He slings me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and navigates nimbly down the rock ledges, pausing twice to put me down and share water from his flask.
When we arrive at the grasslands, I point to a bare spot. “That’s where I got my mattress,” I say proudly.
Abbie smiles and says, “Very nice.”
Nearby, two tawny horses are tied to the branches of a low shrub. Genghis unties them, and while Abbie hops on the back of the smaller one, he hoists me up onto the second horse. I almost fall off the other side, but Genghis steadies me and hops on behind me. The horse gives a whinny and a snort, which makes me wonder if there’s a maximum weight capacity for horses like there is for elevators.
I’ve never ridden a horse before, but since Genghis is steering, I figure all I’ve got to do is relax and enjoy the ride. And I do, for about five seconds, until the steed goes from a leisurely walk to a full gallop.
I look around desperately for something to hold on to, but the only thing I can see is the horse’s mane. She’d better not mind having her hair pulled because I’m already reaching forward to grab a fistful.
Anyone who says the desert is flat is lying. I can barely keep my behind on the horse. On one particularly bad bump, I almost go flying. But, at the last second, Genghis keeps me on with a swipe of his hand.
By the position of the sun, I’d say we’ve been riding for a couple of hours. I don’t want to sound like a whiner, but if we have to go another hour, I don’t think I’m going to make it. My arms are so tired that I can barely grip the horse’s mane, and my legs feel like spaghetti.
Just when I think my limbs are about to fall off, the horse slows to a trot and then to a walk. I loosen my death grip and glance up. We’re on a ridge. Spread out below us is a huge encampment with at least five hundred dome-shaped tents.
We parallel the ridge for a while until we arrive at a path leading down. Soon we’re joined by two men on horseback dressed just like Genghis. They say something to him, but all the while they’re looking at me.
Genghis leads our little procession through a maze of tents. There are many soldiers around, grooming their horses, wrestling with each other or squatting in front of their tents, sharpening arrowheads on stones. They all wave to Genghis as we pass by.
Finally, we come to a tent that’s bigger than the others by half. Genghis dismounts and helps me off. Abbie is already down and handing her horse’s reins to a woman in a long red dress, the first woman I’ve seen since we arrived here. Abbie bows to Genghis and says, “Bayarlalaa.”
Then she turns to me. “C’mon … I’ll introduce you to Temüjin.”
Abbie nods to the two soldiers standing by the flap, and ducking our heads, we enter the big tent. As far as twelfth-century desert accommodations go, this place must easily be four stars. A brilliant blue carpet embroidered with stylized flowers and crosses covers the ground. Tapestries hang on the inside tent walls showing warriors in hand-to-hand combat. A fire burns in a pit near the back of the tent. Three figures sit cross-legged in the center, their long shadows reaching clear to me and Abbie.
I sneak a better look at my hosts. They’re all dressed like Genghis, with heavy coats and iron mesh armor. Even their faces look tough: brown and leathery from the sun. The man on the right has a heavily wrinkled face and a wispy white beard. I’m guessing he’s seventy years old or maybe even eighty. The one on the left I put in his forties. But it’s the guy in the middle who’s got my attention. He can’t be much older than I am. And it doesn’t take long to figure out he’s the boss around here. When the other guys look at him, you can see the respect in their eyes.
Abbie smiles, gives a little bow and says, “Sain baina uu.”
The young leader returns her smile and snaps his fingers. The man on his left nods and silently leaves the tent.
“Sain baina uu,” says the leader, looking at me.
“Temüjin’s saying hello, Cale,” says Abbie. “Say bi zügeer. It means you’re fine. But bow first.”
I give a shaky little bow. “Bi zügeer,” I say.
Temüjin keeps his eyes on me and says, “Naash oirt.”
“What did he just say?”
“He wants you to come closer.”
I shuffle forward. I’m still aching from my little pony ride, but I thrust my chest out and stand up as straight as I can.
Temüjin squints at me and says, “Chi tom hamartai yum.”
“Bi zövshöörch baina,” Abbie answers.
“What did he say?” I ask.
“That you have a big nose,” she says.
“And what did you say?”
“I had to agree with him. But don’t worry. I think your nose is cute.”
Temüjin stands, clasps his hands behind his back and circles me twice slowly. Then he stops, looks over at Abbie and says, “Chi burhan shig haragdahgui baina.”
“What did he say?” I ask.
“That you don’t look like much like a god,” she answers.
“I don’t get it,” I say.
“Well, I had to build you up a bit,” she says. “So that he’d agree to send one of his men to look for you.”
“So you told him I was a god?” I say, arching my eyebrows.
“Not exactly. I just said that you and I are equals. He’s convinced I’m a god because a few of his men who saw me land the first time told him I came from the clouds. Plus, I think my white skin and auburn hair sealed the deal.”
The tent flap opens and the man who had gone is back now, flanked by two women covered head to toe in long, flowing robes. One of them hands me a wooden bowl filled to the brim with some kind of liquid. The other hands me a folded robe. I glance over at Abbie.
“Go ahead, Cale, drink up. They call it tarag,” she says. “And don’t worry. If you’re too shy to change here, you can save that for later.”
I lift the bowl to my mouth and take a sip. Yuck. It tastes like sour yogurt. But it’s food, and I’m not about to turn it away. I drain it in about ten seconds flat, to the delight of my hosts. I’m instantly rewarded with another bowl.
“You might want to nurse this one a little longer,” says Abbie.
I nod and smile at everyone, hoping they’ll all stop looking at me.
Suddenly, the old guy sitting next to Temüjin leaps up, kneels in front of Abbie and says, “Minii zurkh zovkhon cinii l toloo tsokhildog.” Then he turns to me and says, “Tüünii orond bi hoyor zuun yamaa, tavin shildeg tsereg ögiye.”
Abbie looks at him, smiles, shrugs her shoulders and turns to me.
“What did he say to you?” I ask.
“He said that his heart beats only for me.”
“And what did he say to me?”
“He offered you two hundred goats and fifty of his best fighters for me,” she says.
“Are you serious?”
“What? You don’t you think I’m worth it?”
“Uhh, sure. But what should I say?”
“Tell him you won’t settle for less than three hundred goats and eighty fighters,” says Abbie with a straight face. “Just kidding,” she adds. “Tell him thank you, but I’m not for sale.”
“But don’t you think that will upset him?” I say, glancing at the sword resting on the ground next to the old guy.
Abbie narrows her eyes at me. “Who would you rather upset … him or me?”
“No problem. I just thought we could say something to, you know, let him down gently. But I’ll tell him straight out, if that’s what you want. Just give me the words.”
She whispers in my ear and I turn to the old guy and say, “Uuchlaarai. ene emegteig hudaldahgui.”
To my great relief, the guy doesn’t draw his sword or challenge me to a duel or anything. He just smiles and shrugs his shoulders.
“We’d better start saying our good-byes,” says Abbie. “Do you want another refill on your tarag before we go?”
I look down at my bowl. It’s still half full. “No, I’m fine, thanks.”
>
“Yeah, I don’t like it much either,” she says. “Let’s go. I’ll take you for a proper breakfast at Phil’s.”
“Abbie, I don’t think—” I start to say.
“Don’t worry,” she says. “You might feel full now, but you know how it is with Mongolian food. In a half hour you’ll be hungry again.”
“No, it’s not that,” I say.
“Well, spit it out, Cale. If you’re worried about running into Frank or Uncle, don’t. Phil’s is a little hole in the wall on the Lower East Side. There’s no way Uncle or Frank’s even heard of it.”
I wince hearing their names. “It’s not that either,” I say. “I can’t leave here, Abbie. They took away my patch.”
“I know,” she says. “Nassim told me. But don’t worry—you won’t need it. We’re traveling together.”
“Together? How?” I ask.
She grabs my good wrist, holds it against hers, smiles wide at Temüjin and says, “Watch and be amazed.”
July 10, 2061, 12:43 A.M.
Lower East Side
New Beijing (formerly New York City)
We land behind a Dumpster in an alleyway beside a low-rise building. As soon as we’re able to move, we make our way to the front of the building. A red neon sign flashes PHIL’S DINER.
“How did you do that?” I ask, after the time freeze wears off.
“Do what?” says Abbie.
“Take me with you.” Up until now, I thought the only way someone not wearing a patch could time travel was if they rode in the Time Pod.
“Pretty cool, don’t you think?” says Abbie. “It’s a new app that Uncle developed to make it easier to snatch kids from the past … no more Time Pod parking hassles. All the person with the patch has to do is grab the hand or wrist of the person without the patch, and—abracadabra—you get two time travelers for the price of one.”
I nod. I bet Uncle wouldn’t be too pleased to know that his new app was used to rescue me from the Barrens.
We step inside. The décor is early 1950s: black and white checkerboard floor, a long chrome counter, tall stools capped with red vinyl cushions and even one of those old-fashioned jukeboxes. I inhale and am rewarded with a wonderful aroma of bacon frying and fresh-brewed coffee.
Sliding into a booth near the back, I’m salivating even before I open the menu.
“Take your order?” says the waitress. She looks like she stepped right out of the fifties: pink polka-dot dress, bobby socks and saddle shoes. Even her bored expression seems to fit perfectly.
“Go ahead, Cale. Order whatever you want. My treat.”
“Really?” I say. “In that case, I’ll have an order of pancakes and two eggs over easy. Oh, yes, and a large glass of orange juice.”
“And you, miss?” the waitress asks.
“Uhh. Do you have any waffles?”
“Sure do. Best in New Beijing,” says the waitress.
“Okay. I’ll have the waffles. And an orange juice too.”
“Excuse me?” I say, just as the waitress turns to leave. “Can I also have an order of waffles?”
“You bet,” she says.
“Pancakes and eggs and waffles, Cale?” Abbie says.
I shrug and say, “I’m hungry.”
“You smell horrible,” she says, sniffing.
“Thanks.”
But Abbie’s not done yet. “You’re not eating a bite until you change into those clothes you got from Temüjin.”
“All right.” I say, running my fingers over the robe and trying to decide whether I’m supposed to wear underwear underneath. “Back in a minute.”
Luckily the men’s room is empty. Stripping down to the waist, I wet some paper towels with liquid soap and wash myself.
The sight in the mirror shocks me. I’m not much more than skin and bones. Well, at least I’m alive. I lean forward and take a closer look at my face. It looks different. There are some hard edges that I’d never noticed before.
I slip inside the washroom’s only stall and change the rest of the way, throwing my old clothes into the garbage.
The robe feels rough, and I can definitely smell goat on it. For a second I wonder if I’m having an elaborate dream complete with Phil’s Diner and a goat-smelling kaftan and that as soon as I try to return to the table, Abbie won’t be there. Then I’ll wake up back in the desert with a fire that’s about to die out.
If this is a dream, I desperately want to hold on to it. But there’s only one way to know for sure. I leave the washroom and walk back to the table.
My heart skips a beat. It’s empty.
“Did you get lost again?” asks Abbie.
Her voice is coming from the next table over. I look up and see her sitting just where I’d left her. I had stopped at the wrong table, that’s all. Relief floods through me. This is all real.
“Again?” I say. “I never got lost in the first place. Unless you count the time when I got turned around in a sandstorm and couldn’t find the way back to my cave.”
“I’m not counting that time,” she says.
It feels good to be joking with Abbie again. Almost at the same time, we both shut up and look at each other.
She’s waiting for me to say something. I wish I could read her thoughts right now. To know what she’s really thinking and how she really feels about … well, about me. I swallow hard. Here’s my chance to really talk to her. To tell her how I feel without joking or being sarcastic. Because there she is, right across the table, waiting.
“Abbie?” My voice breaks.
“Yes, Cale?”
Suddenly it’s gotten really quiet in the diner. I could use some noise right about now. Clanking pots, clattering dishes. Anything.
“I just want to say, I … thanks for rescuing me,” I finally manage.
She looks at me and says, “You would have done the same for me. We’re a team, remember?”
I nod, but there are a million thoughts swirling around inside of my head, starting with what about you and Frank?
As if reading my mind, she says, “While you were away, Frank asked me again to be his special assistant. He said you were never coming back from the Barrens.”
“What did you say?” I ask.
“I turned him down,” she answers.
My breath catches in my throat. “You did? Why?”
Abbie glances away for a second, and then looks back at me. “I told him I’d never be happy spending my time keeping track of all the other time snatchers’ missions when I could be on a mission myself.”
“Okay,” I say.
“But that wasn’t the main reason why I turned him down. I turned him down because he was bragging about a collection he did. He said what made it even more enjoyable was that it was a kid you knew.”
A wave of anger is building inside me. I don’t want her to see it, so I stare at my water glass.
“It’s wrong, Cale,” she continues. “What he did. Taking that boy … your friend … was wrong. He wanted to hurt you.”
“I’m not going to let it happen, Abbie,” I say.
“It already has,” she answers.
“Well, I’m going to undo it.”
“No. You’re not.”
I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks. “What do you mean, I’m not?”
“What I mean, Mr. Smells Like a Goat,” says Abbie, “is that you’re not going to undo it by yourself. We’re going to undo it. Together.”
Inside my head, the sun is bursting through the clouds and there’s a rainbow. Abbie is on my side!
“Are you sure you want to?” I say. “I mean, you could get in a lot of trouble.”
“Hey, I’m already in trouble,” she says. “Springing you from the Barrens ten months and twenty-four days early wasn’t exactly kosher, you know.
“Cale,” she continues—and I hear a rare break in her voice—“there’s something else I want to say … about why I came.”
“You don’t have to say it, Abbie,” I say and
then immediately regret my words. Of course she has to say it. I want to hear it. That is, if what she’s going to say is what I hope she’s going to say.
“Yes, I do have to say it,” she says. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about you. And a lot of thinking about us.”
Did she just say “us” as in me and her? I’ve got my elbows on the table now, and I’m leaning forward.
“Caleb, I want you to know that I … I care about you,” she says.
“I know, Abbie … me too,” I say, interrupting again. “I mean, I care about you, not about me. You know what I mean.” Real smooth.
“More than I care about anyone else,” Abbie continues. “Not just because you’re my snatch partner. And when you care about someone, sometimes it means taking chances and not thinking about yourself all the time. I just didn’t know how much I did care until you … went away.”
“Thank you, Uncle, for sending me to the Barrens!” I shout. A few of the other diners turn to look at us, and we both laugh.
Abbie cares about me. She said it!
The waitress is back. She sets three plates down in front of me. I pour syrup over my pancakes and waffles. It comes out nice and slow. This is definitely the best day of my life: Abbie cares about me, and there’s maple syrup!
I dig into my pancakes. Every bite is sheer ecstasy. I don’t look up until the plate is empty. After a moment’s hesitation, I bend over and lick the rest of the syrup off the plate.
“Here’s the plan,” I say once I’m done. “First, we erase all Timeless Treasures records and files relating to Zach. But only after we find out exactly where and when he was snatched. Then we go back to 1967 and change a bit of history so that Zach was never snatched. Frank will never try to take him again because he won’t know where to find him—Zach won’t exist in the Timeless Treasures files.”
I take a bite of my eggs. Delicious.
Abbie is quiet for a moment and then says, “I think you’re forgetting a couple of things … Did you ever go visit Zach … I mean at his home?”
“Yes.”
“Then Frank and Uncle will be able to find where Zach lives by checking your file for unauthorized timeleaps.”
“You’re right,” I say. “I already thought of that. When we go to purge Zach’s file, we’ll also have to make sure all records of my timeleaps to Zach’s house are erased too.”
Time Snatchers Page 23
