Such strange young people, Mrs Macgregor thought, but she said, “I’ll go and fetch them myself. Don’t you worry.” She removed her apron and smoothed her dress.
“Please don’t let anyone else know we’re here,” Nat said.
They waited. It seemed a long time before the cook returned with Emmeline and Edward, who hurried into the kitchen and regarded them in dismay.
“Where have you been?” said Emmeline. “I didn’t know what to do. Frederick was so angry! He went out after you left and returned late. I don’t think he really meant to hurt you.” She paused, doubtful. “It’s Papa he hates.”
Nat turned to Edward. “Do you know where Frederick is right now?”
“I saw him leave earlier,” Edward said, “He didn’t say where he was going—he knows I don’t like to hunt. Probably to the woods. I told him a storm was coming but he went anyway. I heard a couple of shots so he might have bagged a poor bird.” He frowned. “Is he in trouble again? Father will be furious. Emmy told me you had an argument with him last night.”
Nat said, “We want to avoid him. We’ll be leaving as soon as we’ve found what we’re looking for.”
“The map segment,” said Emmeline.
“There’s something else,” said Nat, “but we need Edward’s help.” He turned to Norika and said quietly, “We can’t go back for Finn ourselves, it’s too risky.”
“Then I’ll ask Edward myself.” Norika looked at Edward and spoke in a clear, firm voice. “On the lawn, in the field before the woods, lies someone—I care about. A badger. He was shot this morning.”
Edward said, “Was it Frederick who shot it?”
“It was someone on the terrace. Finn died helping us escape.”
“Finn?”
“The badger. That was his name.” Norika’s throat tightened. She knew she was looking at the boy who would later die at the Western Front, and she found it hard to speak.
Edward stared at her. After a moment, he reached out and touched her hand.
She said, “Would you bury Finn under the large oak tree at the edge of the woods, place leaves over his grave—before someone else finds him?”
Edward said, “I’ll leave right away.” He looked back at her from the doorway. “Please don’t worry. Finn will be home in the woods soon.”
She knew Edward would keep his promise. She remembered what Emmeline had told them about his plans to take Biology at Oxford, and her eyes filled with tears. “I will never forget what you have done for me, Edward,” she said. “Thank you.”
* * *
“This is the chair in the diagram,” said Nat, “the seat pattern matches. It has to be connected to the map segment.”
They were in the nursery. Norika was holding the chair to the light from the window. Sir Hugo and Lady Wincroft had left for the village with their guests and only a few people remained in the house. Nat knew Rick could return at any time. Finding the map and leaving Halston Hall had become urgent.
“You’re right,” she said, “there seems to be something under the fabric.”
“I’ll unpick the cover,” said Emmeline. “I can sew it back. I’m good at needlework—no one will notice.”
“Can you do it quickly?” said Nat.
Emmeline undid the stitches and lifted the fabric. Wedged in the seat frame was a tightly folded parchment which she removed carefully with small, delicate fingers.
Nat unfolded it. “It’s the map! I’ll scan it and we can go.”
“Take it with you,” Emmeline said. “I’ll sew the fabric back later.” She hesitated. “I have something for you, Norika. It’s a drawing Edward did last summer, of a robin. I thought you’d like it.”
Norika took the drawing Emmeline held out to her. It was a pencil sketch—the bird perched on a small branch, its head to one side, regarding the young artist.
Norika took a moment. “I’ll keep it with me. Thank you, Emmeline.”
“I wish you could stay,” said Emmeline. “Perhaps I’ll see you in New York! My grandparents are taking me back with them next year for the holidays. We’re going on the biggest ship ever built—Mama says it will be very luxurious!”
Norika held her breath. She was about to ask Emmeline the name of the ship but the expression on Nat’s face prevented her. He leaned towards her and spoke with a quiet urgency. “We’re observers, we can’t change things.”
Norika hesitated. “Goodbye, Emmeline,” she said softly.
They moved fast, down the staircase, back along the hallway past the library and cloakroom, and into the entrance hall where the double front door led out to the terrace. Nat came to a sudden halt in front of the grandfather clock and Norika nearly ran into him. “What is it? We can’t stop here!” she said.
The clock was chiming the midday hour.
“Every time we pass through the hall, the clock has been chiming twelve,” said Nat. “Why?”
“Nat, we can’t stay!”
“It’s important,” Nat insisted. “Remember the Roman numerals on the diagram? The year, and then a sequence of numbers starting with 12? I think it was a sequence of hours.” He was already reaching up to open the glass front of the clock face. With a soft click the front swung open. He frowned in an effort to recall the numbers.
“We have to leave here before we’re discovered!” Norika pleaded.
“Wait, I remember now,” said Nat. He set the hands to each number in the sequence. There was another faint click and a small panel opened in the walnut case to the side of the clock face. Nat peered into the space and drew out a small note.
“There’s someone coming!” Norika said.
Nat shoved the note in his pocket and closed the clock front.
A small group of guests had returned from the village. They entered through the front door, talking and laughing. Some recognised Norika from the dinner and stopped to praise her. Smiling in response, she and Nat moved quickly through the group and out the door to the terrace, down the steps and on to the lawn, away from the house.
The only structure ahead was the summerhouse, octagonal with mullioned windows on every face except the entrance. The door was unlocked and they entered cautiously. From the inside they had a good view of the surrounding garden, but they chose to sit on the floor beneath the level of the windows to avoid being seen.
Nat took out the note. It was from Seb. He read it several times, increasingly perplexed, before handing it to Norika.
Nat—I know you’re OK. This is the only way to contact you—a barrier prevents us from seeing each other but I’ve worked out how to send notes. A friend once told me nothing occurs at random, everything happens for a reason and by necessity. Remember that—Seb
Norika frowned. “He’s quoting an ancient Greek philosopher.” Yoshiki had told her about Demokritos. Demokritos is with him, she thought.
Nat shrugged, relieved. “At least he’s safe. You don’t know Seb—he’ll find a way to keep in contact with us.”
They heard a movement outside. Nat put his finger to his lips and stood silently to check. The lawn to the south was clear, to the west was the lake where a few guests rowed, open fields stretched to the east and to the north lay the village and the woods. The road to the village skirted the woods and dropped out of sight below the contours of the land. He could see farmcarts and a car in the distance but no walkers. He watched, alert and tense, for a minute or two. Nothing.
“We can’t stay here for long,” he said in a low voice. He sat next to her and opened the scan of the third diagram. The central drawing appeared to be copied from an old photograph, sepia and scratched with dust effects. Half the image was taken up with adjoining sections of what appeared to be hammered metal, like part of a large sculpture, one edge hard against a smudged sky. The numerals and letters in the top margin were modern, the same as on Nat’s phone, and appeared to be random.
“It could be a date,” Norika said.
; “Except there’s no fourteenth month.”
“It could be the American system of writing dates, with the month first. In that case, the date would be December 14th, 1911.”
“But where’s the connection to America? The letters don’t mean anything.”
Norika persisted. “The image reminds me of America, for some reason. Did you ever see the old movie Planet of the Apes? The final scene showed the Statue of Liberty on its side in the ocean. The image in the diagram reminds me of the Statue of Liberty. This looks like part of her crown, this shape here could be a section of one of the rays, and the wavy lines look like her hair.”
Nat studied the image. “Maybe you’re right.” He entered the numbers in the site bar and watched as a website opened. He stared at the screen. “It’s the homepage for Ellis Island in New York Harbor,” he said, “the place where immigrants arrived in America more than a century ago.”
“That’s why the image in the diagram looks like an old photo,” said Norika.
Nat checked the menu bar, “—and why the Statue of Liberty is in the photo. It’s right near Ellis Island.”
He opened the Photo Gallery page and dozens of thumbnails appeared, mostly of foreshore buildings and family groups on the wharves. There on the screen were the passengers, spilling out from the ferries delivering them to Ellis Island from the ships—tired women in long dark dresses and headscarves, men in caps carrying bags of belongings on their backs, wide-eyed children clutching wooden toys.
Nat scrolled through the images, looking for a connection to the diagram. The rock started to hum and they glanced at each other, knowing they were trapped in the summerhouse with only one way out.
Norika focused on the screen. “Quick! There it is, I’m sure of it. The Statue of Liberty is to the left across the bay.”
The sepia-toned, grainy photo had been taken from a steamship loaded with passengers crowded along the deck, watching the Statue Of Liberty coming into view ahead of them. Those in the foreground were looking back at the camera, smiling and pointing towards the statue.
Nat zoomed in on Liberty’s head. The image was blurred and it took him a moment or two to find the section which matched the image in the diagram.
“What does the caption say?” said Norika.
“S.S. President Lincoln, arrived Ellis Island December 1911.”
The rock was humming loudly. Norika glanced past Nat to the door.
Rick stood outside in his long coat, staring at them through the glass, holding a rifle. He flung the door open and raised the gun, taking aim as they scrambled for cover behind a low bench.
“Click on the image!” cried Norika.
Nat saw an expression of doubt cross her face before the gun fired. Too late. The area around him shimmered and he merged into its darkness, this time alone.
* * *
What makes someone extraordinary? Are they like that to begin with, or do the things that happen to them make their lives exceptional?
I think of these questions whenever I think of Norika these long days between semesters, when I’m filling the time writing my thesis and wondering whether I’ve made the right choice.
I’m sitting on the banks of the river, looking across at the university and watching the rowboats glide silently through the water. Fall is early and the leaves are turning brilliant yellow and red.
The path I’ve taken has turned out to be continuous, like a Möbius strip. I end up in the same place, doubting my trajectory and my recollection of events. I wonder will it always be like this. Kenji says it will—the Second Transition has ended but the work continues. I know I can’t remain here beyond the agreed time, the optimum point to leave, and that time is near.
Never have I been more aware of the scale of catastrophe that can result from the casual manipulation of history. Ants diverted from their path can change the course of stars. Seb believed that. I hope he still does.
In the end, control is absolute. None of us is free, even if we believe we are. People walk on by, not noticing the difference.
Nothing’s over.
I don’t regret any of it. Norika has gone, but there’s no end.
Part 3
America
20
New York Harbor, 1911
Nat looked around, shivering in his boardshorts and parka against the bitter cold. He knew he was on the ship in the website image. Passengers were jostling for position as the Statue of Liberty appeared through the mist. He was alone amongst them. Where was Norika?
Someone approached him—a woman in a headscarf with concern on her face. She spoke to him in a foreign language and when he apologised and told her he only spoke English, she called to a young boy at the rail to help her. When the boy came over to them the woman spoke to him briefly.
The boy turned to Nat. “My aunt thinks you are cold. She has a coat she can give you.”
Nat hesitated. “That’s very kind of your aunt. Please thank her for me.”
The woman smiled at him and nodded. She spoke to the boy again.
“She will fetch it for you,” the boy said, as his aunt left. “My name is Zev.”
“I’m Nathaniel—Nat.” Nat offered his hand and Zev took it firmly with a shy bow of his head. Nat said, “I’m glad to know you, Zev. Where are you from?”
“We are from a small village near the Hungarian border. My uncle lives in New York. He is meeting us here. And you?”
“I’m from Tasmania, an island in the southern ocean, part of Australia.”
Zev raised his eyebrows in surprise. “A long way from here. You would see different stars in your skies.”
Nat smiled, remembering. “We do. The southern constellations.”
Zev’s aunt returned with a heavy wool overcoat. It was a good fit and hung below Nat’s knees, with buttons down the front and a deep collar and cuffs. Nat wrapped it tightly around him, grateful for the warmth.
“Are you sure I can wear this?” he asked the woman. She smiled in answer.
Zev explained. “The owner’s name was Igor. He was a good man, an old man. My aunt cared for him when he became ill on the crossing. He would be glad to know his coat belongs to you now.”
An hour later they were on Ellis Island. The ship had moored in the bay and Zev’s family and Nat had been in the first group to board the ferry for the island. As other groups joined them, the sidewalks filled with people waiting to begin the process of entering America. Men carried battered suitcases and wooden boxes tied with rope and string, women carried babies and bundles of clothing. Children were kept near at hand, but some broke free, eager to explore. With the promise of a new homeland so close, the crowd advanced in orderly lines through the inspection points.
There was nothing Nat could do but move forward with Zev and his family and take each stage as it came. He would need to improvise.
“Do you have identity papers?” Zev asked him, as if he knew the answer. “Don’t worry, not everyone has them.”
Zev’s aunt was watching them from behind. She moved to a position beside Nat and smiled at him reassuringly. The group advanced slowly along the sidewalk and entered the first building. Zev’s father left their luggage with those of others in an open area near the foot of a wide staircase, and rejoined his family to climb the steps to a large space at the top where doctors were carrying out health inspections. People waited obediently while their nails, eyes, mouth and teeth were examined, hoping they would not be among the few taken aside for further examination.
Nat thought of Norika and home. And Seb. Was Seb nearby? Without contact, he was stranded here.
Zev was standing next to him, watching him. Nat managed a weak smile, and Zev reached out and touched his arm. Nat’s throat was tight and he pulled his coat close, seeking comfort from its warmth. He thought of Igor and silently thanked him.
The hall was filled with hundreds of people waiting to be processed. Those who made it to the final checkpoint were given a la
bel with their name and destination to pin to their clothing.
The inspector looked up, frowning, as Nat gave his name.
“Are you related to the others with you?”
Before Nat could respond Zev said quickly, “He’s my cousin, but he has no papers.”
“Why not?” asked the inspector, his gaze still on Nat.
“I lost them.”
“How old are you?”
“Seventeen.”
“Where are you going?”
“New York.”
The inspector hesitated a moment. Hundreds were waiting their turn to move forward to the desk. He sighed and handed Nat a card with a pin.
“Take this and pin it to your coat. You can go.”
Zev’s uncle Shimon was waiting for his family as they came down the stairs. Shimon cried when he hugged his wife and children, after three years of working and saving enough money to bring them to New York. Whatever was ahead, they were now together. As the family waited for the ferry to take them to Lower Manhattan, Nat felt like an outsider and started to move quietly away. Zev saw him and went to him.
“Stay with my family,” he urged. “My uncle is successful, he will have room for you. Don’t be alone.”
“I can’t stay with you, Zev. I’m looking for someone.”
The boy removed a few coins from his pocket and pressed them into Nat’s hand. “My uncle gave me money. You will need this for food.”
Nat stared at him. “Thank you. I’ll find you, I promise, and repay you.”
“Then take this,” Zev said, tearing the label from his coat. “It has my uncle’s address on it. You can find us there.”
* * *
He was in New York.
He had dozed on benches during the long wait on Ellis Island, and now felt exhilarated beyond belief. He had started walking from the ferry terminal and an hour later was still walking. Everywhere he looked the streets were crowded. Streetcars were full of passengers, horse-drawn carriages shared the streets with motor vehicles he recognised from early photographs. His senses were alive to everything. The smells! Steaming horse manure, food cooking in the tenements, the crush of people on the sidewalks. The noise! The clatter of hooves on the cobblestones, the jangling of streetcar bells. Vehicles sounded their horns, stall holders argued loudly with their customers and each other. An organ grinder with a monkey was cranking out a tune on a street corner.
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