No Ordinary Thing

by G. Z. Schmidt

  Adam stared at the five-year-old, who he decided was indeed far more mature and intelligent than half his classmates.

  “I don’t mean to interrupt,” interrupted Robert Baron II sarcastically from the other end of the table, “but nobody wants to discuss gardening over lunch. Why don’t we talk about something more appropriate, like money? How much money do your folks make, Adam?”

  Luckily, before Adam could answer, Robert Baron III reached over for more soup and knocked over three empty dishes with his large belly. His father sighed impatiently, then clutched the pendulum around his neck and yelled for the maids.

  Adam suddenly felt drawn to help pick up the dishes, too. Not only that, but he felt compelled to help Robert Baron II with whatever demands the man needed, even if it was something as farfetched as climbing the tallest oak tree to retrieve its highest acorn. He rose from his seat in a dreamlike quality.

  “Not you,” the elder Robert Baron barked at his son, who had also risen halfway to help clean up the mess. Quick as a blink, Adam’s mind began returning to normal—though parts of it remained curiously blank. He felt as if he’d just broken the surface of a pool of water after holding his breath underneath for several long moments. For a while longer, he forgot what was going on around him and stood still while a group of maids fervently swept up the mess.

  After the mess was cleared, Daisy’s father left the room mumbling about pesky children. As Adam finally and fully regained his senses, a question popped into his head. He turned to Daisy and asked, “Does your dad use the pendulum to—to—hypnotize people?”

  Daisy bit her lip and didn’t answer.

  “He doesn’t hypnotize you, right?” Adam pressed. “You aren’t forced to cook for him?”

  At this, Daisy laughed. “No, I really do enjoy making food,” she reassured him. “Especially sweets. I’ve been testing flavors since I last saw you. I’m leaning toward cream, with a hint of strawberry and lemon. I think they’d be lovely to share with friends—”

  “You don’t have any friends,” sneered her brother. “Besides, who needs to make candies when you can just buy them?” He let out another belch, then waddled out of the room.

  Adam thought of the Bittersweet Bonbons from Francine, as well as Jack’s story about the Gold Mold’s rivalry, and once again wondered if this Daisy was the same candy maker. He was about to mention this, when Daisy said to him, “I’m going to help bring the dishes back to the kitchen. You should go. Your snow globe is empty again.”

  Adam glanced at the snow globe on the table, which he had almost forgotten. The town inside had vanished.

  “How did you know—?” he began.

  “It was really kind of you to join us, just like you promised,” Daisy said, her eyes bright. “You weren’t lying about what you told me last time either, then? That you’ve tried my candies and love them?”

  “Well—I’ve tried a couple, I think,” said Adam hesitantly. “Someone did tell me you’re the best candy maker in all of New York.”

  Daisy nodded. She headed for the doorway with a determined look, a trace of a smile on her face. “Till next time,” was all she said before leaving the room.

  Confused, Adam picked up the snow globe and watched the snow confetti twirl.

  A split second later, he was back in his bedroom. The dining room, the silverware and dishes, the mansion had all vanished. Downstairs, Uncle Henry was calling him to dinner.

  The next day after school, the first thing Adam did was hike to the library. He knew he should get home—the Biscuit Basket was likely already swamped—but something had occurred to him that morning while his science teacher expounded upon the brief existence of the mayfly. “Think of that obituary,” Ms. Thyme had said. “An entire life cycle, all lived in a day!”

  When he walked inside, Adam did not make his customary beeline to the local archives, which contained the collection about Candlewick’s Candles Corporation.

  Instead, he pored over microfilms of death notices in the region from August 1967.

  After an hour of squinting at tiny print, he finally found what he’d been looking for.

  Candlewick, N.Y. – Robert Tweed Baron III, 53, died Tuesday, August 15, 1967, in the tragic fire that engulfed the factory headquarters of Candlewick’s Candles Corporation.

  Born and raised in Candlewick, Baron inherited the famed candle factory from his father, Robert Tweed Baron II, and oversaw its continued success until disaster struck earlier this month.

  Mr. Baron will be remembered for his lifelong devotion to wealth accrual and meticulous maintenance of his cigar collection. He is survived by his sister, Daisy Aster Baron, a New York City–based confectioner, and his son, Robert Tweed Baron IV, whose current whereabouts are unknown.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  THE TIME TOUCH

  The rise and demise of Elbert the Excellent was popular gossip in the streets of New York City. Almost everyone knew about his short stint in jail, and in the years that followed, those who encountered him noted how he never was the same afterward. People glimpsed him standing alone in odd places, like a churchyard cemetery in the middle of the night, or an abandoned theater stage at dawn.

  Soon, he was nicknamed Elbert the Eccentric. There were whispers about his travels outside of New York with a secretive group of people. Witnesses reported seeing him as far away as London. “Saw him at some clock tower,” one person insisted. “Just stood there for eight hours straight, asking passersby for details about some fellow who worked there ages ago. Pretty unusual stuff, if you ask me.”

  Elbert ignored what people were saying about him. His life had been shaken, and his mission to acquire and wield the power of the mysterious time touch was more important than ever now. He called together some of his most devoted fans, the same ones who had supported him in his magician days and who had spread the word of his candles. They were delighted to assist their favorite magician on his legendary quest. Together with this group of protégés, he traveled the world, seeking the last piece of the time touch: the one he hoped could reverse the past.

  If Elbert had found Santiago irritatingly cryptic, his close group of followers soon found Elbert even more so. Elbert had a penchant for enigmatic sentences and puzzling phrases. He often referred to the treasure they sought as “the one in which past days unfold.”

  “The treasure we seek is more powerful than anything the world has ever seen,” he told his followers. “It’s an ancient magic. You’ll recognize it if you find it.”

  In another instance, he explained the treasure as an object containing the fabric of time itself. “Quite dangerous, as the powers can manifest for the worse, if the owner isn’t careful.”

  One of the places he and his followers occasionally frequented was a small town by the name of Candlewick. He’d stare at the candlelit lampposts on the streets, muttering under his breath. Often, he was seen flitting about the town’s newly famous candle factory, where he looked in the windows every chance he got, or else near a large mansion up the hill. He was careful to evade authorities each time the owners of the mansion complained.

  A passerby in town asked him one day what he was up to, after witnessing Elbert cursing at a lamppost.

  “Well, you see, I’ve been the biggest fool on this side of the ocean,” Elbert replied calmly to the baffled passerby. “He’s been using my pendulum. I’ve seen glimpses of him with it. That’s how he gets away with his many atrocious misdeeds. And that’s another thing he stole from me—from Santiago.” He looked down the hill in the direction of the candle factory. A dark shadow passed briefly across his face, then was replaced by his calm smile again. “We need to find the last one. The one that can reverse all this. We must find it.”

  The passerby merely nodded as if he understood. It seemed safer to pretend to agree.

  “It took me a while to realize just how he managed such great success in so little time,” Elbert continued conversationally. “But it all makes perfect sense now. What he
took from me, it was more powerful than I’d realized. Tell me, which worries you more, sir? The past or the future?”

  “Neither. I’m more concerned with today.”

  Elbert smiled. “Then you are better than most people. Tell me this then, sir, when you focus on today’s troubles, your mind thinks of little else, correct?”

  “I don’t know about that.”

  “Sure you do,” insisted Elbert, his smile growing until he was grinning crookedly ear-to-ear. “Try to think about what you’re having for dinner tonight and, at the same time, try to think about how much a pinstripe hat costs. You’ll find that it’s impossible to think two thoughts at once.”

  “Sure, but I can think of them one after the other.”

  “However, you can’t think of them at the exact same time.”

  “I suppose not,” the passerby agreed.

  “I’ll let you in on a little secret. That is the key to hypnotism. Existing in the absolute present, right down to each second, and bringing someone else into that golden space with you.” Elbert looked into the distance, toward the mansion up the hill. “‘The one in which lie gifts of gold.’ Of course, the physical gold isn’t what’s important. The gift, the present, lies within. The only problem is, if it truly contains the time touch, it’s extremely dangerous. It could lead to disastrous effects, I imagine. Because, let me ask you this, what if you were forced to spend most of your day thinking of one thing, and nothing else? What if, against your will, you think only of pinstripe hats for multiple days? Weeks? Everything else will escape your notice. You’ll forget who you are—unless you’re a pinstripe hat yourself. Do you know what I mean?”

  The passerby shook his head, then quickly walked away.

  “Shame he went off the deep end,” the passerby later said as he retold the story to an interested crowd. “He used to be quite brilliant.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  RULES OF TRAVEL

  A few days after Adam visited the Barons in the 1920s, before he had time to fully comprehend that day’s bizarre events, the snow globe changed again. The cemetery was back in the glass, and stayed that way the entire night.

  This time, Adam resolved to take the journey, despite the fear of whatever he might find on the other end. He still didn’t like the idea of traveling to a cemetery—especially after all he’d learned—but he was determined to understand the snow globe. After making sure Uncle Henry had fallen asleep, he quietly got dressed. With slightly trembling hands, he gave the snow globe a gentle shake.

  His bedroom was replaced by a vast field of graves, with thick black woods clustered at the edges. The sky was as white as the mist that rolled across the deserted cemetery. Marble angels guarded the headstones. In the fog, their silhouettes made them seem real, their wings poised to fly to the heavens. Adam had to rub his eyes to make sure he was seeing correctly.

  The entrance to the cemetery stood next to Adam, a stone arch towering above wrought iron gates. CANDLEWICK CEMETERY, it announced. Engraved underneath was an inscription: BLESSED ARE THOSE WHO MOURN, FOR THEY WILL BE COMFORTED.

  Adam slowly went into the cemetery, his shoes shuffling along the dewy grass. The cloudy day, the gravestones, the eerie quietness of it all gave him the shivers. They also reminded him of a similar day seven years ago, though that had been at a different cemetery. He recalled again the crows, the two black caskets that lay side by side, the bundles of white flowers. He recalled the adults in pressed collared shirts who told Adam that they were terribly sorry for his loss.

  Adam circled the gravestones, half-afraid to read them. But he didn’t recognize any of the names.

  The edge of the cemetery revealed another level beneath the hill. He peered down into the mist. There, to his surprise, he spotted a boy in an aviator helmet standing beside one of the graves. A bicycle lay next to him in the grass.

  “Jack?” Adam called out timidly. He headed down the slope.

  Jack looked as startled as Adam felt. For a moment, neither of them said anything.

  “I knew you’d be back,” Jack finally said with a grin. His eyes lingered on Adam’s winter coat. “A bit warm for that, isn’t it?”

  Adam didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t quite sure what year it was, let alone the month.

  Jack went back to looking at the gravestone beside him. Adam glanced at the inscription.

  HERE LIES ELBERT WALSH

  DEC 5, 1890 – JUN 1, 1960

  Candle Maker Extraordinaire

  Who Discovered the True Gifts of Gold

  “My grandpa,” Jack explained shortly. “He was a magician.”

  “I’m sorry,” Adam murmured. He had never really known his own grandparents, on either side of his family.

  “It was a while ago. I was pretty young.” Jack looked back at the gravestone. “But I still remember him. He traveled all over the world—Grandma Angie and Dad used to tell me all these fantastic stories about him. So…I like to visit, and imagine asking him questions about his travels.”

  Adam thought of something. “What’s today’s date?” he asked.

  Jack answered it was the thirteenth of August. That explained the warm weather.

  “No, I meant…” Adam wanted to ask what year it was, but paused. He didn’t want Jack to know he was from the future. At least, not yet.

  While Adam debated what to say, Jack gave him a wary look. When Adam didn’t say anything, Jack murmured, “Grandpa would never have wanted to be buried here. But Dad said it was the easiest thing to do.” He spoke with a faraway look in his eyes, as if he were talking to the trees in the distance. Then he bent down and adjusted a small compass that had been perched against the headstone. A note tucked under the compass read:

  STILL SEARCHING FOR THE ONE TO TURN BACK TIME

  –Claudia and your faithful comrades

  “His friends still come by to pay their respects,” Jack said. “They were all really nice to me, even though my dad thought they were a little off. They had these fantastical ideas about time and magic. Dad told me Grandpa’s priorities had changed by the time he was born, and his days of journeying with his group were over, but…” Jack glanced at the card again. “Seems they’ll always continue in his footsteps and keep sharing his ideas.”

  Adam was intrigued. “What kind of ideas?”

  Jack blinked and seemed surprised Adam had asked. “Nothing. Kind of complicated to get into.” Then he said abruptly, “I’m going to the city. Want to come?”

  With that, Jack hopped on his bike and pedaled toward the cemetery entrance, leaving Adam behind. Stunned, Adam glanced at his snow globe. The tiny cemetery was still inside. He shook it. Nothing happened.

  He did the only thing he could think of. He ran after Jack, yelling, “Wait up!”

  He passed the cluster of woods. The black trees stood idly against the white haze, their skeletal branches both enchanting and sinister. Over the treetops, Adam glimpsed the topmost part of a familiar smokestack. He realized the town of Candlewick must be on the other side.

  Down the path was a deserted train station. Jack had stopped beside a bench on the platform, huffing for air. He adjusted his aviator helmet. Adam caught up to him.

  “Hey…did you ever get my music box?” Jack asked when his breathing slowed.

  “Huh?”

  “I went back to my old place before coming to the cemetery, and the music box was gone,” Jack went on. “I was hoping…” Jack saw the confused look on Adam’s face, then looked away. “Never mind. For some reason I thought you’d have it.”

  Adam swallowed and said carefully, “I’m sorry. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Jack didn’t reply. Instead, he busied himself with locking his bicycle to the bench. Adam tried to think of something to say but couldn’t. He didn’t think now was a good time to bring up the factory fire.

  A few minutes later, a sleek black train arrived. Jack hopped aboard, and Adam hesitantly followed suit. They went down the train corrido
r and found an empty compartment. It was surprisingly nice and spacious.

  Adam didn’t have a train ticket, and he murmured this worry as he sat down on the brown leather seat across from Jack.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Jack reassured him. “It’s a short ride. They won’t check.”

  He tugged on his aviator helmet and looked out the window. They rode in silence. Adam was too busy worrying about whether he’d get thrown in jail to admire the view of the countryside as the train rolled past, but luckily no one stopped by their compartment. The skyline of Manhattan approached in the distance. A few stops later, they arrived at Grand Central Station.

  Jack jumped through the exit, ducking past an approaching conductor collecting tickets and prompting an angry shout from the man. Adam used this opportunity to slip past as well, clutching the snow globe tightly under his arm.

  Adam had been through the station many times in his life. Even thirty years ago, the station was a gem of a building, with enormous windows and wide marble columns. But the building was showing signs of age, and Adam allowed himself a rare smile, knowing that back in his own time, a massive restoration project had just been completed that made the station sparkle like new. Until that moment, he’d never fully considered the hundreds of thousands of people the train station had seen—not just in his own years, but in decades past.

  Outside on 42nd Street, Adam saw immediately that the city had changed from when he’d visited in the 1930s, in the sense that there were more modern-looking pay phones, faster and sleeker cars, and heavy color televisions blaring in window displays. People wore slightly longer coats and larger glasses, and the women had larger hairdos that covered their foreheads. There was new technology being boasted in stores. Adam stared for a few seconds at a shiny turquoise contraption in a store window before realizing it was a toaster.