“What are the Twelve? And what will happen to me because I killed one?”
“To you? Nothing. You’re a daughter of man, and you killed in self-defense. The only authorities you’re subject to are the ones of your people, and I’m not seeing any police officers coming.” He looked toward the shore where two figures approached, a man and a woman, though Hazel couldn’t make out their faces.
“I like you, sugar tart,” said Santiago. “I like you a lot. But even I couldn’t stop the plans the Twelve had for you.”
“What plans?”
“Well, you can ask them yourself. It looks like Mr. Augustus and September Wilde are coming this way.”
Chapter 40
October 1, 1864
Los Angeles, California
Hub world
Neil sat on the floor across from Hazel in her quarters on Skidbladnir, an old trunk with two glasses and a bottle of whiskey between them. It was late at night, and the crew was asleep. The Professor and Miss Sanchez were staying at McCullen’s former house, and the ship was still docked. A single lantern lit the room and the Chinese curtain that had bisected the room was absent. Hazel had not asked him to leave.
Hazel was drunk and Neil used his good arm to move the bottle of whiskey away from her, but she scowled and pulled it back, then filled her glass, sloshing some onto the trunk.
“It’ll only make you feel worse,” he said.
“It feels better right now, and that’s what matters.”
“I wish you would stop.”
“And I wish I wasn’t a murderer. I killed a man, and it was easy. So very easy. I just shot him, and I didn’t even feel bad about it. Is killing like that?”
He didn’t want to go down this line of questioning, but he also didn’t want to lie to her. “Sometimes,” he said. The fact was that most of the time, it was very easy. But that was back when he had been deceived into believing that he was working for a just cause. He wondered if there was such a thing.
“It was so easy …” she said and emptied her glass.
The ship moved with the water, and he wondered if Hazel would fall and hurt herself if she tried to get up. Or if she would vomit everywhere later, maybe on him. And yet, he stayed. He couldn’t leave her like this, alone, drunk and tortured.
A slip of paper sat in his pocket, depicting the lettering on the roof of his mouth. While she was still sober, Hazel had made a copy. He had no idea what the letters meant, or how they might be connected to his strange memory. He had memories of another man’s hands doing coin tricks. There were others, of places and events, seen through eyes that he was now certain were not his own. If his memories were a composite of other people’s pasts, did that mean he was a composite as well?
“How’s your wrist?” Hazel asked.
“It’ll heal.”
“How fast? Will you heal in a day?”
“I’ll heal at the fast end of normal, if my past injuries are an indication.”
“Do you have any notion of what you are, precisely?”
“No.”
“I’ll tell you what you are. You’re the same as me. A murderer.”
“Stop it.”
“I won’t! Think about it. The Professor killed a man. You killed many men, and maybe women too. And I killed a man. Murderers. Now Miss Sanchez, think about her. She heals people. Helps them. Doesn’t shoot anyone. She’s a good person. I can see why the Professor loves her.”
“Miss Sanchez is good-hearted and gentle, but if you hadn’t shot Mr. March, you and the Professor would be dead and I’d be March’s slave, under his control for life. Sometimes virtue is impractical. Sometimes, you have to crack some heads.”
“Crack some heads?” she giggled, and then, finding the phrase inexplicably hilarious, she laughed and laughed until tears squeezed out of her eyes.
“Your head is going to feel cracked if you keep drinking this.” He pounded the cork in with the heel of his hand and set the bottle behind him. “You’re not a bad person. You need to stop torturing yourself.”
“And how would you know? You’ve killed so many people, it’s probably normal to you.”
That hurt, and Neil looked down at the trunk between them for a while before answering. “It’s not like that.”
“I’m sorry,” she said and put her hand over his. “You’re good. I know you are. Even if you’re a strange monster from a fairy story.”
Was that what he was? A monster? If he was a killing creature, enslaved to an evil man, then that was precisely what he was. Like Frankenstein’s monster in the old movies, an unnatural creation. But then, the monster wasn’t evil, not really.
“I’m the monster,” she said, rested her forehead on her folded arms and sighed a long and weary sigh. Then she started to cry.
He scooted around beside her and put his arm around her. Leaning his head against hers, he smelled the stink of her breath and the warm scent of her hair.
“You’re not a monster. You’re a good person. You are a good captain to the crew and you helped those slaves. And me. You saved us all.”
“And I killed someone. Someone non-human, but it still counts. There are so many non-humans around.”
“Speaking of which,” said Neil. “What did Mr. Augustus and September Wilde tell you about killing Mr. March?”
“Not much. They were more concerned with removing his body. They said they weren’t upset with me, that nothing would happen to me. They were very nice.”
“Well of course they were!” came a voice from the doorway. Santiago stood there, fully dressed this time. “You did just as they wanted.”
“And where have you been?” asked Hazel. “I haven’t seen you since they took the body.”
“I had a few things to take care of. And then I had to talk to Miss Sanchez about a wound I have. It’s in a tender location and I needed it to be examined. In private.”
“I need you to tell me something,” Hazel said.
“For a glass of ale, I’ll tell you a tale.”
“We have whiskey,” said Neil and shoved his own glass across the trunk toward Santiago, then filled it. Santiago sat cross-legged on the floor, apparently perfectly at ease with their humble setup.
“A tale of adventure or a tale of romance?” he asked Hazel and winked.
“No tales,” she said. “The truth.”
“Oh, now that’s another matter entirely.” He drained his glass and motioned for Neil to refill it. He obliged.
“You said the Twelve had plans for me,” said Hazel. “What did you mean?”
“Well, as you know, Mr. March was interfering with the natural unfolding of events. His siblings wanted to stop him, but were having a great deal of difficulty. So they needed him dead, for now at least. But killing an otherkind isn’t so simple. I certainly wouldn’t do it.”
“But you led us to believe that you would,” said Neil. “We thought you wanted to kill him.”
“If you think back, I said I wanted him dead, but not that I would be the one to kill him.”
Neil thought that Santiago would have been quite willing to lie to them, but he didn’t think it was diplomatic to say as much.
Santiago continued. “I wanted to be there when it happened, because Mr. March is a craven bastard and watching him die was immensely gratifying. And since you did it, things are clean and simple. If one of the Twelve killed him, it would be bad. Blood of your brother on your hands, you understand. There are penalties. Ugly ones.”
“So they needed a human?” asked Neil.
“That’s right. And Hazel here was just the right human.”
“How could they know?” she asked. “How would they be able to predict what I’d do?”
“Well, some of the Unseelie have farseers, but I don�
��t think the Twelve need to consult with the likes of them. I think they can see some things just fine on their own. They don’t exactly confide in me, you understand, so this is all purely speculation. But I think they just needed a human to kill him. It could have been you, the Professor, McCullen or Miss Sanchez. Using your affection for your crew, your love for your Professor and your—” he waved his hand to indicate Neil, “friend here, well, it was a touch of genius. Most likely the only way someone like you would kill.”
“But that was Mr. March’s doing,” Hazel said. “He stole the ship and the crew and created the danger for the Professor and Neil, which forced me to act.”
“All true. You had free will and complete agency, as did Mr. March. That’s the beauty of it. No one was forced to do a single thing. Well, except for you, Neil. You were forced a bit there. But in the end, Mr. Augustus and Miss Wilde gave the coordinates for this world to the Professor and you, and from what I understand, they’ve both known you for years. Who knows how long they took to set this up?”
“I’ve known Mr. Augustus since I was young,” said Hazel. “He met me when I was only eleven. I’ve worked with him at his music shop.”
“Don’t hold it against them. They’re really not so bad as far as otherkind go. Being used as a cat’s paw is quite mild in comparison with other things that can happen to you. Some of our kind are much, much nastier.”
“And what are you, exactly?” asked Neil.
“Me? I’m Coyote. Singer of songs and teller of tales. In fact, I have a story I recently heard about a young virgin and a sea serpent. Would you like to hear it?”
“Maybe later,” said Neil.
“Whatever you are, you don’t have much sense of fun,” said Santiago.
“Do you have any idea what I am?” Neil would not tell him about the lettering on the roof of his mouth. He did not trust the man.
“No. You smell human. And yet, clearly, you are something else.”
They sat in silence for a minute, Santiago drinking and Hazel looking off out the window.
“Why didn’t Mr. March simply kill Seamus?” asked Neil. “He could have found him at any time. He could have found him as a baby or child and killed him.”
“March was watched,” said Santiago. “The Twelve keep watch over one another. That’s sort of their special purpose, watching. And Seamus was probably watched as well, if they knew what he was able to create. So March had McCullen watch Seamus, and the Twelve watched March. If March killed him, they would have known. I have no idea why he didn’t have you kill him. Maybe he planned to. Maybe that’s why he wanted you back. He managed to get Seamus to shoot at him, and the Twelve are allowed to kill in self-defense. Maybe that was his plan. Or maybe he didn’t care if he got caught killing a human. In the end, perhaps the only thing he cared about was you.”
“I don’t think he is capable of caring.”
“Now, don’t misjudge him. Otherkind are just as capable of love as humans.”
Neil didn’t want to think about Mr. March and his affection for him. For though he knew that March was wicked, he had been kind to him. Neil had loved him as a father, and if he went into the quiet part of his soul, he still did. But it was too late at night and he had drunk too much whiskey for these thoughts.
“You said that the Twelve used Hazel as a cat’s paw, just as Mr. March used me,” said Neil.
“Yes. And he used McCullen to keep an eye on the Professor,” said Santiago. “Or did McCullen use Mr. March to get home? I can’t keep track.”
“What I mean is, what else are the Twelve going to do?”
“Now that, my strange friend, is an interesting question. A little bird told me that Julius has been talking with the Professor, and that friendships and alliances are being forged.”
Neil wondered about this. He would have to ask about it in the morning. Hazel was leaning on the trunk, eyes closed. She certainly wouldn’t remember this so he would have to fill her in come morning. Once Santiago left, Neil would lift her into her hammock and put a blanket over her.
“Thank you for the hospitality,” said Santiago. “But it’s a beautiful autumn night and I think a good run and a good hunt are just what I need. I’d invite you, but I don’t think you could keep up.”
“I’d rather not anyway.”
“If you ever find out what you are, please tell me. I’m dying to know. The world is filled with so many strange things.”
“You’re telling me.”
Chapter 41
February 12, 2014
Los Angeles, California
Hub world
Seamus clutched Skidbladnir’s mast and tried hard to keep from vomiting. Hazel and Miss Sanchez huddled together near the prow, also sick. Hazel leaned over the edge to vomit into the water. Skidbladnir lurched with the waves, and Seamus nearly fell to his knees as the world spun out of control, the sky undulating and the lines of the sail and rigging twisting, evil and serpentine.
“Mr. Escobar, pull her around,” commanded Neil, the only one of the non-monkeys who was not affected by what Seamus had decided to call Time Sickness.
They had required a synchronicity to travel to this time, but since they were traveling forward in time within the same world, it had not been too difficult. A few minutes later, the ship came to shore on a deserted beach.
The ship moved herself as close to land as possible, and Seamus packed up the time machine and pulled the trunk down the gangplank with Neil’s assistance. Everyone else, including the monkeys, disembarked. The monkeys scattered out on the beach to enjoy their shore leave, except for Mr. Escobar who stayed with Hazel on deck. Hazel clutched the gunwale and looked like she wasn’t going to be able to descend without tumbling headfirst into the surf.
Seamus felt better now, with only a slight nausea troubling him. “Come along now,” he called. “Time for the captain to leave the ship.”
When she vomited into the water again, he went back for her.
“If you hadn’t drunk yourself into insensibility, you wouldn’t feel so terrible.” He spoke softly enough that the others would not hear. He knew better than to shame a captain in front of her crew.
“Don’t punish me, Professor. I feel bad enough as it is.”
“I expect you do. And a good lesson for you it is, too.”
She allowed him to take her elbow and lead her down to the shallow surf, where she folded the ship and handed it to Mr. Escobar who put it in his vest pocket. They headed up the beach, Neil and Seamus carrying opposite ends of the trunk containing the time machine. He didn’t want to leave it on the ship again. It was bulky and difficult to drag about, but he could not chance loosing it. Once on the sidewalk, which Seamus noted was made of white concrete, he dug in his pocket.
“Take this,” he said and handed Miss Sanchez a piece of paper. “I’ve memorized it already, and I suggest you all do the same. It’s the address of Julius’s house in this time.”
She read it and handed it to Neil who then gave it to Hazel.
“I don’t know what the numbers at the bottom are,” he said. “Some sort of coordinates, but they don’t match up to the ones our machine needs.”
“They’re a phone number,” said Felicia, smiling at him. “And the first three numbers are a Los Angeles area code. Once we get settled, you two need to learn to use phones and the Internet and everything.” She turned to Neil. “Do you know where that address is located?”
“No. It’s a residential street, I assume. And we don’t have a GPS or a phone or anything.”
“We could always see about buying a paper map,” said Felicia and then chuckled as if she was making a joke. Seamus could tell she was happy to be in her own time, even if it was in a different world than her own.
“I’m not sure where we would even get one in 2014,” said Nei
l. “But if we can find a phone, we can call him collect.”
“Finding a pay phone might not be easy, but either way, we need modern money.” Miss Sanchez looked down at her clothes and sighed. She was in trousers, which was the current fashion, though he supposed her outfit would be out of place here. He was in outdated clothing also, as was Mr. Grey. Even Mr. Escobar did not fit into this time. The little capuchin monkey sat on Hazel’s shoulder, taking in the marvels around him.
Miss Sanchez unfastened a gold chain that was twined around her ankle. “First a pawn shop, then to find a phone or a map.”
They walked into town, and just as Miss Sanchez had described, women were almost all in trousers, everyone was hatless, and everyone seemed to be in a hurry to get somewhere. A huge truck roared past, and Hazel flinched. Another car drove by with the music player inside turned to a high level, causing the air around them to pound uncomfortably until it passed. Other cars stopped in long lines at the colored electrical lights that told cars when to stop and when to proceed. To Seamus’s eyes, it was not too different from New Orleans in 1961, though the cars were more rounded and the women’s clothing more revealing. They passed a newspaper machine, and saw that the date was Wednesday, February 12, 2014.
Seamus rattled the machine’s door, testing the mechanism, until Miss Sanchez touched his hand to remind him not to act strangely. He had done the same for her, years ago, when she had come to his time. He left the machine alone, but wanted to insert coins to see how it opened.
“There, an old pay phone in front of that liquor store,” said Neil. “And it still has a phone book.”
The book was tied to the structure that supported the telephone, and Neil looked through its pages. He must have found what he was looking for, because he told Miss Sanchez which streets they needed to take to get to the pawn shop. Then he held the phone to his ear and pressed the zero. He punched in the phone number that had been on Seamus’s slip of paper and spoke to someone, presumably Julius.
The Time Corps Chronicles (Complete Series) Page 56