The Portal

by Richard Bowker

  Lieutenant Carmody was standing in the entrance hall, looking seriously annoyed. "Where did you get to?" he demanded.

  "Well, uh, I—"

  "Never mind. Let's go." He headed off down a long hallway to the president's office. Another butler bowed and let us in.

  President Gardner was seated by the fire, along with General Aldridge, Professor Palmer, Vice President Boatner, and the foreign minister, Lord Percival. The president wasn't wearing his wig; he looked tired. "Ah, you've brought Master Barnes," he said when we entered. "Excellent. Have a seat. General Aldridge was just finishing one of his gloomy reports."

  We bowed and sat down. The warmth of the fire felt great after being outside all day.

  "The Canadian artillery pieces on the Cambridge side of the Charles are firing almost continuously," General Aldridge said. "Damage is light so far except in the refugee camp by the river. The goal, presumably, is to create confusion and panic prior to the main assault."

  "And the Portuguese?"

  "A similar strategy south of the city, except the firing is more intermittent. They may be conserving their ammunition."

  "And the balloons?" the president asked. "The electricity? All this work taking place on my back lawn—where are we with it?"

  General Aldridge turned to Professor Palmer. "Professor?"

  "Four balloons are in use at strategic points around the city, Your Excellency," he said. "Two more are being completed tonight. The balloons are tethered, with ropes sufficiently long that soldiers in the balloons will be able to easily view the enemy's troop dispositions by telescope. We have developed a semaphore signaling system that allows them to send the information back to the soldiers on the ground, so that they can adjust our own deployments of artillery and troops."

  "Can't the enemy just train their fire on the balloons and shoot them down?" Vice President Boatner asked. He looked as glum as he had the first time I saw him.

  "The balloons are out of range of enemy artillery. They'll be safe."

  "What about wind, snow, ice?" the president asked.

  Professor Palmer nodded. "Weather is a concern, Excellency, particularly wind. But on calm days, the balloons will be effective."

  "One might say that the balloons have already served their purpose," Lord Percival pointed out. "The enemy negotiators have seen the balloons floating over the palace. And that has provoked a change in their attitude."

  The president raised a hand. "We will get to that," he said. "First I want to hear about the electrified fences."

  Professor Palmer spoke up again. "We have had some difficulty getting the batteries to hold sufficient charge," he said. "We've tried generating the electricity directly, but—"

  "Yes, yes," the president interrupted. "These details are fascinating, I'm sure, but we need to know the consequences. What can we do now?"

  "We have fences that can be deployed across a limited area," the professor replied. "The shorter the fence, the more significant the shock it will impart."

  "The plan is to expose gaps in the fortifications that will be filled by the fences," General Aldridge explained. "We hope the enemy will choose to attack in these gaps and be thrown into confusion by the shocks they receive. We may also be able to inflict some injuries."

  "That's all very well," the vice president responded, "but neither these fences nor the balloons give us a decisive military advantage. We are still besieged by enemy forces that far outnumber our own. Our citizens are dying of disease and starvation, and looting and riots are widespread. The refugee camps are about to explode. The chaos and suffering will only increase if the siege continues.

  "Lord Percival is correct, however: our bargaining position has improved somewhat. At our negotiating session today, the enemy made what they termed their final offer: to let us maintain a civilian administration in New England as long as we disband our army and acknowledge the co-sovereignty of Canada and New Portugal. This seems to me to be a far better outcome than we could have hoped for a month ago. We would be foolish not to take it, and instead risk the future of our nation on a battle we have no hope of winning."

  "Solomon, when do you expect the battle?" the president asked.

  "Not likely to be tomorrow," General Aldridge replied. "But no more than a day or two after that. We assume the attacks will be coordinated. The Portuguese are still moving troops up towards the fortifications. Once they're in place, they won't delay further."

  That shut everyone up for a minute. Then President Gardner looked at me. "Master Barnes, what do you hear?" he asked. "Do the people in the city want us to surrender, or fight?"

  I thought. How could I summarize what I had heard in the camp? Sarah Lally was all for surrender. Matthew was all for fighting. Mom longed to go back to the farm and have Dad be safe. "I think people just want it to be over, Your Excellency," I said. "Whatever you do, do it soon."

  That brought nods from everyone.

  "Might I add one more thing?" Professor Palmer said. "Obviously we have not achieved everything we would have liked with electricity. But we have a new understanding of its power. If we can continue to work on it, I believe its potential is limitless."

  President Gardner's eyes rested on me for a moment before he replied. "We would need our independence in order to reap the rewards of such work," he remarked.

  "That is correct."

  Vice President Boatner looked like he was going to say something, but instead he folded his arms and stared into the fire. A clock in the corner of the room struck the hour. We waited.

  The president turned to the vice president and Lord Percival. "Reject the enemy's final offer," he instructed them. "Break off negotiations, and escort the diplomats back to the front lines. We have nothing left to say to those who would destroy us. Solomon," he said, turning to General Aldridge, "do what you have to do, and quickly. We will show them what New Englanders are made of."

  General Aldridge stood up and bowed. "Thank you, Excellency."

  I expected the vice president to say something, but he simply shrugged. He seemed to know there was no point in arguing. We all got up, bowed, and left the room. The meeting was over; the decision had been made.

  "Never thought I'd see the day," Professor Palmer said as we walked down the corridor away from the office. "His Excellency showing some gumption."

  The vice president stopped us at the front door of the palace. "If we can help in any way," he said to General Aldridge, "let us know. All our lives are in your hands." He didn't seem happy about it.

  The general nodded. "Thank you, Randolph. The first thing you can do is pray for us."

  We hurried out into the night and heard the sounds of the artillery once again. "William, Alexander, come with me," General Aldridge said to the lieutenant and the professor. "There is much to be done. Larry, you can return to headquarters."

  "And stay there," Lieutenant Carmody ordered. "I don't know what you've been up to, but you're too important to be wandering around the city." He signaled to Peter to take me.

  Instead of getting into the carriage, I climbed up next to Peter once again. "Any news?" he asked as we headed out of the palace grounds.

  "We're going to fight," I replied.

  He didn't seem surprised. "There'll be many of us dead before the week is out, then," he said. He didn't look awfully upset about it. It was just a statement of fact.

  "Aren't you scared?" I asked.

  He shrugged. "I try not to think about it," he said. "This battle's been coming for such a long time. So we'll all just do our duty when it finally arrives."

  We weren't stopped on the way to headquarters. "Thanks, Peter," I said when he dropped me off in the courtyard.

  "Don't be wandering around the city, lad," he advised me. "The lieutenant's right. The situation is dangerous enough—don't go looking for trouble."

  I went directly to the mess—I was starving. All they could give me was the usual: salt pork, stale bread, and tea. It would have to do. Then I went u
p to my room, too tired to think, but knowing I had a huge decision to make. Was I going to disobey Lieutenant Carmody and return to the camp?

  I put out the lamp and dropped down onto my lumpy mattress.

  When I closed my eyes, I saw my mother—tired and worried, just trying keep her family alive in that awful camp. Dad wasn't around, Cassie was about to go off the deep end. It was so familiar, but so much worse than anything in our safe world.

  I had to go back, I decided. No matter what. I had to help her.

  But how?

  Chapter 20

  I awoke the next morning in the cold attic room. I could hear the artillery still booming away in the distance.

  I went downstairs and out into the washyard to splash some water on myself, then over to the mess for another meager meal. Word of President Gardner's decision had gotten around. A few officers were excited about the upcoming battle; most of them just seemed resigned.

  Lieutenant Carmody wasn't in the mess, but Professor Palmer was. He started in on me right away. "I'm most concerned about what you did yesterday afternoon, Larry—going off like that against my wishes. Really, there is too much at stake here for such behavior to be tolerated."

  I felt guilty, but I didn't want to lie to him. Anyway, I couldn't hold it in. "I found my family," I said.

  He stared at me. "Your family?"

  "In the Fens camp," I said. "Not the people from my world, but the same people from this world—you know what I mean. My mother and my sister and brother are in the camp. My father's in the army."

  "You went to the Fens camp by yourself?"

  "I had to. Kevin and I talked about it and—I had to find out if they were here." I could feel my eyes start to tear up. "I know it was dangerous, but this was maybe my only chance."

  The professor shook his head. "I understand. It must be very emotional for you, Larry. But you can't risk this sort of thing—not now. There'll be time after the battle."

  "After the battle we may all be dead," I pointed out.

  He put his hands to his face and rubbed his eyes. Suddenly I noticed how tired he looked. He had been working awfully hard—and it hadn't been that long since the night when he'd been shot as we rowed across the Charles. "We may all be dead very soon," he agreed. "But we must proceed under the assumption that we will survive. There is really nothing else we can do. Come with me to Coolidge Palace, Larry. It's the best—and safest—place for you."

  I didn't want to hurt him. I didn't want to be a burden. So I just said, "Okay."

  "Thank you, Larry," he said. He asked a few questions about my family, but I could tell he had too many other things on his mind. We finished our breakfast in silence.

  Pretty soon after that Peter drove us over to the palace. Everyone was busy packing up the remaining equipment, and I did what I could to help. Lieutenant Carmody was there for a while; I saw him stare at me once or twice, but he didn't say anything. Professor Foster left in a wagon with some of the electrical equipment soon after we arrived; he looked really nervous.

  The artillery hadn't let up, and there was a haze of smoke over the city. It's going to happen, I thought. The president isn't going to surrender. The battle is coming.

  I couldn't stop thinking about my family. What was going on in the camp? Were they safe? Were they hungry? What would happen when the battle started?

  Professor Palmer wanted me to stay at the palace. But how could I? It was okay while I had something to do, but now I was just hanging around. Was I going to stay here straight through the battle? Then what? I went looking for Professor Palmer, but he wasn't around. "Heard he went off to some big strategy meeting," a soldier told me.

  I wandered over to the kitchen. One benefit of working on the palace grounds was that there was still lots of food to eat. Not as good as the roast beef we'd had the first time we were here, back when I'd saved the president's life, but way better than what you'd get anywhere else in the city. Everyone else seemed to have already eaten, and the kitchen was pretty deserted. There was leftover chicken and roast potatoes, though, and they tasted unbelievable.

  And that's when I made my decision. It wasn't really conscious. I just found myself walking over to the chef, pointing to the leftovers, and saying, "Could you put some of that food in a sack for me? I'm supposed to bring it back to the soldiers—a few of them are too busy to come over here, and they're getting hungry."

  The chef wasn't pleased about having all those soldiers dirtying up her kitchen and eating her food. She was a fussy lady with gray hair and a French accent. She just shook her head at my request. "I'm glad this nonsense is finally ending," she muttered. "I cook for aristocrats, not common soldiers."

  "Yes, ma'am," I replied. "Not much longer, I've heard. But your food has certainly been wonderful."

  She brightened at the compliment. "You've not had the chance to sample my cuisine when we haven't had these annoying shortages," she pointed out.

  Lots of people were dying because of those annoying shortages, of course, but I wasn't going to mention that. "I'm sure the food would be even more wonderful then," I said.

  She nodded in full agreement and pulled a sack out of a drawer. "Will this be enough?" she asked, shoveling in the rest of the pan.

  "Yes, ma'am, That'll do. And thank you very much."

  "Come back when this wretched war is over," she said. "My stuffed pheasant is beyond compare."

  "I'll certainly do that," I replied as I hurried out of the kitchen.

  I stuffed the sack down the front of my coat and headed for the palace gate. Would the guards let me out? Maybe Lieutenant Carmody had left orders not to. Maybe I was a prisoner here. Well, then, I'd have to figure out how to escape. I was feeling really guilty—about lying to get the food, about letting Professor Palmer down. But I just couldn't help it. I had to get to my family.

  The guards at the gate still wore those weird-looking tall hats with the plumes on them and stood at attention, hardly even blinking. There were more of them than usual, maybe because there were more people than usual outside. Begging to get in to see the president. Begging for food.

  Would they be able to smell what was in the sack? I could get torn limb from limb if people realized what I was carrying.

  "Good morning," I said to one of the guards. "Can you let me out? I have to get back to headquarters."

  He stared down at me. "Why don't you wait for a wagon?" he asked. "They're arriving and departing all the time."

  "I'm supposed to go now." More lying.

  He shrugged and opened the gate for me. The people outside surged forward, and I pushed through them, just like yesterday at the camp. They ignored me. If they smelled the chicken, maybe they thought they were hallucinating.

  I headed off for the camp.

  I felt weird. I had really done it. Just like that, I had left. And I wasn't going back. Lieutenant Carmody, Professor Palmer, General Aldridge—they'd all be mad at me. I probably couldn't make them understand. They'd done a lot for me, but I was alone. I had lost my family and my world. I wasn't sure I'd ever get my world back, but I knew where Mom and Cassie and Matthew were. And I had to be there too.

  Then I stopped. I had forgotten about Kevin. He must have been going nuts, all alone in the hospital. I needed to bring him along with me, I decided. Of course, maybe he wouldn't want to go; it wasn't his family, after all. But I was pretty sure he would—anything was better than staying in that room by himself. So I veered off and headed towards Mass General.

  The haze of smoke got thicker as I approached the hospital. It was close to the Charles—but not that close, I thought, suddenly worried. The Canadian artillery couldn't reach it—right? I hurried down the long empty street leading to the hospital. More smoke. The artillery kept getting louder. I was really scared now.

  I got as close as I could. The hospital was on fire. Horse-drawn fire trucks surrounded the building, and men were shooting streams of water into it. Didn't look like they were doing much good. I heard peo
ple screaming and weeping. Some were lying on the ground, others just wandered around in a daze. "What happened?" I asked a doctor who was treating a little girl with a long gash on her face.

  He glared at me. "What d'you think happened?" he demanded.

  "The survivors—where will they go?"

  He waved vaguely. He looked exhausted. "Everywhere. Nowhere," he said. "What does it matter?" He went back to bandaging the girl.

  I walked around and around the building, looking for Kevin. I saw lots of stuff that I'll never forget—people bleeding, people dying—but I didn't see him. Finally I sat down on the cobblestones and put my head in my hands. My throat was raw from the smoke. My stomach still hurt from where I'd been punched yesterday. But I didn't really notice. People were dying all around me, and Kevin was gone.

  I needed my mother.

  I got up after a while and trudged away from the burning building. It took me a long time to get to the camp. I was kind of in a daze. Poor Kevin. First drikana, and now... He could still be alive, of course, but what if he was burned, or hurt—what if he was dying all by himself in this alien world? I saw a couple of balloons floating above the city, and they reminded me of Kevin getting the idea for them as we sat by the professor's fireplace. He deserved better.

  Cheapside was quiet. Some people were sitting on their steps, smoking long pipes, and children were running around in the lanes. It seemed strange that kids would actually be playing on a day like today, but what did I know? I wasn't a kid anymore. No one bothered me, and the sack of food stayed safe inside my coat.

  Outside the camp, things were grim. Chester and his friends were digging another big hole next to the one I'd seen yesterday. By the barracks, soldiers were silently cleaning their weapons. Sergeant Hornbeam spotted me, and he seemed angry. "What are you doing here?" he demanded.

  "I'm—I'm visiting someone."

  "Don't you know there's a war on?" he said, sounding like Colonel Clarett.

  Usually Sergeant Hornbeam scared me, but right now I didn't feel like being a nice little boy. "Look," I said, "all I want is to go into the camp. Can I do that or not?"