Chronica (12 page)

The cabbie grunted his presumed agreement and was silent for the rest of the ride.

The cab soon arrived at Wave Hill. "Will you be long?" the cabbie inquired. "Shall I wait to provide a return ride to the train?"

"Not necessary," Astor said, and paid the cabbie generously in coin.

The three approached the door of Appleton's residence. Astor applied the knocker.

Geoffreys opened the door. He knew all three callers. "Here to see Mr. Appleton?" he inquired.

"Yes," Astor replied. "Is he fit to see us?"

"He was indisposed a little while ago—"

"But I'm quite fine now," Appleton appeared, with a big smile and a slow, labored walk.

Sierra rushed up to him and hugged him. "How are you, old friend?" She kissed him on the top of his head, which was now even balder than the last time she had seen him in 1896 – just a few days ago for her, three years ago for Appleton. His moustache was also whiter, and although he was still a little portly, he was less so than the last time the two had been together at the Millennium Club.

"I'm 86 years old – I'm feeling as well as I can for anyone that age." He winked at Sierra and whispered, "actually, I may even be a little older, considering all the time I spent out of time with you. But do not be concerned. I'm happy. I'll be back with my dear bride before too long."

Sierra blinked back tears.

Appleton, still hugging her, turned to Max and Astor. "I assume you're here because there is some kind of important business afoot that requires my attention, wavering as it may be?"
 

"We believe Heron is in this year," Astor said.

"And if he hasn't already, he may come to see you," Max added.

Appleton let go of Sierra. "Come," he said to all three. "Let us sit by the fire."

They walked into an adjoining room. "Can Geoffreys get you something?" Appleton inquired.

"Tea," Sierra said. "Thank you."

"Tea for me, too," Max said.

"Well, then, let's make it tea for all three!" Astor said.

Geoffreys, who had been standing close by, nodded.

"And I'll have a cognac," Appleton said.

Geoffreys nodded and went to get the beverages.

"I had at least one unpleasant conversation with Heron, in Alexandria while you were away, if memory serves," Appleton said to Sierra.

"He may not look like that anymore," Max said.

"Back to that again," Appleton said and coughed. "This face changing is almost as disconcerting as the time travel." He looked again at Sierra. "You fooled a lot of people, looking like Hypatia in Alexandria!"

"Yes, not quite my finest hour – too many good people died," Sierra said.

"Too many good people always die," Astor observed.

"Indeed," Appleton said. "By the way, I'm gratified that the three of you have apparently taken each other into your confidences. We need all the help we can get."

Astor nodded vigorously, Sierra nodded slightly, and Max not at all.

"What do you suppose Heron wants from me?" Appleton asked.

"To intercept the
Chronica
, would be my best guess," Astor replied.

Appleton laughed, coughed, and waved away help from Geoffreys, who had arrived with the tea and brandy and placed the tray on the table. "It's too late," Appleton said, when he recovered his voice. "But I guess you wouldn't know that, because you came from?"

"1896," Sierra replied.

"Ah, yes, then," Appleton started coughing again.

"Perhaps Mr. Appleton would like to rest a little," Geoffreys offered in quiet but firm voice.

Appleton glared at him.

"Of course," Astor said. "But just one question, then – what did you mean that it's 'too late' for Heron to obtain your copy of the
Chronica
?"

"It is already out of my hands," Appleton replied, serenely, "and under translation, as far as I know."

"May I ask by whom?" Astor asked.

"It's safer for none of you to know, wouldn't you agree?" Appleton responded. "Safer to let that knowledge die with me – knowledge of the translation of the
Chronica –
until the book takes its proper place in the world. Neither should be too long now."

"You still have some time," Sierra said, voice rough with emotion. She stood and put her hand on Appleton's shoulder.

He put his wrinkled hand over hers. "No point in pretending, my dear. We both know I haven't much time left in this Earthly realm. I only hope I've done well enough to merit a better place, though it would be difficult to find a place better than this, in your company, and the honor and joy it has brought me to know you. In many ways, you have made my life."

Now Sierra couldn't hold back the tears. Max's eyes were moist, too.

Appleton squeezed Sierra's hand with surprising strength. "The translation is assured," he said. "These kinds of things cannot be rushed. But I am confident that Heron will no longer maintain a monopoly on his time traveling."

***

Geoffreys called for another cab, which arrived in ten minutes.

This cabbie had a thick Irish brogue. "Down to the train station by the river, is that right?"

"Yes, please," Astor said, as he, Sierra, and Max settled into the cab.

"Do you share William's confidence about the translation?" Astor asked Max and Sierra.

"Not with Heron out and about in these parts, not with him time traveling. No, I don't," Max said.

"What should we do about it?" Astor asked.

"Do you feel comfortable enough with us now to reveal the name of your spy?" Sierra asked. "William revealed a great deal of our work to you in that conversation we all just had."

"I have an appointment with my source at Grand Central in two hours," Astor replied. "Would you care to join me?"

"Yes, we would," Max replied.

Chapter 7

[New York City, March, 1899 AD]

Heron decided as soon as he left Porter's company that he needed someone more high-powered to get the
Chronica
from Appleton. Even if Porter's failure to see Appleton was not his fault this time, the point still held. Heron should have realized this all along.
 

He walked as quickly as could up to the Millennium, gambled that the real J. P. Morgan was not standing in the vestibule, and almost lost.

"Mr. Morgan," a man who looked and sounded like a British butler from the early 20
^th
century greeted Heron with a smile. "You're back again! Welcome!"

Heron nodded, grunted, and hustled up all of the stairs to the room with the Chairs. He needed to clear the air, clear his head – see a little more clearly, perhaps, how his present predicament had come to be, and maybe set something in motion to change it – and nothing provided as good an opportunity for that as a little trip to the past. He timed this one to be about two months before he was now.

[New York City, January, 1899 AD]

He found a public phone at Grand Central, away from the seafood restaurant and any possibly prying eyes. Yes, it was time to bring in reinforcements, with someone whom he trusted about as much as Porter, which was to say not that much at all, but who had had much greater impact on the world, in large part due to information supplied by Heron. That would be Porter's boss.

Heron had his phone number committed to memory.

A groggy, gruff voice answered the phone. "Hello?"

"Mr. Edison?" Heron looked at the clock on the far wall. It was 2:45 in the afternoon. This lunatic was likely taking his famed afternoon nap. "Did I wake you?"

"Yes, you did," Edison replied. "Do I know you?"

"Your phone number is not widely available, so likely you do," Heron replied.

"Your voice does sound familiar," Edison said.

"I need to see you," Heron said. "This afternoon."

"That sounds more like an order than a request," Edison said.

"When you realize who I am, you'll understand," Heron said.

"I'm in West Orange, New Jersey," Edison said.

"I'd prefer we meet in Grand Central Terminal in New York, in about two hours. Is that satisfactory?" Heron asked.

Silence. Then, "I know who you are – yes, I'll meet you at Grand Central in two hours – the train and ferry service is frequent at this time of day, but still not as efficient as it could be," Edison said.

"Good," Heron said, and told Edison to meet him at the seafood restaurant. "One other thing – I'll be looking like J. P. Morgan."

***

Edison sat down at Heron's table in the restaurant. "You look like J. P., but you certainly didn't sound like him on the telephone. That was apparent to me even with my partial deafness."

"I could have undertaken a vocal chord reconstruction, but I won't be staying here as J. P. Morgan very long," Heron replied, "and you likely would have thought I was J. P. Morgan not me on the telephone, whatever I said to the contrary, if I had J. P. Morgan's voice." Heron knew about Edison's hearing impairment, but, like the rest of the world, was unclear about its extent. Heron did know that Edison told at least half a dozen stories about what had caused his hearing loss, ranging from ear infections to being smacked on the side of his head by a train conductor.

"J. P. Morgan has been one of my financers," Edison said. "I know him well. I'm not very comfortable with you having taken his face." Edison rubbed the stubble on his own unshaven face.

Heron was always slightly surprised by Edison's unkempt hair and appearance, and that he smelled like someone from the mostly unwashed Middle Ages. "Are you comfortable with the many designs for inventions I have given you?" Heron asked.

The waiter appeared.

"I'll have a plate of shrimp," Edison told the waiter.

"I'm fine," Heron said.

"Your designs have served me well," Edison said to Heron, as the waiter departed. "That is why I am here. Do you have something new for me?"

"As a matter of fact, I do," Heron said, and favored Edison with one of his rare smiles. "It concerns time travel."

"Time travel?" Edison repeated, with a touch of ridicule. "Isn't that the stuff of scientific romance?"

"So was the use of electricity to illuminate cities, until I gave you a copy of
Babylon Electrified
, brought back through time from 1889, to where you were in 1879, still perfecting your carbon filament light bulb, which I grant you was your invention entirely."

Edison nodded. Acknowledgement of his genius independent of Heron placated him, as Heron hoped it would. "That's certainly true," Edison said. "And I'll freely admit – to you – that your advice about the recording of moving images enabled me to get the jump on the Lumière Brothers in France and Friese-Greene in England both."

Heron smiled through J. P. Morgan's moustache again. "I have been working towards such wheel-of-life inventions for a very long time." He thought it best not to tell Edison that he had given similar advice to the Lumières and William Friese-Greene, whom he had found much more convivial than Edison.

"I'm still not convinced, however, that time travel is possible," Edison said. "You may have received the information you gave to me about new inventions not from the future but from other sources alive in the world today, who are known to you but not to me."

Heron considered and reached another decision. "I shall prove it to you. I'm going to leave right now. I'll be back in a moment and certainly before your plate of shrimp arrives – back with information obtained from your future self, which I could obtain only through time travel, and not from someone unknown to you now."

Edison shrugged and nodded. "I'm always in the market for a palpable demonstration."

Heron rose and walked to the door of the restaurant. Their waiter was standing there, talking to the maître d'hôtel. "I'll be back in just a minute," Heron said to them.

He hustled again up to the Millennium. Mr. Bertram, another Brit in service to the Clubs with too much time on his hands, was now at the door. He merely nodded at Heron, looking like J. P. Morgan, and said nothing about Morgan's being or having recently been in the club. Good.

Heron set the Chair to March, 1899, for a few days after his meeting with Porter, whom he did not want to cross paths with in this trip to demonstrate time travel to Edison. There were three other Chairs in the room, but he didn't have the time to figure out who had brought them there.

[New York City, March, 1899 AD]

The weather was warmer. Heron walked to Grand Central, and again called Edison in New Jersey, from a public telephone. He insisted as before on Edison coming into the city and meeting him at the seafood restaurant. Edison grumbled, cursed, and agreed.

Edison arrived two hours later, still annoyed.

Heron bid him to sit, which Edison did, still muttering.

"I apologize for this inconvenience," Heron said, honestly. "It is on behalf of an important cause, which you will understand when this pair of meetings – this is just one of two meetings we are having – is concluded.

Edison rolled and closed his eyes, then opened them. "I'm listening."

"I need you to tell me something you experienced in the past two months – something no one other than you would know about," Heron said.

"I rescued a dog in the blizzard we had last month," Edison immediately responded, "at the beginning of the big storm. But I didn't bring it home. It jumped out of my arms before I could bring it to a shelter. I haven't told anybody about that – I have a reputation as a dog-hater, because I electrocuted Dash and a few other mutts to demonstrate the dangers of AC electricity. But I have nothing against dogs, and I didn't want to tell anyone about the dog I rescued which got away because I didn't want anyone to think I had harmed the animal."

Heron took it all in. "Thank you – that is perfect for my purposes." He stayed with Edison over cups of soup, which both professed to enjoy, only Edison truthfully, and the two then walked out onto 42
^nd
Street.

"Thank you, again," Heron said, and walked north, once again, to the Millennium. His luck was apparently getting better and better. No one was at the door at all, this time.