Tempting Fate (The Immortal Descendants)

by April White

  “Maybe longer than a bit. I don’t really see this blowing over anytime soon.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  I finished my coffee and stood to dust off my butt. “First things first, I need to get a painting from the attics. Wanna come?”

  “Are you kidding? When Olivia told me about it I was so jealous.”

  The boys stood, and Ringo slugged the last of his coffee. “Best I’ve ever ‘ad.”

  “Tell that to Annie. That was some of the most impressive charming I’ve ever seen you do.”

  “S’easier to get ‘em with honey than vinegar. Got me the cream an’ sugar too. Show us yer attics so I can get to the interrogatin’ business of our day.”

  Connor shot me a questioning look.

  “We haven’t had time for explanations, and he’s building up a list of questions for us.”

  “Ask away. I know more than Saira about most things anyway.”

  I punched him and he ducked away laughing.

  “Right then, what the heck are them big, noisy carriage-type things. They’re damn fast, and I can’t figure out how they move with no horse to pull ‘em.”

  Connor described the history of the automobile, then proceeded to answer every one of Ringo’s questions in amazing detail. He knew things about electric lights, combustion engines, solar power, and air and space flight that I’d never even heard of. I was as captivated by his information as Ringo was, and we deliberately took our time getting into the attics just to keep Connor talking.

  “And how come, when I play a video game, the little picture people can move around inside the box, doin’ everything I tell ‘em to do?”

  I held up my hand to stop Connor before he could launch into a three-hour lecture about computers. “Hold it. I need one of you guys to help me carry this painting.” I’d unearthed Doran’s landscape of St. Brigid’s and double-checked the back. Yes, the date was definitely 1554, and it seemed like the grass and trees were just starting to get green. Maybe, hopefully, it depicted Spring since Elizabeth was brought to the Tower in March of that year. In any case, I could look outside right now to get an exact picture in my head, since things were just beginning to bud.

  The frame was heavy and it took both of them to lift it out. I was able to pop the canvas out of the ornate frame so they could be carried separately. Connor wondered why I bothered to bring the frame.

  “I don’t really want to advertise why I’ve got it, so if it’s hanging on the wall as a piece of art, it’ll be less remarkable than if they stumbled across it in a closet or something.

  He considered that a moment. “Okay, I’m definitely book-smarter, but you might have me on the street-smarts.”

  “Oooh, thanks for reminding me.” I set off down the hall in search of the rooms filled with wardrobes. If we were going back to the sixteenth century we needed to dress the part. “Ringo, you too. And I need to find something for Archer that’ll fit him.”

  The guys followed me as I opened wardrobe doors and pawed through clothes.

  “What, exactly, are you looking for?”

  “Clothes that would work in 1554.”

  The astonishment on Connor’s face would have been comical except I was too focused on digging through a ridiculous number of old, stale-smelling clothes. “I think jerkins and doublets for the guys …” I looked at Ringo speculatively. “Yeah, your clothes weren’t peasant clothes in Archer’s vision. They were more like upper class servants.”

  “So I have that to look forward to, do I?”

  “You have no idea.” I whispered under my breath as I turned back toward the wardrobes.

  “What’s a jerkin?” Connor was still looking at me like I just said Star Trek was better than Star Wars.

  “It’s one of those sleeveless jacket things, probably leather, that went over the tight-fitting long-sleeved doublets.”

  “And you know this because …?”

  “Because my mother’s an artist and I practically grew up in museums.”

  “Right. What are you going to wear?”

  “They didn’t make dresses long enough for me, so I’m not sure.”

  “What about this one?” Ringo pulled a long green-skirted gown out of the wardrobe. It had a gold brocade bodice with really long bell sleeves, and a white chemise underneath. And it was long enough.

  “Crap.”

  He looked at it oddly. “What? It’s nice enough.”

  “Yeah, but that means I have to wear it, and it’s fricking hard to run in skirts.”

  At least we were in the right wardrobes. I pulled out a dark green doublet with a soft leather jerkin and held it up. “Think this’ll fit Archer?”

  Ringo nodded and Connor raised an eyebrow. “What’s he wear on the bottom?”

  “I guess hose.” I looked inside the doublet and saw loops hanging down on each side. “I think the stockings tie to the inside of the jacket to keep them up.”

  Ringo held up a pair of long woolen socks. “You mean, these?”

  “Yeah. See if you can find some extra long ones for Archer.”

  I rifled through the section I had open and finally pulled out a really soft yellow doublet with a light tan jerkin over the top. My stomach sank at the memory of Ringo’s head being forced into the cesspit by Wilder and the disgusting mess dripping down the light-colored fabric. “This is yours. But we should find you an extra one too.”

  Ringo shrugged and continued rifling through the stockings for ones that would fit both him and Archer. But Connor looked at me carefully. “Why?”

  I was a coward. I didn’t want to be the one to tell Ringo we’d seen him tortured. So I just shook my head and opened a trunk to rummage further. I held up a gorgeous pair of silk, high-heeled slippers that looked practically doll-sized. “Think they’ll fit?”

  Both guys stared down at my size ten combat boots and burst out laughing. “Hey, be nice. I’d blow over in a stiff wind if my feet weren’t so big.”

  Connor held out his hand. “Let me have them for Olivia. She’s a girl, she likes shoes, right?”

  I handed them over, and he stuffed them in his coat pockets.

  “Do ye have any coin?” Ringo had found a bag and shoved several pairs of hose into it.

  “You mean money?”

  “’Course. How’re we goin’ ta eat?”

  Right, well, there was that. “I don’t think we’re going to find sixteenth century coins among all this stuff, so we should bring things to trade then, I guess.” The thought of finding valuables from the 1500s overwhelmed me.

  “Personally, I don’t think people left a lot of jewelry and treasure up here for us to pilfer.” Connor poked around another wardrobe and quickly shut the door when a snarling wolverine stole practically leapt off a hanger at him. Okay, not really, but that’s what it looked like.

  “Pssh. Ye don’t need baubles fer food. A coupla fancy pens and pots o’ ink, an’ maybe some ribbon or fine fabric an’ yer very wealthy indeed.”

  I stared at him. “You’re a genius.”

  “Wow. That’s just awesome.” It was clear that Ringo’s stock with Connor was pretty much off the charts.

  Ringo shook his head, presumably at our narrow minds. “Ye both, with yer ‘lectric things an’ ‘vision boxes and whatnot are very far removed from what really makes a man rich.”

  He was totally right, and I looked around at all the stuff in the attic room through a different filter. “Ringo, would you go hunting for trade goods for us? Preferably things that can be stuffed into pockets and small satchels?”

  “An’ who are we stealin’ it all from?”

  That gave me a moment’s pause. Until I looked at the clothes in my hands and smelled the musty scent of stale fabric and mothballs. “No one. Whoever they were, they left them here at St. Brigid’s a long time ago.”

  “When ye leave things like that, ye’ve no more need of them.” He nodded at the heavy brocade gown he’d hung from a hook on the wall, then left the ro
om.

  “Wow. We must seem like spoiled brats to the guy.”

  “Ringo’s not like that. He just calls it as he sees it. C’mon, help me find a bag to put all these in so we can get out of here. This place smells like no one ever took a bath.”

  Ringo popped his head back around the corner of the room. “No one ever did.”

  Connor was very reluctant to leave the Clocker Tower to go to science class, but he finally had to admit that no amount of our company could make up for a telling off from his uncle, Mr. Shaw.

  I snuck down to the kitchens when everyone else was in class and there was less chance of running into Mongers. It didn’t take much convincing for Annie to pack us a huge meal once she heard it was for Ringo. Annie was in her thirties, so the way she went doe-eyed at the mention of his name was a tad unsettling.

  While I was downstairs I borrowed Ava’s iPad from our room so I could do some research on Elizabeth. As far as I could tell, the twins and Tom hadn’t come back from the Arman’s house yet. It made me a little nervous, mostly because I didn’t know where we stood with the Arman family at the moment.

  When I got back to the Clocker Tower I walked in to find Miss Simpson having tea with Ringo. It was possibly the last thing I expected, and yet looked totally normal. Ringo stood up when I came in, and Miss Simpson smiled serenely at me.

  “Ringo and I were just discussing his friend Charlotte.”

  I looked at him in surprise. I guess he wasn’t breaking a confidence by talking about Charlie’s ‘gift’ since she basically lived a century ago. He met my gaze directly. “She’s not a freak. Others can do the same things.” He looked to Miss Simpson for confirmation and she nodded.

  “I’ve known two other otherworld seers in my life.”

  “Otherworld seers? Is Charlie a Seer then?”

  Miss Simpson shook her head. “She’s not specifically of my Family’s line. However, it does take a bit of Immortal Descendancy to have the gift.”

  “She has Clocker on her mother’s side. At least that’s what Archer found out when he was putting together the genealogy.”

  “Speaking of your Family, Miss Rogers would like to see you this morning. I believe your lessons have been somewhat neglected?”

  “Yeah, sorry about that. I haven’t really been too present.”

  “No worries, dear. But now would be an appropriate time to resume them.”

  Of all the things for which now was an appropriate time, history lessons with Miss Rogers was at the bottom of my list. But arguing with the headmistress was even lower, so I smiled at them both.

  “I’ll see you soon, then.” I turned to leave the room.

  “Saira?” Miss Simpson’s voice stopped me before I could close the door.

  “Yes?”

  “Stop by Mr. Shaw’s office to make sure he has several doses of the smallpox vaccine on hand.”

  I stared at her, stunned. “Smallpox was eradicated in the nineteen seventies.”

  “Yes, but it was alive and well in the fifteen hundreds.”

  Right. Not only did Mr. Shaw have the vaccine for an extinct disease, the headmistress of St. Brigid’s school had just given us tacit permission to travel back in time.

  I didn’t quite trust myself to speak as I left the tower.

  Time Stream

  I sprinted through the halls to Miss Rogers’ cozy study. I knew I was taking a chance that a Monger kid would spot me, but everyone was in class, so I made it without incident. Miss Rogers was already waiting for me with two cups of tea poured and five dice on the table. We always played Yahtzee while we talked, which she claimed kept her brain occupied enough so she could access the buried memories. Considering the history and random bits of Clocker lore she came up with, I didn’t doubt it.

  If Miss Simpson was the grandmother I wished I’d had, Miss Rogers was like the slightly batty great-aunt. She had been the only Clocker teacher at St. Brigid’s before my Mom came to teach history. Miss Rogers was a quarter-time – a crude way of saying she was one-fourth Clocker and not actually able to time-travel herself. I loved her though, and the nuggets of wisdom she dropped were always generously given, as opposed to my stingy cousin Doran, who horded information as gleefully as Golem did his precious ring.

  I filled Miss Rogers in on the last couple of days, which sounded fairly action-packed when I relayed the events out loud. Her eyebrows raised with interest at the idea of meeting Ringo, and shot up in horror at the thought of him being tortured by Bishop Wilder in Archer’s vision.

  When our tea was gone, Miss Rogers picked up the handful of dice and began rolling.

  “So, why, exactly, are you planning to go back to 1554?”

  I stared at her. “Because there’s a crazy man with access to Elizabeth Tudor who has no business being in that time.”

  She considered me thoughtfully. “You’ve heard of the grandfather paradox?”

  I remembered Mr. Shaw had told us about it in class one day. “If a guy goes back in time and accidentally kills his grandfather before he’s had a chance to meet his grandmother and have kids, how could he exist to go back in time?”

  “Precisely.” Miss Rogers was in teacher mode, and her eyes sparkled even as her voice got all clipped and matter-of-fact. “And extrapolating on that is the idea that time is inert. That is to say, it resists anything that threatens to change its path or progress as it’s been laid out.”

  I must have looked confused because she simplified it for me. “Think of time as an actual stream. If you throw a pebble in the water, or say, for example, a Clocker goes back in time, the stream might ripple a little, perhaps even in a way such that people sense something isn’t quite right, but ultimately it will resume its charted path with only the smallest interruption. However, if you throw a big enough boulder into the water – say, someone goes back in time to kill Hitler before he could start World War II – the water in that stream is going to split around the boulder and create a second stream. The first stream will be the timeline that we know happened, where sixty million people died. But the second stream, in which the madman is gone, would contain all the lives and families and accomplishments of all the people who lived. It seems the timelines inevitably must rejoin at the moment the killer left his or her native time. What do you think would happen?”

  It was almost unthinkable. “Mass extinction.”

  She nodded. “It’s what’s been theorized.”

  “Forget Wilder, every time I go back I’m risking … that?”

  “My dear, your extended Family has been traveling since the beginning of our history. No person has ever caused that kind of time stream split, nor, I believe, would anyone ever want to. It could make for a very uncertain future to return to if one were to disrupt the past enough to cause a split. No, I believe it would take a massive historical anomaly to split time, and the inertia of time itself would seek to prevent such a disruption. Why else would there not have been time stream splits every time one of our Family went back?

  I shuddered. “Maybe we’re all just really lucky.”

  Miss Rogers spoke gently. “Or maybe everything I’ve just said was theoretical, and the fact that it hasn’t happened yet means that it can’t.” She resumed rolling. “I believe I have a Yahtzee.”

  By the time Archer joined us in the Clocker Tower that evening, Ringo and I had sorted through all the treasures we’d gathered. Archer came down from the upper tower, which meant he traveled by rooftop too. He had dressed all in black, with light wool combat-style pants and a t-shirt under a light cashmere sweater. And with his slightly longish dark hair, fair skin, and blue eyes he was basically irresistible.

  I leaned back into him as his arms circled my waist. He scanned the desk-full of odds and ends in front of us. “What did I miss?”

  I nodded over at the painted landscape leaning against the wall. “We found the scene Doran painted, picked out some clothes, and Ringo went shopping though the chests up there for things we could trade.”r />
  Archer left my side to kneel in front of the painting. “It’s St. Brigid’s.”

  “Yeah, in 1554. He dated it on the back.”

  “But it’s not London.”

  I shrugged my shoulders. “It’s only a forty minute train ride. How long could it take us?”

  “Two days. If there are no bandits. And if we have horses.”

  I stared at Archer. “Crap.”

  He raised an eyebrow with a smirk. “But since he presumably painted it for you to use, he must have a reason for us to start at St. Brigid’s.”

  I sighed at Doran’s general, irritating smugness. Why couldn’t the guy just tell me what he wanted instead of leaving clues like scurrying little cockroaches for me to step on?

  “Well, I think that’s the lot of it.” Ringo had packed a canvas messenger bag with everything we’d sorted through, and it was a strange mix of odds and ends. Velvet and silk ribbons, hairpins with little seed pearls attached, several knives, and a set of old-fashioned leather-working tools. There were old fountain pens that Ringo had removed the ink cartridges from and turned into dip pens, several bottles of ink, and some wooden paint brushes from an artist’s kit. I’d found some sewing kits and took all the buttons, needles, and thread from them, and a tablet of airmail paper, the really thin kind people used to use when letters were the main form of communication.

  “If you have any bars of soap, those would be useful.” Archer stated the obvious in a way that made me shudder at the thought of a soapless world.

  “Right. Good point. And not just to sell. Remind me to grab them from one of the bathrooms when we go to Mr. Shaw’s office.”

  “Why are we going to Shaw’s?”

  I turned to look at Archer. “Ringo and I need smallpox shots. You’re probably immune.”

  “Ahh, yes. And Mr. Shaw just happens to keep the vaccine for an eradicated disease on hand?”

  “Apparently.”

  “Why am I not surprised?”

  I loved Archer’s very dry sense of humor.

  His attention shifted back to the desk. “We’ll have to be careful trading this stuff.” Archer picked up one of the sewing needles. “This is steel and probably finer than anything the royal tailors had access to. We don’t want to be brought in for theft just because we have things like this on us.”