Marking Time (The Immortal Descendants)

by April White

  I shrugged and rifled through a stack of papers. “I don’t see how any of this helps us. You don’t even have a proper suspect in here, just names of people the police have interviewed.”

  “The one I believe is a Vampire isn’t on any list we’ve seen.”

  I stared at Archer. “And what are you, psychic?”

  “Not that I’m aware of.”

  The dry way he spoke reminded me he had Seer blood. “Okay, so enlighten me.”

  He looked at me a long moment, then finally spoke. “I can’t.”

  My eyes narrowed at him. Archer met my stare with an expression that looked rebellious. Well, I wasn’t going to play his game. I spun on my heel and walked out of the room before he could say a word to stop me.

  “Miss… Saira!” I didn’t even pause. “Saira! Wait!”

  Fortunately I have a decent memory for directions and was able to stalk out of the building without a wrong turn. A tiny rock was wedged into the doorway of the heavy exterior entrance and I silently thanked Ringo for leaving me a way out. There’s nothing like fumbling an exit to ruin the effect of storming away.

  Archer was still chasing after me and when he burst out of the building I broke into a run. I could hear him swear under his breath, but to his credit, he kept after me.

  I didn’t have a plan, and that was my whole problem. I was back in England in the late 1800s with no money and no idea what to do next. Seeing Archer again had been a wacky little fantasy, and now I just felt like an idiot.

  Hence the running. When the going gets tough, the skittish run away. It felt like whatever he was into was just one big mystery. I had way too many of those at the moment and I didn’t have it in me to solve his too.

  I turned a corner and paused to catch my breath. It hit me all at once that the only thing I wanted right then was to find my mom and go home. I felt like I was about three years old and lost in a mall. The really horrible thing was there was no mall-cop to page her on the speaker system. “Claire Elian, please come to the first floor security office. Your daughter needs you.”

  Unless… Maybe there was a way to have her paged. Or at least this century’s version of it.

  Archer hadn’t rounded the corner so I figured he gave up and went back to King’s College. The coast seemed clear, so I took off in the direction of the bridge. If I was lucky, the loot-splitters would be gone, Ringo would be back in place by the river and I could maybe sweet-talk him into helping me again.

  I passed an older woman with a basket over one arm, and two men walking together wearing working man’s clothes. I kept my head down and my hands in my pockets, trying to look as much like a young man as I could. The clothes definitely helped dispel any idea that I might possibly be female. Girls just didn’t dress like me in this time, so nobody expected to see one in jeans, boots and a big sweater.

  I followed the smell back down to the river. I remembered reading about “The Great Stink” in London, circa 1858, where people had been dumping their sewage into the river for so long that finally even Parliament had to move because the smell was so bad. They started a big sewage works project and then the cholera epidemics stopped coming to London every year. Go figure. Get rid of the poop and the disease will follow. It still smelled bad by the river, but at least it wasn’t quite so eau d’ outhouse.

  I made my way to the quay and searched the bank of the Thames for any signs of my guide. If Ringo was back with his hooligans I was likely out of luck. I didn’t think his reputation could stand an acknowledgment of my foreign, female self.

  Just past the London Bridge there were dockworkers unloading a small barge. I hoped to spot Ringo’s smallish frame among them, but he was probably still too young to take that job from the able-bodied workers watching from the quay.

  Which was, of course, why Ringo worked with thieves. I figured I’d have better luck looking for him in warehouse windows than down by the river. As I turned to head back up the embankment a guttural voice called from behind me.

  “Throw us down the line, would ye, lad?”

  Since I happened to be passing a heavy, coiled rope attached to the quay by a big iron chain, I figured I was the ‘lad.’ And because not doing it would probably bring more attention than doing what was asked, I heaved the massive rope down the slope toward the flat boat that bumped again the wall.

  “Ta, then.”

  I looked quickly to make sure the word didn’t mean anything other than “thanks.” The lone fisherman was already at work tying off his boat so I figured it didn’t.

  I watched him for a quick second. He wore a thick wool sweater a lot like mine, but gray from age. The man himself was probably in his forties, and small in the way that reminded me of Sanda and her people. Actually, when I thought about it, he had the Welsh way of talking through a mouthful of gravel. It made him sound bigger than he was. The Fisherman looked up and caught me staring. He winked through twinkling eyes.

  “Looking for work, are ye? Well, if ye’ll take these nets up and help me untangle them, I’ll pay ye a penny.”

  His voice sounded smiley even if it was only in his eyes. A whole penny? I wondered what that was worth in this time. It was a penny more than I currently had, so I figured I could help the guy out. I nodded silently and Twinkles grinned.

  “Right then.” He heaved a huge, slimy net out of the boat and held it up for me to grab. I barely hid a wince as my fingers slipped through the tangled lines. The net was a disgusting mess of gunk collected from a river that had been full of raw sewage only thirty years before. Ick.

  I hauled the net up to the quay while Twinkles finished clearing the decks of buckets of fish. The net was like a giant Gordian knot and within a few minutes I gave up trying to stay clean while I worked on it.

  By the time Twinkles made it up to the quay with his full haul of fish I was laying out the last corner of the net. I was absurdly proud of having untangled the mess and unconsciously wiped a piece of hair off my face with the back of a filthy hand.

  The gesture caught Twinkles’ attention. He looked at me a long moment. “Lass ye are then. And most none the wiser, I’d hazard.”

  I froze. Just like that my disguise was seen through – by a stranger. I must have looked ready to run because Twinkles suddenly shifted his tone of voice to something deliberately calm and quiet, like he was talking to a skittish animal. “No need to bolt, lass. I’ve none to tell.”

  I took a deep breath, then nodded quickly.

  Twinkles continued in the same, soft voice. I got the sense he was probably good with kids and creatures and my shoulders relaxed a notch. “Are ye alone then?” My eyes narrowed. Not a question a smart girl answers. Twinkles read my hesitation immediately and held up his hands as if to show they were empty. “I mean you no harm, truly.” He held out his hand to shake. “Name’s Gosford.”

  I wiped my slimy hand on my jeans. Ugh, I was going to pay for that later. “Saira,” I said as I shook his calloused fisherman’s hand.

  He raised an eyebrow. “Traveler? Are ye an Elian, then? Me Missus works in the big house. Ye may know her?”

  Uh oh. “Sorry, I have to go.” I practically jumped away from him in my hurry to bolt.

  Gosford called after me in a quiet voice meant for my ears only. “Ye ever need help, Traveler, me boat’s the ‘Sanda’ and folk here know where to find it.”

  I spun and stared at him, open-mouthed. “The ‘Sanda?’”

  Gosford smiled proudly. “Named for me granddaughter, just born. She lights up me life like a beacon, that one.”

  “It’s a pretty name.” I felt like I had to say something to cover my reaction.

  Gosford just beamed. “And she’s a lovely bairn.” He suddenly fumbled in his pocket. “Yer penny!”

  I probably needed that money more than he could ever know, but the look on Gosford’s face when he talked about his baby granddaughter made me wish I had a grandfather who loved me like that. “Buy Sanda something pretty with it from me.”
r />   Gosford looked a little stunned, but he touched his cap to me and his eyes twinkled. “Our luck goes with ye then, Miss.”

  I’d take whatever luck I could get. I gave him a quick wave and a smile and headed down the quay. I thought about my options as I walked. I needed to find my mother, who might either be in hiding, or in major trouble. Archer was mixed up in his own mess with Silverback and the Family war, and he had clearly made his choice about helping me. I might have an ally in young Ringo, but probably only if I paid him and in my current state of poverty, that wasn’t going to happen.

  I faced the fact that my impetuous decision to ‘test my skills’ was completely idiotic. I had jumped headfirst into a situation that rivaled the poop-water of the Thames for stinkiness. And now it was time to get myself out.

  The London Bridge was just up ahead and I picked up my pace to get there, even as waves of doubt hit me. I didn’t remember having seen a spiral on this side, and now that it was probably close to quitting time, the quay was bustling with dockworkers and shoppers.

  A figure stood in the distance, watching me approach. My nerves jangled in alarm until I saw the moppy blond hair falling over an eye. Ringo. I gave him a very small wave and he grinned.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Came to find ye.”

  “Why?”

  “Thought ye might need more help.”

  More than he could ever imagine. I looked speculatively at him, and then made a really quick decision. I could do this alone, but with two people it would be much easier. But mostly, I just liked Ringo and wanted his company.

  “I need to find something on the bridge. But there are too many people around and I don’t want to be seen.”

  I needed a look-out, but Ringo did one better. “So ye need a distraction. No worries, I have a great trick for the docks.”

  “You do? Of course you do.”

  He grinned. “I’ll see ye in five minutes.”

  With any luck I’d be gone before he got back, but I couldn’t explain that to the kid. And he was already scrambling across the quay.

  A moment later I heard his voice yell “Pints on the House at Morton’s. Get ‘em while they last!” A sudden commotion went up on the quay and people started rushing toward what I could only assume was Morton’s. Obviously it was an effective ploy, but I figured I only had a couple of minutes.

  “Will that do for ye?” Ringo’s voice popped up at my shoulder and made me jump – which made him laugh.

  “What will they do when they realize there’s no free beer?”

  “Yell and fuss at old Morton a bit. But it serves him right. He called the coppers on me last month and I’ve been owing him.”

  I laughed as we jumped down to the bridge footings. The area was in shadow, even in the afternoon light. It was a perfect place to put a spiral.

  Without thinking I grabbed my Maglite and flipped it on to illuminate the old stone. Ringo gasped. “What’s that fer magic?”

  Uh oh. Was there some paradox I’d just created by revealing future technology to someone who probably would never see another flashlight in his lifetime? I spotted the spiral scratched into the inside of a piling just as I turned to face Ringo. His expression was equal parts wary and wondering. I handed him the Maglite. He hesitated for just a moment, then took it carefully in his hand.

  “You turn it off and on like this.” I showed him the twist-top. "Inside is a battery, which powers it, but if you leave the light on too long the battery will die."

  “Do ye have to feed it?”

  I looked at him in confusion until I finally realized what he meant. I stifled a smile so he didn’t get offended. “A battery isn’t alive, it’s a power-source, like the sun.”

  He held the flashlight with something like awe. “Do ye make these in America then?”

  “They will.” I said it before I could stop myself and Ringo’s eyes narrowed at me speculatively. He produced my fountain pen and held it out to me.

  “Can I trade for the torch?”

  I was probably breaking some cardinal rule of time travel, but the kid looked so eager I couldn’t resist. I took the pen from him and stuck it back in my pocket. “You can have the Maglite, but please don’t show it to anyone. They won’t understand.” I took another step toward the spiral. “I have to go.”

  I reached the piling and started tracing the spiral pattern on the stone. I could feel Ringo’s eyes burning into my back, but my fingers were already moving of their own accord and I couldn’t stop if I tried.

  “There’s a fisherman on the ‘Sanda’ who might give you work. He seems like a good man.” Maybe Gosford would take Ringo on and get him away from the thieves. At least I could hope so.

  “Will ye be back?”

  I turned to look at Ringo even as the hum of the spiral was filling my ears. I nodded. “Thank you, Ringo.”

  I could see the quizzical expression on his face as he mouthed the name I’d just called him. Then his eyes widened as he watched me, but I couldn’t hear anything except the buzz and hum of the portal opening under my fingers. The edges glowed and the world heaved under my feet. I was distantly aware of Ringo’s shout but it sounded like it came from miles away. I was stretching and falling and suddenly the ground rushed up and smacked me in the face.

  I felt like Dorothy, landing in Oz after the tornado. Except there were no Munchkins to greet me, only the ornately-framed painting of the London Bridge surrounded by the abandoned tower room of some long-ago Clocker headmaster.

  I didn’t puke this time, though it was close. I didn’t want to have to go find water to clean it up, so maybe practicality overruled my heaving guts.

  What the hell had I been thinking? Since when did I do anything without a plan, or at least without being totally prepared? As Archer had so blithely said, once was a mistake, the second time was just stupidity. Maybe he didn’t actually say the words, but they were there, hanging between us.

  Part of me wanted to go down to the basement and wake his Vampire ass up so I could yell at him for being such a spineless jerk. The part of me that was still slightly sane knew that was ridiculous on every count. And then my wounded pride wanted nothing to do with him ever again. Except for the fact that today’s conversation with him actually happened over a century ago and I’d certainly seen him since then. My head hurt with all the twists and turns in time-travel logic.

  So instead I got up, dusted both 19th and 21st century dirt off my butt, and closed the velvet drapes over the London Bridge. I knew I’d be going back, but not until I was armed. With what, I wasn’t quite sure, but certainly with more than a Maglite and fancy pen.

  I realized I should probably bring extra batteries for Ringo the next time I went. That thought made me smile as I slipped out of the tower room and locked the door behind me.

  Hunters

  The corridors were empty so I guessed most people were already in bed. My little bedroom, with my own stuff shoved into the drawers, felt like a sanctuary.

  The Caves and Caverns book was still open on the nightstand. I wanted something like that in London. Someplace I could outfit for my own use when I traveled, that was central to where I needed to be, but still hidden from sight. Like Archer had his secret room under St. Brigid’s school, I wanted a cave or tunnel somewhere in Central London.

  I opened the book to the Blackheath Caverns, skimmed the page, and then dismissed them as unworkable. They’d been discovered in the 1700s and had been in almost continuous use since then. The next page mentioned the London Bridge Catacombs, but there weren’t any pictures. Just a description of abandoned tunnels under the London Bridge where workers had recently found 17th Century human remains. Very creepy, but definitely a possibility given their location. There was an entrance near Tooley St. and I wondered if I could access it in 1888.

  As I rummaged through a drawer for a clean T-shirt to sleep in I found the flat map box. I slipped the key off my neck and opened it. I finally had the privacy
I needed to examine the map, and I carefully spread it out on my bed.

  The paper was stiff but intact. I examined the markers closely. There was one in Whitechapel, one near Waterloo, and another near King’s Cross Station. When I found the red dot at the base of the London Bridge, I suddenly understood what I was looking at. It was a map of Time Travel Spirals throughout London.

  Fascinating.

  The outlying areas around London were also mapped, and there was a portal in Epping Wood, near a little village called Chingford. St. Brigid’s was on the map too, but there was no red dot to mark it.

  I wondered if anyone else besides me, Doran and Adam knew about the portal in the painting in the North Tower. I checked the back of the map, looking for a date. Nothing. Maybe this was an Elian Family thing to keep a map of portals in every city in the world. An idea to be pondered later, after I was clean.

  The jeans I had on were crusted with Thames-slime and needed to be thoroughly washed. I grabbed a towel and slipped out to the bathroom, listening carefully before I turned on the shower. Nothing. The old Manor must be totally soundproof.

  I basically took a shower in my jeans, scrubbing them with soap and then hanging them over the radiator in my room. It’s a trick I learned from my mom from all the traveling we’d done. The regular kind, on airplanes and trains. In the life I used to have, back when I thought I knew who I was. Before my identity got pulled apart at the seams.

  So now it was time to put myself together.

  I woke up late the next morning, but my jeans were still damp so I chose the ones that seemed the least filthy. I pulled them on and suddenly realized when I’d worn them last.

  In my pocket was a newly minted Victoria Jubilee Shilling. Archer put that coin in my hand right before he went after Jack the Ripper. And suddenly I saw his concern for me in a totally different light. He wasn’t a coward and he didn’t believe I was weak. The reason he wouldn’t help me find my mother was that he was afraid I’d succeed. And my success would put me in the way of dangerous people.

  It was hard for me to admit I could care about, or matter to anyone but my mother. My life had pretty much been all about me and I’d never really had to do things for other people. Oh sure, I’d spent a lifetime becoming capable and independent, able to survive on my own for weeks at a time since I was thirteen. But I’d never taken on responsibility for anyone else. Until now.