Once Found: The Pocket Watch Chronicles

by Ceci Giltenan

  “I am not crazy, and ye don’t need sixty days. I told ye that. Only sixty seconds will pass here.”

  “How? Whose body will I be in and where will they be?”

  “Ye will pop into the body of a professional musician. He will have done something that will ultimately result in his death, and you will do something the instant ye arrive to stop that.”

  “I’ll save his life?”

  “Not exactly. His life was over. You extend it only by the amount of time ye stay there. When ye leave, he will die. His soul will go on, and ye will return to yer own body mere seconds after ye left it.”

  Gabe’s mind whirled. She didn’t seem crazy. What she said was impossible to believe. But, wow, if it did work, how cool would that be? “All I have to do is put the watch around my neck, tell it a word, and go to sleep. I’ll be in someone else’s body for sixty days. Does it automatically bring me back then?”

  “Nay, ye must choose to say the word. If ye don’t, ye’ll stay there forever.”

  “If I stay there, what happens to my body here?”

  “It will die, and the other person’s soul goes on as it should.”

  What harm was there in trying? The worst thing is that I wake up in the morning with the watch around my neck feeling silly.

  “Gabe, ye said that ye feared ye’d always regret it if ye didn’t give the musician’s life a try. I’m giving ye the opportunity to live the life of a professional musician for sixty days. The pocket watch will take sixty seconds or less of yer time. Don’t ye think ye’d regret not at least trying it?”

  It was so tempting. If he could just try it, just taste life as a musician, he’d know what to do with his life. There was no risk with this. “Okay. I’ll try it.”

  “Good. I hope ye have a wonderful time and learn a bit about yerself in the process.” She handed him the watch.

  He put it in his pocket. “Thank you, Gertrude.”

  “Ye’re welcome.”

  “How will I get it back to you?”

  “Oh, the watch always manages to be where it needs to be. It’ll find me. Ah, now look there, ahead at the next exit. There is a service station. I expect I can get a tow truck there.”

  Sure enough, there was a sign in the station window: Carl’s 24-hour Towing. Gabe pulled in. He started to get out of the car, intending to help her out and make certain she could get a tow, but she stopped him.

  “There’s no need to get out, lad. I’m sure Carl will be able to help me. Ye’ve got a couple hours left to drive, and I don’t want to keep ye any longer. Drive carefully. Watch out for drunks.”

  She was already out of the car, so he leaned across and rolled down the window. “Bye, Gertrude. Thanks again.”

  It was after two in the morning when Gabe parked in front of his home. The outside Christmas lights were still on. Mom must have left them on for him. He grabbed his backpack and locked the car. He would unload tomorrow.

  He slipped in the house as quietly as he could. Their dog, Chase, met him at the door. That was odd because Chase usually slept with Angela. It only took him a moment to realize why. Angela was curled up on the sitting room couch, asleep.

  “She snuck downstairs, did she, boy?”

  Chase whined.

  “Don’t worry. I’ve got this.” He put his backpack down and lifted his sleeping baby sister off the couch.

  She roused a little. “I was waiting up for you.”

  He chuckled. “I see. But Chase wants to go to bed now.”

  “Okay.” She yawned and closed her eyes again.

  He carried her upstairs and tucked her in. Chase jumped onto the bed, curling up beside her.

  “Sleep tight, princess.”

  He made his way back downstairs to the bedroom on the main floor that he shared with Joey and Nick when he was home. He kicked off his shoes and shrugged out of his jacket, dropping it on the floor by the bed. It hit with a dull thud.

  The pocket watch. He fished it out and laid it on the bed while he finished undressing. Climbing under the covers in his tee-shirt and boxers, he held the pocket watch in his hand for a moment. Well, here goes nothing. “Angela Rose,” he whispered to the watch before slipping the chain around his neck and going to sleep.

  ~ * ~

  It felt as if Gabe had just barely closed his eyes when he awakened to find himself on the back of a pony on a dirt road in a forest.

  Holy shit. A frickin’ pony?

  He was supposed to be in a musician’s body. He looked down. What in the hell was he wearing? Was this some kind of joke? Was he some sort of Renaissance Faire performer? That couldn’t be right because it was bitter cold and spitting snow. They weren’t usually held in winter.

  He looked up again, and the world spun. For some reason, he found it very funny and started giggling.

  Giggling?

  “Christ, what’s the matter with me?” His speech sounded so strange.

  “Ye’re drunk,” said a familiar voice.

  “Gertrude?”

  She stepped out of the forest. The well-dressed, refined woman he had helped on the side of the road in Delaware wore a voluminous cloak over clothing as old-fashioned as his own. “Aye, lad. So ye tried the pocket watch. Well done.”

  “I don’t understand.” His head swam, and he broke out in a cold sweat. “Damn. I think I’m going to puke.” He started to get off the pony.

  “Don’t climb down, lad. He’s not that big, but ye might not be able to get back up and ye’ll freeze to death. Just hang on to the beast’s neck and try to miss yer clothes.”

  Gabe barely had time to throw his arms around his noble steed’s neck before he vomited spectacularly. After he heaved several times, he groaned. “Oh, God. This is awful.”

  “Ye’ve never been drunk before?”

  “Nay.” The mere thought of it combined with the sour taste of alcohol caused him to spew more of the contents of his stomach. He inhaled several deep breaths of the fresh air, trying to regain control. “And I sure as hell never will be again.”

  “There now, that’s already one good lesson ye’ve learned. Just more proof that the universe unfolds as it should.” She stepped onto the path a few paces in front of the pony and clicked to it. “Come on to Gertrude now, there’s a good lad. I’d rather keep my shoes clean.”

  The pony took several steps away from the mess on the ground.

  The old woman pulled what looked like a pottery flask in a leather case from her cloak. “Here is a costrel of water. Rinse yer mouth with it. Ye’ll feel better.”

  He followed her instructions and handed the costrel back to her.

  “Nay, lad, keep it. Ye can give me that wine skin hanging over yer shoulder though. Ye’ll not want to drink any more of that sour wine anyway.”

  He handed it to her. “It’s yers. I’ll never drink again.”

  Gertrude chuckled. “All things in moderation. You will want to try the ale here. What’s served most of the time is very low in alcohol and may be better for ye than water, all things considered. Even the little children drink it. Just be careful not to over-imbibe the stronger stuff.”

  “Exactly where is here? Ye said I’d get to try a professional musician’s life.”

  “And that is exactly what ye are. Ye’re a professional, traveling minstrel in the Scottish Highlands. It is Tuesday, the twentieth day of December.”

  “The day I left?

  “Aye, except over seven centuries earlier. ‘Tis the year of our Lord, twelve-hundred and seventy-eight, a Tuesday.”

  “The thirteenth century? Are ye jesting?”

  She chuckled again. “I am most certainly not jesting.”

  “This isn’t what I thought…I mean ye never said…”

  “I said ye’d go back in time.”

  “I know ye did, but I thought maybe to the sixties.”

  “Did I imply that?”

  Gabe thought hard. With the wine-befuddled body he was in, it took great effort. “Nay, I suppose ye did
n’t.”

  “Did ye ask?”

  “Nay, ye know I didn’t.”

  “Then whose fault is it?”

  “I know it’s my own, but I never imagined ye’d send me to the dark ages. And why does my voice sound so odd?”

  “Ye’re voice sounds odd to ye because it isn’t yer voice. ‘Tis the voice of the minstrel yer soul currently resides in. And don’t be so quick to judge. There is much to be learned and enjoyed here in the dark ages.”

  “Ye could have fooled me.”

  She laughed outright. “Poor lad. All of the misery of the morning after without the frivolity of the night before.”

  Gabe groaned. “I think I’ll just go home.”

  “That’s up to ye, but it’s as I said to ye before: ye’ll regret it if you don’t give it a try.”

  “Ye also said I’d do something to stop this man from dying. What do I have to do?”

  “Ye’ve already done it. Ye gave me the wineskin. The miserable sot into whose body you landed would have just kept drinking it until it killed him.”

  “How?”

  She shrugged. “One of several things. He would’ve fallen from his mount. That alone could have done him in if he’d landed on his fool head. It’s also blue cold out this evening. While it’s commonly believed alcohol warms ye, it really doesn’t. It causes the blood vessels in yer skin to open, making ye feel warm. If ye’re out in the cold, that actually allows ye to lose body heat rapidly. He could have frozen to death. Then again, as ye’re painfully aware, he was drunk enough to be sick. He could have aspirated—”

  “Ew, don’t say it. I get the picture.”

  “And ye’re going to be a doctor?”

  “I’ll never be a sick, drunk doctor. I’ll swear that to ye. Don’t make things worse now.”

  She smiled broadly at him. It was peculiar, but she looked almost proud. “I won’t. Ye’re a good lad, Gabriel Soldani. These sixty days are a gift that ye’ll treasure if ye give it the chance.”

  He nodded. “But what do I do now?”

  “If ye stick to this road, it will bring ye to a village surrounding a castle. Go to the castle and tell them ye’re a minstrel. The Christmas season is upon us, and extra minstrels are nearly always welcome for major feasts. Ye’ll find that lute slung over yer back is much like a mandolin. Ye’ll have no trouble playing it. Both of ye are very talented. If ye allow it, his melodies will guide yer fingers.”

  “All right. I’ll try it.”

  “Ye remember yer return word?”

  “Aye.”

  “I believe ye’ll find the watch ‘round yer neck under yer clothes. Don’t let anyone see it. Watches haven’t been invented yet.”

  “How do I explain not having any memory?”

  “You won’t need to. He’s alone in the world. His entire family died by the time he was ten and five. No one here knows him. He is essentially a man without a past. Absolutely perfect for a time traveler.” She pulled a silver coin from her pocket. “On the way into town, stop at the inn to stable yer pony. Give this coin to the innkeeper for the pony’s care.”

  “Maybe I should just give the innkeeper the pony. After all, I won’t be needing it again.”

  “That’s not necessarily true. Ye just never know. Besides, it would raise suspicion. No minstrel would give away a mount if he had one.”

  “All right. Is there anything else I need to know?”

  Gertrude nodded sagely. “Ye must remember: love is a marathon, not a sprint.”

  He laughed. “Wise words, I’m sure, but is there anything I need to know to get by here?”

  “I can’t think of anything else.”

  “Off to the castle I go. Will I see ye again?”

  “Only time will tell, lad.”

  “Then I’ll say farewell, Gertrude.” Gabe started to ride away slowly.

  Gertrude called to him. “Now that I think on it, there is one more thing ye should know.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Yer name, lad. Ye’re called Geordie.”

  Chapter 26

  Gabe had done exactly what Gertrude told him to do. He rode toward the castle and into the village, left his mount with the innkeeper, and presented himself at the castle as a minstrel. He was given entry. The evening meal was being cleared, but he didn’t think he could stomach much anyway.

  A pretty, young serving girl smiled, offering him what appeared to be round, flat bread. “Ye’re a bit late for the meal, but here’s a bannock. I could maybe find ye some cheese or cold meat if ye want it.”

  He smiled back at her. “Nay, thank ye. This will be fine.” He ate a few bites of it. It was a bit like a dense biscuit. It sat well enough on his unsettled stomach.

  “The minstrels usually sleep over there.” She motioned to a corner of the hall, where there did indeed appear to be a number of people with a variety of instruments.

  He ambled toward them, eating the rest of the bannock, not exactly sure what to do.

  A man with dark hair and a wooden recorder watched Gabe approach. “Look, Paul, a newcomer with a lute. Just the thing we need.”

  Another man sitting nearby with a large drum next to him nodded. “Aye, there’s a lot of wind amongst the musicians here, a few drums and the odd harper, but he’s the first lute to arrive.”

  “I’m…Geordie.”

  “Come join us, young Geordie.”

  “Thank ye.” Gabe sat with them.

  “I’m Robin. This is Paul and the lovely lass beside him is his wife, Jean. We travel together.”

  “It’s nice to meet ye.”

  “Care to show us what ye can do with that lute?” asked Paul.

  “Uh…sure.” Gabe took the lute from his back. It looked very much like a mandolin, with strings in pairs. His mandolin had twelve strings arranged in six pairs. He had seen lutes with many more sets of strings, but this one had eleven strings: five pairs plus a single string for the highest pitches. He plucked the strings to check the tuning. The lute seemed to be tuned in fifths, as was his modern mandolin. Instinctively, he adjusted the pegs. He played a few bars of an Italian folk song. He could do this. Gertrude’s words came to him. If ye allow it, his melodies will guide yer fingers. He relaxed and let the medieval minstrel take over.

  As he started to play, Paul picked up his drum and added a driving rhythm. A broad smile spread across Robin’s face as he joined in with his recorder to play a counter melody. Jean added her sweet, lilting voice to the mix, joined by Paul on the refrain.

  Gabe could only describe it as magical. He had never heard the tune before, but just as Gertrude promised, it flowed from within him. When they had finished the song, there was silence in the hall for a moment before it erupted into applause and hoots of appreciation.

  Robin glanced at Paul, raising an eyebrow as if communicating an unspoken question. Paul nodded. “Geordie, that was truly excellent. Would ye like to perform with us?”

  “Aye, I’d like that. As long as I’m here, that is. I may not be staying long.”

  Paul laughed. “None of us will be staying long. We’re minstrels, lad, or had ye failed to notice? Robin is askin’ if ye want to join up with us. Stay together, ye ken? Travel with us?”

  Travel with them? This could be fun. As long as he remained in the thirteenth century, he should experience what he could. What can go wrong? I can leave at any moment.

  ~ * ~

  Over the next few days Gabe jammed with his medieval friends. It wasn’t long before his own musical abilities blended with Geordie’s. Gabe knew he added a slightly twentieth-century edge to their combined sound, making them unique. That and the fact that they had a woman singing with them garnered no small amount of attention.

  When he thought about it, Gabe had to laugh. He was a member of the most popular band around. It hadn’t been what he’d expected when he put the watch chain around his neck, but he was having a blast. On Christmas Eve, he sat near one of the hearths plucking at his lute and watching
as the hall was prepared for the Christmas feast.

  He noticed a little girl standing shyly off to one side and watching him play. He smiled at her. She reminded him of Angela. “Good evening, lass. What’s yer name?”

  “Kyna.”

  “How old are ye, Kyna?”

  “Almost six.”

  He smiled. Angela’s birthday was Christmas Eve and she had been almost six since about August. “When will you be six?”

  She smiled. “I was born on the Epiphany.”

  “The twelfth day of Christmas. My sister was born on Christmas Eve.” It was out of his mouth before he realized it.

  “Ye have a sister? How old is she? Where does she live?”

  “My sister…well, my whole family…” What could he say? Geordie’s family had all passed away. But his family hadn’t even been born yet. “My family is in heaven with the angels.”

  “All of them? I’m sorry.”

  “It’s all right, Kyna. I have friends here, and someday I’ll see my family again.”

  “I like the music ye play.”

  “Thank ye.”

  “Did your sister like yer music?”

  “Aye, she did.”

  “Would ye play me a song that she liked?”

  Gabe thought for a moment before plucking the melody to a lullaby he had sung Angela many times about asking guardian angels to keep her all through the night.

  When he finished and looked up, the little girl smiled. “I like that song. Do you know any other angel songs?”

  Gabe smiled. Billy Joel had an angel lullaby on the album he had released last year. Gabe loved the song and had wanted his band to do a cover of it, but had been voted down. He learned it anyway, to the delight of his baby sister. He played it for the little medieval girl, who closed her eyes as she listened and only opened them as the last notes faded away.

  “I like that song too. Will ye play another one? I like angels.” She sat down in front of him, looking expectant.

  Gabe laughed, reminded again of Angela. “I know a few more.” He switched to Christmas carols—there were angels aplenty to be found there. As he played and sang, a vague sense of homesickness grew within him. He had never been anywhere but home with his family on Christmas Eve. Stop being an idiot, Gabe. You’ll be home for Christmas.