Stolen Time Page 5

  “You’re the first, darling.”

  “Don’t call me darling,” Dorothy said, lip curling. She hated cutesy names. Darling and princess and sweetheart. They were usually used by men who wanted to remind her that they were in charge and she was just a pretty face. “My name is Dorothy, not that you bothered asking.”

  “Call me crazy, but I don’t actually care to know the name of the stowaway who snuck on board my ship.” He raked a hand through his hair and said, low enough that he could be talking to himself, “That part of the Star isn’t even pressurized. You’re lucky the ride didn’t kill you.”

  Dorothy was growing tired of this conversation. She hitched her too-large pants up a little higher, feeling the stolen pocket watch shift in her pocket. It might not be worth much, but the fact that she’d taken it from this unpleasant person meant that it was worth something to her. The corner of her lip twitched, thinking about it. “Ah, but it didn’t kill me. Does that make me special?”

  Ash’s eyes zeroed in on her twitching lip, and Dorothy knew he was wondering what she found funny. It made her want to dangle his watch in front of his face. Look what I took.

  “You’re lucky I didn’t kill you,” he said, frowning.

  This, at least, was a topic that interested her. “Why didn’t you? Kill me, I mean? I’m a stowaway, as you so kindly pointed out. Why bring me here?” She remembered Chandra mopping her forehead, offering her clothes. “Why help me?”

  Ash hesitated, choosing his words. “The short answer is that Zora wanted to get you somewhere safe. I’m guessing she didn’t want your blood on her hands.”

  Safe. The word seemed to zip through the air.

  She knew they’d landed somewhere dangerous.

  Swallowing her nerves, she said, “And the long answer?”

  Ash scratched his jaw. “Honestly? I wanted to see your face when you realized what you’d landed yourself in.”

  “You mean cities underwater and disappearing old ladies and cannibal girls?” She tried her best to sound casual, like she was in on the joke.

  Ash smiled back at her—a real smile, not the scary, toothy grin he’d flashed earlier. He turned and started down the twisting hallway, chuckling to himself.

  It had been a joke, Dorothy thought, confidence wavering. Right?

  Gritting her teeth, she followed.

  The hallway opened into a cramped, bustling tavern filled with mismatched tables and chairs, candlelight casting shadows over the laughing crowd. Dorothy felt a flicker of interest. It was a bar, clearly, but it didn’t look like any bar she’d ever been to before. She saw a few tables and chairs made entirely out of metal and, scattered around them, a selection of stuffed armchairs that looked better suited for a living room. There weren’t many windows, but an assortment of strange objects covered the walls—hubcaps and oil paintings and old dolls.

  And there were women. Dorothy and her mother were usually the only women at the bar, but this place was filled with them—drinking like men, and dressed like men, in trousers and jackets, their hair scraped back in messy buns. Dorothy had assumed she’d look out of place in her lumpy clothes, her hair undone, but she fit right in. How odd.

  Had they gone someplace where temperance laws were in effect? She’d heard of speakeasies cropping up in cities where alcohol sales were prohibited, but she and her mother tended to avoid those places. Men were harder to con when they were sober.

  She cast her eyes around the room, searching for an exit. She had no intention of staying with this pilot. Now that he’d marked her as a stowaway, there was little chance he’d leave his pocket unguarded, and she’d need money. Real money, not whatever meager funds selling the cheap pocket watch might get her. She needed a much larger score if she were going to make it here . . . wherever here was.

  Luckily, the bar was crowded, the people packed together tight. It would be easy to slip a watch off a wrist, a wallet out of a pocket. Dorothy’s fingers itched.

  But then Ash’s hand was on her back, and he was angling his body between her and the crowd. He jerked his chin and said, “The rest of the team is over there.”

  “Team?” Dorothy’s skin prickled. He meant to keep her from leaving, but he wasn’t using force just yet. In fact, his fingers barely brushed her back, like he was afraid of touching her. “Team of what?”

  Ash herded her through the crowd, shouldering past the people around them. She could step on his foot and make a run for it—but the bar was crowded, and she didn’t see an exit. And there was the small matter of stowing away being illegal. Ash hadn’t mentioned getting the police involved, but Dorothy didn’t want to give him a reason to change his mind. She was still a minor, after all. They could call her mother.

  Chewing on the inside of her cheek, she let him guide her to a table near the back of the bar. Chandra was already there, sitting beside a tall boy with even darker skin, tightly braided black hair, and a serious expression on his face.

  Dorothy did a double take. Not a boy—a girl.

  “See? What did I tell you? Isn’t she absolutely gorgeous?” Chandra shifted to the side, making room for Dorothy on the bench directly opposite the girl who’d looked like a boy. “Ash, why didn’t you tell us she was gorgeous?”

  “Don’t you two go making friends,” Ash grunted, pulling a seat up to the end of the table. Dorothy noticed that his eyes flicked to her and away, as though checking to see if what Chandra said was true. “We’re not keeping her.”

  “She’s not a stray cat, Ash,” said the girl who’d looked like a boy. “You can’t decide what to do with her.” Turning to Dorothy, she added, “I’m Zora. It’s nice to meet you.”

  She held out her hand for Dorothy to shake, like they were gentlemen. Dorothy took it, an excited thrill moving through her. Zora sat like a man, too. Knees apart, arms slung lazily across her chest. Loretta would have called it unseemly, but Dorothy couldn’t help but be impressed with how comfortable she seemed. Not like she wanted to be a man, precisely, but like she didn’t care what a man might think of her.

  Maybe she’s a suffragette, she thought, sliding onto the bench beside Chandra. It wasn’t until she was seated that she noticed a fourth person at the table with them. He was massive—easily the largest man Dorothy had ever seen—but he somehow blended with the shadows, his skin and hair pale beneath black clothes. The bones in his face slanted at sharp angles, causing the skin to pull too tight over his cheeks and chin.

  “My name is Willis,” he said, tipping his head toward Dorothy. His voice was smooth velvet, like the voice of a jazz singer. “It’s a pleasure.”

  “I’m Dorothy,” Dorothy said, her attention sharpening. Four of them, one of her. Not exactly great odds, if it came to that.

  Something hit her, then. She was alone. For the first time in her life, she was really and truly alone. Her mother wasn’t waiting in the next room, her pearl-handled pistol hidden in the folds of her skirt. These people could do whatever they wanted with her.

  But Zora only slid a glass of something clear across the table. “This is Dante’s moonshine. He makes it in-house and it tastes like . . . well, it tastes like gasoline, but I think you’re going to need it.”

  Dorothy looked down at the glass but didn’t pick it up. Her mother had once slipped ipecac into a man’s drink when he wasn’t looking. He’d spent the next twenty minutes vomiting onto the floor while she dabbed at his face with her handkerchief to distract him from her hand slipping into his pocket. Dorothy had stopped accepting drinks from strangers after that.

  “Thank you,” she murmured, for pretense. She curled her fingers around the glass and waited to see what would happen next.

  A silence fell over the table, interrupted by the clinking of glasses and muffled laughter elsewhere in the bar. They were all staring at her.

  When no one spoke, Dorothy cleared her throat. “Is someone going to tell me where we are?”

  Chandra laughed nervously. Under her breath, she said, “This shou
ld be interesting.”

  “Hush,” Willis murmured. “She needs to know.”

  “Please, both of you, just be quiet so I can think.” Zora scrubbed a hand over her face, looking suddenly exhausted. “I’m not exactly sure how to . . . my father always did this part.”

  “For God’s sake,” Ash muttered. He turned to Dorothy and said bluntly, “The question isn’t where you are, but when. You’re in the future. The year 2077, to be exact.”

  Whatever Dorothy had been expecting, it wasn’t this. A surprised laugh burst out of her. “Pardon?”

  “It ain’t a joke, sweetheart,” Ash said. “You climbed on board a time machine, not an airplane. We’re still in Seattle, but we’ve traveled nearly two hundred years into the future. People call it New Seattle now.”

  Dorothy swallowed. “So when you said you were a team you meant you were a team of . . .”

  She shook her head. She couldn’t make herself say it.

  Ash’s eyes lingered on her. “Time travelers. Cool, right?”

  “Ash,” said Zora, teeth clenched. “You’re not actually helping.”

  “Helping with what? She’s a stowaway.” His eyes flicked away, and he leaned back in his seat, arms crossed over his chest. “I don’t see why we owe her an explanation.” He wagged a finger at Dorothy. “Let this be a lesson not to climb on board strange ships.”

  Willis frowned, the ends of his mustache drooping. “That’s cold, Captain. She just got here.”

  “Yeah, when I first got here, I thought those motorboats outside were rakshasas.” Chandra turned to Dorothy. “Rakshasas are, like, these demons who consume human flesh. Zora had to stay up with me all night, holding my hand and promising me the boats weren’t going to eat me.”

  “Flesh,” Dorothy echoed. She didn’t realize she’d brought the glass to her lips until the moonshine was halfway to her mouth. She put it down again, hard enough that a bit of drink sloshed over the side. She wasn’t sure she trusted herself not to drink it.

  Zora said, “I know it’s a lot to take in, but I’d be happy to answer any questions you might have. And Ash—”

  “Questions?” Dorothy spoke on an exhale, her voice breathy and incredulous. “About what? Time travel?”

  She could hardly believe the words had come from her mouth. She’d heard some far-fetched stories in her life, but this—

  Well. This was insulting. She pushed away from the table and, when no one moved to stop her, she said, “I think I’ve heard enough, thank you.”

  Chandra’s face fell. “You’re leaving?”

  Dorothy’s gaze lingered on Willis. “If I’m free to.”

  “No one’s keeping you here,” Ash said. But the corner of his mouth twitched, like he was disappointed, and when she took a step away from the table he caught her by the wrist. “Just promise me one thing, darling.”

  A shiver ran up her arm at his touch. “I told you not to call me that.”

  She pulled away and, to her surprise, his grip loosened immediately, sending her stumbling.

  “Dorothy, then,” Ash said. It was the first time he’d used her name, and it sent a strange thrill through her. Like butterflies but less pleasant. Moths, maybe.

  It bothered her that this man could have any effect on her, pleasant or not.

  Something in Ash’s eyes seemed to soften. He nodded toward the back of the room and said, “There’s a window in the bathroom over there. Promise me you’ll take a look outside.”

  Dorothy lifted her chin, willing the moths in her stomach to be still. “Why?”

  Ash was staring now, and it made her feel uncomfortable. He took a swig of her discarded drink. “Just trust me.” Then, like an afterthought, “If you’re capable of trust.”

  LOG ENTRY—OCTOBER 11, 2073

  17:01 HOURS

  THE WORKSHOP

  Kronos 1 didn’t go exactly as planned.

  The thing is, no one has ever explored the inside of an anil before. We couldn’t, obviously, because we didn’t know how to stabilize it. I had theories about what I would find, but nothing concrete.

  The EM worked exactly as predicted. Once it was effectively incorporated into the structure of the Second Star, it created a kind of protective bubble around the ship and its occupants (or, in this case, occupant). The gauge I installed in the Second Star showed the EM holding steady at 95 percent throughout the duration of my trip.

  As such, I became the first man to successfully fly into the anil without the winds ripping my vessel to pieces.

  (And I didn’t bring a camera. I mean, I’m not sure whether a camera would work inside a crack in time and space, but still.)

  In lieu of a photograph, here’s a description of what I saw:

  The anil is approximately twenty yards in diameter, with walls made out of what appears to be a kind of swirling smoke, or clouds. The color of the walls changes as you move through time, from dark gray to light blue to almost black. Occasionally, I saw lightning flash behind the clouds, or else I’d catch a brief glimpse of what appeared to be distant stars.

  All was going well until it came time to leave the anil. As you’ll remember, my mission was to travel back in time by one day, show up outside my office window, and wave. Sounds easy, right?

  Unfortunately, like most monumental scientific achievements, it was not actually easy.

  The first problem was trying to figure out how to travel back by just one day. The tunnel forks when you enter it, which makes sense. One direction leads into the past, the other into the future. I chose the most logical course of action, based on the Western understanding of backward and forward. Which is to say, I took a left.

  Good choice! I mean, it was a fifty-fifty shot but still, I was feeling pretty confident with myself. My scientific intuition was helping me out!

  Well, after that my scientific intuition failed me big-time. I made another “intuitive” guess as to how long I had to stay in the tunnel in order to go back in time a day. I figured I’d travel for an hour.

  I admit, I landed on “an hour” somewhat arbitrarily. It seemed like a nice, round amount of time. A good place to start.

  I wound up surfacing in the 1880s. I knew from the lack of electric lights on the shoreline that I’d guessed wrong. Seattle was a small port town in the 1880s, and all I could see from out in the sound were some small wooden houses and a dock crowded with a few sailboats. I would’ve loved to go out and explore the Seattle of almost two hundred years ago, but I’d been wearing jeans and a T-shirt, and I was a little worried someone might see my time machine and start worshipping me as a God. (That’s a joke . . . sort of.)

  In any case, at least this mistake provided me with a metric to use. One hour in the anil = approximately two hundred years. Using that conversion rate, I was able to calculate a more appropriate place to exit the anil.

  And I still missed my rendezvous by three weeks.

  But I lucked out again, sort of. I was three weeks early, not three weeks late, so I ended up hanging around Seattle in a baseball cap, trying to remember exactly where “present-day me” had gone and hoping I wouldn’t recognize myself wandering around the grocery store.

  I know what you’re thinking. Isn’t three weeks a long time to spend wandering around a city, trying not to be seen by your wife and child and present-day self? And the answer is yes, of course it is. But it wasn’t a total loss. I booked the cheapest motel I could find and used the extra time to put together a more robust theory for my anil stabilization technique, which I turned into a proposal for a series of “exploratory missions through space-time.”

  Monumental though this discovery might be, my findings are still in the preliminary stages. There’s so much we don’t know about the anil, about time travel, about the physics of space-time. Those additional three weeks were essential, as they allowed me the time to sort through my research without worrying that another physicist or mathematician might beat me to the punch.

  As of this morning, WCAAT has
approved my request for funding. They’re allowing me to hire a small team for the next stage of my research. I have a whole stack of résumés on my desk right now.

  First stop: assistant.

  I really need an assistant.

  6

  Ash

  OCTOBER 14, 2077, NEW SEATTLE

  Ash watched Dorothy weave through the crowd, guilt creeping over him in a steady fog. He knew from experience that the time-travel conversation took a minute to sink in. He didn’t have to be such an ass about it. A real gentleman would’ve—

  His mind snapped shut on that line of thinking. He didn’t owe her anything. He was just getting turned around because she was pretty.

  But it wasn’t just that. Ash had known beautiful women before. He’d turned his back on plenty of them in the last year, since deciding he wasn’t going to date until he figured this prememory out. There was something else, something between him and Dorothy. Something that felt almost physical.

  Familiarity, he realized. Even though they’d only met a few hours ago, she already felt like someone he knew.

  But surely that was just part of the manipulation thing she was doing, right? He’d noticed it back in the churchyard, how she’d batted her eyelashes and tilted her head, trying to charm him into thinking she was a friend, someone he could trust.

  And then, as soon as his back was turned—

  He shook his head, feeling disgusted with himself. He wouldn’t let his guard down again. If there was ever a girl who was trouble, it was one who snuck on board a time machine, wearing a wedding gown.

  It was her own damn fault she was in this mess.

  Zora didn’t seem to feel the same way. She rounded on him, snarling, “What is wrong with you?”

  Ash shifted his eyes away from Dorothy, pretending to study what was left of his—her—drink. “She’s a stowaway. Did I miss the part where we owe her something?”