He shook his head. “The part that my parents either failed to consider or chose to ignore is just how long my mother will outlive my father. In Earth time, he will be an old man in the late 1900s and early 2000s, whereas my mother will not be an old woman until the mid to late 6000s.”
“So, then it all depends on where you are born?”
“Yes. Where is much more important than when.”
I frowned. My blossoming fake relationship with Valcas felt that much more impossible. Even if he and I could be together, we’d be in the same situation as Sable and Jim. He would outlive me for thousands of years because my timeline was so much shorter.
“How old was Enta when she became your governess?” I asked, trying to move on to something less depressing.
“I remember her forty-second birthday from when I was a child. But remember, that would be in years according to her birth-world, which is about seventeen times farther into the future than my world is to Earth.”
“But, then—”
I felt a rising panic, a sudden pressure in my chest and in my head. I had no idea how old Enta was in the present, but I had a better idea of why Enta didn’t look anywhere near as old as Edgar. I hadn’t considered that part of my travels had been to the future. I’d always thought I was going to a different place in another’s past or present, not realizing that even though right now I was in Valcas’ past, I was actually far beyond my Earthly future.
Valcas smoothed out a couple of curls near my forehead. “I really didn’t think you’d be quite so squeamish about this subject. Maybe we should head back to the hallway and find some refreshments.”
“Okay. But, Valcas, how do you keep track? How does any regular traveler keep track of the years?”
Valcas frowned. “Unfortunately, many get lost.”
THROUGH THE rotating lens appeared a close-up shot of a left hand opening a book on a table. My skin prickled. I’d retired to my room for the evening, but I did not feel alone. The hand through the zobascope slowly turned over pages in the book. Each page was blank, unwritten, disappointing. I felt the urge to sigh, but the sound got caught somewhere in my throat.
An alluring female voice rang out, “Good evening, Valcas. I’m delighted you’ve come to visit.”
My heart jumped. Where was the girl, the owner of the voice? Was she someone Valcas had fallen in love with?
The book shut and then reopened.
The female voice called out again, repeating her greeting with no more urgency than before. “Good evening, Valcas. I’m delighted you’ve come to visit.”
I looked up toward a shelf that was filled with books from end to end, except for the gaping hole where the book on the table would later be returned. A flash of anger tightened my jaw, clenched my teeth. I felt betrayed, but I had no idea why. There was no one there.
The bookshelf drew closer as the recorder of the scene stood from where he had been sitting at the table and walked forward. The hand that had been turning the pages of the book reached out. It was the hand of a young man, a strong and well-formed hand, but not the hand of an adult. I felt a brief touch of tenderness before betrayal set in again, this time spiked with a fury that made no sense to me. The feeling prickled skin, tightened muscle and etched bone.
“What is that instrument that you brought with you today?” The female voice did not sound suspicious or upset. She was as calm as a summer breeze, steady and soothing as if she were reciting lines from her favorite play.
“I borrowed this instrument, a zobascope. Although I’m not sure why I’m bothering to tell you what it is or why I have it. It’s not like you’ll remember. My governess lent it to me for a research project, not that you would understand what that is either.”
“Oh, how nice. I’m ready for our date.”
“Your responses don’t even make sense, Juna. How can it be a date if we never leave the library?”
“I like it here, don’t you? It feels very safe here with all of our friends.”
“They’re not friends. They’re not real and neither are you.”
“Well, of course I am. You can see me, can’t you?”
“No.”
“Oh, come now. Of course you can. I’m right here in front of you.” Enticing laughter followed, calming and sure, as if she and Valcas had been playing a game of hide and seek.
“I can see you when I pull the zobascope away, but through it, I can only see the truth. You—” I could both hear and feel Valcas’ anger and impatience rising. “You,” he repeated, “are not truth. You are not real.”
The shelves receded, drawing farther away until Valcas turned his back on them. I caught another glimpse of the table before the book slammed shut. Without turning around, Valcas pulled the book out of view of the zobascope. I could feel myself wanting to throw the book, to destroy it. I felt another flash of anger. The book jetted across the room and landed open on the floor.
“Good evening, Valcas. I’m delighted you’ve come to visit.”
I gasped as the recording abruptly ended.
Viewing the scene through the zobascope was haunting, even more so given how clearly I’d felt the emotions from the point of view of the recorder, of Valcas. I played and replayed the scene in my head that night. I questioned what else I had to gain by staying at the white tower. Was there anything left to find, or was I just looking for excuses to be near him and snoop into his past?
At some point his parents would return to the white tower. I was not part of his life here—I knew it and so would Sable and Jim. Valcas’ entire memory of me was a lie. The daily reminder, the writing on the photo of us on the Estrel-Flyer, was a lie. Just like the autographed locket Shirlyn gave Romaso was a lie. She’d never been a part of his past either. She hadn’t even lived during his lifetime. I finally understood why inserting these lies, these daily reminders, into others’ past lives was against TSTA rules. It wasn’t fair. Not at all.
I had to destroy the photo, to erase his memory of me.
I FELT the pressure of what I needed to do over the next few days. One morning Valcas brought the photo of us with him to brunch. There was more writing on the back of the photograph, more observations about me that he’d made on his own.
“Your eyes are a lighter green than in the photograph,” he said. “Why is that?”
I opened my mouth to answer, but nothing came out.
The next morning he asked me how we first met. These questions came up again and again because I didn’t have the type of answers that I felt I could give him—fair answers, real answers. I did my best to change the subject, to avoid his questions during the day, but they stayed with me long afterward, following me back to my room, keeping me awake at night.
“Calla, please. Why can’t I remember when we first met? I can’t recall anything about when or where it was.”
Each time I refused to answer, he would look away; his dark lashes cast downward, the corners of his mouth pressed into a frown. I longed to end his frustration so much that it made me want to scream. I could blame whichever version of Valcas I liked, but this could never be his fault.
I’d become a Juna to him.
I TURNED the zobascope to watch what was inside one last time. I looked forward to the sensation of seeing the recorded world through Valcas’ point of view again, but this time it didn’t feel like him.
A gauzy green curtain occasionally blocked the view. I wondered whether the recorder was eavesdropping. In bits and pieces, I saw a drawing room that was dimly lit by candelabras. Four majestic chairs surrounded a high-mantled fireplace. Enta and Edgar were there with Jim and Sable. Edgar was defending his position as to why he didn’t want to give Valcas the pair of visors he’d altered, the travel glasses.
“I agree that this method is a much more convenient way to travel, but it is also very dangerous. Please understand me, Sable, when I say that I worry not so much about my nephew’s motives in using the glasses as I do about the possible physical and psychological
effects they will have on him.”
Sable icily looked through Edgar.
Edgar interpreted her silence as permission to continue. “It is my theory that the travel glasses will somehow alter the appearance of the wearer’s eyes.”
“I have to agree with Edgar, Madame Hall,” Enta intervened, as Edgar buckled under Sable’s unceasing stare. “A great deal of the focus would be placed on the face, the wearer’s eyes in particular, which is altogether different from and more concentrated than the normal exposure to licensed TSTA vehicles.”
Jim loudly cleared his throat. “Hrm, well, my son hasn’t been quite right since the rejection of Lucinda Pell, now has he?” With a gravelly emphasis on each syllable of the girl’s name, Jim tapped his walking stick on the stone floor that crept out from beneath the center carpeting of patched fur.
A twinge of jealousy stirred within me. Who was Lucinda Pell? Was she real or was she like Juna? I focused more intently as I turned the zobascope.
Jim looked around the room with a squint in one eye, challenging whether anyone had an opinion on the question he’d presented. Hearing nothing, Jim asked Edgar a pointed question. “Is it true that you believe that instead of using this more convenient method of travel for useful occupation, my son would be more interested in obtaining vengeance and power?”
Enta piped up again in Edgar’s defense. “I’ve always taught Master Valcas to stand up for himself, Mr. Hall.”
Sable beamed at Enta. “I’m so glad you’ve joined us for this discussion. I miss having you here. If only you had been here when Miss Pell laughed at Valcas after he revealed to her the secret of the holo-brary. I saw it with my own eyes. She was atrocious.”
Jim breathed deeply. “We of course thought we were doing him a service with those books.” His eyes were grave and sincere. “We often felt guilt at leaving him for such long periods of time. They were very expensive too.”
Enta, in a soothing voice, came to everyone’s defense. “Once Valcas learned that they were not real people, the way children on the Halls’ Earth figure out that there is no Santa Claus or Easter Bunny, he was devastated.” She smiled sadly. “I suspect that he knew that they were not real a long time before he admitted it to any of us.”
Jim sighed. “We never expected him to get so attached, so lost in them.”
Enta nodded. “The way he would go on with those characters. Once I even caught him trying to find a book with my name on it, to see if he could close it and send me away. I suppose I’d punished him a bit too sternly that day.”
“So, you see, Edgar,” Sable cut in, “Miss Pell deeply hurt him when she insulted all that was his childhood. Afterward, he dismissed Lucinda and went on a rampage to destroy the books. It’s a shame. The Pells are a fascinating and very wealthy family. The books are irreplaceable.”
At this, Jim turned to Edgar. “And so is our son. The last we saw him, he’d taken one of the Estrel-Flyers. What he said before he left still concerns me. He said not to worry about any arrangement with the Pells. He would provide his own fortune and find his own wife. I am guessing that one of the places he’s visited since then was your home, Edgar.”
Edgar straightened himself in his chair, his hands now tight fists at the ends of the armrests. “I don’t care how upset Valcas is right now or how innocent you would believe his intentions to be. Such a dangerous device given to him under these circumstances presents a more serious situation than I’d realized. I am more than relieved that he is not in possession of such a device.”
“So, then, you never altered the glasses?” Enta looked up, hopeful.
“Unfortunately, I did. But then I thought better of it afterward. I gave Valcas an unaltered pair of sunglasses that were identical in color, size and shape. The other pair is still in my workshop.”
The image went blank, as if someone had covered the lens with a hand or dark cloth. I could hear the hiss of sound still being recorded. An articulate voice audibly whispered, “This zobascope is the predecessor to Edgar’s travel glasses.”
I clutched the zobascope more tightly in hopes of hearing more. The voice was from someone who had been present at the recorded meeting, a person who remembered what had happened there and who had returned with the intention of recording this very scene. Enta.
Enta continued her whispered message. “Edgar later revealed to me that he built his set of travel glasses with the same capacity to record, but I have never been able to figure out how he did it or how it worked. The most that I’ve been able to understand from what he would agree to tell me was that the only persons able to view the recordings are the recorder himself or someone very close to the recorder, someone in tune with the feelings and perspective of the recorder. This requires a very strong connection. In Edgar’s last days I pressed him more on the topic, but his health failed before I could find out anything more. I’m so very, very sorry, Calla.”
I TURNED on the lights in my guest suite and ran to my backpack. The chime of a nearby grandfather clock signaled midday.
“No way,” I complained to the clock. “I must have been up all night! By now Valcas will have already found and read his daily reminder of our engagement.”
Worried that someone would soon be looking for me, I pulled the travel glasses out of my backpack. They sat in my hands, made of a shiny dark plastic, looking ordinary and unassuming, everything they were not. I’d lost track of how many days it had been since I last used them. The longer I had them, though, the more ways I found that they could be used. I’d learned how to travel and communicate with them. Enta’s message revealed another way to search with the glasses, but I wasn’t sure how to begin.
I’ve had these with me the entire time. What could be recorded inside? Were they Valcas’ recordings or Edgar’s? Why didn’t Edgar tell me about this feature? Wouldn’t that have been important? Did I have to travel back into his past again to get the answers I needed?
My eyes burned and my head ached. I was tired of looking for answers and burned out from lack of sleep. Everything I’d found just led to more questions. Sure, Valcas had his issues, but nothing explained why he’d been searching for me at the dock. I threw myself back onto the bed.
“I can’t do this anymore!”
My scream melted into my pillow along with a flood of tears.
THAT AFTERNOON did not pass without a visit from Valcas. One of his servants found me still in bed. I turned her away, promising that I would meet Valcas in the hallway a few hours later, after I pulled myself together.
He greeted me in the hallway with a broad smile and open arms. We went through our usual motions of getting reacquainted. Everywhere inside of the tower had grown colder, including the hallway and the rooms that opened into the sea, the lake and the vineyard. Valcas suggested that we warm up near the fireplace in his favorite den. The room reminded me of a ski lodge with its overstuffed sofas and chairs, heavy knit blankets and fur rugs. An octagonal window hung above the mantelpiece. Through the window I could see soft white snowflakes falling against a dark sky.
I sat down on the floor near the warmth of the fireplace and looked up at the falling snow. “Does that window face the outside of the tower or outside of wherever this room is?”
Valcas placed a tray with two mugs filled with hot chocolate next to me and sat down. “It never snows outside of the tower. My mother designed the weather inside the tower to replicate the seasons of Earth. She grew attached to many things that she saw and experienced when she visited my father’s world.”
I sipped from a mug of hot chocolate and took a long look at Valcas. Our relationship was very superficial, but sometimes it felt like we were connected. There were times when I felt as if I really understood him, even though we’d grown up in very different worlds with very different backgrounds. I’d felt the most connected to him while viewing the scenes recorded in the zobascope when he was the recorder. I could see and hear everything that was recorded from Enta’s point of view, but when Valcas
was recording, I felt what was happening. I felt his emotions as if they were my own. I wanted to know why.
“How much do you know about zobascopes?” I asked.
“I have firsthand knowledge of what my governess taught me and encouraged me to explore for myself. A zobascope is a very powerful tool that can record sight and sound. Have you used one?”
“Yes,” I replied patiently, knowing that he had no memory of the day when he explained what the tiny telescope was and what it could do. “But, what else does it record? I’ve noticed some things that confuse me.”
Valcas eyed me suspiciously. “As have I. What have you noticed?”
I shrugged and reached for his hand, trying to break the tension. “Well, for one thing, I’ve learned that the zobascope doesn’t record something that’s not there, something that’s not real.”
Valcas nodded and cleared his throat. “I’ve had the same result in my own experiments. Additional written research confirmed that the zobascope only records the truth.” His green eyes searched mine. He didn’t look suspicious anymore, just thoughtful. “What else have you noticed?”
“Well, when I watch scenes recorded by others, sometimes everything feels flat, like I’m watching a movie. But, there is a certain person whose recordings appear so much more lifelike. In those recordings I can actually feel the emotions of the recorder. Have you ever noticed that?”
“No.” He looked at me strangely. “However, I’ve heard of that effect happening where the recorder and the viewer have a deep bond. A deeper relationship makes it easier for the viewer to feel the recorder’s feelings as his or her own. But, Calla, as far as I know, that has only happened to couples who are in love. Were you in love with someone before you met me?” His face was a mixture of anxiety and jealousy. “Are you still in love with that person?”
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