Jump City: Apprentice Read online

  “You mean some kind of weird experiments?”

  “Exactly this.”

  “Why Lucinda, why her?”

  “That, I have not figured out.”

  “Well, I’m not sure I’ll be making any libra lapsus jumps with this ankle.” I said and held up my cane.

  “Agreed. It seems another form of travel may be called for.”

  “Where are we going then?”

  “I must travel to the library. It’s not so far from here.”

  “The library?”

  “I’ll be back before you know it.”

  “Wait, you’re just going to leave me hanging?”

  Fynn looked at me but hesitated. “No, of course. Come with me. You may find it interesting.”

  “Interesting? Don’t we have to fix things here first?”

  “Sometimes they have books about different timelines. Such may be of use to us.”

  “That reminds me… I came across some books you should see.”

  “Why is that?” Fynn asked with some curiosity.

  “Handwritten manuscripts. Not like anything I’ve ever seen before.” I paused. “Seems Mr Mears has also shown an interest in them.”

  “Really? Well, perhaps we could ask Madeline about them.”

  “Who?”

  “Madame Madeline and her brother, the Brigadier. They run the library,” Fynn explained. “I should warn you in advance, they are both rather eccentric.”

  “What’s he the Brigadier of?”

  “Hmm, actually, I have no idea.”

  “Where is this library?’

  “Quite close to New York City… I will also say, it can be a very dangerous place.”

  “A dangerous library? That might be a first.”

  “More dangerous than you can imagine.”

  I laughed outright.

  “Well, I say this because I’m concerned for your safety.”

  “My safety?”

  “You must promise me one thing,” Fynn said.

  “What?”

  “Promise me you won’t get seduced by history.”

  “That’s an odd thing to say.”

  “Perhaps.”

  A funny little man rode by on his bicycle. He smiled and tipped his cap to Fynn and I, though only out of a polite friendliness. Fynn stopped in his tracks and simply stared at the man until he was no longer in sight.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Who… is the better question. That’s the man who has been following me through time— the man from Cairo.” Fynn turned to me. “Surely, I’ve mentioned him to you?”

  “Cairo? Wait a second, I know him… I think he’s a patient at the hospital.”

  The Governor’s Inn seemed unprepared to receive guests. The night manager did a bit of scrambling and gave orders to prepare a new room. Meanwhile, Fynn and I sat in the dark lobby, though he was hard pressed to get a drink.

  “Do you recall last night, or its alternative?” Fynn asked quietly.

  “Yes.”

  “And how did you fare?”

  “Fine, I guess… and as usual, you were right.”

  “How so?”

  “I had a visitor to my cell.”

  “Who was it?”

  “Not sure… just a disembodied voice, but probably one of the twins.”

  “You are meaning a version of Mr Drummond.”

  “I am. You remember him from Colorado?”

  “I most certainly do.”

  “There are at least five Drummonds here in one form or another.”

  “Surely not?” Fynn seemed quite alarmed.

  “Two are old men, cooks at the hospital, and they each have a son who works as an orderly.”

  “Extraordinary.”

  “The other Drummond seems to be a reverend.”

  “How so?”

  “I’m not sure, but he runs a boys camp nearby.”

  “And you are certain it wasn’t Mr Mears who spoke through the door?” Fynn asked.

  “Definitely not. Mears has a very particular voice.”

  “He doesn’t have an alibi after all,” Fynn commented.

  “What?” I was a bit confused.

  “The Dumonts… The neighbor we spoke to. Do you remember?”

  “Oh yeah…”

  Fynn said nothing but drifted away, lost in thought for a long while.

  “Are they all working together, do you think?”

  “You mean to say Mortimer, Mears and Drummond?”

  “Yes.”

  “Difficult to say… I’m not ready to make this assumption until we know more.” Fynn paused. “What did this twin say to you? His exact words, if you can remember.”

  “Maybe not the exact words, but he said something about assassinating my precious FDR and how I was too late. He mentioned something about journals… and how Mallinger is Mortimer.”

  “Journals?” Fynn asked.

  “Probably Drummond’s journal.”

  “Ah yes. It’s safe to say your presence is known,” Fynn said flatly.

  “In what way?”

  “To Mr Drummond at least, perhaps to Mr Mears. And Doctor Valenti knows you as well.”

  “I don’t think he figures into any of this.”

  “Are you saying you trust this doctor?”

  “Yes.”

  “And this particular Durbin?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “It may be a good thing that we have some allies then.”

  “We might learn a lot more if we go out drinking with the gang of four.”

  “Who might that be?”

  “Might be seven of us, if you come along… Myself, Percy, Durbin, Higgins and Carter Woods… oh, and Johnnie Walker.”

  “I’d be delighted.” Fynn smiled.

  ***

  “It may be the case that all these men are working at cross purposes to each other,” Fynn said as we started our walk to Sunset Park.

  “What makes you say that?”

  “I’ve known Mortimer for a very long time. He’s not the sort to cooperate with other people, travelers or not…” Fynn held up his hand to ward off my protest. “True, he enlists the help of others on occasion, when it serves his purposes, probably Mr Mears. But we are left with the striking fact that he is not here at present.”

  “What does that mean to you?”

  “I suspect Mortimer’s cane is not yet working correctly.”

  “Why?”

  “Surely, if it was, international borders would pose no barrier to him. What is most important is that he is not here.” Fynn paused for a long while. “It’s the whole reason we traveled.”

  “Well, Sand City is very different than it’s supposed to be.”

  “Of course it is, we’re eighty years in the past.”

  “That’s not what I mean… I’m talking about the canal.”

  “What canal?”

  “That’s my whole point. There shouldn’t be one. Seems like an alternate timeline to me.”

  “Perhaps it needs a bit of mending.”

  “That might be an understatement.”

  “So there are other differences as well?” Fynn asked.

  “I’m saying something big changed before we got here, before nineteen thirty-three, or at least before we arrived.”

  “Then it has little to do with us.”

  “Exactly. Nothing to do with us, so that means…”

  “I see, you’re saying someone else, like Mortimer has changed things.”

  “That’s right. Mortimer or anyone else.”

  “Who else would you mean?”

  “I don’t know… hypothetically, Mears, Drummond?”

  “Very well, then. We must learn exactly what has changed.”

  ***

  Early the next morning Fynn greeted me in his room at the Governor’s Inn. We were both a bit hung over.

  “Any sign of Mears?” I asked.

  “None whatsoever. I believe he’s out of town. But we have a task before
us this morning.”

  “What’s that?”

  “We have to bury these…” Fynn threw a bag full of coins to me. I looked at them: Spanish doubloons.

  “Quite rare, or so I’ve been told by a numismatist in Fairhaven.”

  “Why bury them?”

  “In case we need to come back, and find ourselves short on funds.”

  “So that means we’re definitely coming back?”

  “It would seem so.”

  “I know a good place… It’s a bit of a walk though.”

  “You know me and walking; and we have a lovely day for it.”

  I crossed Fynn’s hotel room and opened the curtains, then found a good blank wall. I set the f-stop and handed him my camera. “I’ll stand there and you push this button, okay?”

  “Ah, yes, the picture for your new identity. Good thinking.”

  “I’ll drop it off to Eddie.”

  “Eddie?”

  “Carter Woods’ son, at the Chronicle. He likes the darkroom.”

  Fynn and I stopped at the office on our way to the pine grove. It would be a long hike and I thought it best to avoid the quarry. We took the bridle path for most of the way. Fynn began pestering me about the timeline.

  “FDR was assassinated... that’s very different from the history I remember,” I said.

  “Is it?” Fynn asked then paused. “To me this present is identical except for the name of your president, and that seems to be a rather minor detail.”

  “A minor detail? You’ve heard of FDR, right?”

  “Of course…” Fynn smiled. “But isn’t one president named Roosevelt enough?”

  “What?”

  “Theodore.”

  “Oh,” I barely replied and was at a loss for words. I could feel frustration and anger building when Fynn laughed out loud.

  “What are you laughing at?”

  “I’m so sorry, Patrick, but if you could see the look on your face right now.”

  “You’re teasing me.”

  “I am, and I apologize. Of course, this is all very distressing to you.”

  My exasperation turned to laughter and Fynn patted me on the shoulder. “It seems apparent that we have to stop this assassination.”

  “Is that wise?”

  “Who can say? It’s necessary though, and we need to be prepared…” Fynn paused to look at me. “We can’t fix things at present, nor should we let them proceed from here. As much as I am loath to admit, we have no choice but to go back a bit further. I think the current situation may call for a minor historical adjustment.”

  “To my timeline?”

  “Who is to say it’s yours?” Fynn asked. “It’s housekeeping, if you will. Nothing drastic, I assure you. I detest getting involved in politics, things can get rather messy and very quickly. It’s far too complicated to interfere with.”

  “What do you suggest then?”

  “Indeed, we need a knower.”

  “A knower?” I asked.

  “Extremely rare individuals who never forget.”

  “What do you mean, never forget?”

  “It’s a rather debilitating condition. Most unfortunate.”

  “I’m not following.”

  “Perhaps it’s easier to understand if I say these people lack the ability to forget.”

  “That sounds weird.”

  “Yes, but sometimes extremely useful. We’ll ask Madeline… She knows a few knowers.”

  “Madeline?”

  “At the library.”

  ***

  Fynn and I met at the train station shortly before eight o’clock. Durbin was there to see us off, and Elsie as well. The day was already starting to get hot.

  “Will I ever see you again?” she asked, tears streaming down her face.

  “Of course you will, Elsie. I’ll be back before you know it.” That sounded almost trite, but there was more truth in it than she could guess.

  “Do you promise?”

  “I do.” I smiled. “With any luck, I’ll be taking you to Doc Valenti’s party.”

  “Really?”

  “Of course.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “New York.”

  “Why there?”

  “Just a little errand to run with Inspector Fynn.”

  “I’m not sure I like him at all,” Elsie shot an angry glance in his direction.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “He’s taking you from me.”

  We kissed tenderly and I held her for a long time, the two of us just swaying side to side. She gave me a final tearful glance then pushed away. “You better come back, Patrick,” she said and then turned to Durbin.

  No doubt, Fynn and I had a busy day ahead. We were on the morning train out, eight-o-five. With clanging bells and a bellow of smoke, the sleepy little train pulled out from the Sand City depot, the place that would be my home at some future time— or so I fervently hoped. The train itself was unimpressive, two cars and a black engine, though it may actually have run on steam. I didn’t smell any diesel fumes. The passenger car was pretty grimy, the windows especially, covered with a frosting of something unidentifiable. Inside were bench-like seats and it eventually struck me that there was not a single bit of plastic anywhere. Everything was fashioned from wood, metal or fabric, though the floor was probably linoleum.

  As far as I could tell the route took us south, first along the bay and then inland to make stops at Oldham, Garysville and probably other towns. I felt myself dozing on and off as we passed endless stretches of pine barrens. At a small creek there was a field thoroughly planted with something black. I couldn’t make out what was growing when the whole thing rose up into the air. It was a flock of grackles disturbed by the passing locomotive. I fell asleep again soon after, and it wasn’t till we stopped that Fynn gently shook me awake.

  Fairhaven was already a well established city, and the county seat, replete with a courthouse and an assembly hall. I saw large office buildings, a few apartments and shops— though many more were closed than opened. Everywhere, gray water towers loomed from the rooftops, made from wood like giant barrels. There was no interstate yet, nothing to rip the city in half, but I would hardly call it a thriving place.

  The streets seemed abandoned with scarcely a parked car, but plenty of boarded up windows, almost like they were expecting a hurricane to hit at any moment. The weather said the opposite. The few people I did see all had newspapers tucked under their arms, and grim expressions; hollow-eyed, desolate and defeated.

  “Where to?” I asked as we left the train station.

  “Shopping for clothes, I should think.”

  “For you?”

  “No, I have clothes enough… I am thinking about your attire. Best if you blend in as much as possible.”

  “Right… I think I know a place,” I said and started up the sidewalk. Fynn followed. Two blocks later, a bell jingled as we entered the clothing store: King Harry’s Haberdashery. It was otherwise empty except for a single well-dressed man whom I took to be the proprietor. He sullenly looked over, though when it became apparent that we were actual customers, his mood lifted.

  “May I help you, gentlemen?” he called out.

  “Good morning, we are in need of some clothes for this young man,” Fynn got right to the point.

  The owner looked us both up and down. A slight smile came to his lips as he approved of Fynn’s attire, but it changed to scorn when he studied mine. “What sort of apparel?”

  “Everyday wear, I should think. Nothing too extravagant… and something he can wear today.”

  I tried on various suits but Fynn looked on disapprovingly. “Too well dressed, I should think,” he said. “You look gainfully employed. Perhaps something more casual?”

  “Sure, but all these pants are weird, they sit up kind of high along the waist.”

  “It can’t be helped.”

  I declined the special offer of two-for-one socks and decided to keep my own. F
ynn lingered near a table of artfully folded handkerchiefs. I browsed the sharp collar shirts unsuccessfully, nor was I too keen for the dress shoes on offer, spats or not.

  “What about a hat?” I asked.

  “Of course, a good hat is a necessity. One of these fedoras might do nicely.”

  I tried one on and liked it immediately.

  “You’ll need some shirts with a collar and a few ties.”

  “Ties? I never wear them. Maybe just a pullover or a sweater.”

  “It’s better to blend in.”

  “I’ll look less employed…”

  “Perhaps you are correct on this, though they do have a fine selection of bow ties, I must say.”

  Fynn eventually chose several colorful ones for himself, and a pale gray Homburg which perfectly matched his suit.

  “Not sure about the hat, Inspector.”

  “No? A straw hat or a bowler then?”

  Once we were back on the hot summer street, I asked, “What now?”

  “I thought we might hire a motorcar.”

  “You mean rent a car?”

  “As you say.”

  “Where?”

  “Here in town.”

  “Grimaldi’s would be our best bet.”

  “How do you know so much about present day Fairhaven?” Fynn asked.

  “Oh, I read the local paper, the Times…”

  We stopped at another store along the way and I bought some casual shoes, maybe for hiking, or other athletic activities. I found a pair of brown leather lace-ups with a rubber sole. They fit pretty well and I declined to use the fluoroscope despite the salesman’s friendly insistence.

  A few blocks later we came across a very quiet lot filled with cars baking in the sun. Fynn and I walked up and down between the rows of vehicles and I knew right away, this was going to be a difficult choice. I was noticing the prices on the windshields, everything was listed in the hundreds of dollars. Finally, a man came rushing out of the tiny office and ran up to us while putting on his jacket. He was very odd looking. The bottom of his face seemed to come to a sharp point, and to make matters worse for him, he had the thinnest neck I had ever seen on a person.