“I want to ask you something,” McCullen said. “If you could prevent the holocaust, wouldn’t you do it? You say you are not loyal to this world, but if it was the only world you would ever know, would you try to change it?”
“Yes. I would. But I don’t see what I could do.”
“With my inventions and your knowledge of history beyond 1947, there is so much we could do. Tell me, what else would you stop?”
“Well, there were other dictators that caused the deaths of millions. Other wars. I’d like slavery to end, of course.”
“Naturally,” he said. “And you know what the British have done to my people, Seamus’s people, don’t you?”
“Not much. I know Ireland fought for independence for a long time.”
“The British have oppressed and tormented my people for generations. They occupy our land, rape our women, murder our men, steal from us, take what we create or destroy it entirely. And I will see to it that they stop. I will not allow another century of it to go by unopposed.”
“Seamus said that you hated the British.”
“He is correct. They are not fit to rule their own land, let alone colonize others. But I am a fair man, and would only see them have their own country. I would not extinguish them altogether.”
“As if you could,” she said. He did not answer, and it chilled her. “Why are you telling me this?”
“I would tell you anything, Miss Sanchez. There is a great comfort in finding another traveler.”
“Have you met any others?” she asked.
“Never. Not once. I visited the place I came through time and time again, but the wavering air never came again.”
Some of the dancers were getting their second wind, or perhaps they had imbibed enough alcohol to feel a new surge of enthusiasm for the ball. A good number of couples danced, and a few women glanced at McCullen with sullen expressions.
“It looks like you are expected to dance with a few of the ladies,” she said. “You are the host, unmarried and the King, after all.”
“I would rather not, but I suppose I must. I would like to reserve the last place on your dance card, if I may.”
Felicia wondered if there had ever been such a thing as a real honest-to-goodness dance card, and she agreed to dance with McCullen last. A thin man of about forty asked her to dance, and he was so nervous and sweet-looking that she agreed. They tried to have a polite conversation, but he was so anxious and she was so preoccupied with her own thoughts that she didn’t speak much aside from answering questions about the weather and what foods she had enjoyed that evening.
When the dance ended and she turned toward her seat, a tall, lean figure was leaning back in her chair, a glass of wine in one hand and a smug look on his face.
“Seamus! Where have you been?” she said as she took a seat.
“At the cathedral, of course. I had to make sure the tripod sensors were all set up properly. Mr. Grey is intelligent, but there are some things better done by someone who knows what he’s doing.”
“Then why did you come back?” she said. She partly wanted him to say he was worried about her, and she scolded herself for being so silly.
“What, and let you have all the fun? How could I miss something like this?” He gestured with his wineglass, encompassing the band, room and the guests. At a fluttering glance from a blonde woman in a sea green dress nearby, he nodded to her and raised his glass. She smiled at him and then looked away. Then she looked at him sideways and blushed. Felicia wondered if the woman practiced flirting at home.
“I’m making good progress with McCullen,” Felicia said. To her satisfaction, Seamus looked away from the blonde and fixed his attention on her. “We danced, and he told me he’s a time traveler, from 1927. He fell through a shimmering spot at some holy site. It sounds like there are multiple gods he worships, but I didn’t ask about religion in his world.”
“What about the engines? What is he planning?”
“I still don’t know, but he wants to dance the last dance with me. I’ll see what I can find out.”
Seamus pulled out his pocket watch. “Well, there’s a wee bit of time until the last dance. Care to take a turn on the dance floor, Miss Sanchez?”
“I’d be delighted, Mr. Connor,” she said.
Felicia had not danced with many men in her life, but she knew from her limited experience and an elective ballroom dance class in college that some men were easier to dance with than others. Seamus was easy. With McCullen, she had needed to pay attention and let him lead so she could follow. It took concentration. With Seamus, she felt him move just an instant before she needed to mirror the move, so it was smooth and, if she admitted it, fun. He had the scent of pipe tobacco and old books, and though her face only came up to the top of his chest, she didn’t feel the need to look up into his face while they talked.
“All of my sensors show that the energy from the floats and the little mechanical toys are all collecting at the cathedral,” he said. He spoke low and she half heard his voice in his chest. “My automatons run on their own power, and I checked them over and over. His plan has something to do with the organ, but I took that thing apart all the way to the wall and didn’t see anything.”
“I thought Brother Joe stopped you partway through.”
“I saw enough. There’s something happening there, and I can’t tell what. It’s driving me to madness.”
“Not a long trip, I’d think,” Felicia said tartly.
“Well now, funny woman, you’re welcome to do better. I got back into the cathedral with Brother Joe to see the organ, but there’s nothing wrong with it. The clockworks are in order. Nothing is amiss. But now I see something interesting. McCullen waiting for you at your table.”
At the end of the dance, she sat awhile and took a few sips of ice water before McCullen asked her for the last dance. The band played a lively number to end that part of the ball. The guests, those who were not too tired, would return after the midnight cathedral show for more dancing, chatting and flirting. Felicia imagined that if she were a socialite looking for a husband, she would have to work an event like this for all it was worth.
“Have you had a pleasant evening, Miss Sanchez?” McCullen asked as they danced.
She assured him that she had and allowed him to pull her a little closer. As they turned, she saw Seamus scowling. He gave her a questioning look and behind McCullen’s back, she make the okay sign with her fingers. Seamus looked puzzled for an instant before recognizing it and nodding. He glanced around the room, assessing potential dance partners, and then asked the blonde woman. Felicia’s time was short. If Seamus brought his partner close to them, McCullen might clam up.
“Mr. McCullen,” she said. “I must know, what are you planning at the cathedral?”
“I was wondering when you would come to that. I’d like you to come with me and see.”
Chapter 31
Hazel looked again at the clock face on the front of the cathedral. “Where are they? They should be here by now.”
“There is time yet,” said Mr. Grey.
“But the Professor said he’d be back for the automaton display. And Miss Sanchez should be with him.”
Mr. Grey said no more and Hazel fiddled with the little clockwork jackal he had bought for her. It was an odd toy, and when she pressed the little button on the side, it raised its head and lowered it, as if nodding drowsily. Its eyes glowed green. She knew that she should not be pressing the button, as it would add to the power being transmitted to the cathedral, but Mr. Grey said it would not make any difference, and that she could play with it as much as she liked.
She was too old for toys, but she liked the jackal anyway. Once the Professor had gone, Mr. Grey had reached into his pocket and pulled it out. He had bought it on the sly and offered it to her with
out a word.
The hand of the clock on the cathedral ticked one notch closer to midnight. The crowd was thick, and Hazel was glad that the Professor’s mechanical devices were tucked back into their wheeled trunk. Other articles were in the leather case that he had left in their care. The Professor had said that the instruments had provided the information he needed and they could do no more.
A minute later, the Professor ran up. “Have you seen McCullen and Miss Sanchez?” he asked.
Hazel shook her head. The Professor’s cheeks were pink, and he was out of breath.
“The King and Queen, where are they?” he asked, turning around in a full circle. “McCullen left the party with Miss Sanchez in a carriage. They were supposed to make an appearance here just before midnight.”
“Maybe they got stopped by all the people crowding the streets,” Hazel said.
“I don’t like this,” said the Professor. He turned to Mr. Grey. “If you see her, tell her to meet me at the statue of Jackson.” He waved toward the statue of the mounted Jackson in the middle of the square. Then he turned and vanished into the crowd.
The clock hand moved again, trembling as it stopped pointing straight upwards. The church bells rang out twelve times, vibrating the air and making Hazel’s ears throb with the sound. The crowd cheered, but their voices quieted as the first door on the cathedral’s front cracked down the center and the door swung outward. It was a door on the far left, and Hazel clasped her hands as if in prayer. But she would not pray, she would not close her eyes for even an instant.
A pair of palm trees clattered out, quivering at the end of their track and then moving sideways a few feet to either side, supported by two mechanical arms. Gentle mechanical music began to play from within, like that of an oversized music box. Then a kneeling figure rolled out, leaning face-down on a boulder. This was Christ’s agony in the garden of Gethsemane. The figure lifted his face and hands, then returned to his original position. He did this three times and the rock and trees withdrew. The doorway closed.
To the far right, another set of doorways opened. Again, two palm trees slid out and to the sides. Then two figures emerged, dressed as Roman soldiers. They jabbed the air with their spears. An apostle emerged, but Hazel could not remember which one he was supposed to be. He waved a dagger, slicing the air near a soldier’s head. She knew that he was supposed to be cutting off the soldier’s ear. A standing Christ slid forward and raised his arm to the man’s ear, reattaching it. Then the apostle slid back and the two soldiers moved in, arresting Christ. The two soldiers faced the crowd, standing on either side with Christ in the center, his head hanging down in sorrow. As a group, they slid backwards through their door.
The night was cold, but the crush of bodies around Hazel kept her from feeling chilly. The people turned as the third door, this one on the left, opened. The automaton on the simple throne inside wore rich Roman clothing, complete with golden wrist cuffs and a scarlet cape. This must be Pilate, the Roman governor. Christ was brought before him and Pilate rose from his throne. He slid to the end of his track to stand over the people and the music quieted. He raised an arm, as if giving an oration and his mouth moved. No sound came out, but everyone knew what he was supposed to be saying. He was asking if the crowd should release a criminal named Barabbas or release Christ. He stood still, as if waiting for a response, and Hazel understood. Instead of having some sort of mechanical crowd shown in the display, the observers themselves were supposed to play the part of the crowds that condemned Christ. Hazel knew that the crowd was supposed to shout, “Crucify him!” but no one in the crowd did so. Hazel didn’t want to say it either. The very idea made her uneasy. Pilate turned back, just as if they had shouted the words, and then made washing gestures over a golden bowl on a stand, absolving himself of the unjust death.
The automatons this year seemed more lifelike than in years past, Hazel thought, and the music was more varied from scene to scene. She had seen previous displays on Christmas, Easter and Palm Sunday. But this year, the movements and the painted expressions were more realistic. The motions of the hands seemed more fine and delicate and someone had repainted the faces of the automatons. Hazel wondered if Brother Joe had done it or if the Professor had some hidden artistic talent. The eyes were large and expressive, and the seams for the mouths were painted in such a way that they hardly showed.
The fourth door showed Christ being scourged. The sorrowful figure had his wrists tied over his head and was nearly hanging by them. His forehead was pressed to the pillar, but turned sideways enough for the crowd to see his closed eyes and contorted mouth. As the torturer raised and lowered his lash, Christ’s bare back opened along mechanical seams and thin red ribbons slipped out to signify blood. A murmur of unease ran through the crowd.
The next window showed Christ slumped on a rough wooden stool. The automatons around him bowed, ridiculing him, and one beat him with a reed. Finally, a guard pressed a crown of thorns upon his head. A woman nearby gasped as more blood red ribbons poured from his scalp and lay against his bearded mechanical cheeks.
Now, two doors opened, one on either side of the largest door in the center and the music became slow and rhythmic, like dragging footsteps. A curved track emerged from the left door and circled around until it disappeared into the blackness of the door on the right, forming a long oval. Hazel was vaguely aware of the crowd making sounds of anticipation, as nothing so elaborate had ever been done in an automaton display before. She hoped the Professor was able to hear the sounds of appreciation for his work, but if he was still searching for Miss Sanchez, he would be oblivious. It was a shame, as he had accomplished something so marvelous.
A bent Christ rolled partway out, the cross on his back, and fell for the first time. Hazel knew he would do it twice more, if the order of the Stations of the Cross was being followed. Then, he rose and the Virgin Mary rolled out to face him. She touched his cheek and then covered her face with her hands in grief before sliding backward through the doors. A man took her place. The cross moved to his shoulders, and he and Christ disappeared into the door on the right. That must have been St. Simon, Hazel thought.
Christ appeared again at the left, and a woman came from the right. She held an outstretched cloth and pressed it to his face. She turned to the audience, holding out the cloth which bore the mark of His face, before moving back into darkness. Christ moved a few feet and then fell once more. Three women emerged from the right this time, all carrying little mechanical infants. Christ raised his hand and his mouth moved.
“What’s happening now?” said Mr. Grey in Hazel’s ear. She had only vaguely been aware of his presence and she jerked in surprise.
“He’s speaking to the women of Jerusalem,” she said. Everyone knew what was happening, even an impious child like her. But it seemed that Mr. Grey and Miss Sanchez didn’t have much religious schooling.
The track emptied of automatons, and moments later, Christ rolled out again from the left. He then fell for the third and final time, and two soldiers came to meet him and take him away. The curved track pulled itself back in and both sets of doors closed. The last door was the largest, the one in the center, just under the clock face. Hazel knew what it would show, and watched the seam in the door, waiting for it to open.
“My God,” said a man’s voice nearby, but it was not in any kind of prayerful tone. It was a cry of shock and fear. Hazel looked and found the Professor standing on the other side of Mr. Grey. He was not facing the automaton display, but was looking toward the river.
The music changed to a minor key and the largest door on the front of the cathedral opened. In the center, set on a light blue background, hung Christ crucified. The Blessed Mother knelt at his feet, clinging to the cross. Her mouth was open and her face was twisted in sorrow so complete it was beyond words. Christ raised His face to the sky and his mouth moved. Hazel knew Christ was askin
g his father why He had forsaken Him.
Hazel looked toward the river, but the people between her and the water were too tall and blocked her view of everything.
“What is it, Professor?” she asked, but he did not answer.
Mr. Grey had turned and looked also, and though he was shorter than the Professor, he apparently could see something. He glanced at the cathedral and looked over the crowd, as if assessing something. “There are river boats,” he said to Hazel.
She didn’t think that was so strange. Of course, people would hire riverboats to take them for an evening of dancing or drinking, stopping to take in the automaton display. Unless the Delphia Queen was among them, it didn’t sound so dangerous. Hadn’t the Professor said that only the Delphia Queen had the new McCullen engine?
Hazel turned back to the cathedral. Christ must have died at this point, because an automaton soldier appeared with a spear, and stabbed at the dead man’s side. A gash opened and from it poured two thick scarves, one light blue to signify water, and the other deep red. The scarves fluttered to the ground and lay on the cathedral steps a few feet apart. The soldier withdrew, leaving only the dead Christ with his mother kneeling below his pierced and bleeding feet.
The Professor muttered something to Mr. Grey, and Hazel stood on her tiptoes to see what they were looking at, but could not. Then she had an idea and jumped up on top of the wheeled trunk that held the Professor’s gear. At first, she saw nothing. Then, among the riverboats, she thought she saw a shimmer.
“Was that what you saw?” she asked the Professor. But he had already gone.
Chapter 32
“I thought we were going to greet the crowds at the front of the cathedral,” said Felicia. McCullen led her to a door at the back corner of the cathedral, just outside the fence that enclosed St. Anthony’s garden. This door was small and had no handle on the outside, only a lock. McCullen paused with the key in his hand.
The Time Corps Chronicles (Complete Series) Page 25