by April White
“What do you mean?”
“It’s a paradox to be in the same time twice. So if you try to travel to your own lifetime, the spiral will skip you back to before you were born.”
We were down in the main Tower room and he stepped up to the painting. He started tracing the spirals with a lazy grin. “You’re pretty sharp. You’ll figure it out.”
I couldn’t believe he was leaving. “Wait, Doran! Do you know where my mom is?” He was fading before my eyes. He threw me a salute and I heard him say “native time” before he winked out.
Why couldn’t the guy have just sat down with me over a cup of coffee and given me the full rundown about being a Clocker? Why did everything have to be so cryptic and mysterious?
I wondered if I could follow him. The first time had been an accident. What would happen if I did it on purpose now? Miss Rogers seemed to think trial and error was the way to learn. Maybe this was an easy trial? Go through the spiral, turn around, come back.
I started tracing the spirals with my finger and almost immediately the humming began. I hesitated for just a second as my stomach jolted with the memory of traveling. I was completely nuts, wasn’t I? Traveling through a spiral painting? Best case scenario I just hopped one spiral and went back to 1888. Worst case scenario…?
I tried to stop tracing the patterned paint but short of cutting my hand off I didn’t think I could do it. I finished the fourth spiral and was starting on the fifth when the thrumming and stretching feeling began. I wanted to scream! And then I was screaming! And spiraling…
London Bridge
And suddenly I did stop. Screaming, falling, spiraling – it all stopped. And everything around me was silent. And light. Or at least, light-ish.
Light? Oh right. It was daytime. Wait, where was I? My vision was blurry and I staggered when I stood up. I needed to see the spiral for my return trip, but first I needed to puke.
I’m not a good hurler. My eyes tear and my nose runs and I make the kind of puking sounds that send other people running for the bathroom. When I finally wiped my face and staggered around the corner my vision had cleared enough so I could see around me for the first time. I was outside. By a river. Not in the tower at St. Brigid’s.
I turned around and stared. I had traveled to the London Bridge. I searched the pillars closest to me for my spiral but it wasn’t there. I had to find it and go. Trial over. Mission accomplished. Get the f*!& home! The sky was filled with dark, ominous clouds that threatened rain and there were people in last century’s clothes hurrying along the quay.
“Oy, mate!”
I barely heard the voice until it repeated. “Mate! Are ye daft?”
I spun to realize I was about five feet away from a group of young men, gathered around something that looked like a bag of silverware. They were dressed in working clothes and every one of them looked at me with a scowl. And from the loot-splitting looks of the gathering, I’d stepped right into a hornet’s nest of epic proportion. A slightly younger kid, maybe about fifteen, stepped forward and looked at me with interest. “Ye’d best get back to yer ship, Mate.” I realized I was wearing my dad’s white fishing sweater that must have made me look like I was drunken sailor from some boat.
He was giving me an out that lasted exactly one second before the biggest guy in the group stood up. “He’ll not be goin’ nowhere.”
Oh crap. Here we go. I had no choice. I ran. I leapt up the wall of the quay in a move that left about half my pursuers behind, then took the stairs three at a time and was over the rails before a couple of them had even cleared the wall. That left two still on my tail. The bigger one dropped back when I scaled a brick wall and ran through someone’s little back garden, down an alley, and out to a different street.
That just left the kid who had suggested I get back to my ship. He looked familiar somehow, but I didn’t have time to dwell on that because he was keeping pace easily, just a few steps behind me. And he wasn’t breathing hard enough to keep him from speaking.
“Keep running. I need to chase ye another coupla blocks before they’ll drop away.”
I turned to stare at him. He was dressed in possibly the rattiest clothes I’d ever seen, but his newsboy cap was almost new. And then I recognized him. The kid Archer had used to convince me I was in 1888 on my first visit. The one I’d called an urchin. My comments must have landed with him because at least he’d upgraded his headwear. The kid had a mischievous grin on his face that probably meant he’d done something worthy of a slap, and he was laughing at me, the little bastard. I put on a burst of speed and left him behind as I leapt up another wall. The kid scrambled up behind me, but I’d managed to put a few more feet of distance between us. I suddenly halted at the top, wavering from my forward momentum. In the yard below me were two wolfhounds, with hungry eyes trained directly on me and a single line of drool running from each vicious mouth.
The kid leapt to the wall next to me and looked down at the snarling hounds. He glanced at my face, probably expecting fear, which wasn’t there. Just determination to find my way across the yard. He laughed and whistled for the dogs.
“Maggie! Tolly! Come!”
He dropped down into the yard and ruffled the fur on both sets of ears. The wolfhounds looked at him adoringly. He squinted up at me, now crouched on the wall above him.
“Are ye coming down yet? The hounds in the next yard are vicious and there’s a cat that’ll rip yer eyes out just as soon as spit at ye. The lasses here are yer best bet. They don’t like most gents, but maybe they won’t eat ye, will ye girls?” He ruffled their fur again and they practically purred against his legs.
I jumped and landed in front of the kid. His eyes suddenly widened in surprise. “Oy, but ye ain’t no gent, are ye?”
I looked the kid in the eyes and narrowed my gaze.
“So? What of it?”
He regarded me for a long moment, and then shifted. “I let ye beat me and the lads saw it. If any of ‘em saw yer a lass I’ll never hear the end of it.”
“Then don’t bring me back there.”
He stared at me like I’d gone mad. “Why would I do such a daft thing? Ye outran me and ye got away. I was thinking ye’d buy me a bit o’ lunch for my trouble though.”
“I don’t have any money.”
He stared at me. “Then what good are ye?” He had me there.
“Actually, I could use your help.”
“Why? Ye’ve got nothing to pay me with.”
“I need to get back to the bridge.”
His voice was cautious again. “I can’t take ye back there yet. The lads are still divvying up. Where are ye from? Ye talk funny.”
“America.”
The kid nodded. “Explains the kit.”
I must have looked confused because he gestured to my clothes. “Ye know, yer get-up.”
Jeans, boots and a big sweater. I’d been having no luck blending when I traveled, and questions about when I was would be too weird, especially if he recognized me. I absently scratched a dog’s ear, and then had a sudden inspiration.
“I came to see the Jubilee.”
The boy looked startled. “The Golden one?”
I nodded. “Of Queen Victoria.”
He scoffed dismissively. “Don’t they teach yer nothin in America? That was last year.” Perfect. I was back in 1888. He gave the dogs a last pat on their heads, then headed toward the door at the far side of the yard. “Are ye coming?”
I nodded and scratched the dogs before following him from the yard. We were on a commercial street filled with shops and pubs. I had a sudden thought. Call it a whim. “If I can’t go back to the bridge yet, could you take me to King’s College?”
The kid looked me up and down, as if he was trying to decide how much trouble I was worth. The expression on his face was comical and I was suddenly inspired. I spotted a wall with notices posted and grabbed a handwritten one from the board – something about saving Wilton’s Music Hall from the Methodists. I h
ad to laugh at that and the kid peered over my shoulder.
“What’s funny?”
“Nothing.” I flipped the page over to the blank side and pulled out my pen case. The kid’s eyes got wide.
“What are ye doing with that?”
“It’s a drawing pen.”
“It’s for writing and lasses don’t write.”
I rolled my eyes. “Can you write?”
He scowled. “No.”
“Then don’t act like girls are stupid.” I wrote the word U R C H I N out on the top of the paper.
The kid stared at me like I’d grown a second head. “What’s that say?”
I smiled. “It’s a name. Now be still a minute and let me draw you.” He stood frozen, staring at me with huge eyes.
I sketched out his face, giving his mouth the little lilt of the troublemaker I was sure he was, and adding the shock of blond hair that kept falling over one eye.
I handed him the paper and his mouth dropped open. “But who is it?”
Had the kid never seen a mirror? “It’s you.”
He tried to hand it back, pulling away from me. “Huh uh, not me. I don’t look like that.”
“Yes you do.” I pointed at the hat I’d drawn on his head. “See, this is your hat.” He ripped the cap off his head and stared at it, then the sketch, and back again.
“And that’s your hair that keeps falling over your eyes.” The kid was just swiping the hair off his forehead. He stopped, mid-swipe, and touched his hair gingerly.
“It’s you.”
He held the sketch very close to his face and seemed to study every detail of it. When he finally looked back into my eyes there was something like awe there. He held the sketch out to me.
“You can keep it if you like.”
As quick as a flash the suspicion was back in his eyes. “What do ye want for it?”
“I told you. I need a guide to King’s College. But it has to be someone really trustworthy.” The kid actually got defensive at that, just like I hoped he would. He was a proud kid and I kind of liked him for it. “No one knows the city like me. And no one’s more trusty—“
“Trustworthy.”
“Right. That. I’ll do it for the pen then.”
I actually did have something of value on me. “Done.”
He stared me up and down for a long minute. “Can ye hide yer hair?”
I tucked the end of my braid into the back of my sweater. He looked critically, then grabbed the hat off his head and plopped it on mine. “That’s better. Folks won’t mess if they think yer a lad.”
It was everything I could do not to snatch the hat off my head and check it for lice. I suppressed a shudder and smiled at him. “Thanks.”
He dismissed me with a wave. “It’s me own skin I’m protecting, not yer’s. I’ve a reputation to keep. Bein’ seen with a lass in trousers, ‘specially one I let outrun me, would ruin me forever.”
I wondered what reputation a fifteen-year-old street kid could possibly have.
“C’mon then. Let’s go.” The kid loped, he didn’t walk. He reminded me of the Wolfhounds. Kind of gangly, but with every motion under control.
“What’re ye called?” The boy’s accent was so thick it took me a second to get it. He reminded me of old movies of the drummer for the Beatles, Ringo Starr. I mentally dubbed him ‘Ringo,’ for the accent and the attitude.
“My name’s Saira.”
“Like Siren? Them ladies of the sea that’ll call a man to his death?”
It was my turn to be astonished. How did a street kid in London learn about Greek Mythology? “I’ve been told my name means Traveler.”
“Well that’s true enough, isn’t it?”
I snorted. “I guess it is.”
Ringo grinned self-importantly. “I’m called ‘Keys.’ An’ I’m the best there is.”
“Keys?”
“There ain’t a locked door in the city I can’t open.”
The obvious pride in his voice almost made me smile, but I kept my face carefully neutral. I thought ‘Ringo’ suited him better.
“So you’re a lock-pick?”
Ringo looked at me scornfully. “Nah. Picks cost. I use these.” He held up his fingers and wiggled them.
I narrowed my eyes at him. “C’mon, you can’t pick locks with your fingers.”
He rolled his eyes at me. “Door locks? Nah. But windows…” He waggled his eyebrows at me meaningfully. I laughed.
“Not so thick… fer a lass.”
I lunged to smack him on the arm but he danced out of the way and took off running. We were on a main street, but he immediately turned down a smaller side one with less traffic. And he free ran.
It felt like flying. The kid was better than me as he dodged and wove and leapt his way down the street. I almost caught him at the corner but he surprised me and went over a rock wall that was higher than my head. The stones were old and fit together well so handholds weren’t obvious, but I’d seen where Ringo put his first foot and it gave me mine.
I paused at the top of the wall to look before I leapt. And I was happy I did. The view was phenomenal. There was a huge area behind the wall that looked like a park, and dominating the center was a massive four-story red-brick building. Ringo stepped out from behind a tree and gestured for me fiercely.
“Get down!” He whispered his shout, but the intent was clear enough. I jumped. Ringo dragged me behind his tree in an instant. “Are ye daft? You’ll be seen.”
“What is this place?”
From Ringo’s expression it was clear he thought I was an idiot. “Ye said King’s College didn’t ye? Over there’s Guy’s Hospital.”
“Hospital? I don’t want the hospital. I want the college.”
Ringo rolled his eyes. “This is the college.”
“But it’s a hospital.”
“Ye didn’t say which college ye wanted. Just that ye wanted to get to King’s College.”
I sighed. I didn’t know the system and the only thing I had going for me was that I was American, and therefore, expected to be ignorant. Some things never changed.
“I need to find a theology student.”
Ringo thought for a moment. “There’s a chapel around the side. As good a place as any to ask, eh?”
I nodded. “Let’s go.”
We kept to the trees around the outside of the park. Ringo was clearly used to blending into the background and his skills were impressive.
One of the second floor windows of the huge building opened and I could see someone in a black coat. Ringo and I both froze instinctively and I silently cursed my bright white sweater. The man in the window had dark hair and seemed to be talking to someone inside the room.
“I don’t like that window being open,” Ringo whispered, practically in my ear.
“Would we get in trouble for being here?”
He nodded curtly. “Unless yer a student or ye have business with one.”
A cold gust of wind suddenly blew through the trees and I shivered. The dark-haired man turned to pull the window closed. For just a moment, the face seemed to look right at me and I gasped. Archer!
“Wot’s it?” Ringo’s accent sliced through my surprise.
“I think that was my friend, but I’m not sure. I couldn’t really see him.”
Ringo looked at me for a long moment, then his eyes scanned the building in front of us, and finally he nodded. “Let’s go!” He bolted across the grass to the closest corner of the massive red brick structure, and the instant he grabbed hold of a brick above his head I knew he meant to climb the wall. And worse, the kid meant for me to climb it too. Crap! Brick sucks to climb. The handholds are tiny and unless there are klinker bricks – the kind that stick out funny – a person is better off being barefoot than wearing anything that prevents wedging toes into mortar lines. But there was absolutely no point in Ringo climbing up to get a look at Archer unless he meant for me to follow his path.
So I did. Running a
cross a wide-open lawn felt like being in the middle of a field with a gun-sight on me. I made it to the wall of the building without anyone raising an obvious alarm, but by that time Ringo was already up to a window-ledge of the second story. The kid was really good, and the more I watched him the more I thought he could actually teach me something. I started to reach for the bricks above my head, but Ringo made a noise that sounded like “Chhhht!” I looked up. He held up a finger, as if to tell me to wait there, and then suddenly he disappeared.
Huh? People don’t just disappear from window ledges 20 feet off the ground. I stepped back, away from the wall, and quickly looked at the place he had just been. Somehow, in the space of less than a minute, Ringo had managed to unlatch the window and drop inside. He was just closing it behind him when I caught his eye. He grinned mischievously at me, winked, and slipped deeper into the room.
I hugged the corner of the building again, not quite sure what was going to happen next, so I tucked myself halfway behind a Camellia bush, squatted down on my ankles, and waited. The problem with waiting is that I had time to think. And since it was probably the first time I’d consciously considered what I was doing there… and then… it probably qualified as too little, too late. Seriously. What was I thinking? Leaping into that spiral just because I wanted to test a skill and maybe see some guy? Some future Vampire guy? And now here I was, waiting for a 19th century street urchin I’d named “Ringo” outside King’s College, with absolutely no idea what was going to happen next.
“Chhht!” Ringo’s noise came from close by, but I couldn’t see him. I slid to the edge of the building and peered around the corner. There he was, standing in a doorway with a grin on his face like he’d just unlocked the gates of heaven. I finally got it. They called him “Keys” because he was a break-and-enter guy. Climb in a window and open the door. No wonder he didn’t want his mates to see me. He must run with a tough crowd. I gave him an arched eyebrow of respect. “Nicely done.”
He practically bowed as he let me in. “M’Lady.”
I suppressed a laugh. “Now, how do we find him?”
“Right this way.” Ringo took the lead down a narrow hallway, turning two corners, and up a back staircase. We were totally silent as we moved through the building. There were private studies or offices behind some open doors, but otherwise the place looked completely institutional.
