Trolley to Yesterday (8 page)

"It seems like everybody's an admiral around this place," Fergie muttered to Johnny.

In a flash the man turned to stare at him. Again he smiled as if he knew a joke that he wouldn't tell to anyone. "I beg your pardon," he said, "but I don't think I heard what you said."

Fergie's face turned red. "It wasn't important," he mumbled.

The Admiral laughed and turned quickly to the soldier who held the flag. He gave a quick series of orders: The Turkish prisoners were to be bound and the galley slaves were to be set free. A surgeon would be brought to bind up Johnny's wound, and after that was done, the old man and the two boys were to be treated with every courtesy. Soon they would have dinner with the Admiral in his cabin.

With a stiff bow the soldier turned away. When he was gone, the Admiral heaved a relaxed sigh and fixed the professor with a penetrating stare. "Your Italian is pretty good," he said in perfect English. "But I suppose that's the result of a first-class education. Where did you go? Harvard? Yale? Princeton?"

The professor's jaw dropped. How could this man know about American colleges that didn't exist in 1453? And where had he learned to speak with an American accent? When Brewster translated, everyone sounded British. What on earth was going on?

The Admiral broke up. He threw back his head and laughed. The professor was annoyed—if there was something funny going on, he wanted to know about it instead of being kept in the dark.

"Now see here!" he said crabbily. "You certainly aren't an Italian admiral, and if you don't mind I'd like to know who ..." The professor's voice died, and a light dawned in his eyes. "Good Lord, don't
tell
me!" he exclaimed. "You must be ..."

The Admiral grinned. Without a word he held out his hand and showed the three travelers the large gold signet ring that he wore. On it were engraved the letters A.T.

Johnny blinked and stared at the man. "I don't get it," he said. "Who are you supposed to be?" "Yeah," put in Fergie.

The professor gave the boys an exasperated look. "You two get F for Cleverness this week," he growled. "This is Aurelian Townsend, the man who built the Time Trolley that we used to get here. Remember? I told you that he disappeared mysteriously years and years ago. Well, here he is."

Johnny and Fergie were totally flabbergasted. They opened their mouths and closed them, but no sound came out. Finally Fergie spoke.

"Are... are you on the level?" he asked.

Mr. Townsend smiled blandly and nodded. "Indeed I am. It's very nice to meet you all. Wonderful, actually. I was beginning to think that no one would ever come back with the Time Trolley. You see—"

"Hey, wait a minute!" said Fergie suddenly. "How come you left the trolley and decided to come here?"

Mr. Townsend sighed. "I didn't have much choice in the matter, young man. The idling mechanism on the trolley went haywire, so the stupid piece of tin went zooming back to the twentieth century without me. I've been living in a monastery on the seacoast near here for the last several days, and I had begun to wonder if I was going to spend the rest of my life there." He paused, coughed, and glanced around nervously. "But see here," he went on hurriedly, "we can discuss this all later. These men here think I'm their admiral, so I guess I'll have to start acting like one." He turned away, cupped his hands to his mouth, and shouted several rapid-fire orders in Italian. Then he turned back to the three travelers and spoke to them in a low voice. "Come to my cabin with me. My surgeon is there, preparing a dressing for this young man's cut, and food is being brought. We can discuss what we ought to do next. Okay?"

The professor and the boys nodded, and they followed Mr. Townsend across a plank that had been thrown down to bridge the gap between the two ships. A little while later all four of them were sitting in a luxuriously furnished cabin in the Venetian galley. A surgeon washed the cut on Johnny's arm and bound up the wound with clean white cloth. Then he bowed and left, and everyone's attention turned to food. A large round table stood in the center of the room, and on it lay a bronze bowl full of figs, a jug of wine, and a loaf of bread. A tapestry hung on the rear wall of the cabin, and a carved wooden chest stood in one corner. From outside came a muffled clinking and hammering, and the raspy sound of a saw. Mr. Townsend explained that his men were freeing the galley slaves on the Turkish ship and repairing the hole that the Venetian ship's ram had made when it hit the Turkish galley. When the repairs were finished, Baltoghlu and his men would be forced to row the captured ship to a nearby island that was held by the Venetians.

"How did you ever wind up posing as a Venetian admiral?" asked the professor as he sipped wine from a bronze cup.

Mr. Townsend smiled smugly. "That," he said quietly, "was the result of an amazing piece of good luck. You see, when I came here, I was dressed as a monk, like you. So, after the Time Trolley had gone, I flagged down a fishing boat, and the men took me to a monastery near Rhegium, which is not far from here. Then, just the other day, this galley stopped in the harbor of Rhegium, and its commander was brought to our monastery on a stretcher. He had been badly wounded in battle, and it was clear that he was dying. While our monks were trying to save his live, I had a wonderful idea. The admiral was about my size, so I took his clothes and official documents, and I went to the ship and pretended to be a replacement for their leader. I made up some silly story about how I had ridden overland from Constantinople. I'm not sure if the men believed me, but they were glad to be at sea again. Then—"

"Wait just a minute," said the professor, jabbing a finger at Townsend. "Why did you want to leave the monastery? Did you decide that it would be better to die in battle than to die of boredom in Rhegium?"

Mr. Townsend laughed and shook his head. "Good gracious, no!" he exclaimed. "I had to get on this ship because I knew that the Time Trolley was coming."

Mr. Townsend undid the drawstring of a leather bag that hung on his belt. Plunging his hand into the bag, he pulled out a brass pipe tamper. It looked just like the one that the professor used to pierce the veil and let them into Leander's Tower. But there was one difference. This brass tamper was vibrating, and it kept changing color, from red to orange to green to violet and back again to red.

"This tamper is a bit fancier than the one you have," Mr. Townsend explained as he turned it back and forth between his finger and thumb. "It has a built-in alarm system that is supposed to warn me when the Time Trolley is near. I made it so that I could find my way back to the trolley if I got lost and couldn't remember where I had left it. Well, every day since the day I was stranded I have taken the tamper out of its bag, and I have prayed that someone would bring the bucket of bolts back to Leander's Tower. And now you folks are here. Once we have gotten rid of the Turkish galley, we will sail to Leander's Tower and take the trolley home—if it's still there."

Johnny felt suddenly queasy, and he glanced nervously at the professor. What on earth would they do if the trolley had gone without them?

The professor was confident. He brushed a speck of dirt off his robe and took a drink of wine. "I really wouldn't worry, Mr. Townsend," he said calmly as he set his goblet down on the table. "What happened to you was probably an exception... perhaps you didn't handle the controls of the trolley properly. I have made half a dozen trips in your machine, and it has always performed well for me. Of course, on this last trip it missed the date that I set it for, but I'm sure that the problem could be corrected if I fooled around with a screwdriver."

Mr. Townsend glared at the professor. He had built the Time Trolley, and he did not like to have this cranky little man telling him that he knew more about the machine than the inventor. But he restrained his anger, shoved his chair back, and stood up. "I have to go out on deck," he said, bowing stiffly.

He swept his red cloak about him, straightened the beret on his head, and marched out the door of the cabin. When the door had closed behind him, Johnny glanced quickly at Fergie, and he heaved a little sigh of relief. He was glad that the professor and Mr. Townsend had not argued, because he did not want anything to interfere with their trip home. There was a dull pain in his arm, and he wanted Gramma or Doc Schermerhorn to look at his cut and see if it was going to be all right. The sooner they were back in Leander's Tower, the better.

Minutes passed. Johnny, Fergie, and the professor munched figs while Mr. Townsend shouted orders on the deck of the galley. After half an hour had passed, the professor got fidgety. He hummed tunelessly and drummed his fingers on the table, and every now and then he said something under his breath. Finally Mr. Townsend came back to the cabin. He looked pale, and his mouth was set in a grim frown.

"It seems that we have a few problems," he said as he sank wearily into his chair. "When our ship rammed the Turkish galley, about half of the oars on our starboard side were sheared off. I'm afraid we're going to have to make the trip to Leander's Tower by just using our sail. Normally that wouldn't be too difficult, but there's a storm coming up."

The professor turned pale, and he swallowed hard. "A storm?" he said in a trembling voice. "Is... er, I mean, will it be a bad one?"

Mr. Townsend shrugged. "Who knows? Storms blow up very quickly in the Sea of Marmara, and sometimes they're pretty fierce. But we have to try to get to the tower. We're leaving right now."

The professor and the two boys followed Mr. Townsend out onto the deck of the galley. Overhead the great triangular sail moaned and strained against the wind, and the ship surged, cutting through the choppy water. But dark clouds had rushed in to hide the stars, and lightning flashed on the horizon. The ship began to pitch and roll, and the boys had to cling to the rigging to keep from falling down. Then, without warning, the wind changed direction. It blew straight against the sail, which flapped uselessly as the ship slowed down and then stopped altogether. But Mr. Townsend was not dismayed. He clung to a rope and bellowed loudly,
"Stand by to go about!"
The rudder swerved, and the ship's prow swung around in the opposite direction, running before the wind. The gale got stronger, and the sailors furled the sail up halfway, so that the force of the wind would not break off the mast. The ship heaved and tossed in the high, foamy waves. Now and then water broke over the railings and drenched the three travelers. Johnny felt cold and wet and very scared—would they ever get back to the tower? They were sailing the wrong way, but they really didn't have much choice. The night got blacker, and sheets of rain came slanting down. The loud howling of the wind drowned out all other sounds, and Johnny could not even hear himself praying. But his lips moved, and he kept saying the Our Father over and over. Suddenly the ship came to a grating, shuddering halt, and with a loud crack the mast snapped. The sail went over the side of the ship and lay fluttering on the water. In the distance, beyond the bow, Johnny saw the vague shapes of trees and a shadowy building. They had run aground on some unknown shore, and the ship was being pounded to pieces by the wind and waves.

Wildly Johnny looked around. Nearby he saw Fergie pulling himself to his feet. He had been knocked flat by the sudden stop, but he seemed to be all right.

"Come on!" Fergie yelled, grabbing Johnny by the arm. "We've got to get off of this crummy ship! Let's go!"

Johnny stared at the black choppy water and the pounding surf, and he was afraid. He could dog paddle around in a calm, heated pool, but he didn't know if he could swim in cold, churning sea. Fergie read his thoughts and dragged him over to the rail.

"It's okay!" he said soothingly as he pointed down. "The water isn't over your head. You can wade to shore. Come on!"

Johnny still hung back. All around them feet pounded on the galley's deck, and they heard loud splashes. Nimbly Fergie vaulted over the rail and landed in the water. Johnny looked down fearfully, and he was relieved to see that Fergie's head and shoulders were above the water.

"See?" Fergie yelled encouragingly. "It's not very deep! Come on! Jump!"

Johnny felt cold waves of fear sweeping over him; but he pulled himself together and clambered awkwardly over the railing. A second later his feet touched bottom. The two of them slogged through the water, which got shallower with every step. Suddenly a thought occurred to Johnny.

"Hey, Fergie!" he said anxiously. "Where's the professor?"

Fergie laughed. "He's up on the beach, waitin' for us! Right up there! See for yourself!"

Johnny looked where Fergie was pointing, and he saw the short elderly man squatting on a rock about halfway up the beach. He was clutching his valise to his chest, and the Knights of Columbus sword was stuck in the sand nearby. Johnny felt very relieved, and he waded faster. He stumbled up the beach and waved frantically at the professor, who was delighted to see him.

"Greetings, John!" said the old man, grinning toothily. "I see that you and Byron have survived the shipwreck. Have you seen Mr. Townsend?"

Johnny peered up and down the beach. It was a dark night, and it was very hard to see anything or anybody. "I don't see him anywhere," he muttered glumly. "Do you think he got drowned?"

The professor shook his head vigorously. "No, I don't think so," he said, smiling confidently. "If he survived for several days in this dangerous part of the world, he can certainly make it through a storm and a shipwreck. But see here! We're standing around babbling when we ought to be up and doing! Let's go find someplace where we can dry out and decide what to do next." He twisted around on the rock and looked toward the shadowy building that the boys had seen before. "Let's see what that place is like," he said as he got up. "It's very wet out here, and we're liable to catch cold if we don't watch out."

Fergie and Johnny followed the professor up the gravelly beach. Through the murk they could see a small stone building with a domed roof. Tall cypress trees waved in the wind nearby and cast weird shadows as the three travelers made their way to the arched doorway at the front of the building. The stout wooden door had been wrenched off its hinges and lay flat on the ground. Reaching into his valise, the professor pulled out his Nimrod pipe lighter. It was a tube about two inches long, and when he jerked at the ends, a spear of yellow flame shot out of the middle. With the lighter in his hand, the professor poked around on the ground till he found a piece of wood that he could use as a torch. It took several tries before he could get the wood to catch, but finally it burst into flame. Cautiously the professor moved through the gaping black archway and into the interior of the dark, abandoned building. What sort of house was this? The professor peered up at the domed ceiling, and he saw glittering gold mosaics. The staring faces of saints and angels looked down at them, and at once he knew where they were.