Veil of Time: A Paranormal-ESP Thriller (The Wizards Series Book 4)

by Jack L Knapp

  #

  “You doing all right, Nikola?”

  “I seem to be almost fully recovered, Tom. Thank you for bringing me to our hotel. The kitchen may be open, if you would like dinner.”

  “No, for some reason I’m not hungry. I may just go up to my room and read after I drop you off at your suite.”

  “What are you reading, Tom?”

  “I picked up a couple of magazines and two books. I confess that one is a biography of you, while the magazines have to do with electrical discoveries.

  “The biography is doubtless the one by my friend Commerford Martin. Perhaps you picked up copies of The Operator and Electrical World? I have written several articles for them. Cannot I change your mind? We could have a small dinner and perhaps share a bottle of wine? It does much to settle the stomach as well as aid in digestion. The wine must be European, of course; I simply cannot abide the wines produced in America. Perhaps they will learn how wine is made at some point, but that time has not yet come.”

  “Maybe a small dinner, Nikola. It is late, and as you mentioned it might help me sleep. I like a good red wine with dinner. France produces a number of good wines, as does Italy.”

  “Have you tried the wines from my native country of Serbia? I find they rival the best of the French vintages, and they’re clearly superior to Spanish and Portuguese wines. I fear the weather there is too warm to produce good wines.

  “But you mentioned another book. What else are you reading?”

  “Are you familiar with H. G. Wells? This book is called The Time Machine.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Poppycock, my boy. There’s no such thing as time travel. It’s preposterous.”

  “Why would you say that, Nikola?”

  “Tom, how much do you know of science? More important, how much to you understand, truly understand?”

  “I’m not certain, I suppose. I know a few things, but I’m no scientist. I listened to your presentation yesterday and I found it difficult to follow some of the concepts.”

  “Not surprising, Tom. My demonstration was for working professionals in the field of electrical engineering and design. Some were mathematicians, others scientists who are involved in the great undertaking of electrifying our world. Mark my words, the world of the future will be changed in ways that you cannot comprehend.”

  T thought to himself, Nikola, you might be very surprised!

  But he kept the thought to himself. “Can you reveal what you’re thinking, Nikola?”

  “Certainly. I owe you that much, and more, after what you did last night.

  “Consider the motor-car. It’s no longer simply a carriage with no horse to draw it. Mr. Edison’s work in direct current might find its greatest application in powering a motor-car; the lead-acid battery...excuse me, are you familiar with those? They’ve been around for some time now but I expect they will become more common over time. At the moment they provide light for stopped railway carriages, but there’s no reason why manufacturers cannot stack cells to make them more useful. Am I going too fast for you, Tom?”

  “No, I understand, Nikola. You’re talking about powering a direct-current motor to drive the motor-car, using a lead acid battery that can be recharged. I know that much about them.”

  “Precisely, Tom. But motor-cars must also have better roads, and as more become become available, industry must provide the means of recharging the batteries. There is also the question of paying for the roads and deciding what they should be made of. Should it be concrete, or would it be better to use Mr. MacAdam’s system? Mr. Edgeworth has proposed binding the upper level with water to stabilize the roadway, but Doctor Guglielminetti has suggesting using tar to cover and stabilize the stones of the substructure. That, of course, depends on the availability of tar, but perhaps scientists and engineers can perfect such a system in future.

  “Railways are only now being electrified; streetcars are already using my motors and a system that allows the car to clamp on to a moving cable, but I envision a time when each car has its own multiple-phase alternating-current motor. The power for such a system could be drawn from a dedicated wire located above the streetcar’s route; a wire laid between insulators near the ground would also work, but if such a wire had sufficient potential to power a heavy car it would necessarily be dangerous to the public.

  “As for lamps, you’ve seen me use those. Mine are far superior to the improvements made by Mr. Edison because mine do not require replacement as his so often do. Also, brightness of his lamps depends on how far away the lamp is from the dynamo generating the direct current. The potential...perhaps you’ve heard it called voltage in honor of Count Volta...decreases with distance, so that must be taken into account if Mr. Edison’s system is used for lighting. Regardless of which system is used, we now can conquer darkness forever!

  “Add to this the ability to communicate wirelessly anywhere in the world, using my inventions or even those of Mr. Marconi, and you can see that the world of the next generation will be nothing like that of the past.”

  T nodded and let Tesla continue.

  “Now, as for the book you mentioned, time flows in one direction. Do you understand what time is, Tom?”

  “Well, I’m not certain of your meaning. You do not refer to hours or days, do you?”

  “No, those are only units used for measuring the passage of time. When we speak of time, we refer to change. The sun rises, passes overhead, then sinks, reminding us that a day has come to an end. But we understand that the sun is still there, even if we have lost sight of it, so when it rises again a day has passed. This is change; no day is exactly the same as the one before, no month the same, and each year brings further change. Next year there will be newer motor-cars, better ones. There will be more distribution systems for electrical power, my electric motors will find more uses. They will be used in ways that even I cannot predict, but the changes I speak of are the essence of time.

  “That is why time may not be reversed, nor may we spring ahead of where we are, skipping over the changes that must occur before we reach the time that a generation hence will experience. A person would have to remove himself from time’s changes and reinsert himself before those changes have occurred. All things experience time, Tom. The bovine cannot be unkilled, flowing water may not be forced to run uphill.

  “In order to return to an earlier time, all the changes that have happened in the interim, even changes to the moon and the stars themselves, must be forced to reverse themselves. For this reason I say to you that time travel is impossible. Nothing short of wizardry could bring it about. Only the simpletons who believe in ghosts and speaking from mind to mind can believe in reversing time. I doubt the author will ever find a large market for his book, because it is simply too preposterous to be believed.”

  “Nikola, powering a streetcar by means of water falling tens of miles away was once too fantastic to believe. The forcing of the unseen things that make up electricity to go where mere humans wish them to go and do useful work when they arrive, that too is fantastic. Future discoveries may make the fantastic not only believable but commonplace.”

  #

  Muddy was clearly unhappy.

  “Ray, I’ll have someone fix the damage to your room. That bullet...damned good think it didn’t go through the wall. The timber stopped it, but if it had hit some of those thinner slats, it might have gone on and killed Dutch Annie. She’s got the room across from you.”

  “Dutch Annie? She one of Gertie’s girls?”

  “Aye, although she also helps the faro dealers from time to time by keeping the counter. Men like to see her there and the dealers claim gamblers will keep playing longer if Annie’s helping.”

  “Fix the room when you get around to it, Muddy; the bullet didn’t hit me, so the only question is what happened to the man that fired the shot.”

  “He’s dead. Somebody beat him to death and left the body across the street. You know anything about that, Ray?”r />
  “Muddy, I only came down the stairs after it was all over. I wanted paper and pencil, so I talked to your night bartender. After that I went straight back to my room.”

  “Yeah, he told me you never went outside after he gave you the writin’ stuff. Still, it’s pretty lucky; there’s no way to be sure, I guess. That feller might have been shootin’ at you, or he might have been drunk and decided to shoot at the moon. It happens. He worked for John Kinney from time to time, and I hear you had words with him. I figured it was worth asking about. I don’t like having my place shot up.”

  “We talked. Kinney left after that, and I was told he went south to Los Lunas.”

  Muddy nodded. “I’m just glad that yahoo shot into the upstairs instead of my mirror! I reckon we don’t have to worry, at least not about him. Undertaker picked up the body, and more’n likely he’ll plant that feller before sundown.”

  “I won’t be going. Good riddance, I expect. He have any relatives you know of?”

  “None in town, near as I can tell. Just another drifter and maybe he wasn’t even using his own name. Unless the undertaker finds a letter in his pocket or maybe somebody knows about his family, he’ll just get a wooden cross with whatever name he was using on it.”

  “I’ll be at work later on if you need me. I might just go for a ride, maybe rent the livery’s buggy. I’d like to look around town.”

  “I’d carry a six shooter if I was you. Maybe, if you’re heading out of town, you might consider a rifle. There’s a gunsmith down the street, I hear he does good work. He’s usually got new guns, but they’re pricy. Used guns are cheaper so you might want to see what he’s got for sale. I can advance you a double eagle against your wages if you want.”

  “I’d appreciate that, Muddy. I’ve got a rifle, but I reckon it needs work by a competent gunsmith. I’d hate to depend on it before it’s been looked over. I thought I might ride out of town and do some shooting, just in case. Practice is always a good idea.”

  Muddy opened the cash drawer and handed Ray the coin. “Long as you shoot away from town, nobody’s gonna mind. Some think it makes Indians think twice if they hear people practicin’. I reckon I’ll see you when you start work tonight.”

  Ray nodded and headed upstairs.

  The rifle showed considerable use, as well as blood and hair on the metal butt-plate. Ray washed off the evidence, then wiped the weapon clean. He ejected the round in the chamber and emptied the magazine, finding that he had a total of five cartridges. He loaded the rounds into the magazine and walked outside, carrying the rifle. The gunsmith’s shop was north of the Bucket, just past the general store.

  #

  Libby decided the best thing she could do was teleport east after forming her bubble. That was the direction she’d come from, after all. What would happen if she teleported for only a short distance? Would this take her farther into the past, or would it reverse her trip, taking her closer to her own time? How could she tell?

  She’d been heading mostly west but also slightly north when she teleported from Houston. If there was a way, any possible way, to return to her own time, reversing her direction might be it. She resolved to try, but this time teleporting for short distances until she understood what was going on. It would take longer, but if she teleported no farther than she could see, it should be safe enough.

  Levitating, she glanced at the sun to fix her direction. It was well past the zenith, so that direction was west. Wasn’t the sun also slightly south, in the direction of the equator?

  Libby frowned, then decided it was probably not very important. She could always adjust her direction later, but for now, it was best to leave the area. Her display had frightened the armed men, but that might wear off. They might decide to come back, and if they did, she would be forced to use violence.

  Was she willing to kill some of the armed men to force the others to turn away? True, her kidnapper had died, but not because Libby had knowingly decided to kill him. He’d deserved what happened...after all, he was in the process of trying to kill HER! She glanced at her hands, now held out for balance. She had the ability to kill, but did she have the will, the determination necessary to take a human life when there was no direct threat? Could she commit murder with those hands?

  Libby shivered, fixed her direction in mind, then formed her bubble. As soon as the red flash faded, she teleported east.

  #

  “I reckon it ain’t in bad shape. Not new, been quite a bit of lead through that barrel, but the lands and grooves are still sharp. Action’s a little loose, but I can fix that by tightening the screws. You ought to clean it every time you shoot it. Black powder is rough on barrels; this one is already pitted, although so far it’s not too bad. You’ve got to clean it every time you shoot it, then clean it the next day and the day after that. The fouling gets into the steel and it eats little holes in the metal.”

  “Is it going to affect accuracy much?”

  “I reckon not, although a feller can’t be sure until he shoots it. I’ve got a bench out back, why don’t we give her a try?”

  “Sounds good. I’m going to need cartridges anyway, so pick out a box and I’ll pay for them when we settle up.”

  The gunsmith nodded and reached up to a shelf behind him. “This rifle takes the .38-40 cartridge, plenty powerful enough but still light enough that the toggle link won’t be damaged. Some models are chambered in .45-70, but I won’t barrel one with that chambering. I don’t want one of the rifles I’ve worked on to break when a fellow needs it most. That cartridge will down a grizzly if a fellow is careful where he puts the bullet, but most of the time it’s a lot more rifle than you need. The .38-40 is good for anything you’re likely to run into. The buffalo are mostly gone and the few that are left ain’t worth huntin’. No, you take my advice; you take good care of this rifle and it will take care of you.”

  “Good to know. I can’t say I’m all that familiar with this model.”

  The gunsmith nodded knowingly. “Spencer, heh? You’re too young to be toting one of them old Hawken muzzleloaders, Winchesters and Henrys ain’t all that common, so I reckon you’re used to shooting a Spencer. Lots of them around. Men kept them after the war and some of them no-account soldiers sold theirs so they could buy whiskey. There’s them that swear that no better rifle has ever been made, especially for plains game, but I say that rifles nowadays are better than they’ve ever been. The Hawken was accurate and powerful enough, but reloading takes too long. Henrys and Spencers were improvements over the trapdoor Springfield. That action was strong, but again, it had to be reloaded after every shot. Lever-guns are a lot faster.

  “Let’s do some shooting and see what this one will do, then we can decide if you want to swap it in on a newer rifle. I’ve got some I could make you a good deal on, hardly used at all.”

  “Maybe later on. Right now, I’m short of coin until I get my wages.”

  “I might could stake you, if you’ve a mind. A feller doesn’t want to lie to his doctor or try to stiff his gunsmith. Next time he brings a gun in, it just might blow up when he tried to use it!”

  The smith’s apron held a number of tools, including screwdrivers. He fiddled with the screws holding the action and tightened two, then checked the action bedding screws for tightness.

  “I reckon she’s ready to shoot. You goin’ first, or am I?”

  “Why don’t you run through a magazine-full? Then I’ll reload and run a magazine myself. Shoot for group size; loser buys a round at the Bucket?”

  “Wal, I ought not to let myself get talked into this. It’s your rifle, you’re bound to know how she shoots. But since we’re shooting group size, that ought to make us about even. I’m game.”

  Ray bought twenty more cartridges for the rifle on the way out, muttering as he did so.

  The gunsmith charged him two dollars for the work and another two dollars for the ammunition and grinned. “I’ll see you at the Bucket later on, friend. I’m shore gonna enjoy t
hat whiskey!”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Ray grew more impatient every day. He’d settled in to New Town Albuquerque, the job wasn’t much of a chore, and it gave him a chance to pick up bits of information from the minds of customers. One interesting side note; the more alcohol a man had imbibed, the fewer of his thoughts Ray could understand.

  But none of this got him closer to rescuing Libby.

  How far back in time had Libby gone when she tried teleporting inside her bubble? What direction had she taken? There was no way to tell, but if she’d tried to reach her grandfather she’d likely gone further back in time than Ray had. He, after all, had tried to cut his journey in half.

  Attempting to reach a particular year in the past was going to be dangerous, and there was no guarantee he wouldn’t make his situation worse in the attempt. Still, he’d come this far; failing to try meant that Libby might be marooned in the past.

  Ray could survive here if he had to, but what of Ana Maria? Would she wait at the ranch, or decide to go home to her parents?

  Ray sighed. Questions, lots of questions, but no answers.

  Based on the noise level coming from downstairs, it was time he went to work; it was best to head trouble off before it got out of hand. But Ray understood that tomorrow morning he would have to try to come up with some idea of where Libby had gone.

  He’d looked up how far Houston was from Reno before teleporting, so he had a distance value of about 1600 miles to work with. Libby had likely attempted to teleport the entire distance; how far she’d actually gone was unknown. Further into the past, that was likely, but no idea of how far back. Ray had traveled from Reno almost to Albuquerque, a much shorter distance.

  Could individual ability affect the time displacement? For that matter, did direction have an effect on time travel? Ray had headed east-southeast, while Libby had traveled west-northwest. One more variable to consider; the task was daunting.