Time's Echo: A CHRONOS Files Novella (2 page)

I glance at the display on her phone and realize I’ll have
to run to reach the station on time. And yes, I could jump back twenty minutes
and avoid rushing, but I'd rather not push my limits with the medallion. Who
knows how many times Easley might want to see my finale before making a
decision?

I cross over to the mirror and pull a comb through my hair,
still damp from the shower.
It's
several inches too
long for the current fashion and I'd planned to ask Kate to cut it last night.
Scissors, tears, and anger are a dangerous combination, however.
Even if I wasn't the person who'd made her angry.

Kate is behind me in the mirror, sitting cross-legged on the
bed, watching me. The gold ring on her finger catches the glow from the lamp.
It's been over a month, and I still feel a sense of wonder each time I see it.

"I can trim the back if you want."

This is a major concession coming from her, since I know she
prefers my hair long. But I shake my head.

"No time. Surely the manager will cut some slack for a
magician so highly recommended by the Great Houdini? I'll just say this is the
style in Europe."

She smiles and walks over to me, taking the comb from my
hand. "It's not. I was there three days ago," she says, reaching up
to neaten the back. "They're wearing it long on top, short on the bottom,
just like all of the guys over here.
So boring—no allowance
at all for individual taste."

Her bottom lip juts forward in a little pout as I turn
toward her. I plant a soft kiss there. "Stay here, Kate. Okay? If you come
back upset like last night, I don't want you to be alone."

Tears fill her eyes again. "I'm sorry I was such a
mess, Kier. If you'd seen his body, you'd understand. And I could have stopped
it. I should have stopped it. I should go back right
now
and stop it no
matter what Katherine says. I'm not bound by stupid CHRONOS regulations and
this is just so wrong…"

I wipe a tear away from her cheek and pull her close.
"Wait here for me. If you think it will help, I'll go back with you and
we'll both talk to Katherine. Or if you really have to go, wait and come back
after the
audition's
over. I shouldn't be later than
seven…maybe seven-thirty."

She nods, then picks up my bag from the chair and hands it
to me. "No promises except that I'll be here for the next hour so I can
free you. If you jump back later than that, you may have to hold the keys in
your teeth."

"No, I'll just come back even earlier and unlock them
myself."

"Good luck dealing with the headache from juggling two
different realities in your mind. Have you tried that?"

 "It would still be better than being stuck in
four sets of cuffs." Not that I mean it. I'd probably stay in the cuffs
until she came back. Jumps are tough enough for me. The fact that Kate avoids
encountering previous versions of herself, when everything else about time
travel is so damned easy for her, is ample reason for me to steer clear at all
costs. And I've seen firsthand what it's done to Prudence.

"I'll
be
here," Kate says, giving me a
final kiss. "Now go or you'll be late. I love you. Break a leg. And don't
mention the Scottish play."

I laugh. "Do magicians have the same set of
superstitions as theater actors? Maybe I should change my name to the Amazing
Macbeth for an added touch of danger?"

"Don't you
dare.
The Cyrists
and CHRONOS have brought us enough bad luck and danger without you inviting
extra. And the name has to be
Boudini
to make sure we
piss him off enough to track you down."

As I open the door to the hallway, Kate crawls back into
bed, curling herself around my pillow. An unexplained sense of dread washes
over me and I'm tempted to stay, but it's probably only stage fright. If you'd
told me a week ago I'd be heading to an audition of any sort, I'd have laughed.

The uneasy feeling is still there, but I just blow her a
kiss and close the door behind me.

∞
2
∞

Norumbega
Park is busy, even
though it's a weekday, and it takes a while for me to work my way through the
chaos. It's mostly mums and kids looking for a bit of summer fun. They move at
a snail's pace, one kid yanking toward the zoo and another toward the paddle
boats on the river or some other attraction.

I grabbed a map of the park at the gates, but I soon
realized you don't need a map to locate the Great Steel Theater. It's at the
top of a hill, visible from pretty much every vantage point. What was once a
modest open-air amphitheater is now a hulking giant with metal curtains that
can be yanked down to shield the audience if a storm blows
in.

I pull on my coat and hat as I approach the entrance. I was
told to be ready to audition at four-thirty, so I'm surprised to see that
there's a matinee in progress that won't end until around four.
So much for having time to prepare.

The gray-haired woman in the ticket booth doesn't look up
from her book until I speak.

"I have an interview with Mr. Ervin Easley. Do you know
where I can find him?"

"He's
prob'ly
in the audience
watchin
' the show." She runs her tongue over her
teeth,
then
continues.
"Unless
he's in the back.
Or he might have stepped out."

I'm tempted to tell her it would have been a lot quicker to
say she didn't know, but I just smile and ask, "What does he look
like?"

"Kind of fat, middle-aged."
Her nose stays in the book, a dime-novel called
Parted by Fate
.

It's clear I'm not going to get anything more than this
vague description, so I turn and move toward the door.

"Twenty cents," she says. I stop, and she finally
looks up from the page when I don't respond immediately. "It's twenty
cents for a ticket. I can't let anyone in without a ticket. You could be
sayin
' you had an audition just to get in to see the
show."

Right, lady.
I'm wearing a tuxedo
with a bloody top hat in July so that I can get out of paying twenty cents
admission for a show that's nearly over. It's not worth the argument, however,
so I toss her two dimes and take my ticket.

The auditorium is barely half full, but that's still more people
than I'd have expected for a Tuesday matinee and I feel uneasy as I realize
this is the crowd I'll be facing twice daily if the interview goes as planned.
I take a playbill from the doorman and stand at the back for a few minutes,
looking around for Easley. I'm not even sure why I bother—the ticket-seller's
description fits about half of the men I've seen since entering the park.

The violinist on stage finishes
Spanish Dance
. I work
my way about halfway down the outer aisle of the theatre during the applause,
finding an empty seat at the end of a row. The next act, a juggling group from
Europe, is billed as "The
Agoust
Family."
At first, it looks like a pantomime skit. It starts out with this waiter taking
an order from his table, and then the dishes and cutlery begin flying from one
side of the stage to the other. The act is good enough that I briefly forget
why I'm here and watch the show, but when the applause starts it jogs my
memory.

A sister quartet, next to last on the program, begins
setting up. I stand and cross over to a door near the main stage. It's unlocked
and opens into a large prop room. Moving slowly, I follow a narrow path of
sorts between the furniture, stage flats, and boxes, hoping to find Easley or
someone else in charge.

It's hard to hear much over the quartet, whose voices are
the high, warbling type that sets my teeth on edge. Fortunately, there's an
instrumental stretch in the middle and I pick up a bit of conversation coming
from behind the stage.

I follow the sound and a few minutes later see a short,
attractive blonde who looks to be in her mid-twenties. She's joking with two of
the guys from the juggling group, as she helps them load the last of their gear
into the wheeled cart they used in the act.

The blonde turns toward me, running her eyes over the tux in
a way I suspect Kate wouldn't appreciate. "You can't be the new banjo
player in that get up, so let me guess—you're here to replace Clive the
Debonair?"

"Hopefully, yes. I'm supposed to audition for a Mr.
Easley, but I can't find him. He said there was a…palanquin cabinet left behind
that I might be able to use. Do you know where?"

"Sure." She tilts her head to the left.
"Follow me."

She leads me back to the prop room and turns onto one of the
tiny paths through the clutter. It's more suited for her frame than mine, and I
narrowly avoid toppling a lamp.

"Where are your assistants?" she asks.

"Um…in the letter, Easley said that I could use the
same girls that the other guy, Clive, did, if I get the job. I haven't met them
yet."

"Well, you've met one of them.
Typical
that I'm the last to know."
She turns to face me and drops a tiny
curtsey.
"Eliza Easley, at your service.
And you
are?"

 I hesitate for a moment. "The name's Kiernan, but
I'm billed as the Amazing
Boudini
."

She snorts. "You're gonna get sued.
Maybe
even killed.
They say he has a temper."

"No, he's a nice guy. Really," I add, as she gives
me a skeptical glance. "Houdini recommended me. I'm his protégé."

"If you say so."
She
turns and continues through the maze of junk.

"Eliza Easley." I say, hoping to change the
subject. "Are you Easley's daughter?"

She has a very loud laugh for such a small girl. "Don't
let him hear you say that. I'm his wife.
Number three, unless
he's hidden one from me."

I decide it might be best to button my lip before I stick my
foot any further into my mouth.

"
Daisy'll
be your other
girl," Eliza says. "She's running an errand or something.
Should be back in a few minutes."

She walks behind a dolly stacked with theatrical flats and
rolls out a rectangular cabinet maybe five feet long and four feet tall. It
sits about waist-high on four sturdy wheeled legs. Gold curtains cover the
front and the back. I saw several of these contraptions as a kid, so I'm not a
total rube—even worked with one for a couple of nights when a girl on the
Midway took off with some guy without bothering to give notice. As soon as the
magician found
himself
another girl, I was out of a
job, of course—vanishing a pretty girl in a tight costume sells way more
tickets than vanishing an eight-year-old boy.

Unfortunately, the box looks much smaller now than when I
was eight, and the curtains are going to be a problem. This setup is for a
standard vanishing act, not for an escape artist. Even if I can wedge myself
inside, there won't be any room to maneuver. And I need something that not only
hides me from the audience, but also keeps my assistants from peeking until I'm
back in the box.

"Hmm.
This will require a bit
of work. I need to rig it so you can lock me inside."

"Oh. Thought you'd be
vanishing
me or Daisy. Not complaining, mind you—I'm tired of folding myself inside that
box. There's no way you're going to fit."

She thinks for a minute,
then
holds
up a finger. "Wait here. Maybe something else would work better."

I stay put as she heads off to the right. The quartet
launches into another high-pitched musical nightmare. After a few moments, I
hear shuffling noises from the back of the room.

"Hey, Houdini.
Come help me
move this thing."

The
thing
in question turns out to be a coffin. The
prop room is much too crowded for her to push it more than a couple of feet. I
help her lift it up and over some of the junk and we put it down in a
relatively clear spot.

I can't say I'm wild about being locked in a coffin, even
one that is a prop. Still, I have to admit it's perfect. "Think Mr. Easley
would mind if put this up on the cart instead of the palanquin cabinet?"

"Don’t matter whether he minds or not. I'm prop
mistress. I'll get you a toolbox."

 Twenty minutes later, I have the coffin attached to
the wheeled legs and a makeshift latch on the inside. The coffin isn't attached
quite as firmly as I'd like and the latch is a bit flimsy, but it'll do for
now. I toss the rest of my gear inside and roll the contraption onto the stage,
parking it in front of a raised wooden platform Eliza dragged out that has
steps going up both sides.

I screw one part of a hook latch to the side of the coffin
and the other to the platform so that Eliza and Daisy can anchor the thing.
Although I told Eliza that's to make sure the coffin doesn't go rolling away
when I pop up at the end, the position is actually crucial. If the coffin isn't
rolled back to the stable point, I can't jump back in.

The audience clears out and Easley still hasn't arrived.
Eliza suggests a dress rehearsal while we wait, but I'm leery of pushing my
luck with the key. Even with short hops like this, I'll be lucky if I can do
more than four or five round trips before I tire out. So I just walk her through
the main points of the act and we do a dry run with Eliza attaching cuffs and
me climbing into the coffin.

The inside is well padded and comfortable, but it smells
musty. No actual dead bodies have been in here, however…at least not to Eliza's
knowledge. Or, at least not that she chose to mention.

I tug on the watch chain and pull out the CHRONOS key to be
sure I have enough room to lift my head and see the display. I do, but it's a
close call. I set my current position as a stable point, so all I'll have to do
later is set the time. Then I push the medallion back into my pocket, and tap
for Eliza to open the lid.

No response. I tap again, harder.

"Eliza?"

There's still no response. I feel my pulse rising.
"Eliza!"

A soft chuckle from above.
"What's the matter, Houdini? Need help?"

Great.
I'll have to waste a jump
because my assistant wants a sneak preview. "No," I say through
gritted teeth. "I can get out. Just give me a minute or two."

I'm about to flip the latch to secure the lid when the
coffin opens, and Eliza grins down at me. "I'm kidding. Save your
contortions until His Highness arrives. And Daisy, for that matter…" Her
eyes narrow a bit. I get the sense she's added the two absences together and
doesn't much like the result.

After unlocking the various cuffs, Eliza wanders off. I sit
on the edge of the stage with my feet hanging down into the orchestra pit. And
I wait. For nearly an hour, I sit there, rehearsing the act in my head and
trying to stay alert. Even with large weather curtains open and a slight breeze
blowing in from the Charles River, it's still hot and humid. The lack of sleep
is beginning to get to me and I'm almost (but not quite) tempted to stretch out
in the coffin for nap.

Easley finally strolls through the door and down the center
aisle a little after five-thirty. The ticket-seller was right—he's fat and he's
middle-aged. He's also a good foot shorter than my six-foot-one, an unusual
enough fact that you'd think the woman might have added it to her description.
A redheaded girl comes in a few seconds behind him and slinks down the left
aisle toward the prop room door, giving me a nervous glance before she closes
it behind her.

"You're not ready yet?" Easley brushes crumbs from
his waistcoat, which is stretched a bit too tight over his
belly,
and settles himself into a seat a few rows from the stage.

I'm reminded of an afternoon when I was maybe seven, sitting
on a bench outside a barn at the Cyrist farm with my dad. He was angry,
something I'd rarely seen. When I asked why,
Da
gave a
bitter laugh and said he was just tired of dealing with the Cyrist version of
the Golden Rule—whoever has the gold makes the rules.

I don't know whether this Easley guy is rich, but he
certainly has the attitude down pat. You can tell he likes being in charge.
It's a shame I don't have a Cyrist recruitment flyer on me, because he'd fit
right in down at the Temple.

"I'm ready," I say. "Just let me get my coat
back on."

"The kid's been waiting for over an hour,
Erv
. So have I." Eliza doesn't seem nearly as cheerful
as when we were talking backstage. She casts Easley a glare that is downright
poisonous and then walks over to the coffin, followed at a distance by the
redhead.

"Daisy is
probably
smart enough to catch
on," Eliza continues, "since all she'll need to do is put on the
cuffs and help me spin you around before the reveal. But wouldn't it have been
nice
to have her here to go over things earlier?" She flashes Daisy a fake
smile.

I look over at Daisy, but she doesn't meet my gaze,
apparently having discovered something very interesting on the toes of her
shoes. Whatever drama is going on here, there's no way I'm getting caught in
the middle.

 "I guess we'll just have to discuss the details
with Daisy afterward. Assuming I get the job."

"You'll get the job." Eliza glances toward the
seat where Easley is sitting, his head back and his
eyes
closed, and then adds
under her breath, "Clive didn't give notice.
Don't let the Little General fool you—he's desperate for something to close out
the first act."

I bite back a laugh. Easley does look a bit like a chubby
version of Napoleon, with one hand resting on his gut.

"Well then, let's do this," I say, giving her a
smile that I hope looks more confident than I'm feeling. Then, I walk
center-stage and bow, sweeping my hat off in one of the grand gestures I
practiced over and over with Kate. It still feels hokey.