Lock & Key

by Gordon Bonnet

  Sophie smiled. “No. Well, I mean, I don’t make those decisions. I understand you’re doing some kind of highly classified reconnaissance work, so there’s no reason I’d be privy to what’s going on. I only handle the artifacts end of things.”

  “I see.”

  “The other thing I was sent here for has to do with an artifact I understand you brought back from fourteenth century Norway. Fischer wants me to check it over, and to do some temporal analysis on it.”

  “Temporal analysis?”

  “We need to make sure that anything you brought back didn’t change anything critical in the future. You know—anything could. Technically, moving a leaf from one place to another could make a difference. In practice, of course, most things don’t result in any big changes. But we need to check. I won’t have to keep it long. The tests we run usually take about six hours or so. After that, and assuming it checks out, I can give it back to you.”

  A little reluctantly, he retrieved the box and key from the kitchen counter, where he’d left them upon entering the apartment.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll take very good care of them.”

  “I’m sure,” he said, and handed them to her.

  “Thanks.” She headed off down the hall, and he retreated into the apartment.

  He set the shopping bag down on the coffee table, and pulled out the contents.

  Inside was a coarsely-woven white cotton shirt, a pair of pants that felt like they were sewn from canvas, and a jacket made of fur-lined buckskin. A pair of hand-stitched leather shoes with rawhide soles sat at the bottom of the bag. A set of underclothes, neatly folded, included an undershirt and a long-legged cotton garment with a four-buttoned flap over the butt.

  “Practical,” he muttered, and then dropped his towel and put them on.

  After he was done, he slipped the jacket on, and went and stood in front of the bathroom mirror.

  “Jesus Christ,” he said out loud. “I look like some kind of Davy Crockett wannabe. All I need is a coonskin cap and a musket.” He turned to the side, looking at himself with a frown. At that moment, the telephone rang.

  It rang five times before he found it in a niche on the wall in the kitchen. He picked it up, and said, tentatively, “Hello?”

  “Settling in, Ault?” came Fischer’s voice.

  “Yeah. It’s a nice place. But these clothes, Fischer… I dunno. They make me look sort of like some kind of frontier settler guy or something. I feel ridiculous.”

  “Well, it’s okay if you feel ridiculous, as long as you don’t look ridiculous. When you go places, you need to try to fit in.”

  “I wish you’d thought of that before you sent me to Scotland and Norway.”

  “Hey, all of this is a work in progress, okay? We’re doing our best.” Fischer paused. “In any case, it’s important to remember that you need to fit in where you’re going, not where you currently are. I’m sure you wouldn’t look ridiculous to someone from nineteenth century Kentucky.”

  “Whatever. In any case, is it possible I could have something more for dinner than peanut butter and jelly? I haven’t had a decent meal in god-alone-knows how long.”

  “Well, actually, that’s why I called you. I’m having dinner in my quarters with Maggie, so we can discuss strategy, and we thought it might be advisable to have you sit in. Also, so that you can leave a little better fed than you were before.”

  “Well, that sounds hopeful. When do I have to go?”

  “Probably not till tomorrow morning. No rush, after all. It’s not like humanity is going to become any more gone.”

  “That’s true.”

  “Okay, so let’s say six o’clock in my apartment. I’ll have food brought up. We’ll eat and talk about our battle plan.”

  “Battle? Was there a battle going on in Kentucky in eighteen forty-four? Because I’ve had enough of battles.”

  “No. Figure of speech.”

  “Oh. Good.”

  “See you at six, then.”

  • • •

  Darren knocked on Fischer’s door a couple of minutes before six o’clock. Fischer opened the door, looked him over, and then laughed for nearly a minute.

  “This costume is your fault, Fischer.” He couldn’t keep the sullen tone from his voice.

  “God, this just slays me,” Fischer said, wiping his streaming eyes with the back of his hand. “The glasses definitely complete the outfit. You’re like the Nerd Man of Cumberland Gap, or something.”

  “You are such a pain in the ass.”

  “I’m glad I’m not asking you to pay for dinner. You’d probably want to pay me in possum hides.” And Fischer started laughing again.

  “Fischer, be nice,” came Maggie’s stern voice from somewhere behind him. “It isn’t as if Mister Ault has a choice of what to wear.”

  “No, I suppose not,” Fischer said, still chuckling. “Sorry, Ault. I haven’t had a good laugh like that in a long time. You can’t reasonably expect me not to enjoy it.”

  “As long as you don’t keep laughing all evening,” he said, and entered the apartment.

  It was immediately apparent that Fischer had at least given some attention to cleaning up. The pile of dirty laundry was gone, as were the beer bottles. The carpet looked freshly vacuumed, the kitchen counters sparkling clean. The table was set for three, and Darren’s mouth watered when he saw three nicely-prepared T-bone steaks, baked potatoes, steamed broccoli, and a big bottle of red wine. A pie of some sort was cooling on a rack on the counter.

  “Not some kind of vegan tofu-eater, are you?” Fischer asked.

  “No,” he said. “And honestly, even if I was, I doubt I’d stand on my principles at the moment. I haven’t been this hungry in years.”

  The first order of business was clearly eating, and he wolfed down his steak, a baked potato lavished with butter and sour cream, and another half a potato, and a large serving of broccoli, before he even felt like looking up from his plate. Fischer and Maggie ate at more measured paces, but finally all three were at the wine-sipping stage of things.

  “That was an awesome dinner, Fischer,” he said. “Do you eat like this every night?”

  “I wish,” Fischer said. “Special occasions only.”

  “I’m a special occasion?”

  Fischer glanced up at him, a little sheepishly, and then looked back down again.

  “What Fischer means to say,” Maggie said, setting her wine glass down, “is that he’s sorry for how he’s treated you, and should have given more thought to your safety before he sent you all over the world, and he promises not to be such an inconsiderate jackass in the near future.”

  “Hey now,” Fischer said. “I didn’t say anything to you about the last part.”

  “My apologies, sir, I got carried away with myself.”

  Fischer snorted.

  “Well, no hard feelings,” Darren said.

  “Good. So we are clear that if anything bad happens to you in Kentucky, it’s not my fault, right?”

  He looked at Fischer, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. “Why? What do you know about Kentucky that could be worse than Vikings, the Black Death, and homicidal Norwegian guys with swords?”

  Fischer glanced at Maggie. “Well,” he said, “how do you handle religious mania?”

  “Religious mania?” He couldn’t keep a note of panic from entering his voice. “They weren’t burning people at the stake at that point, were they?”

  “Not…” Fischer hesitated. “Not that we know of.”

  “Oh, well, that puts my mind at rest. Why couldn’t these divergences happen somewhere safe? And warm? Well, at least Kentucky is fairly warm, isn’t it?”

  “The divergence happened in November,” Maggie said.

  “Shit. This isn’t fair.”

  “Look, Ault, rescuing the human race isn’t supposed to be some kind of pleasure cruise.”

  “So why don’t you go yourself?” he said. “Why send me? It’s not like I know what I’m doin
g, or anything.”

  Fischer didn’t answer, and again, there was that second-long glance up to Maggie.

  “What?” he said. “What does that look mean? You’re not dropping me there in the middle of a war or anything, are you? Because I absolutely draw the line at being shot at again. I already got shot once, and it scared the hell out of me, and no way am I going to go through that again!”

  Still, neither one answered.

  “Okay, what aren’t you telling me?” he demanded.

  “It isn’t that we are unwilling to make the voyage ourselves, Mister Ault,” Maggie said. “It’s more that at this point, we can’t. You’re right that it would be only fair for one of us to take a turn running the risks, but the Board… thinks otherwise.”

  “What does that mean? The Board thinks otherwise?”

  “Well, Mister Ault, the fact of the matter is, Fischer and I, and also the Head of Security and several of the other department leaders, are under investigation for malfeasance. The Board of Directors is trying to determine if the current situation was caused by our negligence, and if so, what the appropriate measures are to rectify the situation. We had thought we would have more time to investigate the situation ourselves, and potentially to launch remedial measures, but the Board became aware of what happened and has taken matters into their own hands.” The corner of her mouth curled up a little. “I suppose that it was a forlorn hope that the disappearance of the entire human race would go unnoticed.”

  “Meaning you can’t help me?”

  “We can still help you, yes, but purely from an advisory standpoint. We’ve all had our travel privileges suspended until this matter is sorted out—to stop any of us, presumably, from escaping into the past and vanishing ourselves, in order to avoid the consequences. So we are, for all intents and purposes, under house arrest. We are still allowed access to the computer systems, so we can still assist you in your endeavors, but the sad fact is that when it comes to investigating the divergence in Kentucky, you are on your own.”

  He widened his eyes. “But that’s terrible! None of this was your fault!”

  “Nonetheless, Mister Ault, the Board sees the oversight of the Library, and therefore the management of everyone’s timelines, as our responsibility. Our sacred charge, as it were. However this situation happened, it was on our watch, and someone has to take the blame for a problem of this magnitude.”

  “They’re looking for a fall guy,” Fischer said. “Or six or seven. An opportunity to clean house.”

  “Although what our successors’ job description would be if this situation is not corrected remains to be seen,” Maggie said.

  “What will happen to you if I don’t succeed?”

  “Hard to tell,” Fischer said. “Nothing like this has ever happened before. I just hope they don’t realize that in the Artifacts Department there’s a whole room full of medieval torture equipment. Although using it on Fassbinder would be ironic, in a way.”

  “Now, now,” Maggie said.

  “Hey, he’s the one who’s into collecting that stuff,” Fischer said.

  “Be that as it may,” she said, “you can see that we have quite a lot depending on your success, Mister Ault. So while we are no longer in a position to compel you to go to Kentucky, we are… encouraging you to do so. I am inclined to agree with you, that Per Olafsson’s assessment of the situation—that Lee McCaskill did not directly go back in time and cause the divergences in question—is probably correct. But however that is, we do know something of interest happened at those three moments in time. So far, what you have learned is intriguing, but is yet to form a complete pattern of any kind. So I would like to ask you, as a personal favor for Fischer and me—would you be willing to go back to nineteenth century Kentucky and see if you can find out further information about what has destroyed the proper time sequence? If you are unwilling… I am very much afraid that we have our hands tied.”

  He glanced from her to Fischer, and before he could talk himself out of it, said, “Of course I’ll go.”

  “That’s pretty sporting of you, Ault,” Fischer said. “I half expected you to say ‘screw it’ and walk out.”

  He finished his wine, and Maggie poured him another glass without being asked. “Hey, I figure that after everything I’ve been through, and survived, what else could happen?”

  “I thought you told me it was bad luck to say that,” Fischer said.

  “It probably is. But so far I’ve survived being shot, speared, and beheaded. Based on that, I’d say that the odds are in my favor.”

  “Damn, Maggie, I think we’ve finally turned this guy into an optimist. Who’d have thought?”

  “We are greatly appreciative, Mister Ault,” she said. “Your willingness to be a pawn in this strange game takes no little courage.”

  “Well, I want the human race back as much as you two do, and also to find out why Lee tried to kill me. I mean, I don’t know if I’ve made this clear enough, but Lee and I were best friends. I mean, tight. He was like my big brother. And then, all of a sudden, he goes nuts. If I can figure out what happened that caused that—and if we can somehow put that right, along with everything else—it’d really make any amount of trouble worth it.”

  “That’s great, Ault. Like Maggie said. Thanks for being willing to do this.”

  “Well, there is one thing, though,” he said.

  “Yes?”

  “What were you saying about ‘religious mania?’”

  “Oh. That,” Fischer said.

  “Yeah, that,” he said, narrowing his eyes with suspicion. “What aren’t you telling me? Last time you tried to avoid telling me about the Black Death.”

  “Well, you didn’t get it, did you? I told you there was nothing to worry about.”

  “Still. I could have. So what are you currently trying to avoid telling me?”

  Fischer fidgeted with his silverware, and then looked up at him. “Maggie and I did some research while you were gone. We thought it might be helpful to check out the people involved in the third divergence. You know, just see who they were. Even though there’s still some fuckup that’s making us unable to tell the difference between actual and alternate tracks, we can still poke around in their records. Their files are accessible on the computer, not to mention the printed versions in the stacks.”

  “Okay, and what did you find out?”

  “The divergence is connected to a twenty-four-year-old woman named Jane Bell, in a little rural town called Concord, Kentucky. Like the others the computer identified in the original search, there’s something wrong with her file—some kind of disconnect with everyone else’s actual track took place in November of eighteen forty-four—but her life prior to that time was easy enough to look into. It seems like Jane Bell was the daughter of an itinerant preacher named Zebulon Bell, who took his dog-and-pony show around through Kentucky, Tennessee, and the western parts of Virginia and North Carolina. She was the eldest of twelve children.”

  “Wow. Brother Zebulon didn’t just spend his time preaching the gospel,” he said.

  “No, evidently not. And the sect that he belonged to… well, they didn’t believe in abstaining from sex, although they did refrain from drinking, smoking, gambling, and dancing.”

  “Okay, so far, what’s the problem? I drink occasionally, but I don’t smoke or gamble, and I have two left feet so dancing is probably out even if I wanted to. What’s the big deal?”

  Again, there was that momentary fidgeting with his knife and fork. “Well, you know how the Quakers were nicknamed that because they quaked before the Word of the Lord, and the Shakers were called that because they got so carried away with religious fervor that they would start to tremble and collapse to the ground in a sort of holy seizure?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, this group was nicknamed the Whackers.”

  “Okay, that doesn’t sound good.”

  “And it wasn’t because they masturbated a lot.”

  “I
figured.”

  “The Whackers were a small, rather exclusive group of ultra-religious evangelical Christians in the early nineteenth century,” Maggie said. “They didn’t call themselves that, of course. They called themselves the Church of Our Lord Jesus Christ Risen and Triumphant Through Suffering. They believed in redemption through pain—that the line from Genesis, ‘Cursed is the ground because of you; through painful toil you will eat of it all the days of your life’ was not a consequence of sin, but a command by God to seek out painful experiences.”

  “Oh, crud.”

  “Yes, they were a little… extreme,” Maggie said. “They never numbered more than about thirty.”

  “For obvious reasons,” Fischer said.

  “During their observances, they invited other church members to hit them in various ways. Pain was considered a sacrament.”

  “And I suppose the computer isn’t going to rescue me if I’m about to get punched in the nose,” he said.

  “No, sorry.”

  “Crud,” he said again.

  “Well, that’s the breaks. The frontier was a rough place.”

  “Yeah, but no need to make it rougher by beating each other to a pulp every Sunday to try to get closer to God.”

  “I suppose you’ve got a point,” Fischer said.

  “And Jane Bell was the preacher’s daughter?”

  “Yup.”

  “So no possibility of flying under the radar on that one.”

  “Can’t see how.”

  “It would be easier if they just masturbated a lot,” he said.

  “That’s true.”

  He sighed heavily. “What else did you find out? Any other interesting ways to get me severely injured that you’re not telling me about?”

  “No, nothing like that. As far as the girl herself, we know that like the other two, Jane Bell should have been married but the computer can’t seem to locate her spouse. If our original hypothesis is correct, it’s because Jane Bell is your direct ancestor, and the divergences wiped out one line of your ancestry. Why it intersected with actual tracks in these three different spots is uncertain. It could be that the computer was looking for some way to identify the problem, and grabbed the first anomalous data it found.”