“It looks almost identical to the one the Professor has,” she said.
“It might be the same one, just a future version.”
“It would be even better if he had made a number of them.”
“The more there are, the more people who will be using them. That might not be such a good thing.”
Hazel couldn’t argue with that. She set the coordinates to match those on the paper Mr. Augustus had left for her, sliding the panels on the globe to the corresponding locations.
“Please take us downriver, if you would be so kind,” she said.
Mr. Grey set to the oars, rowing strong and steady. Twenty minutes passed, and still he rowed. The machine was on and functional, presumably ripping a hole in time to another world, but the air wasn’t shimmering as it should. She checked the coordinates and the settings, verifying that the machine was operational. Mr. Grey did not appear at all tired, and Hazel couldn’t help but think that any other person would have been sweaty and exhausted by such exertion. Perhaps strength and endurance were two of the abilities for which Mr. March and Mr. Van Dorn had wanted him. A tireless, strong man who was stealthy and good in a fight might be a useful person to have around. Well, he was traveling with her now, and if they were to be friends, then those abilities might become useful.
Hazel was about to tell Mr. Grey that they should head upriver and try there when she caught a slight movement from the corner of her eye. The air had quivered, she was sure of it. Then it moved again, and shimmered.
“Keep rowing!” she cried, and Mr. Grey did.
The shimmer enveloped them, and a moment later, Hazel caught sight of the prow of a small ship from the other world. She didn’t want the ship to slip through into her own world, so she flipped the machine off as soon as their rowboat was through the doorway, heaving a sigh of relief when the shimmer vanished, leaving them floating in the water as the other ship passed by.
“Well?” said Mr. Grey. “Are we here?”
Hazel felt sick to her stomach, and the boat seemed to be moving too much, making her dizzy. Something bumped where her handbag hung against her hip.
“I’ll have to take readings. Take us to shore,” she said. She closed her eyes, hoping the sensation of dizziness would fade, but the rocking of the boat made her feel even worse.
“Are you all right?” Mr. Grey asked.
“I just feel a little sick.”
Again, there was a feeling against her hip, as if something was moving inside her handbag. She pulled it away from her body, and the thing twitched. She opened the bag and pulled out the little jackal, staring into space with its little glittering green eyes. When it had possessed its original power source, it had been able to move. But the Professor had long ago taken the tiny engine out, so it couldn’t be the mechanical toy causing the bag to move. The handbag twitched again and she caught sight of movement. It was from the ship in a bottle. She pulled it out.
The little ship was crawling with tiny monkeys. They hung from the mast, scampered over the deck and even crawled in the bottom of the bottle. A number of them pushed at the cork that sealed the bottle. Back and forth they went as a group, creating enough momentum to make the bottle bump each time they rammed the cork.
“What is it?” asked Mr. Grey.
“Monkeys. Look. I think they want out.”
That was the moment that the little ship inside seemed to fold, like a cloth or a piece of paper, and vanished. One of the monkeys wore a tiny vest and he put something into his pocket and then appeared to be shouting at the other monkeys. Then he turned to Hazel and she gasped. He was looking straight at her, pointing a tiny black finger at her, and then at the cork.
“He’s telling me he wants out,” she said. Part of her wanted to drop the bottle or toss it into the water. But the little monkeys were alive, frightening and strange as they were.
Mr. Grey took the bottle and turned it this way and that, careful not to move it too quickly, lest the monkeys get injured. “We should wait until we’re on shore.”
Hazel held up a finger to tell the monkey to wait a minute, and he folded his arms and watched her. Once on shore, she knelt down in the sand, set the bottle down and pried out the cork which came loose with a little pop.
A clot of capuchin monkeys clung to the cork and once free of the bottle, they grew to full size within moments. They crawled over one another and then dashed away from the bottle. More and more monkeys poured out, and Hazel felt Mr. Grey pull her arm to get her away from the tumbling mass of fur, arms, legs and tails. There were perhaps fifty or sixty of them, some screaming, some silent, all moving and forming a group about fifteen feet away. Once there, they turned back, as if expecting something.
Last of all came the monkey in the vest. He jumped from the bottle’s neck and grew to full size. Like the others, his arms and chest were white and white fur surrounded his face. The remainder of his body was soft black, including a little cap of black on the top of his head. The skin of his face was light pink, though some of the other monkeys had lighter or darker faces. His black eyes were steady and intelligent and his expression was serious. He took a look around and brushed himself off.
“That was inconvenient,” he said. His voice was high and inhuman, but his speech was clear. “May I ask your name?”
“Hazel,” she said, taking a wary step back from the animal. She almost lost her footing, since the world chose that moment to lurch and she again felt like vomiting. “Hazel Dubois,” she forced herself to say, swallowing hard.
“For formality’s sake, I must ask, are you the owner of the ship?”
“Do you mean the one that was in the bottle?”
“That is the one,” said the monkey.
“I owned the ship in the bottle, yes.”
“And it was gifted to you by this man after he stole it from another man who purchased it.”
“I don’t know,” said Hazel, looking inquiringly at Mr. Grey.
“Yeah,” said Mr. Grey. “I got it from a man who bought it in a thrift shop.”
“Stole it,” said the monkey.
“Fine, I stole it,” Mr. Grey said.
Hazel looked at him in shock. So, her birthday gift had been stolen!
“Well then,” said the monkey. “Everything seems to be in order. On behalf of the dragon who is Skidbladnir, I deem your claim, Miss Dubois, to be legitimate.”
“What claim is that?”
“The claim of ownership of the ship Skidbladnir.”
“What’s that about a dragon?”
“She’s the ship but also the dragon. And she is yours.”
“I don’t understand. I already owned that little ship.”
“You held it, and now that we are all free, we are yours.”
“I don’t—”
Mr. Grey touched her arm and spoke quietly into her ear. “The ship and crew were trapped. You freed them. Like in the children’s stories, they’re now in your debt.”
“But what’s this about a dragon?”
“The ship had a dragon’s head, remember?” he said.
Hazel considered this. The little monkey was looking up at her, earnest and expectant, his little hands clasped together, his long tail curled up behind him. The other monkeys watched from a distance.
“Where is this ship?” she asked.
“It is here.” The monkey handed her a folded brown cloth from his vest pocket. Hazel hesitated, fearful of touching the creature’s black clawed hand. She forced herself to take it.
“And who are you?” she asked.
He gave a little bow. “I am Mr. Escobar, your first mate, if you’ll have me.”
“I will, thank you. And what about them?” She looked over to the crowd of monkeys who were watching them.
�
��The rest of the crew.”
“And why did all of you come to life when we came into this world? Why was the ship just a little model before that?”
“The ship was taken and put into the bottle, and us with her. The ship is very old, though we did not crew her when she was young. She is also very valuable. We were trapped with her, and when we were taken to another world, no one could see any of the crew, though the ship was still visible.”
“Elliot Van Dorn saw the monkeys,” muttered Mr. Grey. Hazel turned to ask him about it, but he shook his head to indicate that they could talk later.
“Tell me more about this ship,” she said to Mr. Escobar.
“Gladly, Captain. Although I might point out that your crew is attracting some attention.”
Passersby were slowing to get a better look, some of them stopping. A few people gathered and were casting dark and suspicious looks at the monkeys, then at her and Mr. Grey.
“We should get out of sight,” said Hazel. “But where should we go?” She looked up the riverbank, at the city of New Orleans, which looked almost identical to the city in her own world. There would be nowhere to hide a troop of monkeys.
“Can we take the ship?” asked Mr. Grey. He addressed Mr. Escobar. “If Hazel unfolds the cloth, the ship will come out of it, right?”
“The cloth is the ship. It folds and unfolds. And yes, if you unfold it, then it will become the ship.”
“And we can take it, go anywhere?” Mr. Grey asked, and Hazel heard the hopeful note in his tone. For his sake, she was pleased to have the ship, if that was what it truly was. At the thought of a real a ship, an actual, foldable ship, a thrill went through her.
“Anywhere on water,” said Mr. Escobar. “And, as you can see, it can be folded to carry across land.”
“Very handy,” said Mr. Grey.
“Won’t having a dragon-headed ship in the middle of the river bring attention?” said Hazel. “We’ll look like pirates. Someone might send a boat out to try and stop us.”
“If they come, we’ll outrun them,” Mr. Escobar said simply.
Hazel exchanged a glance with Mr. Grey, who gave a little shrug.
“I think we should do this soon,” said Mr. Escobar, assessing the people on shore.
Hazel examined the piece of folded brown cloth. “What should I do with it?”
“I would unfold it over the water.”
Hazel held the cloth a few inches above the muddy brown Mississippi water.
“When it starts to grow, I would recommend jumping on quickly,” said Mr. Escobar. “Unless you are very talented, for a human, at climbing.”
“Ready?” Hazel asked Mr. Grey who moved up beside her. She unfolded the cloth once, twice, and before she could do anything more, the thing unfolded itself into a small ship, larger than it had been in the little bottle, but not by much. Then it began to expand.
The body of the ship was made up of long, horizontal overlapping planks gracefully curving outward as it grew. The ship was long and shallow, though not flat-bottomed, and the keel came to a tapered point that ran along its underside. It settled into the water, floating high but sinking as it grew larger.
The prow arched into a dragon’s neck and head, its mouth open and its wooden eyes staring into the far distance. The front most point on the ship was below the dragon’s chin, where its chest would be, and was reinforced with vertical metal bands, each carved with artistic representations of vines. These matched the carved metal edging that ran around the gunwale. At the back, the stern curled into a rounded crook, not unlike the tails of the monkeys. An unlit metal lantern swung from the tip. The sides of the ship were armored with a row of round metal shields, each with a wicked spike protruding from its center.
Hazel took in all of this in moments, for Skidbladnir grew quickly, taking only to the count of three to be the size of the rowboat. Mr. Grey and Hazel scrambled up into it, sitting on either end so as not to cause the vessel to capsize. Plank benches filled the interior of the ship, each with an oar waiting in the oarlock. There must have been forty seats, though they were now still too small for adults. The great mast in the center grew taller, and the red and white square sail snapped taut as it filled with wind.
The ship grew further, and with a series of sharp yips from Mr. Escobar, the monkeys on shore leapt onto the ship, scrambling over its sides and taking places at the oars or climbing up the rigging. One burly monkey took a place at the stern, on the starboard side, and took hold of the tapered end of a long, flat rudder that lay in the water. Two monkeys lowered the gangplank and the last few crewmembers who had remained on shore pulled Neil and Hazel’s luggage onto the ship.
Skidbladnir’s deck was long and flat, with an aisle between the rows of benches where monkeys now sat, clutching long, thin oars. How they would manage to row was still a mystery, but then, here Hazel was, on a Viking ship from a bottle, crewed by talking monkeys.
“Not bad as far as birthday presents go,” said Mr. Grey beside her.
“One of the better ones I’ve received, even if it was stolen.”
The crew pulled up the gangplank while others carried the luggage to the stern of the ship, where Hazel now noted two large trapdoors, hinged on the outer edges and set with round metal rings. The monkeys swung the doors open to reveal a set of steps and their belongings vanished down into the dark.
“We have an area below deck for cargo, and your quarters are there also,” said Mr. Escobar. “The original ship was simply a longship and had no area below. The crew slept out on deck. But over the centuries, modifications have been made.”
It must have been quite a modification, because physically, there could not be much room for any sort of quarters below the deck. The ship was simply too shallow. Hazel was about to ask for specifics, including who had made these modifications, but Mr. Grey touched her arm and pointed out the crowd gathered at the shore. A police officer joined them and called out, then strode toward them.
“We’d better go,” said Mr. Grey.
“Where to?” asked Mr. Escobar.
“I’m not sure,” she said. “But first off, let’s get out into open water.”
Mr. Escobar shouted instructions, this time in English, and some monkeys adjusted the sail, while others took to the oars. The ship moved, slowly at first but quickly gaining speed. It felt like it was skimming over the water, almost flying. The rowing monkeys were hard at work, and they seemed to generate plenty of power, their oars dipping and pushing through the water, dipping again. One monkey sat on a barrel at the front, facing the rowers, and sang a rhythmic song in a high, accented voice.
Hazel felt dizzy again, and she placed her hand on the dark wooden railing to steady herself. The wind blew strong on her cheeks and her skirts billowed around her legs. They sailed down the river, toward the Gulf of Mexico, the land flying by at incredible speed. Once in open water, they could go anywhere, perhaps to the Caribbean or to South America. The men hunting Mr. Grey would never find them, and perhaps she would find the Professor and Miss Sanchez.
Anything was possible.
Chapter 24
March 23, 1864
Camden, Arkansas
Hub World
Seamus pulled out his pocket watch and snapped it open. It was nearly suppertime, and the train had been stopped for two hours in some empty place in southern Arkansas. The latest report from the porters was that a battle had taken place somewhere near Camden, and with wounded Confederate soldiers and attacking Union troops still in the area, it was unsafe to travel farther. So they waited.
Miss Sanchez sat beside him, reading a magazine with McCullen across from him, reading the day’s newspaper. McCullen had taken to this world like a researcher, trying to discover the differences between it and Seamus’s world, as well as McCullen’s own. Occasionally he would
lower his paper and inform Seamus and Miss Sanchez of a political or social disparity or some little detail that he thought might be useful for them to know. So far, the only useful thing Seamus knew for sure was not to remove his shoes where anyone could see.
“I need to stretch my legs,” said Miss Sanchez. But no sooner had she closed her magazine than a porter appeared at the end of the car.
“I have good news. We will be resuming our trip shortly,” he announced. “Although we will be stopping in Camden for the night.”
A groan went up among the passengers, who were already hours delayed and were irritated with any further bad news. They had planned on getting through Camden hours ago and arriving in Little Rock a few hours later. Now, they were trapped and there was nothing anyone could do about it.
The train eventually rolled forward and picked up speed. Twenty minutes later, it came to a stop in the town of Camden. Calling Camden a town was being generous, Seamus thought. The train station was simply an uncovered platform. A short main street ran past it and between a few buildings, including a general store, a post office and some small shops. A few houses were clustered behind the shops, and he saw other buildings, farmhouses, silos and barns, farther out.
“Lucky it’s a sleeper car, or we’d be hard pressed to locate a hotel,” said McCullen.
“I need to move. I’m going to take a walk,” said Seamus. He was restless and felt like a caged animal, stuck in his seat for so many hours. “Care to join me?” he asked Miss Sanchez. McCullen was looking out the window, studying the town in his strange way, and Seamus didn’t care if he was insulted at not being invited.
They left the train and Miss Sanchez walked with him to the end of the main street. They took their time, unwilling to return to the train too quickly. They reached the end and were about to turn back when they caught sight of a row of carts approaching.
“Wounded soldiers,” said Seamus. “If there was a battle, this is the closest town.”
The Time Corps Chronicles (Complete Series) Page 45