Jump City: Apprentice

by MK Alexander

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

  I stopped to think what this meant. “Doesn’t Fynn notice?”

  “Tractus?” She laughed. “Oh, he’s rather good at it, especially if something major changes.”

  “And you?”

  “Me?” She gazed out across the river. “Well, I’m afraid I’m stuck to wherever I jump back to… I can rarely recall anything in parallel.”

  We continued south along the Hudson. The trail lay very close to the shore and crossed the occasional stream. But our innocent stroll was soon to become an arduous climb. Hundreds if not thousands of giant boulders lay scattered before us. They had fallen from the cliffs long ago, I guessed, and also hoped. Madeline stopped just before the rock scramble. “Ready, Patrick?” she asked, and let off a gleeful laugh, then jumped up to the first enormous granite ledge.

  “Is this safe and all?”

  “Jumping, you mean? Oh yes, my brother’s dire warning about slamming into the cliffs… So long as we don’t leap too far or too high, we’ll be fine.” Madeline deftly sprang to the next slab of granite. I jumped as well and she caught me in her arms when I misstepped. She started laughing again and looked into my eyes. “What else is difficult, Patrick?” Madeline asked and tenderly put her hand on my arm.

  “Keeping my sense of balance.”

  She was hard to resist. Madeline kissed me softly on the lips, then pushed away laughing, climbing to the next boulder. We soon came upon a large flat outcropping that jutted out from the cliffs. It almost seemed like a table, though a massive one. We sat side by side for a long while. “Here would be a good place to jump,” I said jokingly and peered over the edge. She gave me a raised eyebrow and a small frown. I lifted her back to her feet, and we set off again.

  ***

  “Carriers? Is that what Fynn calls them? I suppose that’s as good a name as any. Brother Bartholomew is very much like that.” Madeline paused on her rock waiting for me to catch up.

  “How so?” I asked.

  “Ready to drop everything. The very opposite of Fynn or Mortimer.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “It all has to do with soft jumps… my brother is a pussy cat in that regard. Some future self might arrive in an absolute panic and say, you have to take me to eighteen sixty-six… He’ll drop everything and off he goes.”

  “That’s nice of him.”

  “It’s a bit different for a dominator.”

  “A dominator?”

  “Let’s just say Fynn and Mortimer are the same in this regard. When they soft jump, they usually take over completely.”

  “Mortimer told me he never soft jumps anymore. He called them silly, I think.”

  “Did he? He probably doesn’t remember.”

  “Remember what?”

  “Didn’t Tractus explain it to you?” Madeline asked. “Mortimer never recalls his own past.”

  Our conversation was interrupted when a coastal freighter came churning up the river. Slow relentless pistons approached and reached a level where neither of us could hear each other. Some of the crew waved as they passed. The din faded and Madeline said, “Many a traveler has a doppelgänger. It’s not so unusual.” She turned to face me. “Once a doppelgänger splits however, they are quite separate. They cannot be merged back together. The best they can manage is a long conversation.”

  “Have you ever met yours?” I asked.

  “It can hardly be avoided. She helps at the library from time to time.” Madeline smiled. “Have you?”

  “I’m not sure… I might have.”

  “Interesting,” Madeline said and sidled up to me. She traced my lip with her finger. “Another Patrick somewhere, eh? Well, I do hope he comes for a visit.”

  “I think he was only twelve.”

  “Ah, so you’ve jumped back to an early age?”

  I nodded, though still unsure about the experience.

  “Children can be so difficult… so easily overwhelmed… I do hope you were kind to your younger self.”

  I watched Madeline negotiate a long line of rocks, each at a slightly different angle. I was impressed by her sure-footedness. “You’ve done this before,” I called out while trying to catch up.

  “What’s that, Patrick?”

  “This climb.”

  She laughed and leapt to the next boulder.

  “Can someone jump into someone else?” I asked.

  “What ever do you mean?”

  “Could you jump into someone else’s consciousness and, um, I don’t know, like take over or something.”

  “What a preposterous idea.” She stopped in her tracks to look at me. “Are you serious?”

  I nodded and shrugged at the same time.

  “Well, I’ve certainly never heard of such a thing.” Madeline laughed. “Though I’ve had my fair share of jumps when it’s felt that way.”

  “What?”

  “Like jumping into the mind of a total stranger, even though they are still me.”

  The rock scramble petered out eventually and the path became single file along the shore again. We walked on in silence for a time.

  “Your brother mentioned something about leave-behinds.”

  “Ha,” Madeline exclaimed. “Did he now? Well, no one believes me. In fact everyone gets angry whenever I mention it.”

  “What exactly is that?”

  Madeline stopped along the path. She seemed to choose her words carefully. “Hypothetically, a jumper who leaves themselves behind in the present.”

  “Really?”

  “The one left behind has absolutely no awareness of what’s happened, and the one who’s left might only have a vague feeling of loss.”

  “A feeling of loss?”

  “Like when you’ve forgotten your keys on the hall table.”

  “Why doesn’t anyone believe you?”

  “Do you remember your first jump?” Madeline asked.

  “I think so… and I didn’t leave anyone behind. I must have disappeared because someone sent a message-in-a-bottle, and it saved my life.”

  “Fynn, no doubt?”

  “Yes.”

  “And are you so sure that was your first jump? Most of us can never really say… It gets rather muddled so quickly, and memory is not as reliable as you might think.”

  “I guess you’re right.”

  “Where else have you been, Patrick?”

  “Oh, all over, I guess…”

  “Far to the future?” she asked.

  “Yes… a bad place…”

  “I know of it,” Madeline said quietly. “A dark veil upon history from which few have returned. Consider yourself lucky.”

  After about an hour’s walk, we came across a huge meadow of wildflowers just at the river’s edge. It was still basking in the sunlight which threatened to disappear behind the cliffs. I heard a very strange noise and turned to Madeline. “Do you hear that?”

  “Yes, it sounds a bit like an engine…” she stopped to listen. The noise grew louder, a kind of humming. It seemed to fill the whole area, echoing across the cliffs and out across the river.

  “What is it?” I asked again and resumed my pace. It grew louder with every step, and I looked ahead to the meadow which now seemed to be moving. Madeline took my arm and forced me to stop.

  “Let’s turn back,” she said softly, though not out of fear.

  “Why?”

  “The meadow… it’s filled with bees. Look…”

  * * *

  chapter thirty-two

  the knower

  Early the next morning, I had breakfast with Inspector Fynn at the guest house.

  “Where have you been since yesterday?” I asked after my first sips of coffee.

  “Yesterday? Hmm, seems like a week has gone by for me. I’ve been reading about the illustrious House of Drummond.”

  “The journals?”

  “Indeed, ninety-six volumes in all— a fine example of penmanship.”

  “Tha
t many?”

  “I checked the card catalogue and found more in the stacks... all the anachronistic journals, I’m supposing.”

  “Why are they here in the library?”

  “Madeline’s generosity, perhaps… or it might be a matter of hiding in plain sight.”

  “Anything interesting?”

  “I’m not sure that’s the word I would use… alarming, or disturbing.”

  “Why is that?”

  “From what I can gather there are hundreds of Drummonds spanning time since eighteen thirty-six to the present.”

  “Which present?”

  Fynn chuckled. “There you have me… the journals end abruptly in two thousand and twenty-nine.”

  “Journals from the future, here at the library?”

  “If you recall, Drummonds can only travel backwards as far as they know, and only twenty-two years at a time. They carry their knowledge from the future to the past.”

  “In the journals?”

  “Yes, though it is not a perfect system— there seems to be a delay between when each is written and when it is carried back to the past.”

  “I’d like to read them.”

  “What I’ve seen confirms our deepest fears. The original Drummond is a religious zealot. To him, he travels because god has so decreed.” Fynn paused and leafed through some pages. “Here is an interesting excerpt:

  At age twenty I was called by God himself. He told me where and when to jump, and how… I was to be the guardian angel, the protector of the divine on earth. I heeded the call and traveled to Uvalde, to find an ancient totem, Jacob’s Ladder by any other name. And from there I took my first leap of faith.”

  “There is much talk about the voice of god… though as far as I can tell, it is an older Drummond soft jumping into a younger version of himself.”

  “Wow.”

  “There also appears to be some dissension in the ranks— a schism in the Drummond family empire, one might say.”

  Among my brethren was a single dissenter, one who shall have no name and who shall be cast out.

  “You think he’s dangerous?”

  “The dissenter?”

  “No, the others.”

  “Of course. If anyone has altered this timeline, it’s him and his kind.” Fynn paused to take a sip of coffee.

  “Why would he do that?”

  “Who can say? Luckily their ability is as limited as their awareness…”

  “Meaning?”

  “They believe that they can only travel to the past, and, under very proscribed conditions.”

  “That’s a good thing.”

  “For now, yes. If however he were to discover the temple, things might go rather badly, rather quickly.”

  “Like a Drummond factory?”

  “I shudder at the thought.” Fynn gave me a look. “The true danger is an army of Drummonds gathering in one place and at one time.”

  “What are you going to do about him?”

  “Me?” Fynn asked with a bit of surprise. “I’m not sure I can do anything at present.”

  “What about our errand then?”

  “Saving your president, do you mean?”

  I nodded.

  “I loath getting involved in politics… and jumping to the past unnecessarily… but yes, you and I need to continue with our original plan.”

  “How?”

  “We need a knower.”

  “A knower?” I asked.

  “They have the most perfect memory.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “They remember everything. It’s quite extraordinary... Though rather sad as well. This unique ability can prove rather disabling.”

  “I’m not following.”

  “Perhaps it’s easier to understand, if I say they lack the ability to forget.”

  “That sounds pretty weird.”

  “The ability to forget is actually an essential part of being human.”

  “You’re saying they are not human?”

  “Of course they are. I didn’t mean to imply that at all. It’s just that without the ability to forget, life can take on a rather nightmarish quality.”

  “Tell me about these people, the knowers.”

  “A sad lot, I would say... An example,” Fynn began, “Imagine you are on an underground train. There are perhaps a hundred or so people in a crowded car. You see them all, glance at their faces, but when you get off at your stop some minutes later, you forget them, save one or two who attracted your attention.”

  “A pretty girl or an unusual character…”

  “As you say, and this is quite normal. But the other passengers are not in your memory. In some regard, it’s better that you forget them. This is how one functions in the everyday world. Surely it would be a great burden to recall each and every passenger.”

  “You’re telling me a knower remembers them all?”

  “Yes. A knower can recall the details of everyone aboard… their faces, their clothes, posture, mannerisms and alike.”

  “So it’s good to forget sometimes.”

  “Indeed. It’s crucial for day-to-day life. For you and I, we forget things as a matter of course, a matter of survival. Without a selective memory we would easily be overwhelmed.”

  “How did they get like that?”

  “Apparently there is something unusual about their brain chemistry. They have the distinct inability to forget things. And as I’ve said, these people do not always function well.”

  “Franny,” I blurted out. “She was a knower, wasn’t she?”

  “Exactly so.”

  “Like a photographic memory?” I asked. “I think there’s a word for that…”

  “Do you mean eidetic?” Fynn suggested.

  “No, it’s called hyperthymesia.”

  “Yes, that’s quite accurate, though the word has not been coined yet.”

  Madeline and her brother burst into the kitchen, both rather breathless. “Ah, you’re still here, good, we thought we’d missed you,” Brigadier Thomas spoke first. “Is the kettle on?”

  “Good morning to you both. How did you sleep?” Madeline asked politely. She looked ravishing, young, vibrant and dressed to the nines, though I thought her fashion sense might be as much as a decade off, and her skirt many inches too high.

  “We need to find a knower today,” Fynn said.

  “Why? I thought your friend here worked for a newspaper.”

  “A knower makes things easier.”

  “You may run into some trouble there.”

  “Where?”

  “Of course, I mean finding a knower these days.”

  Fynn turned to her and asked, “What are you saying, Madeline?”

  “They seem to be vanishing.”

  “Please explain.”

  “It’s just that I used to know half a dozen in this time period. And now…”

  “And now?”

  “Murray seems to be the only one left.”

  “Where are the others?”

  “Vanished, like I told you.”

  “Curious… and somewhat alarming,” Fynn commented nearly under his breath. “What about Murray then?”

  “Last I recall, he was a typesetter… or, was it a Britannica salesman?”

  “The latter,” Brigadier Thomas said while preparing tea.

  “Oh yes, you’re right, brother, and a very poor one at that. I don’t know how the man makes a living.”

  “You bought a set of encyclopedias from him last year, dear sister.”

  “Did I?”

  “Do you know where he is now?” Fynn asked.

  “Lives on the edge of the garment district, Hell’s Kitchen more-or-less.”

  “We need to pay him a visit.”

  “Of all people, why Murray?” Madeline complained.

  “The man is a font of knowledge. We go to one place and get all our questions answered at one time.”

  “Oh, very well… far be it from me to give up a chance to go s
hopping.”

  Madeline met us by the cottage, more specifically the stable, though this was clearly a garage now. Sonny Ming had moved our Blue Streak and it was parked under a pine tree. I could see the trunk was open and loaded up with various crates. Parked beside it was a bright yellow Duesenberg from the 1920’s.

  “Bertie is off carving his dice again and Ming is indisposed, so it’s left for me to drive. We’ll take my Duesy,” Madeline told us as we arrived.

  “I’m not convinced that’s a good idea.”

  “Why ever not, Tractus?”

  “It’s a bit flashy, ostentatious. Best we keep a low profile. Besides, I’m not sure we’ll all fit inside. There’s quite a bit of luggage.”

  “Nonsense.”

  “Please.”

  “I’d rather not take your motorcar, Fynn, it’s so… so… black. And there’s that horrid roof. Not at all suitable for such a lovely day as this. Better we take mine.”

  “No offense, Madeline, but Patrick is actually a very reliable driver.”

  “Reliable maybe, but can he drive fast?”

  “Quite fast.”

  “Alright then.” Madeline laughed and slid into the passenger seat, then tossed her scarf back with a flourish. “Off we go, dear Patrick.”

  On a good bit of road I got the car up to fifty-five though it was not fast enough for Madeline. She urged me on until she was completely thrilled; the speedometer crept past seventy. I was a bit concerned our Blue Streak would blow a gasket and eased off the accelerator when I heard the engine laboring. Not long after, we were compelled to slow as we rounded a steep curve and approached the Hudson River Bridge. A police barricade had been set up and they were stopping every car that passed.

  “What’s all this up ahead,” I asked.

  “It’s only the toll. Nothing to worry about,” Madeline said. “Do you have fifty cents?”

  It seemed a bit more involved than that. A police officer waved me to a stop and walked over to the car. “Morning, gentlemen, miss…” He tipped his cap. “And where are we all off to on this fine morning?”

  “The city.”

  “Wise guy, eh?” the officer said with a touch of hostility. “What’s your business today?”

  Fynn spoke with some authority, “We have official business, officer.” He presented his warrant card. “This woman is in my charge. She has a district court appearance, arrested for smuggling bootleg whiskey.”