She imagined her crew, fifty-seven capuchin monkeys, rushing the prison and tearing open the door, or leaping onto the gallows and freeing her, then bearing her away on their shoulders, like the tiny men in Gulliver’s Travels. But that was a silly hope, as the monkeys would be shot and killed, or at least a few of them would, and she refused to be the cause of death for any of them. She had been unable to save Neil, but she could, at the very least, not cause any more death.
The trip to Atlanta would take days, and she would be kept under guard the entire time, stopping in the small cities along the way. She wondered if her journey was known to the locals. There might be other mobs waiting for her. She knew better than to ask the guards.
After four hours, she was sore from being bumped around in her seat. Then she smelled something sweet come in on the air through the window. It had a little tartness to it, like lemon pie. It wasn’t a pleasant scent though, like food, but had another scent as well, sharp and medicinal.
The guards noticed it too, and one of them craned his neck to look out the window, as if he would be able to see the origin of the smell. Hazel felt tired, exhausted even, after such a long trip, and the guard across from her rubbed his eyes. She yawned and it felt like she could barely keep her eyes open. Taking a nap would be such a nice way to spend the trip. She leaned against the front wall of the wagon, letting her eyes close and sweet sleep take her.
Small sharp needles poked all along her back and neck, simultaneously itching and hurting. Her head felt fuzzy, but pleasant in a way, and she rolled onto her side to go back to sleep. But the needles were worse that way, stabbing her cheek, ear and even her eyelid, forcing her to roll onto her back.
Opening her eyes, she saw wooden beams, but they were far overhead, much farther than the roof of a prison cell or the wagon. She pushed herself onto her elbows and had a look around. It was a barn, and she was lying on a pile of grayish moldy hay. It was all over her clothing and when she reached into her hair, she found it clinging there also. The barn was dilapidated, with slats missing from the walls and a large hole in the roof at the far end. The place must be abandoned.
A tall, lean man with dark hair stood in the doorway, looking outside. His back was to her, but she knew him on sight.
“Professor?”
He spun around and hurried to her side, grinning wide. He knelt and embraced her. “Glad you’re awake. We’ve been waiting for you. We need to get moving soon.”
“What happened? How did you get me out?”
“We had some sleeping gas that made everyone, including you, go to sleep. Miss Sanchez was worrying herself to death, because this gas might be harmful, and as you were the smallest of the group, you’d be the most affected.”
“You could have yelled for me to hold my breath.”
“That would give away our position and alert the guards that they were being drugged, albeit in a way which would be strange to them. Mr. Grey insisted we do things quietly.”
“Neil is alive?”
The Professor’s eyebrows went up at her use of Neil’s Christian name. “He’s alive and well. He and Miss Sanchez should be back any moment. They went to scout out the area and make sure it’s still empty. I won the straw pull to stay with you. They were both of them quite eager to stay with you, you see. And I think Miss Sanchez isn’t going to forgive me for separating her from her patient any time soon. But I’m just happy you’re alive.”
Mr. Escobar sat in silent vigil off to one side and he nodded once when she looked at him.
“Where is the crew?” she asked him.
“Safe. Waiting.”
“How long have I been asleep?”
“More than a day,” said the monkey.
The Professor added, “Long enough for the guards to notify the authorities of your escape. We need you awake and then we’ll take your ship and leave. You’re now a fugitive from justice.”
“Just like you. The apple didn’t fall far from the tree, huh, Professor?”
“Ah, now you haven’t killed anyone, so let’s not go that far.”
“We found two more,” said Miss Sanchez, pushing open the barn door, letting Neil in and then closing it behind them. Then she spotted Hazel. “You’re up!”
Miss Sanchez shoved an armload of what appeared to be clothing at Neil, who took it. He set two pistols on a crate in the corner as Miss Sanchez knelt beside Hazel, examined her pupils, took her pulse and asked her questions about how she felt.
“What did you mean, you found two more?” the Professor asked Neil.
“Two more lawmen,” said Neil. “But I knocked them out and we stole their things.”
“They’ll be fine, I checked,” Miss Sanchez assured the Professor, though Hazel knew that he probably wouldn’t have minded if they weren’t. Hazel managed to stand and set to pulling pieces of straw from her hair.
“Look at this,” said Neil, showing one of the guns to the Professor. “A real Colt 1860 single-action revolver, muzzle loaded. The guy even had a pouch of bullets and gunpowder.”
“Looks like something from a museum,” said Miss Sanchez.
“I’m keeping this one,” said Neil, taking a gun belt from the pile of clothing and fastening it around his waist. Then he found a long black duster, shook it out, swung it over his shoulders and put it on. He shoved his hands into the pockets. This was the long coat Neil had worn when they had first met him in New Orleans. Now, Hazel thought, he looked more like himself.
“The other pistol is a .44 revolver,” Neil said to the Professor. “Looks like Union issue, so it might be stolen. It’s yours if you want it, Mr. Doyle.”
Hazel hadn’t heard the Professor’s real last name since the evening when he had told it to her and sworn her to secrecy when she was sixteen. In their world, he went by the name Seamus Connor. Among all the other Irish immigrants flooding New Orleans after the potato famine, he did not stand out with that name. But in this world, she supposed there was no reason for him to use the alias any longer.
“I haven’t shot a gun in ages,” said the Professor, but he went to examine his new prize. Neil found a milking stool and set to inserting gunpowder and bullets and tamping them down with a short stick and a piece of cloth.
“Is she well enough to travel?” the Professor asked Miss Sanchez.
“I’d rather she rest. But under the circumstances, I say she can travel.”
“Mr. Escobar,” Hazel said. “How long until you can assemble the crew?”
“Once we reach the shore, I can have them ready within a quarter of an hour.”
“How close are we to the beach?” Hazel asked the Professor.
“An hour’s walk.”
“How did you get so far?” asked Hazel. “I was taken four hours inland in the prison wagon, and it would have been a long walk even without hauling me along.”
“Mr. Grey carried you,” said Miss Sanchez. Neil didn’t look up or acknowledge the statement, but kept loading his gun.
“Mr. Escobar,” said Hazel. “We will set sail in an hour and a quarter.”
Chapter 33
August 7, 1864
Outside Savannah, Georgia
Hub world
Seamus watched the little monkey in a vest speak with Mr. Grey as he and Miss Sanchez collected the bags containing his equipment and their personal items. It was full dark, in the wee hours of the morning, and since they had no lanterns, they would be hard to spot unless they were out in the open.
“We’ll take the main road,” said Neil. “Going any other way will just slow us down. Mr. Escobar and I will scout ahead and watch behind, since we can see and hear any approaching people when they’re still far off.”
Seamus was about to tell them that he was just as able to detect any people or riders, but he was content to walk beside Hazel and Miss
Sanchez. Hazel was alive and well and Miss Sanchez had proven herself remorseful for wanting to leave Hazel behind. He was still cross with her, but in time, he’d forgive her.
The important thing was that Hazel was safe now. They were together again, with Miss Sanchez. Having the young Mr. Grey and the bizarre talking monkey along was unreal, but Seamus did not consider it unfortunate. Both of them were decent people. If they weren’t all fleeing as lawbreakers, the trip might have been pleasant.
“What on earth were you thinking when you decided to wear trousers?” he asked Hazel softly when they were half a mile from the barn. “I haven’t seen any other women in them in this world.”
“Some of the artists in Spain and Italy wear them.”
“I do hope you’ll reconsider them. They’re not entirely decent.”
“Leave her be,” said Miss Sanchez.
“It’s not as if you have any say,” said Hazel to Seamus. “I’m of age now, and I can do as I please.”
“Oh!” said Seamus. “And that includes getting arrested and jailed? Did you know they called you the Terror of the Confederacy in the papers? The Pirate Queen?”
“I didn’t commit any acts of piracy.”
“They consider the slaves as property, so that’s theft.”
“They can say what they like, but slaves aren’t property and they will continue to escape. The Railroad operators never let anyone know too much about the other stations or conductors. I only knew one name, the first name of the woman we were going to fetch, and the authorities already had that information. I hope she made it to Long Island by another route.”
Mr. Escobar and Mr. Grey approached them, Mr. Grey from the front and Mr. Escobar from behind. They spoke to each other so softly that Seamus couldn’t hear them and then split up again.
“You keep odd company,” said Seamus to Hazel.
“I think they’re fine company. Just wait until you meet my crew.”
“And this ship is docked where?”
“Right now, it’s right here.” Hazel pulled a folded cloth from her pocket.
Seamus exchanged a dark look of concern with Miss Sanchez. The monkey had said that the cloth was a ship, but Seamus didn’t think Hazel would have been so daft. Mr. Grey had not said a word on the topic, and Seamus dearly hoped that he knew where this ship might be. After all, he had not been subject to the sleeping gas. Nor was he a strange creature from a fairy tale.
“How fast is your ship?” asked Miss Sanchez.
“Fast,” said Hazel. “Very maneuverable and swift as the wind. I love her, though she doesn’t always return the sentiment. She’s called Skidbladnir, by the way.”
“What kind of a name is that?” asked Seamus.
“Viking. Oh, and tell the dragon you’re from Europe. She doesn’t like skraelings.”
They walked on silently, and Seamus wondered about Hazel. Had the trip through time addled her brain, or had she not recovered fully from the gas? That must be it. These must be the lingering effects of the gas. He hoped it would wear off soon.
“How did you find me anyway?” Hazel asked.
“We were staying in a place in a little town outside of Savannah,” said Seamus, “and I went down to a pub to have a think and a drink. Who should walk in, but a familiar face, albeit much younger than when last I had seen him. He knew the route and time you’d be passing, and the three of us set up a little ambush.”
“How long would it take to get to California on your ship?” Miss Sanchez asked Hazel.
“I’m not sure,” said Hazel. “How long do we have?”
“The synchronicity is the third week in September. We have six weeks,” said Miss Sanchez.
“When we get on board, I’ll consult with Mr. Escobar and set a route, then we’ll see if we can make it.”
“McCullen is going to wait, and if we get there in time, we can both get home.”
“And if you don’t?” asked Hazel.
“Then McCullen takes the machine and we keep trying,” said Seamus. “Doesn’t Mr. Grey have a machine?”
“He does, on board Skidbladnir.” Hazel patted her pocket. “But we don’t know how to use it. I suppose it’s a lucky thing we found you.”
“Or I found you, rather,” said Seamus. “It interfered with our plans, and now we might miss the synchronicity altogether.”
“That’s hardly my fault. It’s not as if you told me you were leaving. I would have gone with you! But you gave me no choice in the matter. You just left me behind, alone.”
“Now, Hazel, that’s not true,” Seamus said. “We knew Mr. Grey would come on your birthday, and you would choose to marry Mr. Ross or do as you pleased.”
“But you didn’t ask me, now, did you?” Hazel wheeled on him. “You left me back there, with just a letter! I was worried sick about you.”
“Well you needn’t have worried, lass. We were safe as can be before we decided to break a foolish girl out of jail!”
Mr. Escobar dashed toward them and a few moments later, Mr. Grey appeared as well.
“Would you mind keeping it down?” said Mr. Escobar to Seamus. “We are hoping to travel undetected, if you had not noticed.”
“I was just having a conversation with Hazel here.”
“Captain?” the monkey looked inquiringly at her.
“It’s all right. Carry on.”
Seamus thought she sounded every bit a ship’s captain. Hazel had changed, again, and Seamus didn’t like it. It had only been a few months since he had last seen her, worrying about marriage. Now she was wearing trousers and ordering this monkey around like he truly was her first mate. She also owned a ship and had been able to elude the authorities for long enough to become something of a legend. That wasn’t too shabby, if he thought about it.
“Maybe you didn’t do so badly,” whispered Seamus. “Your heart was in the right place.”
Hazel didn’t reply, but after a minute she muttered, “Thanks.”
Chapter 34
August 7, 1864
Outside of Savannah, Georgia
Hub world
Hazel unfolded Skidbladnir, and scrambled aboard before it grew too large. Neil waited on shore with Miss Sanchez and the Professor and the few belongings they had brought with them after parting company with McCullen. Once the ship had grown to full size, Hazel asked the dragon to move as close to shore as she could. The dragon could control the ship, or, more properly, she could move herself from one place to another, albeit slowly. To truly make good time required the sails and oars.
“Are you able to lower your own gangplank?” Hazel asked Skidbladnir.
“I am.”
“Please do it then.”
The dragon lowered the gangplank into the shallow surf for the humans to board. Some of the crew scampered up with them while others merely scaled the ship’s sides.
“I can’t believe my eyes. You weren’t brain addled,” said the Professor, dropping his bags on deck and staring up at the great red and white striped sail, then at the prow. “And it has a dragon head too.”
“Remember,” said Hazel quietly to the Professor, “tell her you’re from Ireland. She won’t mind you as much.”
Neil pulled the gangplank up once everyone was on board. The Professor and Miss Sanchez had many questions about the ship and crew, and while Neil answered them, Hazel called for the crew to immediately set sail. Lingering around shore, even in the dead of night, was suicide. She wanted to put as many miles between herself and Savannah as possible, for all their sakes.
They sailed for three weeks, stopping only in tiny port towns, never in larger ones, to take on supplies. By the time they passed around the tip of Florida and sailed into the Gulf of Mexico, the four humans had settled into a daily routine. Miss Sanchez had deci
ded to take on Hazel’s uniform of loose pants, since voluminous skirts on a ship were completely impractical. She performed small tasks around the ship, repairing boards, mending the few cloth items they had and cooking for the humans. The crew, for their part, ate mostly fruit, either dried or fresh, and occasionally hard tack.
The Professor spent his time working on deck, when weather permitted, or in his small compartment below deck that served as his sleeping area and laboratory. He was mapping time, using his equipment, and occasionally Hazel heard swearing from below, sometimes in English, and when things were particularly bad, in Gaelic.
Neil had moved out of the captain’s quarters, making room for Miss Sanchez to share the space with Hazel. He took a tiny storage compartment near the Professor’s, and hung a hammock inside. Most of the time, he was on deck, managing the crew along with the bosun, and occasionally taking an oar when they required rowers.
At the end of a particularly tiring day, Hazel lay in her hammock in the dark, listening to the soft creak of the ship and the splash of the waves against the hull. She loved this. The ship, the sea, it was as if they had been made for her, or she for them. The discontent and uncertainty that had tormented her in New Orleans made some sense now. She had not been intended for life there, but here. Sure, they were fleeing the authorities, but they were safe now, more or less.
She glanced over at the other hammock where Neil had once been and where Miss Sanchez now slept. When Hazel was eleven, she had wanted Miss Sanchez to stay in their time and marry the Professor. Now, with older eyes, she saw things differently. The Professor cared for Miss Sanchez, but he was also more distant from her, less eager to spend time with her, and also more critical at times. It was as if he was disappointed in her, though Hazel couldn’t imagine why. Perhaps it was because he was preparing himself to lose her.
The ship rocked with the waves, harder than it should have. The wind was also picking up. It was hurricane season, and a storm could delay them or even capsize them, depending on its strength. She slipped out of her hammock, threw a coat over her nightdress, climbed the steep steps and walked out on deck.
The Time Corps Chronicles (Complete Series) Page 50