The Pilgrims of Rayne (9 page)

“So you want to give up on Mark?” she asked.

“No!” I shouted. “It may be too late to undo the damage he's done, but we still don't know why he did it. That's not about Halla. Or dados. It's about our friend. According to Patrick's computer, Mark Dimond disappeared sometime in November 1937. Disappearing is bad. Mark is an innocent victim in all this. If something bad is about to happen to him, we've got to try and stop it.”

Courtney walked over to the couch and sat down next to me. She held my hand and said, “No,
I've
got to try and stop it. You've got to go to Ibara.”

 

I'm finishing this journal while Courtney is sleeping in Gunny's bed. I'm lying on his couch, writing. I can't sleep. My mind is going in too many directions. My plan is to finish this journal and leave it with Courtney. She'll find a safe place to keep it. From now on, I'll send my journals to her through the rings.

Courtney is going to stay on First Earth to track down Mark. If anybody can do it, she can. She's as much a part of this now as I am. She's been together with Mark from the beginning. They are a team. Or, they
were
a team. Though I'm worried about both my friends, this feels right. I've made loads of sacrifices since becoming a Traveler in the name of saving Halla from Saint Dane. Now I'm abandoning my two best friends. It's a hollow, dark feeling. But what else can I do? I honestly believe that there's nothing we can do about the dados. The real concern here is Mark. Where is he? What happened that he knowingly changed the course of history? Is he okay? I believe that Courtney's mission here on First Earth is not to try and realign Halla. It's to save Mark's life. Knowing that I won't be here to help is killing me, but it's a sacrifice I
have to make. While Courtney tries to save Mark, I've got to try and save Halla. I've got to face Saint Dane on Ibara. It's about him and me. It's about proving the Travelers aren't the bad guys.

I've got the same queasy feeling I always have when I'm about to go to a new territory. What will I find? What kind of culture will they have? Will it be modern? Ancient? Civilized? Primitive? Or will I land square in the middle of a society run by robots?

Anything is possible. There's only one thing I know for sure.

Saint Dane is there waiting for me.

 

END OF JOURNAL
#28

Courtney was alone.

More alone than she had ever been in her life. At least that's what it felt like to her. Even when she was lying in the hospital after having nearly been killed by Saint Dane, there were people watching out for her. But that was on Second Earth. On First Earth she had no one. Nobody knew she even existed, because technically, she didn't. She was out of place, out of time, and feeling a little bit out of her mind. She wanted to cry. She wanted to go home in the worst way, but that was impossible because to use the flumes without a Traveler would mean disaster. No, she was stuck. She wanted to lie in Gunny's bed, pull the covers over her head, and pretend she was at home with her mom and dad.

Instead she focused on her mission. She didn't resent Bobby for leaving. She agreed that he had to go to Ibara. But it didn't stop her from wishing that he was still around. What kept her going was the hope that she would soon find Mark. History said he disappeared and she knew that couldn't be a good thing. She needed to find him before whatever was going to happen, happened. She even held out hope that in spite of what
Bobby thought, finding Mark and learning why he'd done what he did might somehow re-alter the course of history and put Halla back on track. But there was another reason she had to find Mark. She needed him. She needed her friend. She needed to hold on to him and cry and hear his dumb stutter and be back together with the only person in Halla who had traveled the same road she had. Mark had become her best friend, her support, her confidant. He saved her life. She needed to return the favor. She needed to get Mark back.

Her first order of business was to get new clothes. She hated the flowery dress from the flume. It didn't matter what the current cultural standards dictated, girly dresses and Courtney Chetwynde did not go together. After a quick meal in the hotel restaurant of bacon, eggs, potatoes, and orange juice (that cost a whopping thirty-two cents) she went looking for Dodger, the bellhop. She found him at his same post, standing outside the hotel, greeting guests. When Dodger spotted her, his eyes lit up. Courtney wasn't sure if he was happy to see her, or terrified that she'd start yelling at him again.

“G'mornin',” he said cautiously. “Everything okeydokey?”

“It's all good,” Courtney answered. “But I need a favor.”

“Name it.”

“I need to buy some clothes. Are there any shops nearby?”

“You kiddin'?” Dodger chuckled. “We got the greatest shops in the world just steps away. Pendragon knows that.”

Uh-oh. Courtney hadn't thought of a plausible story about why Bobby was gone.

“Right, she said, trying to buy time to think. “He went home to Stony Brook. A family thing.”

Dodger nodded. “Everything okay?”

“Everything's fine. Could you tell me where the shops are?”

“I'll do better than that. I'll take you there myself. I got a break comin' up.”

“That's okay. Just tell me where to go.”

“Tut-tut,” Dodger said, trying to be gallant. “Pendragon and I go way back. I gotta give the red carpet treatment to his sister.”

“Sister?” Courtney asked a little too quickly. “How do you know Shannon—” Oops, she stopped herself. She'd forgotten about the setup. “Right! Sister. I'm his sister. For a second I thought you meant his
other
sister, Shannon. Who of course is my sister too. We're all sisters. And brothers. Bobby is our brother. Right?” She giggled nervously.

Dodger gave her a strange look. Courtney smiled innocently. A few minutes later they were walking along Fifty-seventh Street headed for the shops on Madison Avenue.

“Here's a swell place,” Dodger suggested as they walked by a small boutique with posed mannequins wearing flowered dresses like the one Courtney was wearing.

Courtney kept walking.

They came upon another storefront that displayed lacy clothes and large, straw hats with oversize flowers on them.

“Lots of gals like this place and—”

Courtney kept walking. Dodger shrugged and followed. They passed by several other stores that catered to women and girls. Courtney didn't want anything to do with them.

“What exactly are you looking for?” Dodger finally asked.

“I don't know,” Courtney admitted. “Something less…Barbie.”

Dodger frowned. “I got no idea what that means, but maybe you should go someplace that's got a little bit of everything.”

“Is there a place like that?” Courtney asked.

Fifteen minutes and a short subway ride later, Courtney stepped up to the entrance of “the World's Largest Department Store” on Thirty-fourth Street. Macy's. The same Macy's she knew from home, that had all sorts of everything, including a parade on
Thanksgiving. Dodger didn't make the trip because his break was over. That was fine by Courtney. He asked too many questions. She felt that he meant well, in an old-fashioned, “I'm a smart guy who knows best how to take care of a helpless little gal” sort of way, but she didn't need that. Her plan was to avoid Dodger like the plague.

Walking through Macy's was an alien experience. It looked nothing like the Macy's of Second Earth. The clothes were heavy and dark. There was no music. The lighting was dim. The floors were made of wood. Even the escalators had wooden steps. But it was still Macy's, and Courtney knew she'd find what she needed.

She walked past the ladies' and girls' departments and headed straight to menswear. There, as a perplexed salesman wearing a neat suit with a white carnation in the lapel watched in wonder, Courtney bought two pairs of men's woolen pants and a few white, cotton shirts. She also bought socks, a pair of brown leather shoes that were much more comfortable than the ones from the flume, and a pair of green striped suspenders to hold the pants up. She found a gray woolen cap with a short, soft brim that was big enough to tuck all of her long brown hair under. Courtney put her hands in her pockets and admired herself in the mirror.

The salesman scowled. “Halloween was two days ago, young lady.”

Courtney smiled. “I think I look pretty good.”

She did. Courtney may have been wearing men's clothes, but there was no hiding the fact that she was a girl. The final piece was an oversize, dark green turtleneck sweater that she knew she'd need once the weather got cold. Satisfied, she paid the salesman and headed out.

“What do I do with this?” the salesman called to her. He was holding up the flowered dress that Courtney had worn into the store.

“I don't need it anymore,” she said brightly. “Halloween was two days ago.”

The salesman gave her a disapproving frown and Courtney went on her way. She had one more chore before beginning her search for Mark in earnest. She traveled a route she had taken many times before, in another era. From Thirty-fourth Street in Manhattan she took a subway train to Grand Central Terminal. The ride cost a nickel. From there, she got on a New Haven Line train, headed for her hometown of Stony Brook, Connecticut. The hour-long trip was familiar yet alien. The train wasn't anywhere near as comfortable as the sleek, shock-absorbed cars of Second Earth. She felt herself bouncing around as if she were on a freight train. There was an incessant squeak and rattle that didn't seem to bother anybody else but her. The constant bouncing was especially annoying because she was trying to read the newspaper.

If she had been tracking Mark on Second Earth, her first stop would have been the Internet. On First Earth all she had were newspapers and the occasional radio news broadcast. At Grand Central Station she bought five different daily papers: the
New York Advocate
, the
Manhattan Gazette
, the
New York Daily Mirror
, the
New York Post
and the
New York Times.
She quickly searched through every paper, desperate to find a mention of Mark Dimond, Andy Mitchell, the Dimond Alpha Digital Organization, or KEM Limited. Her thinking was that if Mark's presentation of the Forge technology was so important, it would have to hit the news, even if it was a small blurb.

She found nothing. The big news item of the day was the mysterious subway derailment in the Bronx. Courtney read that the engineer swore he saw a man jump in front of the speeding train, but no body was recovered. It would forever remain a mystery.

Finding no news of Mark was frustrating and reassuring at
the same time. With nothing in the papers, Courtney hoped the news about Mark's Forge technology hadn't been released yet. She brightened. Maybe there was still hope of pulling it back before the damage was done.

The train pulled into Stony Brook Station. Courtney stepped onto a wooden platform that had been torn down three decades before she was born. She was tempted to take a tour around Stony Brook to see what her hometown looked like so many years before, but decided she didn't have the time. She was there for a very specific purpose. The quicker she got back to New York, the better. It was a short walk from the train station to the main street of Stony Brook, which years later would come to be known as “the Ave” to all the kids. Courtney actually recognized some of the older buildings that no longer looked that old. There was an ice-cream soda fountain that on Second Earth would become a bicycle shop; a barbershop that in her day would become an art gallery; and a vegetable market that one day would be the Apple store where Courtney's parents would buy her an iPod. It was a fascinating and odd trip through the past.

Her destination was the National Bank of Stony Brook. It was the bank where Bobby set up a safe-deposit box to keep the journals he wrote on First Earth. Sixty-some years later on Second Earth, Mark and Courtney would open up that vault to find them. It became the place where Mark kept all Bobby's journals. Now they were entrusted to her, and she wasn't going to do any less of a job than Mark. She had the key on a chain around her neck and she had memorized the account and box number. With absolute confidence she presented the information to the stuffy bank manager, who led her into the vault and left her alone. Inside the safe-deposit box were Bobby's journals from his earlier adventure on First Earth, waiting for her and Mark to discover them on Second Earth.

She had been carrying around a large cloth purse since she left the hotel. In it was Bobby's Journal #28. Courtney added it to the earlier ones and locked the box back up. For a moment she wondered if she and Mark would find this new journal when they opened up the box for the first time on Second Earth. Was that possible? She decided that worrying about how monkeying with history might change the future made her head hurt. She needed to get out of there and back to New York to find Mark.

A few hours later she was back in Manhattan, walking up Park Avenue toward the Manhattan Tower Hotel. It was midafternoon, but the November shadows were already growing long. It would be dark soon. Courtney's plan was to go back to the hotel, eat something at the restaurant, then hide under the covers in Gunny's bed and try to come up with a brilliant plan to find Mark. She got as far as the entrance to the garden in front of the Manhattan Tower, when she felt an odd sensation. She didn't know what it was at first, so she stopped short. Her every sense was on alert. A second later she realized what it was.

Her ring was activating.

She looked around quickly to make sure nobody was watching. Dumb thought. She was in midtown Manhattan. Everybody was watching. The dark stone in the ring was already melting into crystal. She slapped her other hand over the ring to hide it and ran onto the hotel grounds. Frantically she looked about for a place that would give her some cover. She found it among the perfectly manicured trees and bushes. She leaped off the sidewalk into the dense foliage. The ring was growing. She came upon a small clearing that had a marble bench in front of a pond full of gold fish. Nobody was there, which was good, because whether she liked it or not, the ring was about to open up.

She put it on the ground and watched as the silver circle grew to Frisbee size, revealing a tunnel to the territories. Shafts of
sparkling light shot from the dark hole, as did the sweet music. Courtney didn't watch. She kept glancing around to make sure nobody else was witnessing this impossible, magic event. It was over in a matter of seconds and Courtney was finally able to breath. Her fear turned to curiosity as she jumped at the ring, ready to grab Bobby's first journal from Ibara. She knelt down to see…

It wasn't a journal. It was a gray envelope. Courtney curiously turned it over in her hands. It looked like a regular, old, everyday letter. Why would Bobby send her a letter? She quickly put the ring back on her finger and anxiously ripped open the mysterious envelope. Inside was a single piece of paper with printing. Courtney read it once. Twice. A third time more slowly, making sure she understood every word.

It wasn't from Bobby. It was from Patrick. It was from Third Earth. It was trouble.