The lad preceded us and carefully lit the interior lamps which cast soft, wavering illumination in the rooms, which were small but clean. Mine overlooked the alley while Peter's had a front view of Lloyd Street. Peter and Elani followed me into my room and shut the door, lest the boy, who'd been given a coin, hovered to eavesdrop.
"When I signed the register, I noticed the date is April 10, 1882," Peter said, barely containing his excitement. Reaching down, he ruffled Elani's ears. "She did an amazing job of accuracy," he bragged.
I had to admit, for a novice, she was very good. My first time shift was nowhere near as accurate, and it had taken me a few years to improve. Kipp cast some subtle influence, I suspected, but there was no need to take away from Elani's success. He was too much of a gentleman to admit it and even concealed that part of his mind from me when I asked. Kipp was wagging his tail before he leaned over and gave her a little nose bump of congratulations.
"So, we have a little time to kill before we meet the train," I said.
Outside, a few people walked past, their voices disruptive to the early morning quiet of the street. I knew that Atlanta, in some ways, was still much like a frontier town, loud and boisterous with magistrates handing out citations left and right as the lawful element tried to build a genteel city. Large homes with ivy wrapped supportive columns fringed the streets, while saloons and houses of ill repute stretched down other byways. Despite her occasionally cultivated appearance, Atlanta was a raw nerve.
"I'd wish you'd have brought Clue," Elani said, laughing in her lupine way.
After Peter and Elani retired, I undressed and donned the man's nightshirt that Suzanne had constructed in what she obviously thought was a clever touch. I sank into the too soft bed, feeling my back descend through the stuffing until it came to a rest on something hard and unyielding. Kipp hopped up and managed to circle without falling over before he lay down suddenly, his jaw thumping my chest.
"What are we gonna do tomorrow?" he asked, twisting his big head slightly to gaze at me.
"I'd thought we'd hire a buggy and sightsee, but you know, Kipp, I think I want to sleep."
He lifted his head in alarm and began to inspect me, his nostrils flaring as he took in my scent, as if he was searching me for an undeclared infirmity. It was uncharacteristic for me to not be curious to the point of total irrationality.
"I'm okay, Kipp. It's just we've had three time shifts in fairly close proximity to one another, and it's taxing on me. I'm not a youngster like you guys." I scratched his chin in what I hoped was a convincing manner.
"I don't mind sleeping," he said, nestling closer to me. "Maybe we'll dream together."
I did dream, but the experience wasn't pleasant, and I awoke, finally, sweating, my heart pounding. Kipp was alert next to me, his profile a dark silhouette in the unlit room. He'd let me be, knowing I didn't want him to interfere with my nocturnal musing. In my dream state, Peter and I got separated, and as I searched frantically, I kept encountering females who looked like his mother, Evelyn, who were silent but shaking their heads sadly at my failure. At some point, Philo and Fitzhugh joined the party, and I knew I'd disappointed everyone who had once cared about me.
"I wasn't in your dream," Kipp pointed out. "And I will never be disappointed in you," he added. "Except, maybe, when you tell me I stink when I get wet. That hurts my feelings."
"I won't say it again," I promised.
Peter and Elani did venture out the next morning to canvass the neighborhood and brought Kipp and me food. Kipp bolted his down with the eagerness of a hungry wolf while I picked at mine delicately. Honestly, I was enjoying just holing up for a day, wearing my nightshirt, listening to the rain patter outside. Our journey was going to be a damp one; I already knew that tidy fact from my brief review of history.
"I am still trying to understand why we symbionts have some of the rules that govern us," Elani remarked as she delicately licked her paw. "Like today, I thought I picked up a very vague ping of another of us, somewhere in this city."
We were gathered on a wool blanket spread across the floor of my room, lazing around, while the rain continued to fall. The sound of the rain acted as a soporific, and I began to yawn. The plan was to be at the train depot, or Car Shed, at 3:30 am. That would give us thirty minutes to obtain passage and deal with the issue of the lupines. How the conductor, William Fuller–who was notoriously rigid—would manage that wrinkle was unpredictable.
"Elani, our society has evolved, and our species has changed. You can see it in Kipp, who has skills and talents that surpass the rest of us. But even from the time I was born in 1604 to now, we have increasingly seen the need to develop structure and ethics so that we don't harm humans or do anything to change history. That's one reason we try to avoid our own kind when traveling, although it's not exactly forbidden. You could run into a corrupt symbiont who plows through your mind trying to figure out how to benefit from altering what's meant to be."
Her massive jaw dropped down in a pant. It wasn't hot, but the thick humidity made the air seem close and sticky. "Have you had that happen?" she asked.
"Yes," I replied, thinking of my distasteful encounter with Fitzhugh's nephew, John Gold, as well as that nasty piece of work, Andrea Collins. "You make me think of Kipp, Elani, in that you are innocent and have trouble conceiving of evil in others." I leaned over and scratched her head, my fingers finding the funny little point on her head, concealed by the thick gray-blonde fur. "Stay that way, okay?" I asked, smiling.
"So you've known others of our kind who are, uh, bad?" she asked. Her eyes were dark and depthless, unlike Kipp's bright amber ones that seemed backlit with an inner fire.
"Oh, yes," I answered. "But fortunately, there have been very few."
Peter stayed quiet through all these exchanges, but I knew he was absorbing everything that passed. He was the youngest of the group in terms of years, and he lacked some of Elani's natural talents. I knew he felt a little insecure, but that was to be expected until he got more experience behind him. Already I'd seen maturity in him just from the time shifts we'd made that were successful. At some point, he and Elani would go off on their own. I almost wondered if he was listening in to my thoughts, because a moment later he asked an interesting question.
"Do symbionts ever work in teams?" he asked as he gazed out the window at the rain which was falling in a fine mist outside. The natural imperfections in the window glass caused the scene to be slightly blurred and fuzzy.
"You mean, like the four of us?" I asked.
"Yes."
"Well, I don't think so. This is done in the spirit of training, but I've not heard of team time shifting for the purposes of our actual work." I smiled at him. "But, as I said, we are a constantly evolving species." It was an interesting notion and could have a useful application. Maybe it would be something to pose to the Twelve.
"He seems nervous," Kipp pointed out, his voice quiet in the back of my brain.
"Yes, but he'll settle down," I replied with a confidence I didn't feel. How was I to know how he would perform when placed under pressure? Symbionts had to think and adapt in an instant, and we took pride in the fact we could lie with a talent unsurpassed by any human in existence. We made deception into a fluid, flowing art of subterfuge.
Kipp helped us all to relax by introducing a complex mind game as only a brilliant Kipp could do. He somehow laid out the Clue game board in his mind and we, after choosing our characters–I was Professor Plum, naturally–began to play telepathically. It was almost as much fun as the physical board game, except I missed the tactile pleasure of the tiny little rope and candlestick props that I could cradle in the palm of my hand.
After a modest meal in the late afternoon, Peter dashed down to the front desk to ask the clerk on duty to have us awakened at 2:30 am. We'd need time to dress and walk to the Car Shed and wanted plenty of adjustment room if needed. The General would leave Atlanta for Marietta at precisely 4am.
Chapter 16
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"Darn it," I said, in frustration, as I tried to get my tie straight. There was a mirror of poor quality hanging on the wall, its borders contained in a narrow, slightly warped wooden frame. Leaning forward, I frowned at my wavy reflection. I'd managed to get my hair secured on top of my head and pulled the slouch hat firmly down, its brim tipping forward. Since I had no plans to remove my hat, the chances I'd be seen as rude and ill-mannered were high, but I'd have to take that chance. Peter could over compensate and act even more genteel to divert attention from his sullen brother, Sam. Finally, Kipp gave me his nod of approval that I would pass muster.
"If I haven't said it before, let me say again that I am thankful to be lupine. No showers, no layers of clothing, don't have to eat with a fork and knife... all kinds of things." His jaw dropped as he began to pant with excitement. Kipp was definitely eager to get on with our business. "So the usual rules apply?" he asked, tilting his head towards me.
"What do you mean?" I replied, stopping my self-examination to sit on the side of the too soft bed.
"If Peter or Elani get into trouble due to their youth and inexperience, I still need to follow all the standard rules of what I can and can't do." His eyes were bright and caught the minimal glow from the lantern in the dimly lit room. "Right?"
"Kipp, you know I can't answer that question," I replied, feeling mildly frustrated. "That is like asking a human if he sees a crime being committed, will he commit one, too, to stop a crime. It falls to ethics but also to judgment."
There was a light tap on my door which, after my soft invitation, swung inward. Peter, with his mustache and goatee neatly combed into submission, stood in the doorway, Elani at his side. He was holding his valise, which indicated he was ready to go.
"Come with me," he said.
I blew out the light in the lamp and followed him, closing the door quietly so as to not disturb other guests. Peter walked ahead on the slightly worn wool runner, which was patterned in faded colors of brown, red and green, leading me and Kipp to his room. It was dark, with only the solitary front window outlined on the wall, illuminated by exterior, ambient lighting. I joined him at the window; a couple of minutes later, a tall, slender man exited the front of the hotel and turned left to walk down Lloyd Street. He was visible in the soft halo of light cast by the gas lamps that fringed the street at evenly spaced intervals.
"William Fuller," Peter intoned. He tried to keep his voice low and even but the almost tremulous quality of excitement was there, nonetheless.
As we stood there, I became aware of a novel fragrance and wrinkled my nose in curiosity. The odor was coming from Peter's direction, and I turned to stare at him. "What's that smell?" I asked.
He shifted uncomfortably and kept looking out the window, pretending to ignore me for a moment. Finally, he sighed and answered. "It's pomade." Cocking his head to the side he glanced at me. "I bought some pomade while I was out and put it on my mustache and goatee to help keep them from curling up in the damp weather." His chin lifted as he stared at me as if he dared me to make a comment. Feeling noble, I kept my replies internal and tried to ignore Kipp who was giggling in the back of my brain. Looking down, I caught a glimpse of Elani happily wagging her tail in support of her man, which was natural.
"Well, let's go," I said, understanding his emotion over having seen William Fuller as well as the need to segue from the pomade moment. It was one thing to read about a historical figure and quite another experience to actually meet that person in the flesh. We descended the staircase to the lobby, nodding our heads at the same surly clerk who had registered us upon our arrival.
"Ya'll feel free to visit again and bring those nice doggies, too," he said, sneering. Yes, he was hoping we'd do just that so he could charge another personal premium for the visit. Peter managed to murmur something pleasant as we passed.
Atlanta was a busy town with a lot of commerce, so people from different backgrounds merged there. Therefore, we weren't going overboard to copy the soft native Southern drawl. I'd lived in North Carolina for some time, but I worked in situations with humans and symbionts of different backgrounds; consequently, my manner of speech was not particularly distinctive. I knew several languages and had the adaptability of my species to assume the local dialects with speed and accuracy. However, I was happy to be surly Sam and just ignore people or glower at them. We left the Washington House; outside, a fine drizzle continued to fall, turning the street into a cloying mess of unpleasant red mud.
"Another good reason to not wear skirts," I remarked, pointing down. "I can't imagine trying to keep my skirts hiked up over this stuff."
Kipp agreed as he and Elani tried to take delicate steps. We managed to find a sidewalk that was paved with river rock and thus escaped most of the mud.
"Not a word about wet dogs," Kipp cautioned me.
"I promised," I replied with a smile.
We encountered a few people; most of those on foot had obviously left saloons and were wobbling their way home or to other destinations. The mist, combined with the fuzzy yellow circles of light radiating from the gas lamps, created a surreal appearance. It almost looked like a chalk drawing, one that had become wet and was beginning to fade into nothingness. In a few minutes, we passed what was seemed to be a city park, a new addition to a growing city. It only took a few more minutes to arrive at the train station, or Car Shed as it was locally called.
I've seen a few places where the energy of humans was concentrated, but the Car Shed would go down in my memory book as exceptional. It was easily the largest building we'd seen, and although I not studied the architectural specifications for municipal buildings in Atlanta, I suspected nothing else rivaled the station. Constructed of red brick, there were two enormous arching entries on either end of the rectangular structure. As we entered, the echoing sounds of metal clanging, steam hissing, and men shouting almost caused the lupines' sensitive ears to ache from the booming, intensified noise. The four of us crowded closer together. We passed a row of men hawking food, everything from fresh fruit to hunks of cheese and fresh bread, thickly sliced. Two young girls labored over churns as they worked to produce buttermilk, about as close to the cow as possible.
"We didn't eat," Kipp remarked, his eyes large and rather sad as he stared at me.
I wasn't sure how he could manage that hollow-eyed appearance and almost asked him to turn to the side so I could check if his ribs were visible. This was the same Kipp who consumed three whole chickens and a plate of mashed potatoes the previous night.
"Remember," I said, raising my eyebrows, "we can be deprived of food for a long time and not suffer any ill effects."
"Yes, but I've done that on plenty of occasions, and let me state for the record, it's no fun," Kipp replied. He lifted his lips from his teeth in a lopsided grimace that looked intimidating to the unknowing humans nearby.
Peter approached a few of the vendors and purchased cheese and bread, and because I had what might be thought of as a hankering for buttermilk, he bought me a glassful. It was tart, lumpy and everything buttermilk should be. Kipp, always curious, took a whiff and turned it down after rolling his eyes in disgust. Well, I guess buttermilk is one of those things that you either love or hate.
We walked to a far corner of the Car Shed and let the lupines snack on cheese and bread, which Peter shared. I confess I was too nervous to have any appetite at all. There was a large clock in the center of the station that indicated it was 3:40 am. The time had arrived for us to determine if we could manage to convince Bill Fuller to allow us passage on his precious train, lupines and all.
Peter brushed the bread crumbs from his coat and took the lead, walking a step ahead of me, while I kept my chin down. Up ahead, we spied the General in all her splendor, noting the subtle differences between the original and the version that rested in a tidy, well-kept museum in the distant future. The brass fittings had been polished to a high shine, indicating the pride and perfectionism of her crew. On the sandbox of the boile
r, the number 39 was inscribed, correct as per historical records. The tender, which was painted in dark green stripes, displayed the company initials–W&ARR–boldly painted in gold paint. The man we knew from photographs to be Bill Fuller swung down from the locomotive, adjusting his hat as his feet touched the ground. He was a well built man, tall for those days, with a serious face decorated by a mustache and wispy chin whiskers. Fuller pulled his gold watch from the little pocket on his vest and checked the time against the large station clock. He didn't have to speak to project a completely no-nonsense attitude. People were beginning to gather, so before we got lost in the crowd, Peter approached him.
"Sir, I understand you are the conductor," Peter began. He stuck out his hand as a courtesy, and after a moment, Fuller shook his hand, as his unblinking, blue eyes stared at Peter.
"I am Peter Keaton and this is my brother, Sam," he said, gesturing at me. "We are traveling to Dalton to meet a man about purchasing some land." He looked up at the General and his face slightly flushed. "We need to purchase tickets to ride on your magnificent General, sir," he concluded politely.
Fuller, who thought of the engine as a prized possession that he loved more than he could love another human being, caught the look of admiration on Peter's face and smiled. He enjoyed any instance when a rider could appreciate the perfection and beauty of the General.
"Why of course, sirs," he replied. "You'll need to go to the ticket counter," he said, pointing at a location close by.
"We have a little problem," Peter responded, tilting his head forward. "We travel with our beloved pets, you see, and can't leave them behind." He laughed a little self-consciously. "You know how attached people can get to their dogs."
It was clear Fuller had never experienced such an attachment and that he thought a couple of grown men dragging around two large dogs were pretty ridiculous. I was monitoring his thoughts, and he wasn't suspicious; he just thought we were silly.
"I realize we can't crowd our pets on the passenger car, but we'd be more than happy to purchase passage and can sit comfortably in a box car so as to not incommode your other passengers," Peter concluded, his expression earnest. He quietly asked me, telepathically, how was he doing? I gave him a thumbs up in return, psychically speaking.
The Great Locomotive Chase, 1862 Page 16