by April White
Archer looked entirely amused at that idea and I almost stuck my tongue out at him, but fortunately for my dignity, Ravi continued.
“We rarely saw the messages that were decoded, of course. The Colossus machines were built to determine that day’s settings for the Tunney—”
Archer answered my look of confusion. “It’s what w— they called the machine they’d designed to decode the Lorenz cipher.” I heard his near-slip, but it seemed Ravi hadn’t. Then again, Ravi still thought he was talking to his good friend’s grandson.
“Indeed,” Ravi said. “Each one of the decoded messages from Tunney was sent directly to the mansion, where the military commanders worked. In fact, in all the time I worked in H Block, I think I only ever saw one decoded message from Tunney, in a stack I’d just given Stella to run to the mansion. I started to read it before I even realized what I was doing, though it was in German, so I didn’t understand more than a few words. The ones I recognized however, have stayed with me. Kunst. Schatz. London.”
Archer stared at him and translated automatically. “Art. Treasure. London.”
Ravi nodded gravely. “Over the years I did wonder what that message meant, but it was near the end of the war, and messages were coming in from every listening station around Britain. One message couldn’t occupy more than a couple of minutes of my time. Or so I thought.”
Ravi reached into his desk and pulled out a manila envelope. It had been hand-addressed to him, a fact that was remarkable enough in this day of computer-printed labels to get my attention. He shook out a torn piece of paper that was attached to a hole-punched strip of paper that looked a little like a ticker tape and handed it to Archer. “The Bletchley Park Trust discovered a small room hidden behind a fireplace in the mansion’s library.”
Archer’s expression didn’t change, but the muscle at his jaw jumped as he clenched his teeth. “Did they, indeed?”
Ravi nodded. “More remarkably, a bedroll lay against one wall, and a half-burnt candle sat in a brass holder next to it on the floor. All indications were that someone had been living there, can you imagine?” Ravi sounded horrified. “When they unwrapped the bedroll, these scraps of paper fell out.”
Archer took the papers gingerly in his hands. The ticker tape was torn, and the scrap of paper attached to it was typewritten in German. “June 4, 1944. Entrance from Holborn. Flammable art treasure. Extra care. Werwolf is London native, T. Landers. Mission set for Ju—” He looked at me. “It cuts off.”
Ravi held his hand out for the papers. “Odd enough that the decoded message was attached to the teleprinter tape, but odder still is this.” He turned the ticker tape over and handed it back to Archer. “Ravi. Find this tape. –A”
I stared at Archer, sure that my expression was giving a whole novel away. Archer was expressionless, and Ravi seemed to have eyes only for the scrap of paper.
“It’s your grandfather’s handwriting, Archer. I can’t imagine what he could have been doing in a hidden room behind a fireplace at Bletchley Park with a piece of paper we weren’t allowed to have.”
My eyes jumped to Ravi. “You think he was a spy.”
Ravi sighed deeply. “I know my friend was not a spy. The good people at the Bletchley Park Trust may have other thoughts on the matter, but as far as I know, they haven’t brought MI5 into this. It took very little research to discover I was the only Ravi to have worked at the mansion, and they brought the puzzle to me first. Now I have brought it to you.”
Archer spoke quietly. “May I keep the paper to compare against anything I might find?”
Ravi winced. “I’m very sorry. I promised to return the original to the people at the trust.”
“Here. Photograph it.” I handed Archer the iPhone my mom had given me as a birthday present. I didn’t have that many people to call, so I didn’t carry it very often. The camera feature was the one I used the most.
When Archer had finished, Ravi tucked the scraps of paper back into the envelope. “I haven’t returned to the Park since the war ended, but I find I now wish to see this hidden room. I fear I may be too old for the train travel, however. The bustle of the stations is more than I can handle these days.”
Archer reached a hand out to touch Ravi’s arm. “I’ll tell you what. If you can arrange an after-hours visit for us, I’ll be very happy to drive you to Buckinghamshire and push your wheelchair myself.”
The idea seemed to delight Ravi. “That would be quite extraordinary, young man. I’ll see what I can do.”
We left his office soon after that and made it back to Elian Manor before midnight. Clocking into the walled garden put us in direct line-of-sight of the laboratory, and it was clear from the yellow glow of lights that Ringo was still up working. Archer took my hand and we walked in silence toward the lab.
Just before I opened the door, Archer turned me to face him. “I don’t remember writing that note,” he said quietly.
I exhaled deeply, dreading the implications of my next words. “Maybe because you haven’t yet.”
When we arrived at the Elian Manor lab, Mr. Shaw and Connor were back at work on the viral delivery system for the Vampire cure, and Ringo was deeply engrossed in dissecting the motherboard of a computer. Our tale of Archer’s note to Ravi surprised them all, and the content of that note became the primary subject of discussion.
“Are we going with the assumption that ‘London native T. Landers’ is Tom?” I asked.
“Given that Tom Landers is a fairly common name, and he has access to all of history, it is a huge assumption to make,” said Mr. Shaw. He looked pointedly at Archer. “However, the fact that you know Tom, and you wrote the note narrows the odds considerably.”
“Ringo found anecdotal evidence that may point to Tom’s presence in World War II as well.” Archer said thoughtfully.
Mr. Shaw considered Archer for a long moment before addressing him. “What do you know about the Werwölfe?” He pronounced it with a German accent, which made it sound like Ver-volf-a.
“You’re joking, right? Tom might be a lot of things at this point, but he couldn’t be a werewolf too. He’d be dead.” Connor said. He’d been bitten by one, and we’d gotten an education in them when his infection had to be burned out by one of Mr. Shaw’s chemical concoctions.
Archer shook his head. “Not the mutant kind, spelled w-e-r-e. Hitler’s Werwölfe, spelled w-e-r, were a group of young men who had come through the Hitler Youth program and were hand-picked near the end of the war to become terrorists. Hitler feared he was losing, you see, and his plan, unrealistic though it may have been, was to have Werwolves throughout the occupied territories setting off explosions and causing enough destruction that perhaps the people would rise up against the Allies. His hope was that in the mayhem, his high command would be able to regain their foothold in Europe.”
“But they clearly lost the war. What happened to the Werwolves?” I asked.
“Poor leadership and not enough resources, apparently. No one really knows why the terrorism plans fell apart.”
“Did they ever pull anything off in London?” Ringo asked from his seat in the far corner.
“Nothing of which I’m aware.” Archer sounded grim.
“What does ‘entrance from Holborn’ mean?” I asked.
“Holborn Underground station is up near the British Museum. Could that be it?” Connor asked.
Archer suddenly jumped up and began pacing. “There was a rumor during the war that many of the treasures of the British Museum were moved out of the galleries and stored in one of the Underground stations to protect them from the bombing raids.”
I breathed quietly. “Art treasures.” I looked up at Archer. “Which station?”
“I don’t know. As I said, it was just a rumor.”
“That’s all been declassified now, I’m sure,” said Mr. Shaw. “I have a friend at the Home office I can call tomorrow.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, why are we looking into a seventy-year-
old mystery about something that didn’t happen?” asked Connor.
“Because Archer doesn’t remember writing that note, yet here it is. And he didn’t remember being infected by Wilder until my interference caused it. In our whacked-out world, just because a thing didn’t happen doesn’t mean it won’t.”
Connor rubbed his temples as if the whole notion of time travel hurt, which to be honest, it sort of did, and then he nodded. “Good point.” He looked at Archer. “And if it is Tom Landers leading some sort of art heist for a group of Hitler Youth, after you find him and stop him, you’re going to want that cure, right?”
The grim expression had hit Archer’s eyes. “Right.”
Differences
Archer was in a prowling mood when he left the manor, so I just kissed him and let him go. Those moods had been few and far between since we got back from France, but I could feel this one coming on a mile away. Ever since Slick had taken me, Archer had been extra hard on himself for things he had no control over. That, of course, was not a conversation I could have with him in this mood.
There was no note the next morning when I woke up, so I assumed he had gone to sleep in the keep as usual. I grabbed coffee and a muffin from the breakfast room sideboard and went back upstairs. There was a dormer window on the third floor that was easier for roof access when my hands were full, and I dropped down next to Ringo to have my breakfast with a view.
“How long have you been up?” I asked him after a sip of coffee.
“A while. Archer and I ‘ad a talk before ‘e went down for the day.”
That surprised me. “About what?”
He sipped his own coffee, loaded with cream and sugar, in silence. I knew better than to prod Ringo. He’d tell me whatever he was going to tell me, but he’d tell me less if I poked at him. Finally, he took a breath and spoke. “We were discussin’ women.” My eyebrows shot up, but I wisely, and with some difficulty, refrained from comment. He continued. “Ye’re very different from men.”
“We can do anything men can do.” I didn’t usually get defensive about equal rights because I’d grown up with a strong, capable mom who did the job of two parents. But every time I had Clocked backward, I’d either had to dress like a man to get by or put up with attitudes from natives that I was weaker because of my gender.
He gave me a strange look. “I didn’t say anythin’ about doin’, did I? People can do what they can do – some are stronger, some are faster, some are more limber. Bein’ a man or a woman doesn’t come into the doin’ of a thing. Except babies, of course. But that’s just nature.”
He let his eyes travel out over the vista. “We were talkin’ about the way we think. The way a man sees ‘is job in the world, or in ‘is family.”
“How is it different than the way a woman does? I don’t think I did my job at the museum any differently than the guy interns did.”
He shook his head. “Yer back to the doin’ of things.” He sighed as though he was saying it badly.
“Don’t try to give me context, just tell me what you talked about.” I tried to sound more patient than I was. Ringo’s mouth quirked in half a smile.
“We talked about the future. Our futures, actually. About what defines us as men.”
“What defines you?” I asked. “Isn’t that something you decide – who you’re going to be?”
Ringo turned to look at me. “It’s not just who we decide to be. It’s who the world sees when they look at us. Do they respect us? Do we respect ourselves? Are we doin’ somethin’ that matters, or are we just doin’ a job? Are we doin’ enough to provide a life for the ones we’re responsible for, and are they proud of us for doin’ it?” He exhaled. “That’s how men think.”
I thought about saying it wasn’t different from how women think, but then I really considered what he had said. If that’s the way men thought about the world, shouldn’t I, as a partner to a man, want to be provided for, cared for, and protected so that he could feel all those things? But I was totally capable of doing all of that for myself and did so regularly. “Was it a theoretical conversation or a practical one?”
He grimaced. “A little of both.” The silence after that statement stretched between us until I realized that was all I was getting on that subject. It wasn’t a confidence booster for sure.
“You put a lot of pressure on yourselves,” I finally said.
He scoffed. “Yeah. Ye could say that.”
We climbed back into the dormer window and went downstairs, lost in our own thoughts. Just before he went down the hall toward the east wing, he turned back to me. “I’m not sure ‘ow well either of us really knows ‘Is Lordship. ‘E’s ‘ad a big life, with three lifetimes of memories to guide ‘im and keep ‘im company.”
I tried not to think about how big Archer’s life had been before me, because that path led to insecurity, which hung out and drank tea with pointless things like jealousy on a regular basis. Ringo called out to me as I turned toward my room. “I’m goin’ to Raven’s fencin’ school today. Do ye want to join me?”
Confronting Raven sounded far more entertaining than spending too much time alone in my head. “Come and get me when you go,” I said.
I could hear Ringo chuckle as he walked away down the hall.
Instead of going to my room, I went to my mom’s bedroom and knocked. She wasn’t there, but her gardening hat was gone from its usual place on her dresser, so I slipped out to the balcony of her room and used the drainpipes to climb down, just to stay in practice. I found my mom in the walled garden that had always been hers. Remarkably, she wasn’t alone. Millicent worked nearby, pulling up dead plants and replacing them with winter bulbs. I must have sounded as surprised as I felt, because they both smiled when I said good morning.
“Would you like your mother to yourself?” Millicent asked, sitting back on her heels to look up at me.
I dropped down next to them and started pulling dandelions to cover my shock. My mom tossed me a pair of gloves. “Here. Save your hands.”
I pulled the gloves on and met Millicent’s eyes. “I don’t want to bore you with my stupid stuff.”
“Your stuff isn’t stupid, Saira. And if it’s acceptable to you, I’d be honored to be a part of one of your mother/daughter conversations.”
I don’t know what possessed me to tease her. “You’re kind of freaking me out, Millicent. I’m not sure what to do with all this … kindness.” Maybe I was testing to see if this transformation in Millicent was real or if my imagination had gone into overdrive and was conjuring kindness out of thin air.
I didn’t expect her response though, and it was perfect. She scoffed. “Yes, well, you’ve been freaking me out since the day you arrived. So perhaps we’re finally even?”
We all burst into laughter and then settled into an easy working rhythm as we tended to the garden.
My mom spoke first. “You looked like a woman with a mission when you came in here, Saira.”
“I just had a weird conversation with Ringo.” I took a breath. “It was about the differences between men and women. He says men think differently than us.”
“This is certainly true,” she said.
“And always has been,” added Millicent.
My mom smiled. “Was this about Archer?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know.” I sighed dramatically. “They talked about stuff, but Ringo wouldn’t be specific, and I got insecure because now I assume it was about me. But mostly, the conversation made me wonder how we can ever want the same thing if the things he needs to feel good at aren’t things I need him to do for me?”
My mom looked thoughtful for a moment before she spoke. “It used to be simpler.”
I fought mightily against rolling my eyes. “You mean in the old days, when women knew their place?”
She laughed. “There were so many things wrong with Victorian ideas of what a woman was allowed to do, but none of us ever questioned what a man’s role was in our lives. We needed them, they neede
d us, and our mutual need made for uncomplicated ideas of who we were to each other. Since the beginning of time, a woman who bore children had to be protected from danger, and it became hardwired into a man’s DNA to do so.”
She sat back and wiped a lock of hair back from her face. It sounded like she had given this topic a lot of thought. “Somehow, especially in America, the idea of equality between the genders shifted into sameness. It’s a shift that has caused quite a bit of confusion in relationships because it’s difficult to find mutual need if everyone is equal and the same. It’s in our differences that we can seek the things that complement us and be the things that support our loved ones.”
Millicent spoke quietly. “There was a gentleman once – Sean Mulroy – just after the war. He had been a soldier, a pilot, and he came to the manor looking for work. My parents were still alive then, and I was young, but not so young that I shouldn’t have been married.”
She sighed – something I’d never heard Millicent do – and then continued. “His family was Irish, which, even in those days, was considered only a step above tinkers. But worse than that to my father, he might have had mixed blood. There were Irish Clockers left in those days, and Sean certainly seemed to know a bit about our Family. But I also had the sense he could See things before they happened; he was always moving things out of the way before they were knocked over or smashed. He never confirmed his heritage, of course, beyond his Irishness, and my father hired him to work in the field, despite the fact that he had a Trinity College education and had been a hero in the war. There were so many people looking for work at that time and very few people with means to pay them, which meant that any paying job was like gold, and many of the laborers were far more educated than the jobs demanded.”
Millicent absently picked a piece of lavender and brushed the flower against her cheek. It made her seem young and wistful, and I could suddenly see the twenty-eight year old version of herself, with long, lustrous hair, a wide, smiling mouth, and crystal blue eyes that missed nothing.
