“This place is safe?”
“For now.”
“Then tell me everything,” she said.
“You first. How did you know about my brother?”
He led her along a narrow path, like a deer path, overgrown in places and invisible in others, and as they walked, she told him everything about the dreams. In return, he told her that there were many worlds, and that she had known a man who made a machine that allowed people to traverse the worlds. This man was her husband. But they were from different worlds originally, so when the worlds were again sealed off from one another, they were separated.
“They couldn’t have known you were pregnant, or they’d have removed the child.”
Fear seized her. “They won’t remove it now, will they?”
“No. It’s too late now.”
“And who are the ‘they’ you talk about? Who did this?”
“My brother and some that helped him. It was agreed upon by the various higher-ups.” He waved his hand as if indicating the air itself.
“And the dreams?”
“Now that’s where it gets interesting. Because from what you say, it sounds like someone on my side is interfering.” He said it with a delighted smile, like a little boy. “I don’t think that was supposed to happen.”
“Someone is giving us the dreams?”
“Looks like it. Usually it’s a little more subtle, or a one-time thing. But hey, it’s not my job, so who am I to judge how it’s done?”
“Who?”
“I’m not sure, but I have my suspicions. No one you would know. Just tell me what else you dream about, and we’ll see if it’s any use to us.”
They arrived at a small cabin in a clearing, its roof coated in moss. Janeiro opened the door and let her inside.
“It has plumbing and electricity. We’re in your future. We can stay here awhile.”
“I have a life back home. Family. Friends. Work.”
“You can go back now and then. Visit people for short periods. You can schedule doctor visits. You won’t be stranded. I can see how you might be worried about being stuck far from home. But you can get back, I promise.”
“Tell me about the Twelve,” she said.
He took a seat and clomped his boots up onto the coffee table. “Do you know in a war, there are more than two sides, right? It’s always like that. In this war, there are those who are good, those who are evil, and those who are neutral.”
“And you claim to be good.”
“In an objective sense, yes. I follow the dictates of a moral code that claims superiority over the alternative. I have three siblings who do the same. Julius, September and May, who now goes by Red Fawn. Then there are four who are more situationally ethical. They don’t choose sides, but we can work with them from time to time. June Yee, November and Augustus are three of those. And then there are the other four, those who operate by a different code entirely. They think themselves free of rules and orders, but they’re not. My brother March is the pale man you remember.
“Each side has one member who can open and close rips. There’s me, March and November. November is neutral, more or less, but he also has another function. But between you and me, neutrality in a war is the same as helping the enemy. My better siblings and I disagree on that point, however. But we’re watchers, guards, observers, depending on what’s needed.”
“And your higher-ups?”
“The Seven, the Five, the Three, the One, though it’s debated whether the last two are the same thing. There are many others. So many. Multitudes. ‘We are legion’ as the saying goes.”
After a while, Janeiro said it would be safe for her to return to her apartment to pick up her things. She left a note for Doug, called her mother and called work to tell them she wasn’t going to come in the next day. Then she told Janeiro how she needed to get medical leave from work, keep up to date on her bills and keep her life as normal as possible.
“Once the baby is born, I want to go back to a normal life.”
“We’ll do our best. I’ve called some of my siblings to talk about the situation. We’ll figure out how to keep you both safe.”
He took her back to the cabin, and in the silence of the forest, relief engulfed her. For the first time since she saw the lines on her pregnancy test and the earthquakes started, she felt like things might just turn out all right.
Chapter 24
In the brig, deep in the damp hold of the cargo ship that was serving double duty as prisoner transport, Seamus passed the time. He whistled old tunes, tried to figure out a way to escape and played endless games of solitaire with an old deck of cards that was missing the queen of diamonds and the four of clubs.
“Play a hand with me,” said Seamus.
“You count cards,” said Oren.
“I won’t this time.”
“Yes you will. You can’t stop yourself.”
Seamus shuffled the cards and laid out another round of solitaire while Oren returned to his thoughts. Throughout the voyage, his friend had remained completely silent for hours, only speaking to discuss ideas about the time rips and possible mathematical possibilities, to whisper an idea in Gaelic on a plan for escape once they reached land or to mutter profanities about the English. He had revealed to Seamus his part in the Irish Republican Army in the twentieth century. Now, faced with punishment for his murder of an Englishman in this world, the embers of Oren’s hatred had burst into full flame.
“Do you hear that?” asked Oren when the guard brought in their evening rations.
Oren was speaking in English, which meant he wanted the guard to understand. They were headed to an Irish prison and would be docking in Clonakilty in Southern Ireland first to unload the two of them. Then the ship would sail on to Bristol, England, with its cargo. The crew was made up of Englishmen, which meant Seamus always feared that Oren would lose his tongue and say something unfortunate.
“Do you mean the terrible sound the engine is making?” said Seamus, catching on.
“Yes,” said Oren. “It’s been running hot ever since we got on, and it’s only getting worse.”
“I know just what it needs,” said Seamus. He and Oren went through a few quick ideas, acting as if they didn’t notice the guard pausing to listen.
“Of course, I’d have to look at it,” said Oren. “We fixed things like that in our sleep, didn’t we, Seamus?”
“That we did. That we did.”
The guard left and Oren sighed. “I know they have our records up there. They know we were good with machines. We had enough patents between the two of us to impress anyone.”
On the second day, the steam engine sounded worse, and Seamus noted that the crew slowed it periodically to allow it to cool. On the third day, they shut down the engine for two hours, ran it for two, then shut it down again for two. On the fourth day, when they ran it at all, they ran it low, which meant traveling at only half speed. And on the fifth day, Oren sat in his bunk facing the door, his arms crossed, waiting.
The ship’s engineer came in, frustrated and pink-faced, the cell key in hand.
“Only one of you,” was all he said. “And if you try anything, I’ll shoot you dead where you stand.”
“Of course,” said Oren, standing. Seamus didn’t try to take his place. Oren had gotten them out of prison once, and though Seamus might be a cheat at cards and a skilled liar, they both knew that Oren possessed the more cunning mind.
Seamus listened to the engine as it shut off. Oren worked for more than three hours and returned just before supper. The engineer locked him back in his cell, his manner more relaxed but far from pleased. It couldn’t be flattering to ask the prisoners for help. Seamus would be surprised if he kept his job at all once the voyage was over.
Late that night, Seamus
heard Oren whisper his name.
“I’m awake,” he whispered back.
“We’re a few days from shore,” Oren whispered in Gaelic. “I learned that when I was up there. They’ll need me again tomorrow. I made certain of it.”
“Sabotage?”
“Just a little. But I have more in store. There are three engines, a primary and two secondary. Things will happen.”
“What?”
“Let’s see first if my little plan worked. I loosened two of the nuts on a critical portion of the engine. The attached parts will be clattering by noon tomorrow.”
Sure enough, by lunchtime the engine was shut down once more, and once again, Oren was summoned from their cell. When he returned, a guard was in the room, and Seamus only looked up from his solitaire game with feigned mild interest.
“Soon,” muttered Oren in Gaelic under his breath when he returned.
When the engine exploded, Seamus grabbed the edge of his bunk. The guard tore out of the room to see what had happened, and Seamus turned to Oren, who reached into his left sock.
“What did you do?” asked Seamus.
“I can rig an explosive, Seamus. It’s not the first time.”
“But an explosion like that—people will have died.”
“Most likely. But it’s kill or be killed, my brother.”
He held up a key. “The engineer is not experienced in working in close quarters with a pickpocket.”
“I didn’t know you could do that.”
Oren reached through the bars and fit the key into the lock. “Didn’t know I was born in 1927 either, did you?”
They ran up the stairs, and when Seamus lurched to a halt and pressed his back against the wall to avoid a passing crew member, Oren fell in beside him. Their guard chose that moment to return, and Oren didn’t make a sound as he struck the man. Seamus slammed him against the wall while Oren took his revolver. Oren then knocked his feet out from under him, grabbed his head and slammed it against the steps again and again until the man quit struggling.
“Christ, Oren,” said Seamus, louder than he ought to. The suddenness and savagery of it chilled him. They dragged the man to the cell, and Oren hauled him onto the bunk and threw a blanket over him, then closed the cell door. The man was still breathing.
“Let’s go.”
Seamus wanted to leap into the first lifeboat they found, but Oren pointed to another one at the end of the row.
“That one. But first, we untie these.”
The second engine exploded then, and they ducked behind some tied-down crates to avoid detection as frantic crew members raced past. Oren gave Seamus a wink. At the other end of the ship, men screamed for the ship’s physician, and black smoke poured into the sky. They were in the middle of the sea with no land in sight. There was no water or food on the rescue boats, and he and Oren were about to leave the only safe place there was.
“Help me lower them all,” said Oren, and the two of them untied all but one of the rescue boats. There were only five in total, and Oren put bullet holes in the bottoms of four of them, aiming carefully to do the most damage to each.
They hid again as two men came by, and Seamus heard them discussing a great hole in the ship’s hull. Seamus glanced at Oren who had the look of a very satisfied cat. Once the men were out of sight, Oren sprang up and leapt into the rescue boat, unfastening the tie while Seamus climbed in. Oren lowered them down. When the boat reached the water and Oren unfastened the last rope, Seamus put the oars in the sculls and started rowing. The sun was setting, and if anyone looked into the water, there would be no cover of darkness to hide them.
A third explosion rocked the ship.
“It’ll sink, if I’m half the saboteur I hope I am,” said Oren. “And all those stinking English whores’ sons will be food for the creatures of the deep.”
“They were just doing their jobs.”
“Yes, doing their jobs hauling Irish prisoners. They ought to leave us to our own countrymen.”
Seamus kept rowing as hard as he could, unwilling to waste any effort in arguing with Oren. They were free, and if they could reach land alive, they just might remain so.
“We’re only a few miles from shore, I think,” said Oren, but Seamus knew he wasn’t certain.
The smoke from the ship was thicker now, and if he looked closely, he thought he saw the ship listing to starboard. Men were gathering at the railing, pointing at the rescue boats now all either sunk or barely afloat.
The men spotted the two of them, and one of the men ran off and then returned to raise a rifle.
“Down!” yelled Oren, and Seamus flattened himself on the bottom of the boat, Oren lying on top of him.
The man missed, and as the man reloaded his rifle, Seamus again took to rowing, pulling as hard as he could until his arms and back felt like they were on fire.
Oren aimed for the man who held the rifle. He fired and missed, then cursed.
“They’re too far away,” he said.
They were farther out now, but the man with the rifle took another shot. He missed, and Oren offered to take the oars. He was older than Seamus, but still a vigorous man, and Seamus was wearing out.
The man with the rifle fired again, and the moment Seamus heard the crack, Oren jerked and dropped the oars. A red blotch appeared and spread on his stomach, and Oren put his hand to it, swearing an oath of anger more than of pain.
“You have to row,” said Oren. “Help me move.”
Seamus helped him from his seat, easing his friend to the bottom of the boat where he could lie mostly concealed. He took the oars again. The ship was listing hard to starboard now.
“It’ll take hours,” said Oren.
“It looks partly sunk already.”
“I meant for me to die.”
“You’re not going to die. We’re going to get to shore. We get to land and find you a doctor.”
Oren nodded slowly, like a drowsy man trying to stay awake. A few minutes later, he said he was cold, and Seamus spread his jacket over him, the same one he was wearing when he was arrested at the cathedral. It was dirty and smelly, but he was glad to have it to offer. It didn’t seem to help. Oren tried to put pressure on the wound on the front of his body, and Seamus wadded up Oren’s jacket so he could lie on it, putting pressure on the exit wound, but still Oren shivered as the bottom of the boat grew dark with his blood.
“The doorway, the cloister, is in Fintona, south of Omagh. That’s where the air shimmered that day. The sisters were kind to me. They fed me and gave me a bit of money for a room in town.”
Seamus knew the place. He knew it well. He had grown up close by.
The cargo ship was invisible now, and the column of thick black smoke had dissipated into the sky. Whether that meant they were too far to see it or it had sunk, Seamus could not know.
Once the stars appeared, he found the North Star and adjusted course a little, singing an old rowing song he had learned from a friend of his brothers, long ago in Ireland.
“Tell me about your home,” said Seamus. “Tell me about the machines.”
Oren tried. He must have known what Seamus was doing, attempting to keep him conscious, and he told him of radios and telephones and electric lighting. He spoke also of machine guns and bomber planes, tanks and atomic bombs that could destroy an entire city.
Seamus rowed until he was forced to stop. His arms felt like those of a rubber doll, and he knelt beside Oren, pulling back his shirt to examine the wound, a shredded, bloody mass of torn flesh. He was no doctor, but he knew it was bad. They were still nowhere near land, and Oren had lost so much blood.
“You’ll be all right,” said Oren.
“I’m not worried about myself.”
“If I had to die, I’m glad it was by
your side. You’ve been a good friend to me, Seamus.”
“Don’t talk like that.”
“Promise me something.”
“Anything.”
“Don’t bury me. Don’t waste the time. You are on the run, and you won’t have me to look after you. Put me in the water. Then take the revolver, get to shore and run home. There’s a good boy.” He let out a long breath. “Now, say a prayer for me.”
Seamus began the Ave, but Oren stopped him with a lifted hand. “No, one of mine. Like this.”
He said a prayer to Epona, asking for a peaceful death and a walk at her side to the land beyond. Seamus repeated it, not caring if it was blasphemous or if God would count the pagan prayer as a grave sin. He made Oren as comfortable as he could and took the oars again.
He knelt by Oren’s side when the dawn sky lightened and then burned yellow and the life left his friend. And not knowing what else to say, he said the prayer to Epona once more as he knelt and lifted Oren’s body.
He was unwieldy, heavy and covered in blood. Seamus was ashamed to give his friend such a burial, but he would not break his promise. Oren was, if anything, a practical man, even to the point of brutality. He would waste no sentiment on the manner of his burial.
As he pushed his friend overboard, sea water splashed Seamus’s face, stinging his eyes and getting in his mouth. The cold sea wind blew, and he watched as Oren’s white face vanished beneath the greenish water that clouded dark with the blood from his body and clothing.
He took the oars again, breathing the little prayer under his breath as he wept and rowed.
Chapter 25
Neil Grey and his brother golems sat in March’s living room, listening as their creator explained things to them. There was a conflict, there were those who would restrict free choice, and the golems were soldiers who would fight to give the human race their freedom.
There were six golems, seven including Neil, and they spanned the human spectrum in skin tone and ethnicity. Neil thought it made perfect sense, as each of them could remain invisible to strangers in various countries and time periods. Each of them was as forgettable and unremarkable in appearance as he was.
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