Time Trapped (18 page)

Dmitri nods and pulls out a device I haven't seen before, and the next moment, it feels as though I'm seeing double. Or almost double. A second stone has materialized on the crest of the hill now, right next to the real Stone of Destiny. The only difference is this new stone doesn't appear to have a chunk missing from it.

Colin gives a shout of surprise.

A gust of wind blows snow in my face. Abbie is gathering the recruits around her, getting ready to timeleap. All that's left is for me to do the same with my recruits and to give Dmitri the word to transport the Stone of Destiny when we leave.

Uncle's words flash through my brain. “Together we will right the wrongs of history.” Well, bringing the Stone of Destiny to him so that he could keep it all to himself, locked up in his castle, would be a massive historical wrong.

“No!” I say, mindpatching Abbie and the recruits at the same time. “This isn't right.”

“What are you talking about?” says Abbie. “Uncle is going to go ballistic!”

“Yeah, listen to her,” says Razor. “If we come back empty-handed, your ass is grass.”

“We're not going to come back empty-handed. Dmitri, scan the original, please.”

“What's the point?” Abbie says. “You already did that, didn't you?”

“Bear with me for a moment, okay?” I say.

Dmitri touches the stone. “Scan completed.”

“All right. Now transpose the scan results onto the duplicate.”

Dmitri gazes at me with knitted eyebrows for a moment. “The scan cannot be transposed. The only thing I can do, perhaps, is to superimpose the scan of the original onto the scan of the duplicate. But anyone checking closely will notice the difference.”

A wave of sickness washes over me, and I clench my teeth. I have to fight it.

Barely over a minute left.

“What if they only do a quick scan?” I say.

He's quiet for a moment. “In that case, a scan of the duplicate may exhibit features that would lead one to believe that it is in fact the original.”

It's far from perfect.

I look across at Abbie. We have to agree on this. Because if Uncle finds out we're pawning a replica off on him, then we're both going to be facing some heavy-duty punishment. To say nothing of what will happen to the recruits.

She has a fierce look in her eyes. “Do it, Dmitri.”

Next, she nods to Gerhard, who disappears and then returns a moment later, carrying a large object wrapped in an overcoat: the broken off piece of the Stone of Destiny that Abbie, Gerhard and Judith had snatched from the girl thief.

Thirty seconds to go.

“Give it to them,” Abbie says to Gerhard.

He hands the bundle to Angus.

I shake hands with each of them and say, “Good luck.”

Just before the timeleap takes us away, I see them clearing the snow away from the real stone.

I close my eyes with the satisfaction of knowing what will happen next. They will heave the stone up and onto the backseat of their car. And then they will drive north and bring the stone back home to its rightful owners, the people of Scotland.

October 7, 2061, 12:09
P.M.

Doune Castle, Scotland

W
e land in a field. A stiff wind blows, rippling the grass around us. The walls of Doune Castle are solid and imposing. I imagine archers lining the parapets, ready to fire flaming arrows down at the enemy. I wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of that. According to Uncle, though, the castle has been taken many times over the years, once by siege, and three times by armies who pounded the walls with catapults and burst through the gate with battering rams.

The others are all in various stages of thawing from time freeze. The duplicate Stone of Destiny lies in the grass about ten feet away.

I stand up and then immediately fall back down. It's the lingering effects of the time fog. Even though I'm back, I'll have to take it easy for a while until it clears. I glance across at Abbie. She's looking a little pale, but judging from the fact that she's actually standing, she seems to be doing better than me.

“Hey, Caleb, have you got a minute?” Razor asks. Something about her voice is different. It's softer somehow. Also, it's the first time I can ever remember her using my real name.

“Sure,” I say.

She leads me a little away from the others, then turns and says, “I had you pegged all wrong.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“What you did back there with that rock . . . I mean that you let those other guys have it . . . I wasn't expectin' that. That took guts.”

A warm shiver goes through me.

“Thanks,” I say. “But I don't think it was really guts. I was just doing what I thought was right.”

“Trust me on this, Jack. That was gutsy,” says Razor. “And now that I know you got guts, I wanna see you using them every day.”

“Every day?”

“Of course,” she says. “Having guts is like owning a dog. If you don't walk it every day, then it gets fat and lazy. You don't want that happening to you, do you?”

“No, I suppose not,” I say.

“Good,” she says, clapping me on the back, “that's the right attitude.”

The castle's massive front doors are opening. The next moment, Luca appears, pulling a wagon.

As soon as he reaches our position he motions to Gerhard to help him. The two of them heave the duplicate stone up and onto the wagon, turn and start heading toward the castle. The rest of us follow behind.

A strong feeling of dread comes over me. I don't want to go in. I can't face Uncle. I have to get out of here. And I can . . . it's so easy. All I have to do is tap on my wrist, and I can go anywhere. Well, almost anywhere. But I know I'm fooling myself. Wherever I go, he'll find me and bring me back.

Our small procession enters the castle and continues on to the Great Hall. When we arrive at the far end of the hall, Luca signals a stop.

“Come with me,” he says to Gerhard, and they disappear from the room. A moment later they return, carrying a huge chair between them.

It's the fanciest chair I've ever seen. Each arm and leg is beautifully carved and there are intricate designs on its high back and sides. Four gilded lions serve as its feet.

They set the chair down and lift the stone into a compartment under the seat.

A moment later, familiar footsteps approach. I take a deep breath as Uncle strides into the hall wearing a shirt of mail over a tunic with the colors of the House of Bruce.

Smiling broadly, he walks quickly past us, eyes fixed on the chair.

Except that now it's not only a chair. It's a throne. Uncle's throne.

I expect him to sit, but instead he crouches in front and reaches a hand out until it touches the stone.

Don't scan it! Please don't scan it.

He runs his fingers lightly over the stone, almost in a caress. I can't tear my eyes away. At this moment, it feels like my entire existence hinges on what those fingers will do.

They stop about halfway along the stone.

And linger there.

I'm toast. He's running a scan. I'm sure of it.

Finally, after what seems like forever, Uncle removes his hand, straightens up and turns to face me.

His expression is unreadable.

My life flashes before my eyes. I've had a good run. Expert time snatcher and mediocre driftwood carver, beloved adopted brother to Zach and cherished adopted son to Jim and Diane.
HE
LEFT
THE
WORLD
WAY
TOO
SOON
, my tombstone will say.

“Exquisite,” says Uncle, smiling, and at first I don't believe my ears. He's only saying that to lull me into a state of calm before he unsheathes his sword and proceeds to show the others what happens to someone who dares to try to fool him with a replica.

Instead, he turns to Luca and says, “Do up invitations. Here is what they should say: All trainers and recruits are cordially invited to attend my coronation as King of Timeless Treasures, to take place here in the Great Hall of Doune Castle.”

“Yes, Uncle,” says Luca. “Is there anything else you want me to put in the invitation?”

“Hmmm,” says Uncle, considering. “Yes. Why don't you say no gifts. Or even better, in lieu of gifts, a donation to the Doune Castle Restoration Fund will be gratefully accepted.”

“Very well,” says Luca. “And the date and time?”

“October 14, 2061, at midnight,” says Uncle.

“Okay,” says Luca. “Anything else?”

“Yes,” says Uncle. “You must stay here and assist me in the preparations for the fulfillment of a lifelong quest: my ascension to the throne. Everyone else may return to their normal duties.”

A lifelong quest. The words trigger something in the back of my mind; a wisp of a thought or maybe a memory—but I can't reach it. I sense it's important, but that doesn't help me remember.

“Oh, and, Caleb,” says Uncle, “may I have a word with you before you go?”

“Certainly, Uncle.”

I feel a pain shoot through the place where my little toe used to be. The game is over. Uncle knows the stone is a fake and he's waiting for everyone else to go before he hands out my punishment. There can be no other explanation.

I fidget nervously, watching as Abbie and the recruits fade and then vanish.

Now it's just me, Uncle and Luca.

“Luca, will you leave us alone for a moment please?” says Uncle. “Caleb and I have some business to discuss.”

Yeah—the business of deciding whether to send me to the Barrens straight away or to torture me first. But even as I think it, a slim ray of hope penetrates my gloom. Why send Luca away if I'm about to be punished? Wouldn't Uncle prefer to keep him around to do the dirty work while he watches?

“Caleb, you have done admirably well in your first Historical Correction mission,” he says, pacing the floor of the Great Hall.

“Thank you, Uncle.”

“Do you know the finest quality a leader can have?”

“No, Uncle,” I say.

“It is the ability to recognize his own faults. I will confess to you one of my faults. Once I am convinced of something, I cannot be easily swayed from that notion.”

“I see,” I say, although I don't really. How is that a fault? But I don't give it much thought. I'm feeling slightly dizzy trying to follow him with my eyes. He's stopped pacing back and forth and is now doing laps around his new throne.

“Lately,” Uncle continues, “I have been gathering evidence. At first I was able to shrug it off as anecdotal. But the more I probed and examined, the clearer it became.”

He stops in front of the throne, bends down and strokes the stone, which sends a cold chill up my spine.

“I have come to the realization that I acted too hastily in sending my time snatchers out on certain missions. History is not as immutable as I once thought. What I had perceived as pebbles sinking harmlessly to the bottom of a river, causing nary a ripple, have on occasion turned out to be boulders that have set the waters around them churning.”

I shift my weight to the back of my heels. I wish he would cut to the chase and tell me what this is all about.

“I have spent some time in my personal library researching historical accounts dating from the very beginnings of Timeless Treasures and found a few anomalies. Do you recall your snatch of the Frederick Blackman umbrella from the Brolly Shoppe in 2006 London?”

“Yes.” Operation Bumbershoot—I remember it quite well. I pretended to be the brother of the king of Lower Slobovia, and Abbie was my loyal aide-de-camp.

“Well, when you and Abbie snatched that umbrella, you unwittingly initiated a series of events that culminated in an unfavorable historical result.”

“We did?” That surprises me. As far as I could remember, it was a clean snatch.

Uncle nods. “After you completed the snatch and walked off, the shopkeeper left his shop unattended for approximately ninety seconds while he caught up to speak with you.”

I think back to the snatch. I can't remember whether the shop owner came after us or not, but I'm willing to go with Uncle on that point.

“During that brief interlude, a man entered the shop and stole an umbrella. One wouldn't think that such an ordinary theft would cause a ripple in the fabric of history. But it did.

“You see, two weeks after your snatch, a prominent British physicist named Damien Toulson was finishing his cup of coffee at the same Kensington coffee shop that he had frequented each Saturday morning for the previous twenty-three years. As he exited the shop, he felt a prickling sensation in his calf. When he looked up, he saw a heavyset gentleman drop his umbrella.

“Upon returning home that evening, Toulson began to feel unwell. Three days later, he died. Although it was never definitively proven, it was suspected that Toulson was assassinated. Can you guess how he died?”

I shake my head. I've got plenty of theories about how I might die, but happily that subject's not on the table right now.

“He died,” says Uncle, the corners of his mouth lifting, “from being struck by a poisonous pellet fired from a specially rigged umbrella at close range. The umbrella that fired the deadly shot was the umbrella stolen from the Brolly Shoppe.”

I take a moment to digest all of this.

“Caleb, had Toulson survived, he would have invented a device that would have provided the West with a competitive edge in the nuclear rearming race of the 2020s. That is what the historical accounts in my personal library described. Instead, much of the world's attention during that time was spent appeasing rogue nations who threatened this or that with their primitive nuclear capabilities.”

“Uncle, are you saying that all of this happened because the shopkeeper left his shop for a couple of minutes to talk to me and Abbie?”

He nods and smiles.

I try hard not to stare at him, but it's not working. If I needed proof that Uncle's gone around the bend, I've certainly got it. Anybody could have stolen that umbrella at any time. If he hadn't done it when Abbie and I were talking to the shopkeeper, the thief would have found another way. Besides, what was so special about that particular umbrella? The thief could have gone to any of a dozen other umbrella shops and stolen another umbrella that he could have rigged just as well. Or he could have used a half dozen other weapons. And apart from all of that, there must have been a million other reasons why the West didn't have the jump on other countries in the race to rearm with nukes. To imply that all of this happened because Abbie and I completed a routine mission is . . . well, it's beyond ridiculous.

“I am considering sending you and Abbie back to 2006. To undo the snatch.”

Undo the snatch? Is he nuts? Scratch that last question. I already answered it.

“And there are a couple of other snatches as well, including your mission to 1871 Bridgeport, Connecticut, that may need rectification as well.”

Does he mean Operation Fling? The snatch of the world's first Frisbee? I gulp. This is sheer madness. Besides, I've already got my hands full with snatches that need doing, without having to add ones that need undoing.

“That is all for now, Caleb. You may go. I would, however, like to meet with you again this evening to discuss this matter further.”

“Yes, Uncle.”

I can't wait to get out of here. As I key in the sequence for the Compound, I play the conversation with Uncle over in my mind. The more I think about it, the crazier it all seems. But crazy is the flavor of the week, isn't it? I wonder what Frank thinks of all of this. Does he even know?

I close my eyes and try to quiet my thoughts. Blessedly, the timeleap takes me away.

I arrive back at the Compound to a buzz of activity.

Rows of folding chairs have been set up in the Yard facing a makeshift stage.

Trainers and recruits stream in, quickly filling the seats.

I spot Abbie and our recruits near the back. “What's going on?” I ask, walking up to them. Abbie shrugs and shakes her head.