“Oh, like those nice men and woman who came by the house and told my mom and dad that there was no such things as dragons that breathe fire. They said that what really happened was that bad man, Mr. Long, poisoned everybody’s food and that made them so sick that they saw and heard things that were not true, right?”
Lizzy gulped, wide-eyed, and answered, “Kinda sorta.”
“But they were wrong, weren’t they, Miss Lizzy?” Maggie tried to look conspiratorial, attempting to wink but only winding up looking like she had something in her eye. “Cause when I looked in the mirror, I saw my eyes were pretty dragon eyes. Then they changed, and then they change back. The other day, my little brother, who my mom is nursing, burped and flame came out of his mouth and scorched her. You should have heard what she saaaaiiddd!”
“Miss Lizzy, what’s nursing mean?” two inquisitive wonderers wanted to know.
Lizzy’s librarian superpower kicked in and she said, “Okay! Okay! Do you want to hear this story or what?” Then, not giving the children a chance to respond, she began.
“This story began many years ago. My dad was a very young man, and he did not live in the United States. His country was called Great Britain, and his country was preparing for war.”
Hands shot up all around the room.
“Why were they preparing for war?”
“My aunt, who lives somewhere north of here, says only bad people own guns. My dad says she is one of those dad-gummed Yankees, who can’t tell her wrecked M from her pie hole.”
“Miss Lizzy, how do you wreck M&M’s, and why would she wreck just one?”
“When I leave them in my pocket, they melt, but I just turn the pocket inside out and eat ’em.”
“What’s a pie hole? Every time I ask my dad, he laughs and my mom raises her eyebrows and threatens to conk him one.”
“Ah, okay, one question at a time, Easton. To be honest”—God forgive me for lying to a child again—“I don’t know why people wreck M&M’s, and I think a pie hole is where you put a pie to cool off when it’s hot out of the oven, or gosh, I don’t know. Now, back to the first question. Why was Great Britain preparing for war?”
A little girl in the back, who had been patiently holding her hand up, blurted out, “Why do they call it Great?”
“Okay, let’s just call it England. It was England. I don’t have time to answer all your questions, so I’m just going to answer Easton’s and then tell the story. If you guys want chocolate milk and cookies at break time, you will have to be quiet and listen. Okay? So, there was a war because sometimes people get mean. They hit and kick and break things and want to take things that don’t belong to them, but when a country is mean to another country, we call it war.”
Hands shot up, and Lizzy, remembering her father’s tricks, didn’t even pause. “War happened when bad people stole you guys and wanted to hurt you. My dad, Sarah, Sarah’s grandpa, and a bunch of other good people stopped them.”
It got really quiet in the room and Lizzy was afraid she had gone too far, but her audience had seen battle with their own little eyes, and in so doing developed a strength that most children did not share.
“Go on, Miss Lizzy. We get it. Tell us about how your dad stopped bad things from hurting people.”
“Well, my dad, Mr. Hank, wrote a personal history called a diary of his adventures. I have read those stories and am going to tell them to you. Is that okay?”
“Yeah!”
“Yes, of course!”
One little boy rubbed his chin and said, “I guess so.” Then he leaned quietly into Lizzy and asked, “They’re not scary, are they?”
“Well, let’s find out. Those old diaries of my dad start out like this…
Chapter Four
Harry landed on a cobblestone street in a back alley of a very large and noisy city. He wasn’t sure how he got there, but knew he was where he was supposed to be. As he stood there, he heard the speaker sword’s voice.
“Present and accounted for, Harry. You are in London, England, Harry. You have arrived here January 30, 1933.”
The date sounded familiar to Harry. “Speaker, is there any special reason I am here on this date?”
“Of course there is, Harry; you have arrived at the beginning.”
“Okay, fine. I know you like for me to ask, so I will play. The beginning of what, Speaker?”
“World War Two, Harry. Hitler became chancellor of Germany today.”
“Good Lord! Mercy! Why am I here? How do I even know who Hitler is? I don’t even know what a world war is, much less a second world war! The last thing I remember… it’s real sketchy… but I think the last thing I remember is Sarah’s face, but even that’s strange. I keep remembering her two different ways. I see her in the cave. She’s frightened, and tears are streaming down her face. She is pulling me into—into water… it’s cold and dark, and then I wake up here. The second way I see her is a lot better. We’re dancing. She’s not frightened, but she’s sad, and she is still crying. As I start to kiss her, it turns dark and cold, and then I wake up here. Speaker, what’s going on?”
“You have been in the time streams, Harry. You have been there at least twice. So, you are probably experiencing memories from both times.”
“Hmm… well, I like the second one a lot more than the first one. But in both, I wake up here, and even now it feels only vaguely familiar. Like, I have been here before, but so long ago I can barely recall. Reminds me of a barely remembered childhood event from when I was very young.”
“Yeah, that sounds about right, Harry.”
“So, why am I here?”
“Harry, you see that store at the end of this alley? The one labeled James J. Fox?”
“Yeah, I see it. What’s it sell?”
“Cigars, Harry. It is one of the oldest and finest cigar shops in the world.”
“Nice. It’s been a long time since I smoked a cigar, but what has that to do with anything?”
“You will meet someone there. Someone who will train you and help you get where you need to be, to do what you need to do.”
“Speaker, why don’t you just tell me what’s going on, and why I am here, and quit this game? I am tired of living in the unknown and having to deal with your riddles. I am sick of it!” Harry yelled so loudly that two elderly ladies walking by the alley where he stood jumped and rushed quickly on.
“Harry, suppose I do tell you everything I know? You’d be surprised at how little that is. This is a new day, and I do not know how things will work out. I do know you’re here to fight. You have to learn how to use your gifts, and you have to stop a great evil, but because it hasn’t happened yet, I am not sure of details. And, what if I did know, Harry? What if I told you, you would suffer, be broken in heart and body, and have to overcome the greatest challenge of your life, would you leave this alley? I am not sure of that at all, so don’t read into what I said.” Forgive me, Lord. I am lying to him again. “What would you do, Harry?”
Harry frowned, shook his head slightly, and said, “I think I’ll go look for a cigar.”
He walked to the end of the alley and was immediately assaulted by the noise of a great city. Horns sounded, brakes squeaked, and paperboys shouted the day’s headlines. Everywhere he looked there was movement. The buildings appeared older than they were. Endless rows of stained and weathered shops lined the streets where double-decker buses moved like great red beasts of burden and blue uniformed bobbies kept diligent watch.
Harry looked both ways before he crossed the street and noted the cars were driving on the wrong side of the road. He blinked. I really am in England. Then he walked into the tobacco-rich scented store of James J. Fox. As the aroma touched his nose, Harry thought, There is something about the smell of rich tobacco, a sweet, robust aroma, a woody, manly fragrance. It wasn’t thick enough to see, but you could feel and smell it, ghosts of a bygone age where men gathered to be men. Harry inhaled deeply. Every hair, every fiber of his clothes, even his s
kin, reacted to the odors dancing through the room.
****
A little girl blurted out, “My mama won’t let my daddy smoke in the house. He doesn’t smoke much, only on special occasions,” she added defensively. “But she says it smells like dog sweat and old people.”
“Hmm.” Lizzy cocked her head and smiled. “Don’t you like puppies, Mary? And don’t you like your granny and papa?”
“Yeah, I do. Papa sneaks me candy when my mother isn’t around. He does smell funny, though.”
Levi shushed Mary. “Hey, I want to hear the rest of this! Cigars are okay. My dad let me smoke one once.”
Lizzy’s eyes popped wide. “He did?” she squeaked.
“Yeah, but I only took one puff,” Levi said, breathing deeply. “I did and…” He stopped short, his face reddening.
“Then what?” Mary asked, intrigued.
“I coughed my head off, and my throat burned, and I haven’t asked to smoke since!”
“Oooh,” Lizzy said, thinking, Wise papa, very clever.
“So, what happened next? Get back to the story!” the little boy with the painted cast bellowed. A raised eyebrow from Lizzy caused him to bow his head, look reprimanded, and add, “Please, ma’am?”
****
Harry stood in the store’s foyer a moment enjoying the scents forbidden in his sterile, antiseptic century and looked for a clerk. It occurred to him he had no idea what to say. Do I march up to the guy and say, “Okay, I am here! I just hopped into a cold time stream and landed here right at the start of a war,” or what?
The store manager looked up from his counter, studied Harry intently, and said, “Harry Ferguson! Right on time.”
Harry’s confusion lit his face like a neon billboard. “You have no idea, do you?” The man, dressed in a white long-sleeve shirt cuffed at his wrists and a dark apron tied around his waist, stepped from behind the counter and reached out to shake Harry’s hand. He was of medium height, squarely built, with close-cropped hair and striking yellow eyes. “Harry, my name is John Timothy. I am your contact here. It’s my job to train you, orient you, help you figure out where you are supposed to be, and then get you there.”
Harry tried to be polite. “Good to meet you, Mr. Timothy. I am a bit confused. This place looks and smells very familiar, but I really am clueless.”
“All in good time. Just call me Tim, by the way. Now you say the place looks familiar. Does anything particularly stand out to you?”
“This is a test, isn’t it?”
“Could be, but you tell me.”
Harry looked around the store, savoring the deep, rich tobacco fragrances. His eyes lit on a room-sized humidor. He looked at John Timothy and nodded toward the humidor.
“Maybe. Getting warm for sure,” John Timothy said.
Harry opened the glass door that sealed the room and walked in. Cigar and pipe scents layered the room, teasing his nose. He looked closely at the jars of pipe tobacco and the cigar boxes. His fingers instinctively touched the edge of the shelf and slid across the boxes. He came to a box of cigars labeled H. Upmann. The price of the cigar was 3£. Harry drew his fingers back like he had touched a razor. “Dang! Who smokes that?”
He wasn’t expecting an answer but John Timothy replied, “I believe you may have heard of him, a chap by the name of Winston… Winston Churchill.”
Harry looked back at John Timothy and said, “I know exactly who that is, but I don’t understand how I know who that is. I am a blank slate. I remember my childhood, growing up in Latvia. I remember my father’s home and eating my mother’s wonderful dark bread. I remember trying to rescue a princess… Her name is Sarah. Her name trips off my tongue and warms my heart. I remember…” Harry got still and shivered. He placed his hand over his chest, feeling for something that wasn’t there. “She betrayed me,” he whispered. “She really did. She turned on me in the cave and told the dragon where I was hiding. Then, after I rode the dragon into the ground, she stabbed me!” Harry stood still, gazing, but not seeing the humidor walls. He squinted, trying to pull memories out of a thick fog, and kept talking. “She didn’t want to, and as soon as the sword entered my chest, she screamed and shook her head. It’s like she suddenly changed and placed her hands on the wound trying to stop the blood; then she pulled me into a really cold stream.” Harry stood a minute longer, staring into the past, then shuddered, looking back at his new friend. “And that is all I remember. What is going on, Tim?” he pleaded. “Why am I here?”
John Timothy put his hand on Harry’s shoulder and said, “It’s going to be okay, Harry. It really will be. Now come with me. I want to show you something that I know you’re going to like.”
John Timothy walked to the front of the store, flipped the Closed sign around, and locked the front door. He walked back into the humidor and looked at Harry. “There is a secret door in here. Where is it?”
Harry was about to complain, but the look on John Timothy’s face stopped him. “I’m supposed to know this.” Harry’s voice fell away as he studied the cigars along the shelves of the humidor.
John Timothy didn’t say a thing; he just watched.
“Okay,” Harry said as he bent down. Slowly he slid across the floor on his knees, scrutinizing every detail of the cigars and tobacco jars. He passed by one, then stopped, came back to it, and read the label: Dragon’s Breath Cigars. Harry clamped his lips together, suppressing a grin, and said, “Oh yeah! That has to be…” Then he carefully pulled the cigar case away from the shelf. The wall vibrated and slowly receded back into a passage. He looked up at the store clerk and smiled. “I remembered.”
A hall, lit by yellow frosted light bulbs spaced every thirty feet, stood in front of him. John Timothy said, “Welcome home, Harry. Now, if you will follow me, I have things to show you and there are some people you need to meet.”
The tunnel went on for several hundred yards. Occasionally, a sealed door would line it. Harry wondered where it would end. They finally came to a door at the end of the tunnel guarded by two soldiers. The guards looked from John Timothy to Harry and then nodded. One guard turned and opened the door for them. As they walked in, Harry bent close to John Timothy’s ear and asked, “Why didn’t they check us for identification or ask for a password?”
Timothy smirked and looked back at Harry. “They knew our scent. Our guards are a bit different. Had we been an enemy, we would not have been able to enter the tunnel. We passed several guards along the way that you didn’t even notice. But that’s why you’re here: to retrain and regroup and remember.”
“Retrain?”
“Time streams are funny like that. The memories usually come back to you.”
“Usually?” Harry frowned.
They entered a large room full of people bent over desks and talking on phones. Numerous doors circumferenced the main room and led into other tunnels. Harry saw several uniformed people, including women who wore pants. His fingers touched his lips as his mouth gaped and he stared. He looked back at John Timothy, a question in his eyes.
“There are many people here who… shall we say, aren’t from here. I guess that would be the best way of putting it. They pass through quickly, and if they do not engage with the local people upstairs, nobody says anything.”
A part of Harry knew it was fine for women to wear britches, but another part of him would have to get used to the idea. John Timothy walked on and finally stopped before a figure Harry recognized immediately. “Harry Ferguson, I would like you to meet Winston Churchill, acting Director of the Hunters.”
Churchill turned toward Harry and stared. Neither man spoke for a few seconds, and then Churchill said, “So, you are the one responsible for all this, aye?”
Harry was confused, and his furrowed brow showed it. “Excuse me, sir?”
“You started the hunters. Did you not?”
John Timothy answered for Harry, “Yes, he did, sir, but that was a different time stream and Harry has just come through to this situat
ion only within the last hour.”
“Well, well! Then I suppose you’re a bit gob-smacked, aren’t you?”
Harry heard the words but had no idea what Churchill meant. A weak smile flittered across his face but couldn’t find a perch and moved on quickly.
Churchill laughed, bit down on his ever-present cigar, and said, “We owe you much. I admit I’m a bit confused myself. Just a few months ago, I was adjusting to a run at retirement and dabbing around with paint when a young man knocks on my door and well… things changed dramatically. Apparently, I am going to be a jammy dodger in a few years, and he wondered if I wouldn’t mind taking charge of this Quango. He showed me some things that convinced me he had not lost his plot and now we are tickety-boo!”
Harry’s eyes widened. He tried to hide his confusion, but Churchill, wise to him, was deliberately teasing him.
“Harry Ferguson—that’s a good British name. It’s a shame you do not understand the Queen’s vernacular. Fine, I will cease with the gobbledygook and speak in a medium you may understand.”
Harry laughed and said, “That’s fine, sir. It is obvious you are the butter and egg man, and I don’t mind bumping gums with you till we sort this fubar out.”
A typical bad-toothed British grin spread across Churchill’s face. “I’m going to like you, friend. Good to meet you. Now get going. From what I have heard, you have quite the adventure ahead of you. God’s speed, Harry.” Churchill slapped him on the back and nodded to John Timothy.
“You too, Sir Winston,” Harry said.
“Sir Winston, is it?”
Harry glanced back and smiled as he walked on with John Timothy.
“He is quite the charmer, never meets a stranger, but also prone to bouts of melancholy. A great leader, but not so much a manager,” John Timothy apprised.
“So, why is he here now?” Harry asked.
“There are… there were… will be? Not sure the correct tense when referring to a series of events that have not yet happened but are remembered as a past event. Anyway, there are certain pivotal events, which more than any others determined the outcome of World War Two. Some of those are known to us… others not so much. We are coming up on such an event. Sir Winston’s ability to inspire is legendary. And we are about to need all the legends and inspiration we can gather if we are going to get through this first event. Hitler is about to order the assassination of his German rivals and clinch his control of Nazi Germany.”
The Harry Ferguson Chronicles Box Set Page 26