The Time Corps Chronicles (Complete Series)

by Heather Blackwood

  “Andrew Dubois was her uncle,” said Mr. March.

  The world dropped away as both Neil and Mr. March looked straight at her. The smaller man was assessing and cool, but Neil was focused completely on her. His eyes were brown, a plain, unvarying brown without flecks of color. And they were surprised and pained.

  “I thought—It’s a common name,” he said. “I didn’t think …”

  “You killed him?” she asked, her voice soft.

  “I’m sorry! Oh, God, I’m so sorry. Mr. March told me he was a child molester, and I believed it. I didn’t know. Please.”

  Child molester. Was that what her uncle was called? He had come to her in the night when she was in her room and done terrible things, things she still dreamt of now and then, waking shaking and nauseated. She was younger then, and had run away from him and the only home she had left in the world after her parents’ deaths from influenza. She hadn’t run because of what her uncle had done to her. At the time, she had blamed herself. With time, she had begun to understand that what he had done was not because she was a wicked, evil girl. But she also knew that something was wrong with her, that she was not like other people, other girls. That knowledge would not leave her, not now and not ever. She had run away because her uncle had snapped the neck of her beloved little dog. The man had been dead for six years, and now he was back in spirit to haunt her.

  “You promised me,” she said. “You promised me that you didn’t kill him. I asked you, and you said it.”

  “No I didn’t. I never said that.”

  “But you did! You will! You swore to me that you weren’t on the train, that you were in New Orleans. Oh God, you didn’t lie, but you did lie. You did both.”

  “Hazel,” he took her shoulders, looking at her unflinching. “I didn’t tell you that.”

  “You did, when you were older and I was younger. You said that you weren’t on the train. That you were in New Orleans the night before. You told the truth but you lied, because it was you who killed him.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. March told me that man was a child molester. That he was hurting kids.”

  Kids. Not baby goats. In Neil and Miss Sanchez’s time, it was a word for children. Neil only slipped into slang when he was upset or emotional. She pulled his hands from her shoulders.

  “He was a bad man.” She looked away, afraid to look him in the eye to see his pity or revulsion or whatever other emotion he would show her. “He was not kind to me.”

  “Are you saying that Mr. March is telling the truth?”

  “Hang Mr. March! You murdered someone!”

  “I murdered many people. You know that.”

  “But not someone I knew.”

  And that was it, wasn’t it? It was someone she knew. Her uncle was a terrible man. He had killed her dog, Mandy, by snapping her neck like a chicken. The dog had been her best friend, and her uncle knew it. And though she had wanted him dead herself, looking into the face of his killer, a person who had murdered, made her feel disgust. When Neil had told her before that he had killed people, well, it had seemed more abstract. But she knew a victim, a man who had been sent to hell with all his sins on his head, and it was no longer so abstract.

  “Leave me alone,” she said. “Just go.”

  She didn’t spare a glance for Mr. March who stood to one side, his fingers on his mouth in shock or perhaps concern. Maybe it was mock concern.

  Neil looked stricken. He opened his mouth to speak, but said nothing. And then he looked down at the slats of the wooden sidewalk.

  “Now, my boy,” said the older man. “You see, I told you the truth. All killers, molesters, warmongers, bad people. Every one of them.”

  “I don’t care. I’m not working for you, now or ever again.”

  Hazel knew she should leave, run down the street, go to her bed in McCullen’s house and throw herself onto it. But she stayed. Mr. March looked out down the street, and when he turned back to Neil, tears quivered in his eyes.

  “Then allow me to leave you with this: You can return to me and the purpose for which you were created, or you will die. You have one day to decide. I love you. Do not forget that.”

  He turned and walked away, but Neil stayed looking down at the sidewalk, his hands in the pockets of his long coat. She wanted to walk away, to get far from this killer, this murderer, this strange man with the writing on the roof of his mouth and his preternatural physical abilities. He was terrifying and alien. And yet, he was Neil, her Neil. Her crew member. Her best friend.

  “You can go on without me,” Neil said. “I understand. I won’t follow you.”

  She thought about it and almost stepped away. She could leave him here, go with Miss Sanchez and the Professor and leave behind McCullen and Neil. Neither of them were fit company for decent people.

  But the Professor had killed a man, killed his brother-in-law in anger when he had beaten his sister. And Hazel held no animosity toward him. So why did she feel so … so angry? No, it wasn’t anger, not the white hot kind, but more of a slow simmering emotion, dark and painful.

  Betrayal. That was it. She had trusted him, trusted the older man who had stood in her doorway when she was eleven and had given her a beautiful violin and had showed her that her uncle would never harm her again. She was safe. He had meant it as a gift.

  But this man before her was not yet that older man. He was the raw clay from which that man would be formed.

  “I’m not leaving you,” she said, and he glanced up. She didn’t know what else to say, so she turned and headed down the street, in the opposite direction from the one Mr. March had taken. Neil came up beside her and they turned down McCullen’s street. “We’ll set sail tonight maybe,” she said. “We won’t worry about finding work. We have enough rations to get us through a week, ten days if we eat sparingly.”

  She reached into her pocket to touch the folded cloth that was Skidbladnir. The pocket was empty. She checked the other pocket, then all her pockets. Twice.

  “Where is it?” she cried. “Where is the ship?”

  “Does Mr. Escobar have it?”

  “No! I’ve been keeping it myself. Where is the blasted thing?”

  “Stolen,” said Neil. “He stole it. He must have picked your pocket.”

  “Why didn’t you warn me?”

  “I didn’t know. I didn’t know he knew how, or that he’d know about the ship.”

  “Well, we have to get it back,” she said. “Where do you think he is? Do you think he made one of those time warrens?”

  “I don’t think so. I talked with Julius last night when he couldn’t sleep, and Mr. March can’t make warrens one right after the other. They take effort and energy. So if he’s going to be here tomorrow to hear from my own lips that I won’t work for him and to kill me, then he’ll be staying around.”

  “Then we have to find him. I need my ship back.”

  “And what about Mr. Escobar and the crew?”

  She ran the rest of the way home, crashing through the front door and rushing from room to room until she found the Professor.

  “Where’s Mr. Escobar?” she asked. “Is he all right?”

  “He said he had to go,” said the Professor. “It was strange. He hopped up from a nap and said to tell you he had to go. And that he was very sorry.”

  Chapter 38

  October 1, 1864

  Los Angeles, California

  Hub world

  Seamus watched as Hazel went from confused to frantic.

  “We have to get him back, Professor!”

  “Get who back?”

  “Mr. Escobar. He’s with the ship. Here, take your coat. We have to go find him.” She pulled his coat from the coatrack and tossed it to him. “Where is Miss Sanchez? Never mind, she can’t he
lp. What about McCullen? Can he shoot?”

  “Stop!” he said, and when Hazel ran from the room to find McCullen, he looked to Mr. Grey for an answer.

  “Mr. March stole the ship from her pocket. It’s now his, by whatever laws govern the transfer of things of that nature. He stole it, and now the crew and the ship are his. That’s why Mr. Escobar had to leave.”

  “And the time machine you had? Was it on the ship?”

  “Yes. But McCullen has the other.”

  “That wasn’t what I was concerned about. Mr. March will have the machine and he’ll be able to make warrens too. I don’t like that one bit.”

  “And he wants us both dead. Don’t forget that.”

  “I haven’t forgotten. Do you have any idea where the man might be?”

  “If I had to guess, he’d be trying out his new toy. Assuming he knows what it is, he would want to open it up and take it for a spin. He’ll stay close by, as I have one day before he comes back and kills me.”

  “You’re awfully calm about it.”

  “I don’t plan on dying easily.”

  “Go get Santiago and Julius and tell them to bring a few guns. McCullen can shoot, as can I. The women can stay here.”

  “Don’t you think they’ll resent that, just a little?” said Mr. Grey. “It’s Hazel’s ship, after all. And Miss Sanchez doesn’t want either of us killed or the ship stolen either.”

  “Miss Sanchez is a healer, not a killer. And Hazel is a good girl.”

  “She can shoot,” said Neil. “I taught her myself.”

  “Even so, she doesn’t belong there.”

  Apparently, Mr. Grey didn’t find the topic worth arguing over, and he left to get Santiago and Julius. While he was gone, Seamus explained the situation to McCullen and Miss Sanchez. Hazel was beside herself with worry. She was convinced that Mr. March would be cruel to her crew and to the ship itself.

  “Professor? Is it possible for him to take Skidbladnir through time in the same way we put the machine into the rowboat?”

  He considered. “Yes, I don’t see why not.”

  “So he could be anywhere by now. He wouldn’t have to make a warren, but could use the machine!”

  “No, not quite. Not unless he already knew how to operate it.”

  “September Wilde gave you coordinates,” said Hazel. “That’s what you said, isn’t it? So maybe her brother knows things of that sort too.”

  “All the more reason we leave immediately,” said McCullen. “We need to catch him before he goes anywhere. If this is my chance to be free of that man, I’ll be happy to take care of him.”

  Mr. Grey returned with Santiago.

  “Where is Julius?” Seamus asked Santiago.

  “He’s gone to find his brother and he’ll tell us where he is.”

  “And Julius is at peace with you killing his brother?”

  “That’s why he called me.”

  “And what about Mr. Augustus and September Wilde? Have you seen them?”

  “No, but I know they’re around. They’re not too fond of their brother either. It’s not that they want him dead, per se, but they do want him stopped. And that’s what I aim to do.” He checked a gun and handed it to Hazel. “Here you go.”

  She thanked him and Seamus put out his hand to take it. “Give that to me. I’ll not have you shooting anyone.”

  “He wants you dead, Professor. And Neil too. And he stole my ship and threatens my crew. Of everyone here, I have the most reason to want the man gone. You can’t leave me unarmed.”

  “You’ll be unarmed, and you’ll be here with Miss Sanchez.”

  “Like hell, Professor. You aren’t going to stop me. I’m taking back my ship, like it or not.”

  “Christ, Hazel. Do you not understand? The man can kill you. He’s not a straw-stuffed dummy that will sit there while you shoot at it.”

  “He’s right,” said McCullen to her. “I know you want your monkey friends to be safe, and you want your ship back and your Professor and Mr. Grey safe. You’re willing to kill for them. I understand that desire. But Santiago, Mr. Grey and Seamus and I will handle this. It won’t weigh on us like it will weigh on you.” He gently took the gun from Hazel and turned back to finish loading his gun. For that moment, Seamus was grateful to the man.

  Seamus put his arm around Hazel’s shoulder. She was so small, and he wished he could make her stay home and keep her safe, like he had when she was younger. But she was grown, and he couldn’t keep her safe, not by leaving her in New Orleans or by any other means. The world was dangerous on its own, but by inventing the time machine, he had put her in more danger than he could have previously imagined.

  “Hazel, you’re more likely to get shot than to shoot that man. Besides, the three of us, Mr. Grey, McCullen and I, we’ve killed before. And Santiago perhaps has also. If you were to kill a man … it changes you. It weighs on the mind and on the soul. I would not put that on you.”

  “And if I’m in danger? If he does something? Am I to be defenseless?”

  “You will be safe here, so it’s not a concern.”

  “Professor,” she said quietly. “I know you want to protect me, but I’m no longer a child. I have people, my crew, depending on me. I am a woman grown with a woman’s responsibilities. They’re my crew. It’s not the loss of property that bothers me, although I do want what’s mine. It’s my crew and the dragon. I don’t want them misused. Not to mention Mr. March’s intent to kill both you and Neil. I can’t stand by while the people I love are killed. Not if I have the remotest chance to save them. And in what other circumstance are we going to know where March is? If we lose him this time, he could bolt to another time and pop up to kill you both in your beds.”

  Mr. Grey silently handed her a gun and a holster which she fastened on. It was too large and hung low on her hips.

  “God, Hazel. You’re a stubborn thing,” Seamus said. “And foolish to boot.”

  Mr. Grey looked grim, even for him, and Seamus supposed he was no happier about it than he was.

  Julius came to the door to speak with Santiago. He looked over their group grimly.

  “You folks aren’t much to look at, are you?”

  “Well, Julius,” said Santiago with a cocky grin, “you’re welcome to do this yourself.”

  “I didn’t mean anything by it. Just two women, criminals and a dog. That’s the best we can do?”

  Santiago pulled one of his pistols from his holster and offered it to Julius, butt first. The older man sighed heavily but did not take the weapon.

  “He’s at the dock,” he said. “And don’t think for a second that he doesn’t know you’re coming. Oh, and Santiago? I presume we will talk when this is over? Assuming you survive?”

  “Surviving is what I do best.”

  Julius turned away, and Seamus thought that he looked like a man with the weight of the world on his shoulders. A wicked or drunken brother would be a burden, but a brother like Mr. March was a hundred times worse.

  As they were heading out the door, Seamus put his hand on Neil’s shoulder and whispered into his ear. “You protect her. I’ve seen what you can do, and you keep my Hazel safe, you hear?”

  Mr. Grey nodded once. He was about to close the door behind him when Miss Sanchez pulled it back open. In his concern for Hazel, he had neglected to talk with her and give her what reassurances he could.

  “I suppose I ought to say good-bye,” Seamus said, “in case that bastard manages to shoot me dead.”

  “You can do that with your dying words, as I’ll be there to hear them.”

  “You can’t come along.”

  “Oh, can’t I? I think I’m the only one Mr. March doesn’t want dead, in fact, he might not even know I exist. Besides, who else is going to put yo
u back together when you’re all bleeding from monkey bites and bullet holes?”

  “Am I speaking into the wind here?” Seamus cried. “Is there no sense in your head, woman? You can’t shoot, you can’t fight, and he’ll kill a woman dead as quick as he will a man. Is it not enough that Hazel will be there?”

  “Now you listen to me, Seamus Doyle.” He blinked in surprise at her address. “I’m not sitting here worrying myself while you are out getting killed. I’ll be there with you, but I’ll stay back and out of the way. I have a small measure of common sense, you know.”

  “Seamus!” shouted McCullen from down the street. “Come along!”

  Seamus glanced at Miss Sanchez, who he thought was being as stubborn as a she-mule, and then trotted to catch up with the group.

  They were fools, he knew, the lot of them.

  Chapter 39

  October 1, 1864

  Los Angeles, California

  Hub world

  Hazel stood at the end of the dock, her heart pounding in her chest and her palms clammy with sweat. She wiped them on her trousers. She had a terrible sense of being trapped, of the inevitability of the minutes to come. Everything led to this, and there was nothing she or any of them could do about it.

  Skidbladnir was tied up at the end of the dock, the only vessel in sight. It was full dark now, and any daytime dockside workers had all gone home. A few lights illuminated the windows of nearby buildings, but no people were out.

  “Something isn’t right,” said Seamus, and Hazel had to agree.

  “Too quiet, no people, and the ship is sitting there waiting for us?” said Santiago. “What could be wrong?”

  As they got closer, it was clear that no people were on board and no monkeys scurried about on deck. They couldn’t be asleep yet, as most of them preferred to sleep up high in the rigging, and that was empty. The sail flapped gently in the wind and the ship creaked. It was a soft, familiar sound, and Hazel wanted to run to the ship, to leap on board and flee with it. It was hers, her home, her livelihood and her joy. She simply had to get it back.