Max and Sierra both started to speak—
"Yes, I know," Astor interrupted. "This raises the question of who arrived here and when in that surplus of Chairs. But if we decide to wait here, until we find out who arrived, well . . . if the people who arrived mean us harm, then waiting is the strategy of sitting ducks, which surely we do not want to be."
"I agree," Sierra said. "Let's proceed with our plan."
Max looked a little less positive about this, but did not raise any objections.
The three entered the Millennium Club. "Good afternoon, Mr. Astor," the man inside said, and smiled courteously at Sierra and Max.
"These are my guests, James," Astor said.
James nodded. "Of course."
Sierra and Max returned his smile and proceeded with Astor.
"I've never seen him before," Sierra said to Astor.
"He's new here," Astor said, "a lot younger than the usual, as you can see."
The three walked up the first, second, and third flights of stairs to the second floor of the library, then up the winding set of stairs to the room with the Chairs.
Astor put a key to the door and it opened.
Sierra looked at Max. Astor apparently had an authorized key, she thought. More evidence that he was truly on their side? No – because Heron's people apparently had such keys as well.
There were indeed four Chairs in the room.
"What specific date in 1899 are we headed to?" Max asked Astor.
"My contact says Heron was spotted in March 1899," Astor said. "We probably should aim for the end of February, to be safe."
"Are we dressed warmly enough?" Max asked.
"Probably not," Astor replied. "But we can see to proper overcoats after we arrive. I know some very nice shops."
The three sat in the Chairs. "I'll do the honors," Sierra said. "I'm setting our arrival for February 25, 1899, at 10 o'clock in the morning."
"Sounds good," Max said, and Astor nodded.
Sierra lowered the go lever. Transparent bubbles arose around each head. The cosmos kissed them and the bubbles receded.
[New York City, February, 1899 AD]
"One thing I need to be especially careful about is not running into myself here in 1899," Astor said. "You two are no doubt aware of the problem. I could be having a drink right now at the bar downstairs."
"We won't stop at the bar," Sierra said, "and the likelihood of encountering yourself as you walk down the stairs is slim."
"Of course," Astor said, and the three left the room.
They encountered no one of note as they proceeded downstairs to the Millennium Club's entrance, at which Mr. Bertram was standing.
"I have seen him at the Club," Sierra told Astor. "Max knows him, too."
Astor nodded.
"Hello," Bertram said to Max and Sierra. "Mr. Astor, I do not believe we have met. My name is Reginald Bertram."
"The pleasure is all mine," Astor said with a bright smile, and shook Bertram's hand.
"You're not going out there like that?" Bertram said, a little appalled. "We had a blizzard here 11 days ago – 'The Snow King,' it's being called – 16 inches in Central Park, and one of the coldest days on record."
Max had already opened the front door. A frigid face-numbing blast confirmed what Bertram was saying.
"Where can we get some warm clothing?" Sierra asked and shivered.
"The Club has a nice selection of overcoats," Bertram replied. "I don't know if they'll suit your style, but they're well packed wool, and you can borrow them for as long as you like."
"That would be wonderful, thank you," Sierra said.
"Would you like to come with me?" Bertram asked. "Or, it might be faster if I just pick three coats out for you." He eyed Sierra, Max, and Astor. "I have a good eye for size and fit – I was a haberdasher in London, before the Parthenon Club hired me away!"
"You choose, by all means," Sierra said. Max and Astor nodded agreement, and Bertram left to get the overcoats.
"One of the hazards of temporal travel in intemperate climates," Sierra said. "We never had such problems in Athens or Alexandria."
A group of men entered. One, with a moustache, thick head of hair, and a pair of spectacles attached to his vest with a silver chain, instructed a younger man who was holding the door open while he scraped the snow off of his boots. "Shut that door, man – you'll make it feel like Siberia inside the Club!"
The man apologized and complied.
"J. P.!" Astor said with delight and pumped the extended hand.
"Jack," J. P. said more sedately. "You look younger every time I see you."
Astor laughed. "These are my friends, Sierra Waters and Maxwell Marcus, just returned from Egypt."
"I ought to go there one of these days," J. P. said, shaking hands with Max and gently squeezing Sierra's. "I have business upstairs, even though no business is allowed in the Club," he said and he took his leave.
"J. P. Morgan," Astor whispered to Sierra and Max. "He financed Thomas Edison a few years ago – actually, more than a few years ago, now. Tesla was furious."
Bertram appeared with the overcoats. "I think this greatcoat should suit you," he said to Sierra, and graciously dressed her in a deep beige coat with a cloak. "This should keep you warm as toast."
"Thank you," Sierra said.
Bertram did the same to Max, who received a stylish dark grey greatcoat.
Astor looked on approvingly, beaming at Sierra and Max. He put his arms through the black greatcoat Bertram extended to him.
A man appeared with three hats. "Thank you," Bertram said to the man, then to Sierra, Max, and Astor, "I can't let you go out into this cold with bare heads."
"Thank you," Astor said again, and took the black hat, with wide brim and flat crown, offered to him. Max did the same.
Sierra's was even more stylish, and mauve.
"Return all of this whenever convenient," Bertram said, and left with the hat bearer.
Sierra, Max, and Astor said thanks again, and walked out into the street. The cold hit their noses, unprotected by the greatcoats and hats.
"Let's proceed up to Wave Hill," Astor said, his breaths forming visible puffs in the icy air. "The trains from Grand Central run frequently."
"Should we call first?" Max asked.
"Not necessary," Astor replied. "I'm sure William will be happy to see us."
***
Astor professed to find the seven-block walk south to Grand Central Terminal invigorating. Sierra was happy that most of the snow had been cleared. But all three had to walk as close to the buildings and as far away from the street as possible, "lest we be splashed in the face by one of those horses or horseless carriages," Astor advised, grumpily.
They checked the schedule inside the Terminal. "Good timing," Astor observed. "There is a train to Riverdale in 20 minutes."
"Do you think we'll be able to make the climb up to William's house with all of the snow?" Max asked. "There's likely to be more of it in the Bronx, right?"
"Yes," Astor replied. "But we won't need to hike it. Did you notice the electrical hansom cabs in front of the Terminal? If they haven't made it as far as the Bronx as yet, there should be a few old-fashioned horse-drawn carriages readily available."
The train left at its posted time. The ride was smooth. There indeed were no electrical vehicles at the Riverdale station. Astor summoned a horse-drawn hansom cab, as promised. "Wave Hill," he instructed the driver, after helping Sierra and Max up into the cab.
"Very good, Guvnor!" the cabbie replied.
"Are you from the other side of the pond, England?" Sierra asked.
"Yes, I am indeed, Miss," the cabbie replied, and coaxed the horse to start its journey.
"Commerce has increased between New York and London in our decade," Astor said to Sierra, "not only economic, but intellectual. Transatlantic cable has been commonplace for a while, and the ocean liners are faster and more reliable than ever."
Sierra nodd
ed, and again put the Titanic out of her mind.
"Visiting Mr. Appleton?" the cabbie inquired of his passengers. "He hasn't been in the best of health of late – I brought a doctor up to see him, just last week, if I'm not speaking out of turn."
Sierra thought that he was, but didn't object, because she valued the information this cabbie might convey more than chiding him for the impropriety of talking about Appleton's health. "What was the purpose of the doctor's visit?" she asked the cabbie.
"Can't rightly say that I know," the cabbie replied. "But a visit from a doctor when the moon is out can never be good."
"Well, it could be," Astor said, "if the purpose of the visit, for example, was to see to a woman with child. Fewer things in this world than we suppose are one-hundred-percent bad or good."
The cabbie grunted his presumed agreement and was silent for the rest of the ride.
The cab soon arrived at Wave Hill. "Will you be long?" the cabbie inquired. "Shall I wait to provide a return ride to the train?"
"Not necessary," Astor said, and paid the cabbie generously in coin.
The three approached the door of Appleton's residence. Astor applied the knocker.
Geoffreys opened the door. He knew all three callers. "Here to see Mr. Appleton?" he inquired.
"Yes," Astor replied. "Is he fit to see us?"
"He was indisposed a little while ago—"
"But I'm quite fine now," Appleton appeared, with a big smile and a slow, labored walk.
Sierra rushed up to him and hugged him. "How are you, old friend?" She kissed him on the top of his head, which was now even balder than the last time she had seen him in 1896 – just a few days ago for her, three years ago for Appleton. His moustache was also whiter, and although he was still a little portly, he was less so than the last time the two had been together at the Millennium Club.
"I'm 86 years old – I'm feeling as well as I can for anyone that age." He winked at Sierra and whispered, "actually, I may even be a little older, considering all the time I spent out of time with you. But do not be concerned. I'm happy. I'll be back with my dear bride before too long."
Sierra blinked back tears.
Appleton, still hugging her, turned to Max and Astor. "I assume you're here because there is some kind of important business afoot that requires my attention, wavering as it may be?"
"We believe Heron is in this year," Astor said.
"And if he hasn't already, he may come to see you," Max added.
Appleton let go of Sierra. "Come," he said to all three. "Let us sit by the fire."
They walked into an adjoining room. "Can Geoffreys get you something?" Appleton inquired.
"Tea," Sierra said. "Thank you."
"Tea for me, too," Max said.
"Well, then, let's make it tea for all three!" Astor said.
Geoffreys, who had been standing close by, nodded.
"And I'll have a cognac," Appleton said.
Geoffreys nodded and went to get the beverages.
"I had at least one unpleasant conversation with Heron, in Alexandria while you were away, if memory serves," Appleton said to Sierra.
"He may not look like that anymore," Max said.
"Back to that again," Appleton said and coughed. "This face changing is almost as disconcerting as the time travel." He looked again at Sierra. "You fooled a lot of people, looking like Hypatia in Alexandria!"
"Yes, not quite my finest hour – too many good people died," Sierra said.
"Too many good people always die," Astor observed.
"Indeed," Appleton said. "By the way, I'm gratified that the three of you have apparently taken each other into your confidences. We need all the help we can get."
Astor nodded vigorously, Sierra nodded slightly, and Max not at all.
"What do you suppose Heron wants from me?" Appleton asked.
"To intercept the Chronica, would be my best guess," Astor replied.
Appleton laughed, coughed, and waved away help from Geoffreys, who had arrived with the tea and brandy and placed the tray on the table. "It's too late," Appleton said, when he recovered his voice. "But I guess you wouldn't know that, because you came from?"
"1896," Sierra replied.
"Ah, yes, then," Appleton started coughing again.
"Perhaps Mr. Appleton would like to rest a little," Geoffreys offered in quiet but firm voice.
Appleton glared at him.
"Of course," Astor said. "But just one question, then – what did you mean that it's 'too late' for Heron to obtain your copy of the Chronica?"
"It is already out of my hands," Appleton replied, serenely, "and under translation, as far as I know."
"May I ask by whom?" Astor asked.
"It's safer for none of you to know, wouldn't you agree?" Appleton responded. "Safer to let that knowledge die with me – knowledge of the translation of the Chronica – until the book takes its proper place in the world. Neither should be too long now."
"You still have some time," Sierra said, voice rough with emotion. She stood and put her hand on Appleton's shoulder.
He put his wrinkled hand over hers. "No point in pretending, my dear. We both know I haven't much time left in this Earthly realm. I only hope I've done well enough to merit a better place, though it would be difficult to find a place better than this, in your company, and the honor and joy it has brought me to know you. In many ways, you have made my life."
Now Sierra couldn't hold back the tears. Max's eyes were moist, too.
Appleton squeezed Sierra's hand with surprising strength. "The translation is assured," he said. "These kinds of things cannot be rushed. But I am confident that Heron will no longer maintain a monopoly on his time traveling."
***
Geoffreys called for another cab, which arrived in ten minutes.
This cabbie had a thick Irish brogue. "Down to the train station by the river, is that right?"
"Yes, please," Astor said, as he, Sierra, and Max settled into the cab.
"Do you share William's confidence about the translation?" Astor asked Max and Sierra.
"Not with Heron out and about in these parts, not with him time traveling. No, I don't," Max said.
"What should we do about it?" Astor asked.
"Do you feel comfortable enough with us now to reveal the name of your spy?" Sierra asked. "William revealed a great deal of our work to you in that conversation we all just had."
"I have an appointment with my source at Grand Central in two hours," Astor replied. "Would you care to join me?"
"Yes, we would," Max replied.
Chronica Page 10