moment hehad actually believed he was talking to the dead man.
"It's a time machine," said his Uncle's voice.
There was a silence. The tape went on winding. For a moment, Dannythought that was all. Then the voice continued: "No, your oldgrand-uncle isn't nuts, Danny. It's a time machine. I know it's a timemachine because I used it all my life. You expected some kind ofcomplicated gadget down here, I know. I made everybody think it was agadget. Going down to your basement and tinkering with a gadget is finein our culture. Hell's fire, boy, it's approved behavior. But locking abank-vault door behind you and curling up in a steamer trunk, that isn'tapproved. Now, is it?
"I'll tell you about this here time machine, sonny. It isn't a machineat all, in the strict sense of the word. You can see that. It'sjust--well, an empty box. But it works, and what else ought a fellow tocare about.
"Funny how I got it. I was eighteen or twenty, maybe. And myGrand-uncle Daniel gave it to me. Daniel, get me. Daniel to Averill toDaniel. So when you have a grand-nephew, see that his name's Averill,understand? Keep it going, Danny. Because this trunk is old. A lot olderthan you think.
"And you can travel through time in it. Don't look at me like that, Iknow what you're thinking. There isn't any such thing as time travel. Inthe strict sense of the word, it's impossible. You can't resurrect thepast or peek into the unborn future. Well, I don't know about thefuture, but I do know about the past. But you got to have faith, you gotto be a kid at heart, Danny. You got to have this dream, see?
"Because you don't travel anywhere. But your mind does, and it's likeyou wake up in somebody else's body, drawn to him like a magnet,somebody else--some_when_ else. Your body stays right here, you see. Inthe trunk. In what they called suspended animation. But you--the realyou, the you that knows how to dream and to believe--you go back.
"Don't make the mistake I made at first. It's no dream in the usualsense of the word. It's real, Danny. You're somebody else back there,all right, but if he gets hurt, you get hurt. If he dies--taps for DannyJones! You get me?"
* * * * *
The dead man's voice chuckled. "But don't think this means automaticallyyou'll be able to travel through time. Because you got to have theproper attitude. You've got to believe in yourself, and not in all thehistorical fictions they give you. Now do you understand? If you'reskeptical enough and if at the same time you like to dreamenough--that's all it takes. Want to try it?"
Suddenly the voice was gone. That was all there was and at first Dannycould not believe it. A sense of bitter disappointment envelopedhim--not because Uncle Averill had left him nothing but an old steamertrunk but because Uncle Averill had been, to say the least, off hisrocker.
The fabulous machine in the basement was--nothing.
Just a steamer trunk and an incredible story about time-traveling.
Danny sighed and began to walk back toward the cellar stairs. He paused.He turned around uncertainly and looked at the trunk. After all, he hadpromised; at least he'd promised himself that he'd carry out hispeculiar uncle's wishes. Besides, he'd come all the way down here fromWhitney College and he ought to at least try the machine.
But there wasn't any machine.
Try the trunk then? There was nothing to try except curling up in it andmaybe closing the lid. Uncle Averill was a practical joker, too. Itmight be just like Uncle Averill to have the lid snap shut and lockautomatically so Danny would have to pound his knuckles black and blueuntil the lawyer heard and came for him.
You see, sonny? would be Uncle Averill's point. You believed me, and youshould have known better.
Danny cursed himself and returned to the trunk. He gazed down at theyawning interior for a few seconds, then put first one foot, then theother over the side. He sat down and stared at a peeling blue-paperliner. He rolled over and curled up. The bottom of the trunk was a goodfit. He reached up and found a rope dangling down toward him. He pulledthe lid down, smiling at his own credulity, and was engulfed in totaldarkness.
But it would be wonderful, he found himself thinking. It would be themost wonderful thing in the world, to be able to travel through time andsee for yourself what really had happened in all the world's colorfulages and to take part in the wildest, proudest adventures of mankind.
He thought, I want to believe. It would be so wonderful to believe.
He also thought about his history class. He did not know it, but hishistory class was very important. It was crucial. Everything depended onhis history class. Because he doubted. He did not want to take Columbus'bravery and intelligence for granted. There were no surviving documents,so why should he?
Maybe Columbus was a third-rater!
Maybe--at least you didn't have to worship him as a hero just because hehappened to discover ...
Now, what did he discover?
In absolute darkness and a ringing in the ears and far away a dimglowing light and larger and brighter and the whirling whirling spinningflashing I don't believe but strangely somehow I have faith, faith inmyself, buzzing, humming, glowing ...
The world exploded.
There was a great deal of laughter in the tavern.
At first he thought the laughter was directed at him. Giddily, he raisedhis head. He saw raw wood rafters, a leaded glass window, a stained andgreasy wall, heavy wood-plank tables with heavy chairs and abarbarous-looking crew drinking from heavy clay mugs. One of the mugswas in front of him and he raised it to his lips without thinking.
It was ale, the strongest ale he had ever tasted. He got it down somehowwithout gagging. The laughter came again, rolling over him like a wave.A serving girl scurried by, skirts flashing, a rough tray of clay mugsbalanced expertly on one hand. A man with a sword dangling at his sidestaggered to his feet drunkenly and clawed at the girl, but she shovedhim back into his seat and kept walking.
The third wave of laughter rolled and then there was a brief silence.
"Drink too much, Martin Pinzon?" Danny's companion at the longboard-table asked. He was an evil-looking old man with a patch over oneeye and a small white spade-shaped beard and unshaven cheeks.
"Not me," Danny said, amazed because the language was unfamiliar to himyet he could both understand and speak it. "What's so funny?" he asked."Why's everyone laughing?"
The old man's hand slapped his back and the mouth parted to show uglyblackened teeth and the old man laughed so hard spittle spotted hisbeard. "As if you didn't know," he managed to say. "As if you didn'tknow, Martin Pinzon. It's that weak-minded sailor again, the one whoclaims to have a charter for three caravels from the Queen herself.Drunk as Bacchus and there's his pretty little daughter trying to gethim to come home again. I tell you, Martin Pinzon, if he isn't ..."
* * * * *
But now Danny wasn't listening. He looked around the tavern until he sawthe butt of all the laughter. Slowly, drawn irresistibly, MartinPinzon--or Danny Jones--got up and walked over there.
The man was drunk as Bacchus, all right. He was a man perhaps somewhattaller than average. He had a large head with an arrogant beak of a nosedominating the face, but the mouth was weak and irresolute. He stareddrunkenly at a beautiful girl who could not have been more thanseventeen.
The girl was saying, "Please, papa. Come back to the hotel with me.Papa, don't you realize you're sailing tomorrow?"
"Gowananlemebe," the man mumbled.
"Papa. Please. The Queen's charter--"
"I was drunk when I took it and drunk when I examined those threestinking caravels and--" he leaned forward as if to speak in deepestconfidence, but his drunken voice was still very loud--"and drunk when Isaid the world was round. I--"
"You hear that?" someone cried. "Old Chris was drunk when he said theworld was round!"
"He must a' been!" someone else shouted. Everyone laughed.
"Come on, papa," the girl pleaded. She wore a shawl over her dress andanother shawl on her head. Her blonde hair barely peeked out, and shewas beautiful. She tried to drag
her father to his feet by one arm, buthe was too heavy for her.
She looked around the room defiantly as the laughter surged again."Brave men!" she mocked. "A bunch of stay-at-homes. Won't somebody helpme? Papa sails tomorrow."
"Papa sails tomorrow," said someone, miming her desperate tones. "Didn'tyou know that papa sails tomorrow?"
"Not sailing anyplace at all," the father mumbled. "World isn't round.Drunk. Think I want to fall over the edge? Think I--"
"Oh, papa," moaned the girl. "Won't someone help me to--" And she tuggedagain at the man's arm--"to get him to bed."
A big man nearby
My Shipmate—Columbus Page 3
