We went inside. There was one long room, with tables and benches along the wall. There were no screens on the open windows, and flies were buzzing everywhere. A few soldiers were sitting at one of the tables and eating off tin plates. They were stabbing their meat with their knives and sticking it straight into their mouths, I noticed. Didn't they have forks here? My mother went nuts if she caught any of us putting a knife in our mouths.
We went through the room. Beyond it was a kitchen, where a shirtless, sweating man was standing over steaming pots set on woodstoves. Corporal Hennessy greeted him cheerily. "Coolest place in Boston, eh, Jonathan?"
Jonathan responded with a string of words my mother would have shot me for saying. This didn't seem to bother the corporal. "Need any help here?" he asked. "I have a couple of lads willing to pitch in."
Jonathan glanced at us and shook his head. "Try the warehouse," he said.
"Very well, then. Your loss." We went out through the kitchen and saw a much larger building surrounded by guards. Soldiers were lugging sacks out of it and loading them onto a bunch of wagons. The corporal went up to a big, bearded soldier who was supervising the loading and said, "Need a couple of extra hands, Tom?"
Tom gave us the look we were used to by now. "What are those outfits?" he asked. "Costumes for harvest festival?"
"We're, uh, not from around here," Kevin said.
"No, and you haven't done much laboring, from the look of you. Well, we can remedy that. Head on inside and grab some sacks. The camp awaits its midday meal."
"Keep 'em alive, Tom," Corporal Hennessy said. "They're guests of Colonel Clarett."
Tom just grunted.
"Fare you well, lads," the corporal said to us, and headed back to the barracks. Tom waved us inside the building.
It was filled with shelves, and on the shelves were the sacks the soldiers were loading onto the wagons. "What's in them?" Kevin asked one of the soldiers.
"Corn," he replied as he slung a sack over his shoulder. "Folks'll be mighty tired of corn before long."
I tried lifting a sack; I couldn't. Kevin was a shrimp, and he obviously wasn't going to be able to pick one up. "We'll have to do it together," I said.
"This is embarrassing," Kevin muttered.
"Just shut up and help."
So the two of us picked up a sack and staggered outside with it. Tom laughed when he saw us. "Nicely done, lads," he said as we managed to push it onto a wagon. "Heft twenty or thirty more, and you'll have it mastered."
We managed to load about half a dozen sacks before our arms turned to rubber and we had to take a break. There was a barrel of warm water in a corner, and we splashed some over us and drank what we could, but it tasted awful. "This is going to kill us," Kevin said.
"Let's just slow down. They don't seem to care what we do, as long as we don't look like we're goofing off."
We tried that, but it was still too hard. I always thought of myself as being in pretty good shape. I play soccer, and I have some ten-pound dumbbells that I work out with sometimes at home. But this was just way beyond me.
Luckily, after we'd loaded a few more sacks Tom decided there was enough food for the camp, and it was time for us all to take a break and have our own lunch. The wagons went off to the camp, and we went into the mess hall for some salt pork, boiled corn, and tea. I was hungry enough now that the food actually didn't taste too bad. I think I needed the salt after all the sweating I'd done.
While we ate we listened to the men complain. "We're soldiers, not laborers," a thin, wiry man said. "They should get the farmfolk to do this."
"They'd just stuff their pockets full of grain," the soldier sitting next to him pointed out.
"Shoot 'em if they steal. That's what'd happen to us."
"We should make 'em all soldiers," a third soldier said. "You think we can defeat the Portuguese and the Canadians with the army we've got now?"
"I hear they're signing up all the able-bodied men," the thin soldier said. "We'd be worse off if we had to take the rest of them."
"Doesn't matter who we get," yet another soldier muttered. "We've no hope of winning in any case."
That caused everyone to fall silent until Tom ordered us back to work in the warehouse. Now we had to clean up the spilled grain. This was a whole lot easier than lugging the sacks, but the heat inside the building was almost unbearable. "Wish I had a Pepsi," Kevin said.
"A Sprite."
"Dr. Pepper."
"Diet Fresca."
We came up with all the soft drink names we could think of. But we weren't going to get any. All we had was a barrel of warm water that was probably crawling with germs.
"What happens when the food runs out?" Kevin asked the thin soldier.
He shook his head. "That's when we surrender, mate. Let's hope we don't have too many die before that happens."
"How long till it's gone?"
"Don't know. Depends on how many people show up and how much they bring with 'em. Couple of months, I reckon."
That didn't sound good. Kevin was about to ask another question when we noticed Sergeant Hornbeam standing in the doorway. His red hair looked like it was on fire. "What are you boys doing?" he demanded.
"Colonel Clarett told us we had to work," I explained. "So Corporal Hennessy brought us over here."
Sergeant Hornbeam rolled his eyes. "Naturally," he muttered. "Have to put you two back in the brig," he said to us. "Come along."
I dropped my broom without a complaint. Hard to believe I'd be happy to go to jail, but I was.
"What happened with the watch, sir?" Kevin asked the sergeant as we headed back to the barracks. "Did you show it to anyone?"
Sergeant Hornbeam didn't bother to answer. He was walking so fast, it was hard to keep up.
"Please don't just hold onto it," Kevin persisted. "It's more than a toy."
"Still don't understand how you boys got hold of that thing," the sergeant said.
"Well, it's complicated, sir," Kevin began. But Sergeant Hornbeam waved him silent. We had reached the barracks, and he started shouting for Benjamin, who came waddling in, stuffing his shirt into his pants.
"Sorry, Sergeant," he said. "Making a visit to the outhouse."
"Kindly lock these two up once again," Sergeant Hornbeam ordered him. "And this time don't let 'em out on anyone's word except mine."
"What about the colonel, Sergeant?"
The sergeant muttered something under his breath, then turned and strode out of the barracks without answering.
Benjamin turned to us. "Sorry, lads. What was it you did, anyway?"
"Nothing, really," I said.
He shrugged and ushered us back into the cell, locking the door behind us. It was still empty. I slumped back down on the floor, and Kevin slumped next to me.
"This is good," he said.
"Good not to be hauling sacks of grain," I agreed.
"Yeah, but good because Hornbeam thinks we're so important he has to keep us locked up."
"If you say so. I just wish something would happen."
"Yeah, I know. I was thinking," he went on. "Remember how Stinky Glover and Nora Lally showed up in that other world? I wonder if people from our world are here, too."
"This place is a whole lot different than our world," I pointed out.
"I know, but it's not totally different. There's still a Glanbury, still a Boston. So it's a possibility, right? What if our families were living in Glanbury? What if they're in that camp over there right now?"
I closed my eyes and felt a lump rising in my throat. "You know what, Kevin? I don't really want to think about that."
"Yeah," he said softly, "I guess you're right."
We must have fallen asleep then, because the next thing I knew, a loud voice was shouting, "Wake up, dammit, don't you know there's a war on?"
I opened my eyes and saw Colonel Clarett standing over us. Behind him was Benjamin, holding a lantern and yawning.
"Come on, come on," the colonel said. "We don't have
all night."
I struggled to my feet, and then helped Kevin up.
"That's it, then," the colonel said. "Let's go."
We followed him out of the cell.
"It's all nonsense," he told us, "but there you have it. The enemy's at our gates, and they're interested in gewgaws." He led us to a room in a corner of the barracks. "My own office," he muttered. "And where do I go meanwhile?"
He opened the door, and we went inside. A tall, black-haired man in a uniform was standing behind a desk.
"Here they are, Lieutenant," Colonel Clarett said. "And much luck may you have of 'em. If you want my opinion, they're a pair of thieves, and that's that. Look at the hat on the little one," he said, gesturing at Kevin's Red Sox cap as if its existence proved he was a criminal.
"Thank you, Colonel," the lieutenant said.
Colonel Clarett looked like he wanted to stay, but the lieutenant was obviously waiting for him to leave, so he turned and walked out, slamming the door behind him.
The lieutenant smiled at us. "Now," he said, "I think it's time for a little chat."
Chapter 8
The lieutenant gestured for us to sit. Colonel Clarett outranked him, I guess, but the lieutenant sure looked more like an officer. He was young and handsome, and his red jacket and black pants were spotless and unwrinkled, despite the heat. The colonel's office was a mess, with papers stacked everywhere and five or six long pipes lying in a jumble on his desk next to an oil lamp. Like the rest of the barracks, the room stank of tobacco smoke. The lieutenant stared at us for a few seconds, and he seemed to take in everything about us—what we were wearing, how we sat—everything. Then he sat down, too.
"My name is Carmody," he said. "Lieutenant William Carmody. And to whom have I the honor of speaking?"
We managed to tell him our names.
"Pleased to meet you." His accent was more cultured-sounding than the colonel's or any of the other soldiers we had met. It wasn't quite British, but it was, well, different—sort of like those actors in old-time movies. He pronounced "lieutenant" in the British way: "leftenant."
He cleared a space on the desk—he didn't look pleased to have to touch the colonel's pipes—and then he took a blue cloth out of one of his pockets. He unwrapped the cloth and took Kevin's watch out of it. He laid the watch carefully on the desk. "And this remarkable device belongs to—?"
"It's mine," Kevin said.
"And you obtained it where?"
Kevin glanced at me. "Well, that's a long story," he said.
Lieutenant Carmody shrugged. "I'm in no hurry."
Kevin and I hadn't really talked about this. Should we tell the truth about where we'd come from? That was the whole point of Kevin's plan. But now that the time had come, it didn't seem like that great an idea. No one was going to believe us—least of all this guy, with his icy stare.
But what else could we do?
"We're not from here," I said. "Not from... this world."
"This world," Lieutenant Carmody repeated, as if to make sure he had heard correctly.
I wasn't going to be able to do it. I looked back at Kevin. This was his idea. He didn't look any more eager to tell the story than me, but he did. "See, it's like this," he said. "I know it's going to sound crazy, but: There are lots of universes. This is just one of them. We come from a different universe—it's kind of the same, but not exactly. There's a Boston in it, there's a Canada, and so on, but there's no United States of New England, and no New Portugal. And our science is way more advanced than yours. By accident we stepped into this, uh, this thing that brought us to your universe. Like a portal, a gateway between universes. This happened yesterday, in Glanbury—our version of Glanbury. Anyway, now we're stuck here because we can't get back to Glanbury, because of the war and all. So the watch—it was just something I was wearing when this happened. In our world it's no big deal, something even a kid would wear. But here it seems pretty important, so we thought we'd, you know, show it to people."
Kevin fell silent. I thought he did a pretty good job, but Lieutenant Carmody hadn't changed expression. I couldn't tell if he thought we were crazy, or what. He picked up what looked like a long pencil and made a few notes on an unlined, yellowish sheet of paper. I could hear a clock ticking in the silence. A bead of sweat fell down my face, but I didn't wipe it away.
"What's a 'kid'?" he asked finally.
"It's, you know, a child," Kevin said. "Someone who isn't an adult. That's a word back home."
"Your accent is rather strange. That's how you speak, wherever it is you come from?"
Kevin nodded. "It's the same language, just a little different. Like everything else."
He gestured at our clothes. "And those strange garments—that's what you wear...?"
"We just happened to have these clothes on when we went through the portal," Kevin said. "It's all an accident, see. We don't want to be here. We just want to go home."
There were tears in Kevin's eyes now, but the lieutenant didn't seem to be moved. "Let's try again," he said. "You found this thing or stole it. The question is where, or from whom."
"No, we didn't," I protested. "What Kevin said is true."
"You're stowaways or cabin-boys on a ship that managed to run the blockade," he said. "Where is that ship now? Where did it sail from? China?"
"No, sir," I repeated. "I've never been on a ship in my life."
"This so-called portal—it's in Glanbury, you say? Did anyone see you come out of it?"
"No—well, there were some Portuguese soldiers who started shooting at us. A family picked us up on the road afterwards."
"Their name?"
I tried to remember—they had given it to the guard at the city gate. "Harper, I think. Samuel and Martha Harper."
He made another note. "And are they in the Fens camp?"
I shook my head. "They're staying with his brother somewhere in the city."
"And have you told this story to the Harpers or any of the soldiers here?"
"No. We figured no one would believe us."
"A reasonable assumption. And a prudent course of action. There are those willing to see the hand of the devil in everything, especially in these dark days." He fell silent again and stared at us some more. Then he said: "Tell me more about this world you claim to live in."
That perked Kevin up. He started talking about cars and computers and airplanes and telephones, all the stuff we took for granted back home. And he mentioned bombs and missiles and grenades, too.
The lieutenant didn't interrupt, and his expression never changed. He jotted down a few notes, especially when Kevin talked about weapons. When Kevin ran out of steam, he spoke again. "Do you know how to manufacture one of these?" he asked, pointing to the watch.
"Well, no, of course not," Kevin said. "We just buy them. Big companies make them."
"You're only a kid," the lieutenant said.
"Right."
"What about the theory behind it? Do you understand how it works?"
"Not exactly. Maybe a little bit."
"What about 'telephones' or those flying machines—what did you call them?"
"Airplanes."
"Airplanes. Can you explain how they work?"
"Not really," Kevin admitted.
The lieutenant looked at me, and I shook my head.
"If we managed to return you to this 'portal,'" he went on, "could you obtain more of these ciphering machines? Or could you bring us back 'rocket-propelled grenades' or 'submachine guns' or the like?"
Kevin shook his head. "No, I don't think so. I mean, we're not even sure we can get back home through the portal. If we do get back, I don't know if we can return here. The portal isn't really part of our world—it's not like airplanes and stuff. We don't know have any idea what it is or how it works—maybe it's from some other universe."
Lieutenant Carmody sat back in his chair suddenly and put his pencil down, as if we had tired him out. He pressed his palms together and held them in front
of his chin. "What is it that you want me to do with you?" he asked quietly.
"Well, we figured we might be able to help," Kevin said. "You know, with the war."
"How, exactly?"
"Maybe we know stuff you can use."
"Enlighten me. What 'stuff' do you know that can help us win the war?"
Kevin looked at me for help. I didn't know what to say. "Stuff about science," he said, kind of desperately. "Stuff about the way the world works that you don't understand yet. I don't know exactly what, but if we think about it, maybe we can come up with something, okay? I mean, what have you got to lose?"
Lieutenant Carmody stared at him. "What do you mean, 'okay'?" he asked finally.
For some reason that was too much for Kevin. He started to cry.
"'All right,'" I whispered. "It means, 'all right.'" I put my hand on Kevin's shoulder.
The lieutenant lowered his hands to the desk and waited for Kevin to calm down. Then he said, "Let's go for a ride, shall we?"
We left Colonel Clarett's office. Outside the barracks was a fancy-looking carriage, the closed-in kind, with actual windows. A soldier standing next to it saluted Lieutenant Carmody and opened the door for him. "Back to headquarters, Peter," the lieutenant said.
The three of us climbed inside, and Peter got up front to drive. I wanted to ask what was going to happen next, but the lieutenant didn't look like he wanted to talk. Kevin still seemed pretty depressed. He just stared out the window as we made our way through Cheapside, then back downtown, where we saw more traffic and beggars and men wearing round hats and capes. We went along the waterfront, where I could make out the masts of ships in the harbor and along the docks. Finally we stopped at a large gate, and the soldiers guarding it quickly opened it for us. We went through it into a broad courtyard with big brick buildings on all sides. We came to a stop in front of the building at the far end of the courtyard.
Peter opened the door for us again, while a kid our age came up and took the reins of the horses. Lieutenant Carmody got out, and we followed him inside the building. Soldiers standing guard at the entrance saluted as he walked past them.
Inside the building was a large hall with paintings of soldiers hung on the walls and a big flag in the center—blue, white, and red vertical stripes. The flag of New England, I guessed. We went quickly through the hall and along a corridor. Finally the lieutenant stopped and knocked on a door. "Carmody," he called out in a loud voice.
The Portal Page 6