by MK Alexander
“Have you a book for Madeline?”
“Kaiser here doesn’t need a book. He’s come to see his son, right?” the brigadier replied instead. Madeline sauntered over before Kaiser could answer and greeted him lavishly.
Fynn took full advantage of the distraction and whispered to me, “There are huge red flags, as Jamal might say.”
“What?”
“If this is a Drummond, he knows about traveling to the future. He should not. Yet no traveler ever hails from California… it’s too dangerous. And the time he travels from— twenty two years ago exactly.” Fynn gave me a grim expression. “Not to mention, the library is a very difficult location to reach from the past.”
“Why is that?”
“It has to do with geography, the cliffs.”
I heard Madeline going on: “… and thank you for the book, Mr Wayne…”
“What book is that?”
“A History of Texas, if I recall.”
“Oh that… well, it’s all a pack of lies,” Kaiser said unexpectedly.
“How so?” I asked.
Fynn raised his hand. “Let’s not go into those details just now… Why are you here, Mr Wayne?”
“To see my son.”
“Your son? As in doppelgänger and doubler?” I blurted.
“Ah no, as in my second marriage.”
“You’re in luck, Kaiser, it just so happens we have a newly vacated room,” Madeline said happily.
“That’s mighty fine. I’d hate to sleep in the stacks again, like last time.”
“See that? All this bother about nothing,” Brigadier Thomas said cheerfully. “I told you it was Kaiser on the stairs.”
I glanced at the brigadier, utterly confused. “I don’t understand.”
“Well, he’s just jumped in at the temple and sent his doppelgänger down to the stacks, that’s all… Why there hasn’t been a homicide at all.”
“That may be so,” Fynn said doubtfully, “Yet he seems to have arrived after the murder.”
“A minor detail, Tractus.”
“I would still like to confirm this.”
“Whatever do you mean?”
“He should at least view the body.”
“I’m not mighty clear on what’s happening around here,” Kaiser said.
“Your friend, Mr Drummond... he’s in a spot of trouble,” the brigadier said.
“Damn, what’s he done this time?”
“He’s gone and got himself killed.”
“The murderer is still at large, in hiding it would seem,” Fynn added.
“What, here in the library? Shouldn’t y’all be searching for him or something?”
“That’s not necessary, he is sitting right in front of us.”
“Who?”
“You.”
Kaiser laughed. “Me?”
“Yes, you are not Kaiser Wayne at all. You are a Drummond.”
“We do sort of look similar, don’t we?” He laughed.
“You didn’t just appear, Mr Drummond. You’ve been here the whole time and just pretended to arrive again. I suspect you were merely hiding in the corridor all this time.”
“That’s absurd,” he replied and rose from his seat, pacing a bit nervously.
“The dead man is the real Kaiser Wayne, and you came together to the library, perhaps under a temporary alliance. One of you entered and greeted Madeline. But you did not close the door. While her back was turned, the other entered unseen.”
“Crazy talk, Mr Fynn.”
This Drummond’s clothes were difficult to date exactly: a fringed jacket and cowboy boots. I did wonder where his hat might’ve gotten to. Nor did he have Kaiser’s gravelly voice. I thought of all the clues that were mentioned: a man of two minds with a double appetite who wears a stainless shirt and argues with himself in his room.
Fynn whispered to Madeline… “Could you bring the child in please?”
She reappeared a few minutes later with a small boy hiding behind her. Fynn squatted down to eye level, “Tell me little one, is this your father?”
The boy shook his head no and hid behind Madeline again.
“That proves nothing. It’s dark in here.” Drummond called out to the boy, “Come on, son… surely you know you’re own pappy?” He grinned without good effect.
Mrs Hatchet traipsed by on her way to bed. She was carrying a large bottle of wine. “Oh, I see you found Mr Drummond again, and no worse for wear.”
“What? This is Kaiser Wayne,” the brigadier protested.
“Is it?” She walked over to the man in question who was still standing. Myra kissed him thoroughly then just as quickly slapped him across the face. “This man is Drummond. I never forget a kiss, though I do prefer him without the beard.”
“It’s all conjecture. You’ve got no proof at all.”
“As for motive, I can speculate that Kaiser Wayne knew about the apocryphal texts, the journals that describe how to travel from anywhere, past or future.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You brought him to the stacks, bludgeoned him and left him to die. However, you still needed to make your escape, hopefully with the journals in question and your bag full of money.”
Drummond stared at Fynn incredulously.
“You waited for all the guests to retire so you would not be recognized. Likely, you’d have breakfast sent to your room and try to make your exit tomorrow morning unseen.”
“Why would I do that? I just got here.”
“Further, I’ll suggest you enlisted the help of Raj Ashoka, making promises you could never hope to keep.”
There was a long silence. Drummond stared at us all. “Okay…” He rubbed his face. “You’re pretty much on the money. What are you going to do now?” He laughed. “Turn me over to the police?”
“That’s to be decided.”
“Well, you’re wrong about one thing. I didn’t kill Kaiser. We were both after the same journals.”
“Who did then?”
“Mallinger. The old Professor followed us down into the stacks and hit Kaiser with that cane of his. It was all I could do to escape.”
“How?”
“I went further down and waited in an alcove.”
“And then?”
“Ran back up. Nothing I could do for Wayne. He was dead already. Crying shame, that.”
“I think you’re lying.”
“Why would that be?”
“No one saw the Professor near the stairs.”
“Doesn’t mean he wasn’t there.”
“We have a witness who spoke to Kaiser in the stacks. He was not yet dead as you claim.”
“Looked mighty dead to me.”
“The wound is consistent with a Bowie knife, which is no doubt yours.”
“I won’t deny it’s mine.”
“And the blood?”
“What blood?”
“On your knife.”
“Cut myself shaving.”
“Why hide the journals in Mrs Hatchet’s room, and the knife in Zalika’s?”
“No reason, really. Their doors happened to be unlocked.”
“What about the suitcase?”
“That’s just walking around money.”
Unknown to us all, Raj Ashoka was hiding nearby, behind a tapestry. Apparently he had overheard the entire discussion and now exploded with anger. He rushed at Drummond and wrestled him across to the balustrade.
“The promises you made,” Raj screamed. “The influence with your government, the money, the investments. All lies now…” he was yelling into the Texan’s face; his arms around Drummond’s neck pushing and strangling. In another moment they were gone, over the railing.
Their cries were cut short. We all rushed to the edge. I stared and blinked, and in the dim light it seemed as if their flesh dissolved away into skeletons caught in embrace. I blinked again to see only clothes, and then a cloud of dust that simply drifted into the dark depths belo
w.
* * *
chapter thirty-one
picnic
It’s difficult to say whether I got a good night’s sleep. I couldn’t quite figure out if I had slept for days or had just closed my eyes for a few moments. Nevertheless, I did feel fully rested, though it was still hard to wrap my head around everything that had happened. I made my way down to breakfast which was served in the kitchen, according to Ming who I passed in the corridor. I could smell coffee at least, and perhaps bacon. I wasn’t the first to rise however. At the table I saw the brigadier— well, a person in uniform at least. He was no longer in his sixties. I was completely shocked to see he was now a young man in his mid-twenties, younger than me by a few years. The only thing the same about his appearance was the gravity-defying mustache, and that seemed a good deal darker than before.
He looked up from his plate at my expression and laughed slightly. “It’s not what you’re thinking… I rarely use the temple,” he said without further explanation.
“The temple?” I asked.
“Hasn’t Tractus told you?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Well, were are those laggards? My sister and Fynn?”
Sonny walked through the kitchen and started to prepare a cup of tea.
“Ah, Ming, Good morning… have you seen my sister?”
“She retired to the guest house last night.”
“Oh… Well, could you take Madame out and bury her this morning. There’s a good fellow.”
“But Brigadier Thomas, I have the translations to attend.”
“Right… very well.” He turned to me. “I’ll get Patrick here to lend a hand. We’ve all got to pitch in, eh?”
“I’m not sure she’s passed yet. I believe she is only sleeping,” Ming added and left the kitchen with his cup of tea.
“What? Well, that’s quite a bother.” The brigadier finished his breakfast and pushed away his plate. “On to other tasks, I suppose.” He looked at me. “What do you say we jump ahead a few years and poke around a bit?”
“I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.”
“It could be fun,” the brigadier tempted with a smile and a raised eyebrow.
I was hesitant.
“Alright then, I have a different project for us. How are you at chiseling?”
Before I could answer, the brigadier leapt to his feet and began to rummage around the kitchen. He started throwing various items into a small knapsack. When Cook saw what he was doing, she started yelling in her obscure dialect, and quite frenetically, every once and a while hitting him over the head with a dish towel. The noise alerted Sonny Ming who returned to the kitchen just a moment later. He spoke to Cook soothingly.
“She says, you cannot take the good plates again,” he translated her words as she now sat in a chair sobbing.
“The good plates?” the brigadier asked and glanced over at his knapsack. “But these are the perfect size…”
“You’ve broken too many.”
“Damn it all, well, what does she suggest then?”
Cook rose slowly and went to the stove where a variety of pots and pans hung from a low ceiling. She chose a large cast iron frying pan and passed it to the brigadier. A huge smile crossed beneath his mustache as he hefted it back and forth. “Yes, thank you indeed. This will do very nicely.” He turned to me while grabbing his knapsack. “Ready, Patrick?” he asked then turned to look around the kitchen. “Where the devil is my busby?”
“Your what?”
“My hat, man... my hat.”
I pointed to a tall furry thing on the kitchen counter and the brigadier smiled. He put it on with some small ceremony and was instantly taller. I slurped the rest of my coffee down, took a piece of toast and scraped some jelly across it. I followed him to the backdoor. It was similar to the front, but rather odd. There was a steep ramp and a grab-pole, like something you’d find in a subway car, and an upholstered wall just to one side.
Brigadier Thomas left first. He didn’t simply walk through the door, rather he took a small jump as if he were timing himself. To my eyes he seemed to disappear. A small feeling of dread arose. I also took the leap across the threshold. It was like being thrown sideways into a vat of unseen jello. I found myself standing next to the brigadier in just an instant.
“Did you feel it?” he asked.
I nodded.
“The gooeyness of proper time,” he explained and smiled. “It will wear off as we walk… This way,” he said and pointed across the expanse of lawn. “It’s a bit like a swirling wind that spreads out for about a mile in every direction… As we get further, time returns to normal.”
“Are we in the past or the future?”
“Neither. We’re back in the present of course,” he replied and started down towards the guest house. “Come along…”
I followed a step behind. It was a bright sunny morning, already hot, almost muggy. I had changed back into my modern clothes, jeans, high tops and a t-shirt.
“I’m afraid to say, Fynn is quite correct about the temple, despite my sister believing otherwise.”
“I’m not following.”
“Didn’t Tractus explain all about the temple?”
“Not really.”
“Oh… well, it’s down by the water, the other direction.”
“What does it do?”
“In a nutshell, it allows you to jump to the past with astonishing accuracy.”
“How does that work?”
“God knows…” the brigadier said, then laughed, “and even he probably doesn’t.”
“Can you explain it to me?”
“Explain it? Hmm… best I leave that to Tractus.”
“Is that why you’re twenty-five this morning?”
The brigadier laughed heartily. “Not much gets by you, my friend. Yes, I left myself a special memorandum… Of course, I rarely use the temple— not like my sister.”
“But you did this time?”
“It would seem so.” He paused. “Or it used me, depending on your perspective.”
I had trouble making sense of what he was saying.
“It’s all rather unpredictable. Sometimes you end up with a doppelgänger, and sometimes a corpse.”
“A corpse? What? Seems kind of strange, not to mention horrible.”
“Not something which can be explained by science… at least for now. It has to do with proximity, I think. Closer being better… Proximity and proper time…” the brigadier said and continued along at a good pace. We passed the guest house and walked along by the old cemetery.
“Well, I will admit to sending my other self marching down into the stacks on rare occasion.”
“What does that mean?”
The brigadier turned to face me. “It’s quite painless so long as you’re far enough down, below the Gutenberg Line. You simply stop in the hallway and let time flow over you. In a matter of moments, you’re not much more than a pile of dust.”
“Kind of grisly, don’t you think?”
“Rather.”
“Did you ever have to… well… bury yourself?”
“I try to avoid that, quite gruesome,” the brigadier nodded to a corner of the graveyard. “I’ve learned a few different ways of returning— unlike my sister.”
“How?”
“It’s a bit complicated… Usually, I’ll get Ming to drive me down to the valley… I travel ahead, make my way back to the temple, and then return to the present in situ. A terrible bother though. Might take weeks or months to get back.”
“You can’t jump from here?”
“No, not here… too high an elevation. Nor at the river. The slightest miscalculation would have you slamming into the cliff face.”
“What about your sister?”
“Oh, well, Madeline only returns once a month on Saturdays. Hence the confusion of the other day.”
“That’s not exactly what I meant.”
“I will say, I’m a bit worried about he
r. She should have jumped in already. It’s not like my sister to be so late.”
“Late?”
“In returning… Fact is, she’s always been terrible at hard jumps… I suppose that’s why the temple is so very convenient... but she puts to much stock in the future. She’s too confident it’s going to be there just the way she wants. I’ll put my faith in the past. That doesn’t change as much.”
“How can Madeline be here and in the future at the same time?”
“Eh? Well, she isn’t, not at the same time. She’s either there or here, or somewhere else entirely. Frightfully complicated, don’t you think?”
“Who’s this?” I asked, pointing to a row of graves marked GS.”
“Hmm, can’t remember the fellow’s name. Doesn’t come here all that often… A Kanuck, I think.”
“No dates or names on the gravestones?”
“Dates?” The brigadier gave me a surprised glance. “No, just initials. They’re not really dead, anyway.”
“Fynn told me, if he dies in any life, then he dies in all his lives. Is this true?”
“Hard to say… things might be different for Fynn.”
“What about you?”
“Me? Well, I’m a dead man walking.”
“What do you mean?”
“Only that I know the exact time of my death.”
“But Fynn told me if you die, it’s all over, it all unravels.”
“Did he say that? Always been on the cautious side, that Fynn.”
“I don’t follow.”
“Let’s just say, I’ve read my own obituary.”
“Is your future cut off then?”
“Not at all… I just have to steer well clear of that one fateful day, the twenty fifth of October eighteen fifty-four.”
“Is that why you’re still in uniform?” I asked.
“Indeed it is. Always like to be at the ready. Never know when I’ll be called back to the front lines.”
The brigadier and I hiked along a narrow trail that crossed several streams and then steeply rose to the top of the Palisades Cliffs. The view was spectacular with the wide, slow moving Hudson below and rolling green hills beyond. He led me off the path until we came upon two huge boulders, each about eight feet high. The two blocks of indigenous granite lay side by side in a clearing, and were roughly cube shaped.