by Dakota Chase
Speculation ran high as to the cause of the blaze. Some thought it was arson—I gulped and tried not to look guilty every time someone mentioned the word—some thought it was an electrical short, while other, less rational theories ran the gamut from poltergeists to freak lightning bolts.
Vaughn and I lived in a constant state of fear for four days solid. Neither of us slept, and we hardly ate. We were sure they’d figure it out any minute, that someone would come forward and claim to have seen us entering Ambrosius’s office, or running out of it at the time of the fire, or pulling the fire alarm. I was amazed none of the teachers asked about my split lip, or Vaughn’s black eye. I guess everyone was too caught up in the aftermath of the fire to care much about a couple students sporting a few dents.
After all, Ambrosius knew he’d sent us there moments before the fire. Why he hadn’t had us dragged into Meek’s office already was a mystery. Surely he must suspect that we had something to do with the fire! What was he waiting for? Was he so old and senile that he’d forgotten he’d sent us there?
No, I couldn’t possibly be that lucky.
And as it turned out, I wasn’t.
Ambrosius hadn’t been in class for three of those days—we’d had a substitute teacher. Presumably, he’d been going through the debris of what used to be his office, writing up reports for the insurance company on the artifacts he’d lost. I never questioned that they were worth beaucoup money. I doubted he’d picked them up at the local Walmart. As far as I knew, they were old, and might be priceless, and irreplaceable.
On the fourth day, he was back in class. My heart jumped into my throat when I entered the classroom and saw the scowl on his face. His blue eyes blazed so fiercely they could’ve burned holes into my skin.
He knew. He wasn’t senile. He hadn’t forgotten he’d sent us to his office. He knew.
I don’t know to this day how I knew he knew we were guilty, other than the circumstantial evidence of knowing he’d sent us to his office minutes before, but I was as sure of it as I was of my own name. My knees were knocking as I made my way to my desk, and I could feel his eyes on the back of my neck. What was he going to do? Why hadn’t he given us up to the police, yet? Or had he? Were they about to burst into the classroom and drag us off in handcuffs?
One look at Vaughn told me he was thinking the same thing. He was pale, and the hand that held his pencil shook.
“If you would please open your texts to page seventy, we will begin our study of ancient Egypt,” Ambrosius said. He gave no indication at all that today was going to be any different than any other day.
I sighed with relief, unaware I’d been holding my breath, and concentrated on the textbook Vaughn and I were sharing. Maybe I’d misread him. Maybe my own guilt was playing tricks on me. Maybe it wasn’t anger at us that I saw burning in his eyes… maybe he’d just had a bad burrito for lunch.
And maybe birds are really fairy jet planes, piloted by pixies wearing tiny steampunk goggles.
The class went on without interruption. Time flew, and by the end of class, I actually half convinced myself that Vaughn and I were going to get away with it. I was so unsettled by what I regarded as my near miss with getting caught that I actually followed along as one of the other kids read aloud. I even learned a few things and found myself interested in the history of the ancient Egyptians in spite of myself. I’d seen a documentary once on it and remembered I’d thought it was pretty interesting.
Boy, was I wrong. Not about Egypt—about Ambrosius forgetting he’d sent us to his office.
“Mr. Walsh and Mr. Vaughn? Kindly remain after class. I need to speak with you both.”
My stomach dropped into my sneakers as my fragile new hope died a swift but painful death. I was so screwed. He knew it was us all along and had just been playing with our heads, lulling us into a false sense of security. I was going to spend the next ten to twenty years of my life in the penitentiary with a cellmate named Bubba. I just knew it.
Vaughn and I exchanged a troubled glance and remained in our seats as the rest of the class filed out of the room. A few tossed us looks of sympathy as they left, although I had to wonder if they knew the seriousness of our troubles. They probably just thought we hadn’t done our homework or something. I could only wish it was something that trivial.
When the last student had gone, Ambrosius stood up and walked to the door, closing and locking it.
Locking it? My fear of being arrested was suddenly displaced by a new terror. What if Ambrosius was crazy and had decided killing us would be justified since we’d destroyed his office and his collection? After all, he did keep an office bursting at the seams full of old junk. Or, used to, that is. How much was all that crap we burned up worth, anyway? Thousands? Millions? People had been murdered for a lot less than that.
No, I told myself firmly, don’t be stupid. He’s a teacher, not a serial killer. He’s not going to pull a knife on you or anything.
I hoped.
He walked toward us, the look on his face unreadable, but I was happy to see that he kept both of his hands in plain sight and, unless he planned on beating my head in with the blackboard eraser, there were no weapons anywhere that I could see.
“Gentlemen, as I’m sure you’re well aware, we have a problem to discuss. I’ve pondered long and hard over it for the past couple of days, and I’ve come to a decision. Now, first things first… we all know who is responsible for the fire in my office, don’t we?”
I instantly opened my mouth to deny my involvement, but Ambrosius held up his hand and the lie died on my tongue.
“Please, do not insult my intelligence by trying to convince me of your innocence. We, all three of us, know the truth. The problem we need to discuss is what I should do about it.” His steely blue eyes looked from me to Vaughn and back again. “I could inform Headmaster Meek and the police that I sent you to my office just before the fire broke out. Such a course of action would no doubt result in your arrest, trial, and subsequent incarceration.”
I felt the blood drain from my face, sure that my worst nightmare was coming true.
“Fortunately for you, I am aware that the fire was an accident. You were arguing, and your tempers got the best of you. That you did not purposely set the fire is the only reason I have not yet gone to the police.”
“H-how did you know?” Vaughn asked, and I could’ve belted him a good one right there. He’d just admitted that, not only was Ambrosius right, that we’d been there, but that we’d been fighting and were the cause of the fire!
“I know many things, young man,” Ambrosius answered, waving the question away. “How I come about my information is none of your concern.” He perched on the edge of the desk in front of us and folded his hands. Those hands looked ancient; his skin was as thin as tracing paper, and I could see the squiggles of blue veins just beneath the surface. “I know you didn’t mean to set the fire. Had you come to me straightaway, we would not be having this conversation. Accidents can and do happen, but you took the coward’s way out, hoping no one would find out. You have both been in trouble with the law before, several times, from what I understand. You must learn that there is a price we must pay for our actions.”
“I’m really sorry, Professor,” I said. I saw Vaughn nodding his head, and added, “We both are.”
“Being sorry will not replace the artifacts I have lost, nor erase the possibility that someone may have been injured or killed in that fire. That said, since I do believe the damage was the result of an accident, I have decided to give you a choice.”
“A choice?” I asked, exchanging a confused look with Vaughn. He clearly didn’t know where this was headed any more than I did.
“Yes. Accident or no, I must demand either restitution or justice. You can either agree to procure items I lost in the fire, or you can go to jail and serve the sentence for whatever crime the authorities find you guilty of perpetrating.”
Procure the items? I couldn’t afford to buy a bar o
f soap, never mind any of the uber-expensive things Ambrosius had lost in the fire. Maybe Vaughn’s family had enough cash on hand, but mine didn’t. Heck, my dad was so fed up with me that even if he did have the funds, I doubted he would have paid up.
“I don’t have any money,” I confessed. “My family doesn’t either. I guess I could get an after-school job.” I tried to sound hopeful but failed. If Ambrosius’s collection was worth half of what I suspected, I’d never be able to earn enough to pay him back, not in one lifetime.
“Do you have any idea of the cost of the artifacts destroyed by the fire? They were irreplaceable. Priceless,” Ambrosius said, scowling at me.
“But you just said one of our choices was to replace them!”
“No, I certainly did not. You weren’t listening, Mr. Walsh, which I suspect is business as usual for you. What I said was that you could procure them. There’s a distinct difference.”
“I-I don’t understand.”
“Me either,” Vaughn put in. He’d been quiet up until then, and I wondered why. Surely Mr. Four-Names-And-A-Rolex’s dad would be able to buy him out of this mess.
“It’s quite simple, really. You will both go back in time to find and procure some of the items I’ve lost. Not all, since it would take many lifetimes to replace everything I lost, but some. Failure to do so will result in a telephone call to the police. The choice is yours, gentlemen.”
“You’re crazy!” I sputtered. “Back in time… what kind of a joke is this?”
“Oh, this is no joke, I assure you. Perhaps I should formally introduce myself. It might make things a bit more clear. You already know me by my surname, Ambrosius,” he said, as a wicked little smile tilted his lips. “My first name is Merlin.”
Then he waggled his fingers in the air as he whispered a few words in a language I didn’t understand, and a thunderstorm broke. Lightning flashed and rain sluiced in sideways.
Inside the classroom.
Chapter Four
I DON’T know who moved faster—me or Vaughn. It was really too close to call. All I know is that one minute we were sitting at our desks, and the next, we were flattened against the back wall, blinking rain out of our eyes.
It was definitely not a trick. He didn’t hypnotize us. That much I knew straight off, as much as I wanted to believe otherwise. Magic tricks did not soak your hair and clothes with rainwater that fell from the perfectly dry ceiling tiles. Hypnosis made you bark like a dog, or quack like a duck; it did not make the walls thrum with the volume of the crashing thunder, or send bright white zigzags of lightning sizzling through the air to disintegrate the world globe on Ambrosius’s desk.
Then, when Mr. Ambrosius pointed at the destroyed globe and whispered another few words, the pieces jumped up and reassembled themselves seamlessly. That was something else that I figured would be impossible without the use of either Criss Angel or CGI effects.
Since this was real life and not a movie, and since I doubted Criss Angel made a habit of making guest appearances in high school history classes, I was leaning heavily toward believing Mr. Ambrosius was exactly who he said he was—Merlin.
“King Arthur Camelot Sword in the Stone Excalibur freaking wizard” Merlin.
Holy crap.
“W-what do you want from us?” I managed to stammer. My heart was banging against my chest so hard it was a wonder it didn’t break clean through and go tumbling across the floor.
“Haven’t you been listening, boy?” Merlin asked. I could hear him plainly, even over the booming thunder and pounding rain. He flicked a finger toward the ceiling and the storm stopped, just that quick. An instant later, everything in the room was as dry as stale bread, including us—hair, skin, clothing, and all.
“You were serious?” Vaughn asked. “About sending us back in time? How are we supposed to do that?”
“I am never anything but serious, young man. Never mind the how; that is my concern. Yours is only to fetch back the artifacts you destroyed.”
My head was spinning. On one hand, it was an exciting proposition, sort of the ultimate role-playing game. On the other hand, unlike RPGs, it was pure nuts. “Time travel? You honestly expect us to believe that you can send us back in time? Come on… that’s crazy! I admit you put on a good show, with the rain and thunder and the globe and all, but….”
Merlin cocked one bushy white eyebrow. “Shall I call the police, then?”
“No!” Vaughn and I cried in unison.
“Good. Then we’re agreed.”
I exchanged another look with Vaughn. He seemed just as bewildered as I felt. Was it possible? Even if it was, did I really want to go back in time?
It could be kind of cool, I thought. Knights and castles, merchants traveling in colorful, horse-driven caravans, Vikings rowing longboats, Roman charioteers, Wild West cowboys, and seeing the world as it was before computers, cars, and pollution….
On the other hand, there were diseases like the Black Death, no inside plumbing, lots of sharp, pointy swords, and really short tempers.
On the other-other hand, think of what I could do in the past with the knowledge I had today! Imagine the people’s amazement when I whipped out my MP3 player and made music float out of thin air, or taught them the secrets of the butane lighter! Heck, a bottle of Bayer aspirin would probably be enough to buy an entire kingdom.
I was excited for all of three minutes, until I reminded myself they used to burn people at the stake for using less “magic” than curing a headache with a little white pill.
“How are we supposed to even find the stuff you lost in the fire, never mind get it back even if we found it?” I asked.
Merlin smiled. “Ah, a pertinent question at last! You will know ahead of time what you are looking for, and when I send you back in time, I shall make certain to place you in the immediate vicinity of the item you are to procure for me.”
“What are we supposed to do then?” Vaughn asked. “Steal the stuff?”
“Of course not!” Merlin looked highly offended by the suggestion that he was asking us to do anything illegal… even though in essence, he was. “I did own the items, after all, until you destroyed them. The exact item, in fact. You are merely reestablishing ownership for me.”
I blinked. That almost made sense, in a twisted, convoluted sort of way.
Merlin pointed to me. “You stole an automobile. How much simpler would it be to retrieve a tiny brooch, or amulet, or other trinket?” He turned to Vaughn. “You broke into an office complex, despite the high security. How much easier would it be to enter a building not equipped with motion detectors and video cameras?”
Vaughn and I exchanged a meaningful look. We didn’t say it out loud, but we were both thinking the same thing. Our pride wouldn’t let us point out the one, glaring flaw in Merlin’s logic.
Yes, I had stolen a car, and yes, Vaughn had broken into an office, but neither of us had gotten away with it.
We were thieves, I supposed, but not very good ones.
“What is your decision?” Merlin asked after a few moments of silence.
“I’ll do it,” Vaughn said.
I shot him a surprised look.
“What?” he asked, shrugging. “I don’t want to go to prison over a stupid mistake. Coming to this school was bad enough. Plus, we owe him. How would you feel if somebody destroyed all your stuff? At least he’s giving us a chance to make it right.”
Guilt, I realized, could do more to a guy’s ethics than any lecture ever could. It was like the time when I was six and broke my mom’s favorite lamp. It had been her grandmother’s, and even as young as I was, I’d known it was special to her. I was scared I’d be punished, so I denied doing it. I told her everyone from a burglar to a leprechaun was responsible, but when she sighed softly and tears filled her eyes as she scooped up the broken bits of lamp, I cracked. I confessed because I felt so guilty at making my mom cry.
I figured it was the same sort of guilt that made Vaughn agree to Merlin’s
plan. I can’t truthfully say I felt the same, although I did feel a surge of remorse because the fire really had been an accident. I hadn’t liked Merlin for picking on me with the “Mr. Uh” stuff, but I hadn’t wanted to destroy everything he owned because of it. That wasn’t my style. In all honesty, though, it was the idea of being sentenced to the penitentiary for arson that decided it for me.
I had one more question. “How do we get back here again?”
“Once you have procured the item in question, I shall bring you back the same way I send you,” Merlin said.
It wasn’t really an answer at all, but I could tell it was all I was getting out of him.
“But how will you know when we have the item?” Vaughn asked.
“Oh, I’ll know. I have my ways,” Merlin replied. Again, not an answer, but all we were likely to get. Merlin, it seemed, didn’t like to share his trade secrets.
“Okay. I’ll do it too,” I said. I shrugged. Anything was better than going to jail.
“Excellent!” Merlin said. He clapped his hands together like a big kid and smiled broadly. It was the first time I’d seen him smile since I started at Stanton, and I wasn’t at all sure it was more comforting than the frown he usually wore. “It’s best if we start immediately.”
“Wait!” I said, afraid he was going to zap us into history that very minute. “Aren’t people going to miss us here? Where are you going to tell them we’ve gone?”
“Time is foldable, Mr. Walsh. It expands and contracts, much like an accordion, and I have the power to play it perfectly. When you return from your jaunts to the past, I will refold it, and it will be as if only a few minutes have passed here.”
Whoa. That was pretty heavy in a weird, Mr. Wizard kind of way. My mind struggled to wrap around the concept, and failed. I decided it was easier to just take his word on it. Maybe that’s why he didn’t explain how he could do any of the stuff he did—it would be a waste of breath. He knew I’d never understand, even if he did try to explain.
That made me a little angry. I was a juvenile delinquent, but I wasn’t stupid.