“The instrument they’re passing around is an astrolabe,” Mother says, nudging me. Her words are breathy. Perhaps she’s enjoying herself more than I thought. “It’s used to predict the positions of the sun, moon, and stars. Your father’s been wanting an artifact like that for some time.”
I look up at the Christmas star. “I can’t imagine needing any instrument, ancient or not, to see that star. It’s brighter than the sun, so a telescope certainly wouldn’t be required.”
And I do not see a telescope among the magi’s instruments. Instead, Caspar hands Father a couple of flat metal objects shaped like triangles, only the bottoms are rounded arcs. Father’s smile rivals the brightness of the star. Seeing him enjoying himself so much finally puts me at ease. His face is a mixture of grave attention and childlike wonder. Suddenly, the journal I’d dropped into his stocking that morning feels like an inadequate gift. I want to be able to give him the type of present that would make him smile the way he is right now.
Father removes his eyeglasses and hands them to Caspar who places them on his nose. The old mage’s mouth drops open as he looks around him and then more closely at the open scroll.
“What do you suppose they’re doing now?” I say to Mother.
“It would appear that these men are just as interested in your father’s bifocals as he is in their ancient instruments.”
“Do you think they’ll make a trade?” I squint my eyes. “Is this how Father gets so many pieces for our collection?”
Mother’s lips pull together in a thin line. “Yes. He acts against my wishes, but he assures me that he always does his best to trade fairly—it’s his way of trying not to take advantage of the past. He’s more interested in knowledge than money.”
“I don’t doubt that, but what are we supposed to do while he talks to them?”
Mother looks across the dirt and sand that spread out endlessly before us. “Not much from what I see here. Although, I am interested to hear your Father’s translation of everything the magi are saying.” She raises her voice and calls out. “Edgar, dear, how long will we be staying?”
Father glances back at the sound of Mother’s voice and starts, as if suddenly remembering that he hasn’t traveled alone. He waves for us to walk over to him. It’s about time, I think, looking forward to a closer view of Balthazar.
As Mother and I approach the men, our yacht-turned-camel trumpets a noise that’s a cross between bleating and snoring. Father turns to pat the animal to quiet it down, but Caspar still wears his eyeglasses. Without them, Father is nearly blind. Instead of patting the camel’s side, he accidentally strikes its face. Spooked, the camel bolts, sending sand and dust flying in a trail along its way.
After regaining his balance, Father stands staring with his eyes and mouth open in round circles.
“Edgar,” says Mother, wringing her hands, “put your glasses back on. Our ride home is leaving without us.”
Mother catches me as I turn to run after it. “Wait! Don’t go anywhere without us,” she says.
“Chasing the camel will only make it more terrified.” Father reaches out with both hands. “Oh, what have I done?” He says something to the magi that makes them shake their heads and frown.
He bows, low this time, before handing them back the astrolabe. The men consider him, all except for Balthazar whose dark eyes stare at me, through to my soul. His cheekbones rest high above a mischievous smile.
Caspar resists as Melchior pulls Father’s glasses from the old mage’s nose and returns them to Father. Balthazar makes a soft laughing sound before covering his mouth with his hand. I get the feeling he’s amused by Caspar’s loss.
Once Father is able to see again, he pales. “Without the camel, we will be stranded here forever.”
“Please help us,” I say, turning to the magi. I don’t care that they can’t understand me. I don’t want to be left in the past in the middle of the desert with no chance of return.
Father turns to the magi and speaks to them again, this time while pointing to me. After studying me briefly, the magi huddle together in conversation. Then, each begins to consult various instruments. Light from the star reflects off flashes of metal, triangular objects, measuring tools of some sort, and more discs similar to the astrolabe.
I take a step back at the look on Father’s face. His eyes are hungry for the treasures before him—a wealth of history concerning scientific progress.
“What did you say to them, Father?”
He exhales. “I explained our predicament, and that my wife and daughter wish to go home.”
“Did you tell them where our home is? That we’re travelers from their future?”
“No, I didn’t want to get into all that. I made it clear that our particular camel is of tremendous value, even more so than my eyeglasses.”
“And that worked?” says Mother. Her hands twist round and round again over her wrists.
Father gently covers Mother’s hands with his and then shrugs toward the magi. Caspar strokes his beard and is grinning as if money fell out of his Christmas cracker.
“What’s gotten into him?” I say, nudging Father.
Melchior says something, which Father translates for us as, “Our eldest mage predicts that your camel has followed the course of the star. Ride with us, as it is on our way.”
Chapter 7
We begin the process of remounting camels. It’s fortunate the magi have three of them, instead of only one like I’d seen in the picture books and old paintings. Father joins Melchior with whom he seems to have a good rapport. Goodness knows they’ll have plenty to talk about. And from the look of it, they’ve already started. This leaves Mother to ride with Caspar. Despite his grumpy temperament, he and his camel seem gentle enough. I expect Mother will get along just fine.
I’m more worried about myself who, by the process of elimination, will ride with the mysterious and exotically attractive Balthazar. He raises a hand and gestures toward the back of the camel. I sit and shake sand from my shoes. He creases his forehead as his eyes go from the shoes in my hands to my stocking-covered feet. He averts his eyes immediately as if caught doing something scandalous. Blushing, I jam my feet back inside my shoes and wait until Balthazar sits in front of me.
Almost immediately, the delicious smells of wood and spice overwhelm me. As the camel lifts from the ground, I realize that, unlike our renegade yacht-camel, this camel does not stink. It’s as if the cloth I’m sitting on is washed in men’s cologne. The corners of my lips pull up into a smile. The smell must be coming from Balthazar, not just because he smells like it too, but because his gift of myrrh must be part of his camel’s cargo.
I want to ask him about his gift and want him to show me what myrrh looks like in its rawest, purest form. My nose begins to twitch from my frustration at not being able to say anything to him at all. Being misunderstood is troubling enough; yet, here I am unable to share an intelligible word with this most interesting person from the past. And, even though I know his name, I worry about not being able to pronounce it properly. Melchior, for example, says the th in Balth like a regular t and the r at the end of zar rolls off his tongue. To me, it sounds like he’s saying bell-tuh-sarr. My attempt at saying the name would not be fit for a gentleman such as Father, much less a boy my age dressed like a Persian prince.
Unable to continue holding in my frustration, I sigh. Balthazar glances at me over his shoulder. Heat flushes my cheeks at his look of concern—the way it lingers. The way he’s looking into my eyes must be longer than necessary. I hope it doesn’t affect his ability to steer the camel. He is, after all, the one driving it. I want to point for him to turn around and watch where we’re going, until I realize that the camel is traveling no faster than a regular walking pace. Granted, walking on the sand is a wobbly affair without appropriate footwear. The camel makes better progress.
I break eye contact first, curious to see how Mother and Father are getting along with their drivers. Not wanting
to disturb Balthazar again, I choke back a hiccup when I see Father in front of Melchior, rather than vice versa. They ride to my right, roughly two camel-lengths away.
Mother and Caspar follow closely behind.
I smirk. Balthazar hasn’t joined the train. The other two camels follow the Christmas star—the direction in which Caspar predicted our yacht-camel will be. Balthazar and I, however, seem to be veering off to the left.
Since Father appears absorbed in his role of camel driver, I wave to Mother to attract her attention. She smiles and waves back before her mouth drops open. “Shirlyn, where are you going? You are to follow us.”
When I shrug and return her look of confusion, she taps Caspar on the shoulder and points to Balthazar. She’s absolutely frantic. The old mage yells out in a gruff voice. I catch Balthazar’s name in the jumble of exotic syllables and then nearly jump out of my seat when Balthazar yells back. His voice is a deep and rebellious rumble of words I wish I could understand.
“Balthazar,” Caspar says again. I think I hear a warning in his tone.
Father looks over at us. “Balthazar believes that he’s found a better lead,” he says, smiling. “He says his methods of prediction are more accurate. Why, this is absolutely fascinating.”
“So, then which way do we go?” I say, frowning. I’m not used to competing magi and their methods, and I’m surprised at how lightly Father is taking all this given that our way back home is still out there somewhere wandering the desert.
Before Father can respond, Balthazar calls out again to the magi, who now seem to be a bit farther to our right. Whatever he says causes Father to roar in laughter.
“He’s a persistent young man, I’ll give him that,” Father says. “But I wish he’d stop trying the patience of his more experienced friends.”
“But what if he’s right?” I call out. “What if Caspar’s prediction leads us on a wild-goose chase? We’re not moving very quickly. This could take all day, only for us to find out we’ve gone the wrong way.”
Father and I look at each other, but I gather he’s now far enough away that he no longer hears me over the desert wind. I tug at Balthazar’s robe, not letting go until after I point in the direction of my family. He shakes his head once, curtly.
“How rude,” I mutter under my breath.
I consider jumping from the camel. I’m not thrilled about walking on the sand again in my silk stockings or dodging the spiky plants that poke up from patches of dirt. I tug at Balthazar’s robe again, this time accentuating my pointing with my most indignant frown. His dark eyes flash before he rumbles with laughter. I can’t tell whether he’s flirting or treating me badly. My frown deepens as I reconsider joining the sand and spiky plants.
I shift to the side to test his reaction, smugly glancing between Balthazar and the ground. “Don’t think I won’t do it,” I say, pointing to the sand.
Balthazar pulls his lips back, obviously troubled. He raises a hand, and the camel slows to a halt.
“Do you think that’s all you need to stop me?” I sniff. What nerve! I shake my head and reposition myself, not that I’m confident it’s the proper way to jump from a camel, but the mage leaves me no choice. Father has already turned Melchior’s camel around and rides in our direction. Perhaps I can ride with them.
Just as I move to spring forward with my arms and legs, I feel an arm around my waist. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Balthazar’s opposite arm, raised higher. His hand is outstretched, only instead of facing me as it was a moment ago, his palm hovers over the desert—right where I was going to jump.
“What are you doing?” I say. My nose wrinkles as I continue to glare at him sideways.
He says nothing, but his hand moves to the side, as if swatting a fly. The sand below us sprays upward and twists counterclockwise, forming an elongated circle. Sand within the circle shifts forward and backward until a three-dimensional object hovers in the space where I’d planned to jump. The object resembles a shield with an ornate carving that pops out like a sculpture.
I shrink back. The center of the shield is covered with snakes coiled around scorpions with pointed tails and pinchers. I gasp, wondering why Balthazar would place such a ghastly object in my path.
A rustling sound from below us distracts me from the shield.
Pinchers poke up from the sand—not from the sculpture on the shield, but from the ground. Right where I would have landed after jumping. I imagine my stockings being ripped to shreds as the rest of the creature emerges from the desert. A scorpion shines under the starlight, waving its hooked tail to show off its stinger. It snaps its pinchers at me as several more scorpions poke up from the sand. Each one is the size of a small dog, all with their pinchers snapping and thorny stingers tipping their tails.
Balthazar lets go. Slowly, I slip back to my original position behind him, perhaps closer than before. When he closes his outstretched hand, the shield crumbles to dust. A feather-light stream of sand cascades to the ground until the scorpions are buried from sight. The camel is in motion once again.
“Thank you,” I whisper, in awe of his warning. He not only found a way to communicate, he used it to protect me.
I have no idea how he knew the scorpions would be at this location. All of the desert looks the same to me. And no scorpions or snakes appeared earlier when Mother, Father, and I walked when we first arrived. Confident that I need no demonstration of the snakes that were on the shield, I keep quiet as we press forward, though I wish I had a way to communicate with Balthazar. His ability to find the scorpions so easily might mean his methods may be fitting to find our yacht-camel so we can go home.
Chapter 8
Father and Melchior catch up to us, still trailed by Mother and Caspar.
“My, that took some convincing,” Father calls out to me. “Caspar is not pleased, but I refused to choose between leaving my wife and daughter alone with silhouettes with whom I’ve had less than a day’s interaction.”
“Is that all it took?” I say, grinning.
“The magi and I thought it prudent to collect their younger companion.” Father pauses as Melchior and Balthazar exchange words. “They’re trying to convince him to switch to Caspar’s suggested route, which follows the star.” He chuckles. “As far as I can tell, the elder magi are fighting a losing battle. Balthazar is not to be persuaded.”
“But what if his methods are superior?” I tell Father about the shield and the scorpions. “Is Balthazar telling Melchior and Caspar about that too?”
Balthazar turns in my direction, likely prompted by my saying his name, which I assume I pronounced poorly. I stretch out an arm and swat my hand the way he did to conjure up the shield. I expect him to laugh, but he doesn’t. Instead, he smiles with his eyes.
Father looks at him over his eyeglasses. “No, he has not mentioned that adventure. Although, I thought something strange was going on in the distance.” He rubs his chin before clearing his throat and then says something in a low voice to Melchior, whose eyebrows lift at Father’s secret.
Words pass between Melchior and Caspar. Balthazar turns to me again and smiles.
“Father, what’s happening?”
“I told Melchior just enough to get the gears inside their heads spinning,” he says with a self-satisfied grin. “For now, they’ve agreed to continue this way to find the camel.”
“So you told them about the sand and shield?”
“I did no such thing. I just said he predicted the presence of vicious creatures which you were able to avoid. From what you told me, Balthazar has not disclosed his method to his elder companions, and it’s not my place to divulge his secret before he decides it’s time.”
“But why would he show it to me?”
“Perhaps it was necessary. He must have sensed how eager you were to jump off that camel.” Father chuckles again. “These men make for a fascinating study.”
I press a hand to my forehead. Father is able to find the fascinating in most things,
even in miles of desert and sand dotted with the occasional pile of rocks and spiky plant. I ride quietly as he comments on each new variation of everything we pass—the way one particular patch of sand seems softer than the others, how much spikier and more singed that spiky plant over there is compared to the twelve we’ve already passed, not to mention how surefooted the magi’s animals are. His last comment makes me cringe, as it’s an insult clearly directed at our yacht-camel. I frown in silent support of our poor yacht-camel. I feel it has had too little experience being a camel to deserve so harsh a judgment.
It isn’t until Father finds something up ahead that I realize the importance of his observations. A large mound of sand comes into view, directly in our path. It’s softer and rounder than the flatter dunes around us, and there are no plants sprouting out of it. I grow more curious as we near, wondering what we’ll find on the other side. But instead of guiding the camel around the mound, Balthazar stops the animal right in front of it.
We begin to exchange worried glances, everyone except for Balthazar. I tug the back of his robe, hopeful that he’ll explain what’s going on to his companions, if not to me. When he doesn’t turn, I look over at Father whose head is tilted to the side, giving Balthazar his full attention. Mother and Melchior both look mildly interested, whereas Caspar wears a deep frown.
I turn back around to find that Balthazar has his hand raised again. Sand drifts up from the mound until a cloud of dust hovers in the sky, uncovering what lay beneath: a dark brown camel with golden tassels and its legs folded underneath it fast asleep in the desert. It’s our yacht-camel.
“Well done, Balthazar!” Father says. He babbles a string of unrecognizable syllables before repeating Balthazar’s name, which I take to be a translation for the magi’s understanding.
Balthazar waves both hands to clear away the dust cloud. Sand falls into piles around the yacht-camel. Balthazar’s camel dips forward, and then backward before it’s on the ground. We dismount before the other two camels descend.
Wrapped in the Past Page 3