The Pilgrims of Rayne (7 page)

FIRST EARTH

I
had to get gone. The last thing I needed was for some panicky victim of the train wreck to stumble onto the gate, throw it open, and see me standing there out of breath, looking like an idiot. I cautiously opened the wooden door and peeked out. The last of the three subway cars was right there. Luckily the door to the car was already past the gate. People were starting to climb out, helping one another slip down the few feet to the track bed. Choking smoke was everywhere. That was okay by me. It was good cover. I slipped out of the gate, closed it behind me, and walked quickly to join the others. I hoped nobody would notice one more victim.

“Keep moving!” shouted a firefighter with a flashlight. “Everything's okay! The platform's not far. Keep moving!”

I put my head down and got in line behind an older guy who was having trouble making his way over the uneven surface. I took his arm to steady him and helped him the rest of the way. The guy needed a strong arm. I needed cover. Perfect. There wasn't any panic. I think everyone was too dazed for that. I helped the older guy all the way to the
cement stairs that led up to the station platform.

“Thank you, son,” he said gratefully. “I can take it from here.”

He was a little shaky, but okay. He climbed the stairs and disappeared into the mass of people on the platform.

“Let's go! Let's go!” a policeman yelled. They were trying to herd people toward the exits. “It's over! Nothing to see here!”

Actually, there was a lot to see, but I guess that was their standard line. I stood next to a white-tiled pillar to get away from the crowd of people who were moving toward the exit. Now that I was just another face in the crowd, my head was already on to the next challenge. Find Courtney. The station looked the same as I remembered it. This was 1937. People were dressed up. The men had on suits and hats. The women wore dresses. No jeans or sneakers anywhere. On the far side of the platform I saw a newsstand.

A newsstand! With newspapers. With dates! The big question was still out there—what was today's date? The success or failure of our trip to find Mark would ride on when the flume had deposited us on First Earth. I pushed my way through the crowd, which wasn't easy because nobody was going the same way I was. There wasn't a whole lot of interest in buying newspapers just then. Finally I stepped up to the newsstand and grabbed a copy of the
New York Times.

The date? November 1, 1937.

Was this good or bad? My mind flashed back to the library on Third Earth. History showed that the patent for Mark's Forge thingy was filed in October. We were too late to stop that. But the computer also said that some kind of announcement was made between that KEM company and the Dimond Alpha Digital Organization in November. Mark disappeared
right after that. According to the paper, today was November 1. Whatever happened to Mark probably hadn't happened yet. We might have arrived in time to find out what exactly had happened. Or what was going to happen. Or…you get the idea. I wasn't sure how to feel about the news. Yes, we had a shot at intervening in Mark's history. Did that mean First Earth was about to have another turning point?

“Hey! You gonna buy that paper or what?” came a gruff voice.

I looked to see the exact same newsguy sitting behind the counter who chewed me out for the exact same thing the last time I was there. He was a porky little gnome wearing a red plaid shirt. He still chomped on the little stub of a cigar and still needed a shave.

But he wasn't talking to me.

I heard a girl's voice bark, “Oh, relax, Yoda. People are too busy running for their lives to buy your stupid newspapers!”

It was Courtney. She was standing a few yards away doing the same thing I was—checking the newspapers for today's date.

“Yoda?” I called out with a smile.

Courtney lit up with a big, relieved smile. She ran over and gave me a hug like she thought she'd never see me again.

“Bobby! I never thought I'd see you again!”

See.

“What happened?” she asked frantically. “Are you all right? What happened with the dados? Did they cause the wreck of the—”

“O-kay!” I shouted, cutting her off. “Let's talk outside.”

“Yeah,” the newsguy grumped. “Take it outside and stop getting fingerprints all over the goods.”

“It's old news anyway,” Courtney sniffed. “In case you
missed it, there was a train wreck.” She always had to get in the last shot.

We joined the crowd to get out of the subway station. The people were all pretty calm considering what they'd just been through. As we moved with the flow, I began to form a plan. I didn't want to spring it on Courtney until I had the chance to think it through and set things up, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized it was the best thing for us to do. Maybe the only thing.

No matter how tough it was going to be.

We climbed the stairs into the bright, November sun. Luckily it was a warm day because Courtney didn't have a sweater or anything. I'm not so sure she would have cared. She was too busy gawking at the new sights. Or should I say the
old
sights. The Bronx of 1937 was once again busy. Ancient black cars rolled bumper to bumper through the busy intersection. The sidewalks were packed with people. Strangely, the buildings didn't seem all that alien since tall, cement-faced buildings like this still existed in our time. They just looked a little newer in 1937. The odd thing was what we
didn't
see. There wasn't a single modern-looking steel or glass structure anywhere.

The chemical smell was overwhelming, especially after being on Third Earth, where the air was so clean. I'm guessing it was a mixture of gas, dust, oil, manufacturing exhaust, and BO. Pretty much the normal smells of a crowded city. Giant billboards loomed overhead that advertised everything from soap to liniment. I didn't even know what liniment was, but the advertisement made it look like I really needed it to “REDUCE PAIN AND CURE ILLS.” I had plenty of ills that needed curing—if I thought a bottle of some bizarre medicine could actually do that, I'd have bought a case. People moved
quickly along the sidewalks, headed to wherever it was they were headed. Making the street that much more crowded were the fire trucks that were lined up near the subway entrance. Wailing sirens said there were more on the way. It was a busy day in the Bronx. Thanks to us.

I didn't say anything to Courtney at first. I wanted her to soak it all up. I knew what it was like to arrive in a new territory. Part of the wonder was seeing a place that was so completely alien. The real brain freeze comes from realizing that you're standing in the middle of it. There's no way to get used to that, no matter how often you jump through time and space.

After doing a few slow turns, Courtney focused on me and summed it all up with one simple statement. “Hell of a day.”

I laughed. In the span of a few hours we had gone from Courtney's house on Second Earth to three thousand years into the future, only to jump back fifty years before we were born. It was definitely a hell of a day. It wasn't over.

I grabbed her hand and pulled her away from all the excitement. We crossed a few blocks to a wide avenue where traffic was moving faster than a crawl.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“Someplace familiar,” I answered.

I hailed a yellow taxi that was headed downtown. Courtney was about to duck into the backseat when she popped back out and asked, “Do we have money for this?”

“Stop worrying,” I said, and gently pushed her into the car.

The cabbie was a jovial-looking guy with a checkered cap. “Where to?” he asked.

“The Manhattan Tower Hotel.”

The guy whistled in appreciation and said, “Well! Ain't we the fancy ones!”

He stepped on the gas and we were on our way home. At least to my home on First Earth.

“So?” Courtney asked. “What's the plan?”

I didn't want to reveal that just yet. I had to make sure it was possible.

“I still have friends at the hotel” was my answer. “They'll take care of us.”

“Perfect!” Courtney exclaimed. “Then we track down Mark.”

I put my finger to my lips in the “shhh” gesture, and pointed to the cabbie. “One step at a time.”

Courtney huffed and fell silent. The rest of the trip she spent looking out the window at another era. She didn't say much. She was too busy marveling at the past. It wasn't until we were almost at the hotel that she finally said, “It's like watching an old movie, but it's real, isn't it?”

I didn't answer. I didn't have to.

“Fifty-ninth and Park!” the cabbie announced as he pulled the cab up to the curb. Instantly a bellhop ran up and opened the car door for us.

“Welcome to the Manhattan Tower!” he exclaimed with a big smile. “Checking in today, sir?”

I got out of the cab and looked at him. “Pay the cabbie for me, would you, Dodger?”

Dodger, the bellhop, looked at me blankly, as if I had just spoken Latvian. I looked at the confused guy, and smiled. I knew it would take a few seconds for him to catch up. A moment later his confused look turned to one of wonder.

“Pendragon?” he asked in awe. “Wha—”

“You know I'm good for it,” I said.

“Uh, yeah. Sure, sure,” Dodger said, scrambling to get his wits back. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a fistful of coins. Tip money.

While he paid the cabbie, I leaned back into the car and smiled at Courtney. “Come on out and tell me if my description did this place justice.”

Courtney leaped out of the car and looked up at the imposing, pink building. By modern standards it wasn't monstrous. It stood only thirty-two floors high. But in 1937 it was pretty impressive, complete with the three-foot-high letters near the roof that spelled out its name: THE MANHATTAN TOWER. At night those letters glowed a brilliant neon green and could be seen all over the city. The hotel took up a whole block, resting in a perfectly manicured garden that was like an oasis in the middle of the city. Being November, the leaves on the trees had turned brilliant colors of red, yellow, and orange. There were pumpkins placed everywhere, probably as Halloween decorations from the night before.

Courtney didn't comment on how impressive it all was. Or on the beauty of the grounds. Or even on how well I had described it in my journals. Her comment was much more Courtney than that.

“Where did it happen?” she asked.

“Where did what happen?”

“Where did that gangster land that Saint Dane threw out the window?”

I gave her a sour look. That particular gruesome event was one I'd managed to forget about. Until then, thank you very much Courtney.

Dodger came running back to us, looking all wide-eyed. I'm guessing he was around nineteen years old, with slicked-back black hair. He was a feisty little guy who couldn't have been more than five foot three. What he lacked in size he made up for in energy. He was constantly in motion, with eyes that were always looking around for what needed to be
done next. On Second Earth you'd call him “hyper.”

“Hey, old pal! I thought you was gone for good!”

When Dodger wasn't being a professional and speaking with hotel guests, he had a fast way of speaking that he called Brooklynese. To me he sounded like Bugs Bunny. He spoke quickly, changing subjects in midsentence, barely waiting for answers. If you weren't up to his speed, he'd leave you in the dust. “Is Spader comin' back too? Did you know Gunny disappeared? Nobody's seen him since last spring.” He focused on Courtney, leaned in to me, and whispered, “Hey, who's the skirt?”

“Skirt?” Courtney shouted.

Apparently Dodger's whisper wasn't quite low enough. He froze in surprise.

“That's the sexist stereotype you reduce girls to? Skirts?” Courtney growled.

“Hey, no offense, doll—”

Uh-oh.

“Doll?” Courtney screamed even louder. “Oh, that's much better.”

She stepped toward Dodger, ready to do battle. The little guy backed away in fear. I didn't think he was used to a skirt, uh, a girl being so aggressive.

“What kind of name is Dodger, anyway? That's a dog name.”

“It's a nickname is all,” he stammered. “I like baseball.”

“Baseball? I'll bet you've never even been to Los Angeles!”

“Los Angeles?” Dodger said, confused. “Who said anything about—”

I quickly stepped between them and glared at Courtney. “Dodger's real name is Douglas. He calls himself Dodger because he likes the Dodgers. The
Brooklyn
Dodgers.”

That stopped Courtney. She had forgotten about the whole time-travel thing. The Brooklyn Dodgers wouldn't move to Los Angeles for another twenty years. I looked to Dodger and said, “This is my sister, Dodge. Her name's Courtney. We're going to stay in Gunny's apartment for a while. Okay?”

I figured it would be better to tell everybody Courtney was my sister so nobody would get freaked out about us being together.

“Hey, fine with me,” Dodger said. “You're lucky Caplesmith didn't clean the place out. He thinks Gunny's coming back. Is he?”

I didn't know how to answer that. Of course I couldn't tell him that Gunny and Spader were trapped on a territory called Eelong that was full of talking cats and carnivorous dinosaurs. I was just happy to hear that the hotel manager, Mr. Caplesmith, had kept the apartment. Gunny was the bell captain at the hotel. He'd worked there most of his life and pretty much ran the place. I'd bet that Mr. Caplesmith would hold his apartment forever on the remote chance that Gunny would be back. That's how great a guy Gunny was. It was lucky for us. It meant we had a place to stay.

“I don't know,” I answered truthfully. “I hope he's coming back.”