Jump City: Apprentice

by MK Alexander

  “It’s already lost,” Raj said bitterly and stood in silence, brooding it seemed to me. “Though I’ve heard tell of a British invasion to this very country, the United States.”

  “When was this?”

  “Some thirty years from now.”

  “Oh, that… More of a cultural thing.” I smiled. “A question for you, Mr Ashoka.”

  “Of course.”

  “Actually, I’m wondering about your jacket. It’s very nice.”

  “Thank you.”

  “But not from this time period?”

  Raj glared at me and stood wavering. Finally he gave a small bow. “I can see you are not a man to be trifled with. Yes, I do in fact hail from the nineteen sixties.”

  “Then you should already know that India gained its independence.”

  “Perhaps I am here to hurry things along.”

  “Oh?”

  “It’s a matter of international recognition… and for that I must rely on your president. Only this will remove the British from my country.”

  Fynn had overheard this strange conversation. I noticed him leaning against the balustrade.

  “Something is not right with that guy,” I said.

  “Yes, I wonder where he is from, truly…”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Despite what he claims, Raj may be from quite far in the future.”

  “And?”

  “Well, being a white man in such a place is sometimes difficult.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Most times, we are hunted down and killed.”

  “What?”

  “Let’s just say you or I would be very much in the minority and there are those who remember the past.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The white man certainly had his day… but for many brutal centuries, he was not kind to his darker brothers. Some people have long memories.”

  ***

  Carlos came over and refilled my glass, then put his hand on my shoulder and led me across the salon.

  “I am traveling in the morning… would you like to join me?”

  “Oh, well thanks for the invite and all… I have a couple of things to do here.”

  “Here at the library?”

  “No, the depression.”

  “I see. You are an economist?”

  “Not exactly.” I laughed. “Where are you heading tomorrow?”

  “All I can say is that where I go, life is cheap, brutal and short. Where we are now, life has more value.”

  “So things are getting better?”

  Carlos turned to face me. “I don’t believe a single life changes in value over time, though there are others who do. Their blood lust runs rampant. They can kill a man without so much as a second thought.”

  “Maybe it’s progress.”

  “Curious, even ironic, that as history unfolds, so does our ability to kill many more people in much less time. On an industrial level, one might say. Such is your progress.” Carlos slapped me on the back and laughed, then drained his glass. “But I must be off with all haste. Certainly this is not a place I want to linger in, eh?”

  He was right in more ways than one. “Where is it you’re going again?”

  “To change history.”

  “What?” I said too loudly.

  “This seems to upset you.”

  “I guess it depends what you’re planning.”

  “To ensure the Vikings return to build an indigenous empire.”

  “How?”

  “They are camped not so far from here… just north, geographically speaking.”

  “What century are we talking about?”

  “The eleventh century.”

  “And what’s your plan?”

  “I mean to lure them south, to show them this land’s fertile wonders. Then, I will convince them to return in force with a hundred Viking ships, filled with chickens, cows, pigs and horses, not to mention the blacksmith’s forge, and the wheel of course.”

  “How?”

  “I’m brushing up on my Nordic languages with some help from Mr Ming.”

  “And why those particular items?”

  “They cannot build an empire without them.”

  “An empire? The Vikings?”

  “No, no, the people already here.”

  “Not the Vikings?”

  “They will not last for long, no matter what. Likely, they will be absorbed by the indigenous peoples, but not before transmitting their knowledge and expertise.”

  “Isn’t that just like the Conquistadors all over again?”

  “Not at all. They were desperate men to the last— absolutely brutal, and all in the name of god and country. The Vikings however, despite their fearsome reputation were more likely to be farmers with families… and Christianity is but a thin veneer to them.”

  “Why all the livestock?”

  “To inoculate the people already here… though I fear many will suffer… Measles, smallpox, influenza are among the diseases caused by such domesticated animals.”

  “Horses?”

  “These are for transportation… as well as the wheel. Otherwise, it is a very big continent to walk across.”

  “I’m not sure I’m getting this.”

  “Things will be quite different when the Europeans discover the New World this time around.”

  “Why?”

  “The people here will have a five hundred year head start before Columbus arrives.”

  ***

  Sheik Abbas sat quietly on the stairs. He was drinking only tea when I plunked down next to him.

  “I’m Patrick, Fynn’s friend.”

  “Ah yes, Mr Patrick, a great pleasure.” He smiled. “A terrible business, eh?”

  “The murder, you mean.”

  “This too.”

  “What were you thinking?”

  “The gold standard. I’ve lost so much of my fortune recently.”

  “What?”

  “I’m sorry… I heard you saying to Carlos that you are an economist. Here to fix the depression.”

  “You may have misunderstood.”

  “I see… Well, something must be done about this president of yours… his inaction is intolerable. I am beginning to distrust all Texans.”

  “What brings you here?” I asked.

  “My king. He sends me to the future to see what may happen. For me, I’d rather stay in the past. I’m much more comfortable there.”

  “Your king?”

  “A man from long ago. I do not think history will remember Umar ibn Rasul.” Abbas looked me over. “And, where do you hail from, Mr Patrick?”

  “The next century.”

  “Ah yes, I have spent some years there. In fact, I have family living in that time. Rather bleak in some ways: the mindless pursuit of material gain as the gap between rich and poor widens to frightening proportions.”

  “Pardon?”

  “An era when private companies overwhelm the governments and begin to take over…” He scanned my face. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean any offense.”

  “That’s okay… you’re not so far off the mark.”

  “And the great war between Islam and the Christians? Who is winning?”

  “Hard to say exactly… it’s still simmering, flares up occasionally, in a bad way.”

  “Terrible… it’s like the crusades all over again, and it brews for centuries with little result. This is not news I wish to report.”

  “Report?”

  “To my king.”

  “I thought he lives in a distant past.”

  “He does… I am the soothsayer to his court…” Abbas paused. “Perhaps you can tell me how the Christians became so radical again. They were once more learned and tolerant— at least some of them… Now…” he scoffed, “fanatics, fundamentalists, militant extremists, I fear. And Mr Drummond is chief among them in his zeal.”

  “You won’t miss him?”

  “I don’t think anyone wi
ll.”

  “What?”

  “Surely you’ve noticed there are a good many Drummonds in the world already. More than enough, I would have to say.”

  ***

  I came upon Zalika and Mrs Hatchet still at the dinner table, both enjoying glasses of red wine.

  “Watch out for these American men, they are devils… though enormously wealthy and powerful,” Mrs Hatchet said as I approached. “I think this one is already taken… either by Madeline or her brother.” She rose to stand on one hip rather seductively, then slinked over to me. Mrs Hatchet ran her fingers across my face. She was hard not to stare at. Her silky gown clung to every curve.

  “We are not compatible I think, you and I,” Myra said, “However, you two would make a very nice couple.”

  Zalika looked to the floor, embarrassed.

  “I’m probably too old for her…”

  This made Zalika laugh. “I’m twice your age, Mr Jardel, at least…”

  “Not a discussion I would pursue,” Myra commented. “Careful where you tread, Patrick.”

  “What?”

  “A conversation about a woman’s age. It can only end badly.”

  I tried to change the subject. “So… How do you know Fynn?”

  “Tractus and I have a long history together. I’d rather not discuss it though.” Mrs Hatchet gave me a brittle smile. “I will only say it has to do with the Duke of Estonia, and that I was not married at the time, nor was I to blame.”

  “Are you here for the treatment?” I asked.

  “Who mentions this to you— Madame Madeline? She can never keep secrets.” Myra pouted. “I’m here to jump at the temple, to replace an older version of myself.”

  “An older version… where is she now?”

  “At the turn of the century.” Myra smiled. “I am in prime condition, would you not say, Mr Jardel?”

  That was hard to disagree with. “What did you mean about Drummond before?”

  “Drummond,” she spat his name to the ground. “I would sooner scratch his eyes out than speak with him again. I make love to the man and the next day he pretends that all his pillow talk was never uttered.”

  “I meant at lunch.”

  “Oh… well, he sat and ate like a pig. He goes off to the kitchen and returns with a clean shirt and a fresh appetite.”

  “And what brings you here, Mr Patrick?” Zalika asked.

  “Oh, just a little errand…”

  “You like to tinker with history as Carlos does?”

  “No… nothing so ambitious.” I sat next to Zalika. “Funny, the Brigadier said you don’t speak English, but it seems very good to me.”

  “Thank you. I do not speak to the Brigadier for a reason: he’s British. I don’t like them,” she confided.

  “Well, you shouldn’t blame him, or Madeline for that matter.”

  “For what?”

  “Being British. They can’t really help it, they were born that way.”

  “Yes, I suppose you’re right.” Zalika laughed. “I never thought of it like that.”

  ***

  I found Edmund admiring my cane, or rather Percy’s. “Is this yours?” he asked.

  “It was a gift, but yeah…”

  “I don’t suppose you’d part with it?”

  I hesitated, then said, “Sure… consider it yours.”

  “Thank you, Patrick… needs a bit of cleaning but otherwise seems quite sturdy.” Edmund smiled broadly, then saw Fynn walking by. “Ah, Tractus, a moment, please,” he called out. “I’m growing quite worried about Pavel. Have you seen him lately?”

  “Mr Mekanos is… well… he’s come into some trouble.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. Last I know, he was stuck in Flatland.”

  “How dreadful. Something should be done, don’t you think?”

  “I can only agree. We must speak to the Inquisitor at the soonest opportunity.”

  “Good, good, then I’m your man,” Edmund said, though I could hardly make sense of their conversation. They walked off to the far corner of the salon and sat in a pew by the dark stained-glass windows. I could tell they were just beginning a lengthy discussion.

  Sometime later Fynn returned alone and Mr Fickster went back to his room. “I see you spent a long time talking with Edmund.”

  “Yes, we had much to discuss. I’ve set him straight though.”

  Brigadier Thomas came over to us and took Fynn aside for a moment to talk about Drummond.

  “Well, he had a lot of visitors, that’s all I can say.”

  “Why?”

  “I have the room next door and could hear the arguments day and night. It was all a bit muffled, but he was definitely talking to someone.”

  “Why haven’t you mentioned this before?”

  “Didn’t think it was all that important.”

  “Well, thank you, Thomas.”

  “Do you think it’s a clue?”

  “Most certainly.” Fynn smiled. “What room are you in?”

  “Thomas Aquinas… though Maddy was thinking of redecorating.”

  ***

  Inspector Fynn and I sat on the sofa nearest the fireplace, alone for the most part. The other guests were trailing off to bed, or at least upstairs to their rooms, calling out good night as they passed.

  I turned to Fynn and whispered, “The butler did it.”

  “Who?”

  “Ming the Merciless over there.”

  “You don’t mean Sonny?” Fynn turned to face me.

  I simply raised an eyebrow.

  “I’ll grant you he looks rather menacing, but he wouldn’t hurt a soul. I’ve known him for a very long time.” Fynn paused to smile. “Besides, you are too early to think that.”

  “Why?”

  “Flash Gordon won’t make an appearance until next year.”

  “What?”

  “Nineteen thirty-four.” Fynn laughed.

  The fire was ebbing and I threw another log on. “Don’t you think it’s pretty strange that everyone here knows Drummond.”

  “He was a guest.”

  “That’s not what I mean. Most everyone has some weird connection to him, barring Zalika.”

  “Go on,” Fynn urged.

  “Mrs Hatchet’s lover, in business with the Sheik, at odds with Carlos, financing Edmund…”

  “And Raj?”

  “I haven’t figured him out yet.”

  “What do you make of Carlos then?” Fynn asked.

  “Aside from his total disregard for human life, you mean?”

  “I suspect he’s more bluster than anything.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “The kitten.” Fynn smiled and paused. “Well... it’s hardly surprising…”

  “What?”

  “Only that there could well be a great number of Drummonds here.”

  “Doppelgängers, doubles?”

  “Yes, and apparently all residing in the same timeline.”

  I stared at Fynn for a moment and he stared back just as hard. “That’s it, isn’t it?”

  “It could be that there are two Mr Drummonds… One is the killer and the other is still hiding somewhere.”

  “That doesn’t make sense, exactly. Why would one Drummond kill another?”

  “Perhaps one is a Lambert… a dissenting kinsman, so to speak.”

  “Hadn’t thought of that. But which one is which? I mean who killed who?”

  “I think his clothes may be telling us the answer,” Fynn said.

  “Why?”

  “If there are two Mr Drummonds, one is from this present and the other is from the nineteen sixties.”

  “Which one is which?”

  “I’m not sure yet. I must speak to Madeline,” Fynn said and strode across the room. “Maddy, dear, I need you to think back to when Mr Drummond first arrived.”

  “Yes?”

  “Did anything out of the ordinary occur?”

  “Well, let me think… The bell rang
. I opened the door and there he was.”

  “That’s all?”

  “Oh, well, he forgot to shut it.”

  “The door?”

  “Yes, wasn’t till we were in the main hall when he remembered.”

  “And?”

  “He went back and closed it.”

  “Thank you, Maddy, dear. You have solved this mystery for me.”

  “What?” I whispered to Fynn.

  He took me aside. “I believe two Mr Drummonds entered together, but surreptitiously.”

  “Together?”

  “Yes, but obviously they had a terrible falling out.”

  ***

  The bell rang, a deep chime echoed through the library. We all knew instantly it was the front door. Inspector Fynn and I ran to the corridor with the brigadier following, though he was behind us by several yards. At the main entrance we came upon a dark figure in the hallway. Fynn held up a lantern and said, “Welcome.”

  The brigadier caught up with us a moment later as the man stepped into the light.

  “Well, well, if it isn’t Kaiser…” Brigadier Thomas slung his arm around the stranger’s shoulder. “Good to see you… just arrived, eh?”

  I saw his face, and though clean shaven, I knew him. “That’s not Kaiser, it’s Drummond,” I whispered to Fynn.

  “Are you certain?”

  “Well no, but I’m pretty sure…” I hesitated. “I mean it’s dark in here… his haircut is different and, well, I’ve never actually seen Kaiser without a beard or sunglasses.”

  “Let’s play along for the moment.”

  Brigadier Thomas ushered Kaiser to the fireplace and sat comfortably. “Can I get you a whiskey?” he offered.

  “No, thank you kindly… I mean to abide by prohibition.”

  Brigadier Thomas smiled awkwardly and made formal introductions.

  “Pleasure to meet you, Mr Fynn, Mr Jardel. What brings you to these parts?” Kaiser asked with a smile.

  “Our love of books,” Fynn replied. “And you?

  “I was in the neighborhood…”

  “Where is that?”

  “Just jumped in from nineteen eleven… I was searching for oil in Texas.”

  “No luggage, Mr Kaiser?” Fynn questioned idly.

  “Oh, got lost in the shuffle…”

  “Didn’t we meet in Colorado once?” I asked.

  “Hmm, haven’t been there in quite a spell. No, I hail from the west coast, California.”