer; he doesn’t give up easily. He went up and down the train several times this afternoon. He even checked the toilets. Didn’t put him in an especially good mood either.”

  “What if we told the conductor?” suggested Lily.

  “Mason? He’s as yellow as they come. Don’t count on him for help. Are you going to Toronto?” Sam nodded. “I’ll help you get off onto the tracks. No one will see a thing.”

  “Mama Lucy is right to be proud of you,” Lily told him. “You really take after her!”

  He laughed. “Don’t let appearances fool you, missy. I’m helping you mainly for your politics! I don’t know who tipped you off, but the Democrats chose Roosevelt and Garner for the presidential elections, just like you predicted! And I picked up a thousand dollars along the way. So if you have any other ideas along those lines . . ”

  “That was just luck,” said Lily. “I read an article in the newspaper.”

  “What paper was that? I want to subscribe!”

  At his charges’ looks of embarrassment, Matthew burst out laughing again. “You really are a strange pair! But I like that! Hand me that bag over there. I have to take clean sheets to the sleeping cars. When we arrive, don’t budge until I come get you.”

  Matthew kept his word. Once the train pulled into Toronto early the next morning, he helped them off the train onto the tracks, out of sight of the other travelers. Then he said goodbye and went back to his job. He had to greet the new passengers for the trip home.

  At nine o’clock in the morning, after carefully studying their surroundings, Sam and Lily finally boarded the first train headed for Sainte-Mary. There was nothing the man in the bowler could do to them now.

  16 Old Acquaintances

  For the first time since he started “traveling,” Sam had really become aware of what the passage of Time meant. It was one thing to pay a quick visit to a time and place you knew nothing about, but quite another to meet your six-year-old grandfather or to arrive at a familiar place a century earlier. If Sam and Lily hadn’t seen a big wooden sign reading “Welcome to Sainte-Mary” as they left the train station, they might have had serious doubts about where they were.

  “What happened to the mayors office?” asked Lily in amazement. “Don’t they need a mayor? And what about the park?”

  Sainte-Mary wasn’t a city anymore; it was a large village at best. There were so few streets and buildings, it looked like a case of Honey, I Shrunk the Town! Only three cars — with boxy lines, rear-mounted spare tires, and the occasional ahooga! — were trundling along the main street, from which all modern structures had disappeared. In their place rose two-story buildings with shops on the ground floor and living quarters above. On the sidewalks—just dirt embankments, actually — vendors sold fruit and vegetables out of carts. Street lighting came from a pair of stubby wrought-iron gas lamps, a far cry from the majestic avenue of lights that would brighten twenty-first-century nights.

  “Look, the DVD rental place is a men’s clothing store!” “The skating rink! It’s a cow pasture!”

  “And the big hotel is a public bathroom!”

  The changes went on and on. Sainte-Mary looked like a rural backwater, and its crowds wore clothes that were definitely more “country” than in Chicago. But the mood in town was far from glum. People were talking loudly and calling to each other from one end of the row of stores to the other. A few citizens already seemed well lubricated with alcohol.

  “At one in the afternoon, for heaven’s sakes!” said Lily. They discovered the reason for this excitement behind what would someday be the area’s biggest shopping center: a muddy field where a noisy crowd was applauding a plowing contest. Two workhorses were going head to head, each dragging a clawed device that dug deep furrows in the ground. The supporters of the teams cheerfully shouted insults back and forth.

  “You can see why Fontana’s fields yield half as much as ours do!”

  “If you want those Sainte-Mary nags to pull, you got to feed them!”

  Lily asked, “So this is a kind of county fair, right?” “Something like that,” answered Sam above the hubbub. “But there’s probably something else happening too. Have you ever heard of the melees?”

  “Melees?”

  “From what I understand, there were these big competitions between Fontana and Sainte-Mary for years. They usually ended in gigantic fights, which is why they’re called melees. I think they usually happened at this time of year, around the first of July.”

  “On Canada Day?”

  “Yeah. But then some people got really hurt, and the fights were banned after World War II. That’s sort of how the Sainte-Mary/Fontana judo tournament got started — its a lot more peaceful.”

  “So if everyone’s here, this is probably the perfect time to look around the town, right?”

  They briefly considered going to their school, which was quite close. But what would they find there? A potato field? A pigpen? Instead, they left the Fontana and Sainte-Mary fans’ alcoholic huzzahs behind and walked over to Barenboim Street. To their surprise, they enjoyed the relaxed feeling of crossing a downtown free of the oppressive crush of traffic. Children played with jacks or hoops in the street, people stopped to greet one another, more animals could be seen — birds, especially — and the flowers smelled sweet. It might be interesting to live in a Sainte-Mary without a broadband connection and an MP3 player.

  Barenboim Street felt more cheerful too. The houses were the same ones Sam and Lily knew, but their paint was a lot fresher and their gardens better tended. Also, the street had a mood of carefree simplicity Sam would never have imagined.

  There was one exception to all this, however: the house they were heading for.

  When they opened the gate, it creaked on its hinges. Weeds had overgrown the walkway, and the stoop was nearly hidden under piles of junk and scrap metal. A couple of windows were broken, the siding was peeling off, and a weather vane listed sadly on th
e roof.

  “Is this a haunted house set or what?” Lily whispered.

  They reached the front door, which swung slightly in the breeze. Gone were the scent of flowers and the chirping of birds, replaced here by the stench of stale beer and clogged toilets.

  Sam entered the house first. The main room, where his father would set up his bookshelves seventy-five years later, was littered with wood scraps, broken bottles, and cigarette butts. Someone had apparently started a fire under a window once, and the flames had scorched the wall and blackened the ceiling.

  “It looks awful,” said Lily, glancing around the room, “but we’d have more problems if someone was living here, right?”

  Sam nodded as they headed toward the basement. But just then a teenage boy with a cigarette dangling from his mouth stepped out of the darkened stairway leading upstairs.

  “You were right, Bradley, we’ve got company,” he said.

  Four or five other teenage boys stood behind him. The speaker blew smoke in Sam and Lily’s faces.

  “Monk,” he said. “Go see if anybody else is coming.”

  Sam felt a jolt of electricity shoot up his spine. How could big Monk, who had nearly flattened him at the judo tournament, be here in 1932? But it was a lanky boy with downcast eyes who got to his feet and went to check the front door.

  When he returned, he announced somewhat wearily: “I don’t see anyone out there, Paxton.”

  Paxton? Was Paxton in on this too?

  “Perfect,” said the first boy. “We’ll be able to talk quietly. Upstairs, everyone!”

  At a sign from him, the others surrounded Sam and Lily and crowded them toward the steps.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Sam began. “We aren’t going anyplace with you!”

  Paxton stepped to within a few inches of Sam and jabbed his finger at him. He was smaller than his descendant — Alicia’s Jerry Paxton — and had a long scratch across his forehead and a badly chipped tooth on the side of his mouth. Sam suspected they weren’t going to be great pals.

  “You’re on my turf here and you do what I say. Get it?”

  Lily shot him a glance begging him not to resist, and Sam allowed himself to be led upstairs. The rooms had been turned into a crash pad. There were mattresses on the floor, a pile of empty bottles, and garbage everywhere. This is my house, Sam raged silently, though he knew the thought was absurd. You might treat it a little better!

  Paxton dropped into a battered armchair while his lieutenants flanked the two intruders. “So you’re from Fontana, eh?”

  “No, were not,” Sam answered.

  “Well, you’re not from Sainte-Mary, anyway.”

  That’s exactly where we’re from, you jerk — but there was no good way to explain. Aloud, he said, “We just came from Chicago.”

  “From Chicago?” A glint flashed in Jerry Paxton’s grandfather’s eyes. Or was it his great-grandfather or great-uncle?

  Whatever the case, acting like a jerk was clearly genetic with these people.

  “To me, Chicago is worse than Fontana,” he said. “I wanna kill all those smart alecks from Chicago. Isn’t that right, you guys?” The rest of the gang laughed raucously. “Besides, we need somebody to train on.”

  “Train for what?” Lily asked.

  “Girls shut up!” Paxton yelled. “Especially when they’re young enough to hide in their mothers’ skirts! Were gonna win that melee this year if it kills us. Or we kill them.” He grinned. “Shirts off, guys!”

  As in a well-rehearsed ballet, the five punks slipped their suspenders from their shoulders and took off their shirts in unison.

  “You too,” Paxton told Sam.

  “What about the girl?” asked Monk. “It’d be better if she didn’t watch.”

  Paxton seemed to hesitate for a moment. “You’re gettin’ sentimental, Monk, ever since your old man died. But okay, lock her up. I’ll deal with her later.”

  There was nothing very encouraging in this show of generosity. Skinny Monk grabbed Lily by the arm and dragged her out to the hallway. Meanwhile, his bare-chested buddies started circling Sam, fists clenched. He was going to be the punching bag for this afternoon’s boxing practice!

  To gain time, he slowly unbuttoned his shirt, while glancing right and left. The windows didn’t have any panes, so he could jump down into the yard if he had to. But even if he didn’t break something, Lily would still be stuck upstairs. As for facing these animals …

  “Start by hitting him in the stomach and ribs,” ordered Paxton, playing his role as coach to the hilt. “For his face, wait for my signal. Go!”

  The order was hardly given before his adversaries all attacked at once. Sam felt as if the ceiling had crashed down on his head. This had nothing to do with boxing! He tried to stay upright for a moment, protecting himself as best he could, but soon found himself on the floor, buried under their number.

  “That is enough!” shouted a hoarse voice. “I will not say it twice!”

  The furor instantly subsided, and everyone turned to look at the door. Standing on the threshold was a small man with copper-colored skin, wearing a bowler hat and polished shoes with white tips. He looked to be about sixty and seemed very calm. Though Sam had never seen his face before, he had no trouble recognizing him. This wasn’t a mobster or even the Arkeos man, as he had speculated on the train. It was the venerable Setni, high priest of the Egyptian god Amon, in whose tomb the first stone statue had been found. And here he was in Sainte-Mary, in the flesh!

  Paxton sniggered. “Two for the price of one! We’ll be in great shape for the melee!”

  Without warning, he leaped from his chair and rushed at the small man, leading with his right foot. To Paxton’s considerable surprise, Setni dodged him easily, then drew a very flexible stick from under his gabardine coat and whipped the air with it.

  “I mean you no harm, you crazed young cur. Leave now, and nothing will happen to you.”

  “We’ll see if I’m leaving,” barked Paxton, throwing a terrific punch at him. But once again, Setni stepped aside as if he’d anticipated his attacker’s move. The deja vu effect, thought Sam, the same thing he’d experienced against the twenty-first-century Monk during their judo match. Paxton found himself off balance with his arm extended and caught a stinging crack on the chin from Setni’s stick.

  “This time you’re dead!” he roared, purple with rage. But Paxton’s next attack was no more successful than the others, and he smashed into a wall. He raised his hands to his nose, which was spurting blood.

  “Get ’im, you guys!” he yelled.

  His companions finally reacted and rushed the high priest. An incredible phenomenon then happened: For the space of a minute, it was as if Time slowed down. Monk and his friends seemed gripped by a strange lethargy, moving with extreme difficulty while Setni struck with his stick at astonishing speed. Even Sam felt seized by some invisible, paralyzing force; he had trouble moving or even blinking. Then with the snap of a released rubber band, Time abruptly began to flow again. The high priest stepped back. Most of his opponents were on the ground, rubbing their necks or hips, dumbfounded by what had just happened to them.

  “He’s a magician!” moaned a terrified Bradley. “Let’s get out of here!”

  The gang tumbled down the stairs, scooping up their leader on the way. Leaning on his stick and panting, Setni watched them go. He was drenched in sweat and looked haggard.

  “Are you all right, sir?” Sam asked cautiously.

  “Yes … I am fine. It is just… exhausting,” he gasped. “I know I should not do it, but sometimes …”

  He gradually caught his breath and Sam kept away from him, for fear of breaking some sort of spell. At last the high priest straightened up and looked him over from head to foot. “What about the girl?” he asked.

  “She isn’t far. I can get her.”

  Setni nodded and the two walked into the next room — Sam’s future bedroom, in fact. It held yet more of the paltry tr
easures accumulated by the Sainte-Mary punks: a spare tire — one drawback of mounting them on top of the trunk! — some farm tools, a case of beer, scales with weights, and so on. Against the far wall stood a wobbly, battered wardrobe. It was apparently possessed by a ghost who was banging on the door, yelling, “Let me out!”

  Sam turned the key in the lock and his cousin burst out, all teeth and claws.

  “Easy, Lily! It’s me!”

  At the sight of the small bald man with the weathered face and the bowler, she froze. “You’re —”

  “I’m afraid there was a misunderstanding yesterday, miss. I had no intention of harming you in the train.”

  “You followed us from Chicago! Sam saw you in front of the grocery store that night with the gangsters!”

  “I followed you from Chicago, that’s right.”

  Sam spoke up. “Lily, this gentleman is Setni, the high priest.”

  A breath of disbelief hovered in the air. It was as if Sam had recited a very ancient and very secret incantation and summoned a genie or a ghost. The person standing before them was nearly three thousand years old! He came from a world where people built pyramids, worshipped the sun, launched golden boats on the Nile, and mummified their dead. He was the one person who might be at the origin of everything, the one who had traveled through Time further than anyone — and today he had come here to help them.

  “Setni?” Lily repeated.

  “It’s an honor,” said Sam, bowing deeply.

  “Straighten up, young man,” said the high priest kindly. “So, you know my name?”

  “I met your son Ahmosis in Thebes.”

  “Ahmosis! Thebes!” the old man exclaimed. “So I was right. You have indeed been using the Thoth stone. And that is why you emerged from the demolished house.”

  Lily was surprised all over again. “You mean you were at the construction site too?”

  “Of course! Otherwise how could I have found my way to your store? I came to the great city of Chicago to find out why that stone was going to be destroyed. For several months, something unusual has been disturbing the paths of Time, and it is my duty to discover what it is. And then I suddenly see you emerge from the ruins, with the workers all wondering where you could have popped up from.”