by MK Alexander
“I cannot.”
“I may enlist Edmund’s help,” Fynn cautioned.
“Mr Fickster? What a worthless idea. The man is a tinkerer, nothing more.”
“I’ve spoken to Pavel about it, as well.”
“Have you now?” Mr Quandary paused to smile. “Hmm, you should throw this cane into the depths of time where Mortimer can never find it again.”
“But such is an impossible task; he would find it sooner or later. No, our best course is to destroy the thing entirely.”
“Alright then, what have you found out about this infamous cane of Mortimer’s?”
“Precious little.”
“I thought you spoke to Pavel?”
“Sometime ago, yes, but now he’s nowhere to be found. I believe he’s stuck in the Flatlands.”
“Mr Mekanos in prison? Well, go get him…”
“He’s in a rather old and enfeebled incarnation.”
“Who put him there?”
“Surely you can guess?”
“Ah, Mortimer again, you’re going to say…”
“Can you explain this please?” I asked to the distraction of both men. “The Flatlands?”
“I believe I’ve mentioned this to you, Patrick,” Fynn said patiently. “It’s a place where none can jump away… they become trapped.”
“Who runs this prison?”
“No one per se…”
“And only travelers get stuck there?”
“Sadly, no. Some are probably hapless victims of circumstance.”
“What circumstance?”
“A kind of tourism, perhaps?”
“Excuse me for stating the obvious, but doesn’t anyone else see the similarity between Mortimer’s cane and the temple?”
“Do go on…” Fynn urged.
“Well, it seems like he can jump in place… but to any time, just like the temple, only portable.”
“How extraordinary… Your friend has some rather bizarre ideas, Fynn.” Mr Quandary chuckled to himself. “Though in his very ignorance, he may have noticed something neither of us has previously.”
“He does that from time to time,” Fynn said and laughed.
“It’s settled then. You’ll have to stay here in the present and see how things turn out.”
“Me?” Fynn asked with a certain alarm. “I think you should stay.”
“Nonsense… How much concurrency do you have here?”
“Quite a lot actually.”
“Then it’s settled.”
“And what will you do?” Fynn asked.
“I shall return to my research. It seems you have matters well in hand.”
“Wait… what about this timeline? It’s all messed up.”
“Ah yes, and this is largely your fault,” the Quantifier said to me. “Now we’ll have to contend with this dreadful war.”
“What war?”
“The second one... in a few years time.”
“Surely, you can’t blame us for that?” Fynn protested.
The Quantifier looked me up and down instead. “No, I don’t suppose I can, really.”
“What about the fire. How do we fix it?” I asked.
“This is too dangerous for us,” Fynn said.
“Dangerous, why?”
“To travel to the past yet again… No, we must leave this task to someone else.”
“Like?”
“Brigadier Thomas seems to be the best candidate.”
“I’m more than willing, of course,” he spoke up, “though I would rather like your assistance.”
“It’s difficult to expect all four of us to jump back to a specific time of day,” Fynn said.
“Actually, it’s very easy, if I understand how the temple works. We could all jump back to the exact moment.”
“Mustn’t change the past, dear boy,” the Quantifier admonished. “Besides, no one knows exactly when the fire started.”
“February tenth, late afternoon, I’d guess.” I turned to the brigadier for support but found him distracted, across the room flipping through the pages of a large book.
“Here you are arguing about canes, and history, and timelines… it’s all unimportant. The fire is the thing, it must be fixed,” the brigadier nearly shouted, and started for the door. “I won’t have it. I won’t be bullied about by this man.” He stopped by the fireplace and picked up a small axe, then stormed from the cottage.
“What was he reading just before?” I asked.
Fynn walked over to the table to examine the book. “The ephemeris… he’s gone to the temple.”
Only Cook stayed behind. The four of us hurriedly followed the brigadier down the path that led to the river. He had quite a head start on us, and there was no question of fast time or slow time. We were chased by a hazy full moon through spidery branches, though the path was still dark and treacherous. We finally caught up to the brigadier by the waterfall stairs and Fynn called out, but it was too late. I watched him jump from the temple’s ledge and disappear into nothingness.
“This will end badly, mark my words,” the Quantifier announced.
Ming gave me a sullen expression and was about to turn back to the cottage when I noticed his eyebrow raised. His eyes widened and his mouth fell open. He took me by the arm and forced me to duck down behind the cyclopean wall. There was a terrible noise in that instant: a choked cry, a dull thud and the sound of bones snapping. Just above us, a body appeared out of thin air, smashed against the cliff face and tumbled to our feet.
A few seconds later I heard the same ruckus only further from us. I looked to see another person appear, slam against the cliffs and slide to the ground. The moon cast only a dim light so I couldn’t be sure what I was seeing. But it happened again and again. One after another, bodies appeared only to be crushed like gnats against a windshield. It was horrible beyond words and I found myself retching in the dirt.
Eventually, we climbed down to the shoreline, and were left with the grisly task of perusing the mangled bodies. Along the bottom of the cliffs, the ground was littered with broken corpses. We found eleven people, but there may have been many more. While all were badly battered, I could tell they were Drummonds, either a Douglas, a Toby, a Travis or a Desmond. Each was in uniform, some younger and some older, but all dressed like boy scouts with khaki trousers and matching shirts. Replete with arm bands, it seemed like the members of this troop belonged to a fascist army, all wearing a stylized eagle, its double head facing opposite directions. I did notice one small difference on each uniform. Every scout wore a metal lapel pin with unique double initials: DD, EE, FF...
“Who are they?” the Quantifier asked.
“Drummonds,” I said.
“But where did they jump from?”
“The past, I am guessing. Certainly not the future,” Fynn observed.
“But why— to what end?”
“A vanguard perhaps,” Fynn said, “gone terribly wrong.”
I tried to understand. “It makes sense if these guys jumped in before FDR was assassinated— but not after.”
“Perhaps they arrived for this very reason.”
“You mean because we stopped it?”
“Indeed. This may be their contingency plan.”
Fynn examined one of the bodies. “Or, if they are from the past, they may simply not know this future.”
“Yes, but why are they here now?” Mr Quandary asked.
“That is the question.”
“Roosevelt’s inauguration,” I blurted. “It’s next Saturday.”
“Perhaps they meant to try again.”
“We are at the end of our strength. There is nothing we can do,” the Quantifier said in an odd voice.
“What?” I turned and asked.
“That’s what Hoover said to your friend Kip on that day,” he explained.
“When?”
“The morning of the inauguration, of course,” he replied. “I also seem to recall General MacArthur was there with his
troops at the ready.”
“Ready for what?”
Mr Quandary gave me an icy stare, then looked out over the Hudson for a long while. “Well, I am not staying…” he announced.
“Where are you going?”
“Anywhere but here, to the past probably… hopefully, when and if I return, none of this will have happened.”
“What are you saying?”
“I certainly do not wish to explain any of this to the authorities.” His comment seemed to be directed at Fynn.
“It’s easy to see what happened,” I said and aimed a flashlight up to the trail that led along the cliffs.
“What?”
“The scouts, they were hiking… it got dark and they lost their footing up there. They all fell, a tragic accident.”
“Indeed. I suppose that would suffice as an explanation.”
“What do you think really happened?” I asked.
“It looks to me, none of these men were taught how to jump properly,” Fynn observed.
The Quantifier stared at me. “Where on earth did they get the idea that they could jump to the future?” he asked.
Someone else popped in at the temple in that moment— and it wasn’t the brigadier. Nor was it too hard to discern who it was; to be sure, an identical scout appeared at the center of the mosaic floor.
“Who is it now?”
“Another Drummond… though from the future this time,” Fynn said. “It seems to be a marshaling of forces.”
“Obviously. But which future?”
This Drummond surveyed the scene and soon enough the gruesome consequences of what had occurred began to dawn on him. He examined a few of the bodies and began to pace back and forth in obvious distress. A moment later he spotted us by the waterfall. Even more alarmed, he sprinted down the path that led south along the river.
“Wait,” the Quantifier called out to no avail.
“I know where he’s going,” I said, and stood upright.
“Where?”
“There’s a place to jump, up the trail, a big rock…” I glanced at my companions. “We should follow him.”
“Why?”
“He might jump.”
“Jump?” Mr Quandary asked. “To what end?”
I shrugged, though it was probably too dark to see, and started running. We gained good distance along the river’s edge, but he was too far ahead. I saw the Drummond scrambling onto a broad flat boulder, at least his silhouette. Then he jumped and disappeared into the night.
***
Wherever the brigadier went, he was not able to fix the fire. At least the library had not magically resurrected in our absence, nor by the next morning. When I got up, I learned that Mr Quandary had disappeared as well.
“Should we be worried?”
“Not at all…” Fynn said.
“Where has he gone?” I asked.
“Back to his ivory tower, I should say.”
“You don’t mean that literally.”
“Almost.”
“I meant the Brigadier…”
“Oh, yes, that we should worry about.”
* * *
chapter thirty-six
cliff diver
Inspector Fynn and I sat atop the Palisades Cliffs with our legs dangling over the edge slightly. It was another three hundred feet to the river below, but at least we were sitting in proper time for now. The morning was a bit chilly and I was glad to have Ming’s green jacket. The surroundings were mainly brown, dead leaves and mud, gray granite and a wide expanse of steely blue that was the Hudson.
“Your part in all this is finished, Patrick. It’s best you remain here,” Fynn told me. “Call it a well deserved rest.”
“What?”
“Your timeline has been restored, yes? You must now leave it to me to stop Mortimer— alone. It is as simple as that.”
“I thought we were partners.”
“In all other respects but this.” Fynn gave me a weary smile. “As the Quantifier says, we must act with all due caution, and things will go more smoothly if I proceed by myself.”
“Screw Mr Quandary. He’s not even here anymore, and it hardly seems like he cares that much.”
“I won’t disagree. But, to put it bluntly, Patrick, your lack of ability is a hindrance to me.”
“Traveling you mean?”
“Yes. It may be that I will have to jump to the future with some precision.” Fynn looked at me. “I mean no offense.”
“None taken,” I replied and paused to consider, looking out over the river. “So… basically, you want me to wait here and do nothing?”
“It’s for the best.”
“Won’t be much fun with just Ming and Cook for company.”
“Nonsense, there are some pleasant towns in the valley nearby, and New York City beckons in its full glory…”
“And the library?”
“We will fix this in due course… the order of events, as your new friend Mr Quandary would say. Once Mortimer and Drummond are dealt with, it should be a simple matter to go back and catch the arsonist before he can set any books alight.”
“What about Madeline and the Brigadier?”
“They will return when it’s appropriate.”
“Alright, just for the sake of argument, what should I do while you’re gone?”
“Stay in the carriage house would be my advice. Best you don’t stray too near the library ruins.”
“How long will this take?”
“A difficult question of course... It may take months, or years… but I will return as soon as I’ve completed my task… so to you, it might seem like a few days. I’ll be back before you know it.”
“I think I’ve heard that promise before.”
“Perhaps you could return to your usual present and wait for me there?”
“How?”
“Indeed.” Fynn made a face.
“What if it all goes wrong? How long do I wait? Till August?”
“I would not suggest that long. You will erase your own concurrency.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You would not jump back to the quarry as you did before… the future would unfold differently. Everything would be undone.”
I sort of understood what Fynn was saying, but I was still filled with a vague apprehension. “I’m not good with this, Fynn… I get the feeling that I have to go back no matter what…” I tried to order my own thoughts. “Say, I wait a month and nothing happens… You know I’ll come looking for you.”
“I was afraid you might consider such.”
“And you’ll trust me not to jump on my own?” I asked with a certain defiance.
“It’s not a matter of trust, Patrick. I only know that the last few times, it’s all gone terribly awry.”
“I don’t remember any of those.”
“Yes, and this is exactly what distresses me. Best I try alone this time.”
“How many times have we done this?”
“It would be the third attempt by my counting.”
“The first two went wrong?”
“That may be an understatement.”
“How’s that?”
“Do you not recall the Hindenburg?”
“Vaguely.”
“And there is the time you tried to go back by yourself.”
“I don’t remember that at all.”
“You ended up half way across the continent, the Southern Plains, I believe. Had a devil of a time trying to find you again.”
“How did you?”
“Eventually, you came back on your own, by way of the Chicago World’s Fair.”
“I don’t really remember that.”
“This is precisely what worries me.”
“Did I use the temple last time?”
“Not that I recall.”
“Maybe I could try that?”
“To what end?” Fynn asked and seemed genuinely upset. “Going further to the past will certainly not he
lp our situation, and it may well undo everything we’ve done thus far.”
“Sorry. I was thinking more about jumping ahead first and then using the temple to jump back with absolute accuracy— exactly to the time when I first arrived in August. That boomerang kind of jump.”
“A boomerang jump, do you say?” Fynn stared at me. “Explain, please.”
“You know what I mean: when you hard jump to the future and then slip right back to the past with a soft jump.”
“An apt description. I rather like it.” Fynn smiled. “Though I dare say, the boomerang jump is exactly what we do not need in this situation.”
“What?” I asked, surprised.
“There can be no soft jump. We cannot alter this concurrency. It’s too great a risk.” Fynn was uncharacteristically emphatic.
“Come on, if we time it right, we could roll into Sand City driving Grimaldi’s Blue Streak.”
That made Fynn laugh. “Surely, you are joking.”
I had to think about this for a moment before saying yes.
“And if you miscalculate? The result would be disastrous to say the least. Would Sheriff Durbin find a corpse on Boxtop Beach?” Fynn stared at me. “You’re not seriously considering using the temple, eh?”
“No, not really.”
“As I never tire to remind you, Patrick, the past always changes the future. This is what must decide our method of return.”
“Our method of return?” I seized on Fynn’s comment.
He chuckled a bit. “Every approach is fraught with its own difficulties. Even staying put in the present poses considerable danger, as I’ve said.” Fynn paused. “There are but two options: travel to Sand City at present, or jump forward to a new concurrency.”
“What’s that mean?”
“If we were to jump ahead to September, we would find a gap in our concurrency and return to Sand City almost as if returning from our original errand.”
“Would people remember us?”
“Difficult to say, though it is possible. Much would be changed however.”
“What about Grimaldi’s Blue Streak?”
“That may be a problem.”
“What’s plan B then?” I asked.
“Simply, I will travel to Sand City in the next day or so and stop Mortimer.”
“How will you get there?”
“The Manchurian sails again tomorrow… or I might take a train, or even borrow Madeline’s Duesenberg.”