Time Trapped (17 page)

Christmas Day, 1950, 4:22
A.M.

North of London, England
Operation Coronation

I
throw the van into gear and it skids for a moment before the tires grip the snow. We're halfway up the hill when Abbie's voice comes over my mindpatch.

“Cale, we snatched our part of the stone.”

“Good work,” I say. “We're still working on ours.”

We reach the top of the hill, and I park near a beat-up gray sedan. As I step from the van, I'm hit with another wave of dizziness so bad that I have to grip the door to keep from falling.

“What's the matter, Jack?” Razor asks.

“Nothing. Just a little dizzy, that's all.”

A boy appears out of nowhere. He's as tall as I am but looks younger, maybe Razor's age. His hair and eyes are dark. Although he's dressed in only a thin shirt, the cold doesn't seem to bother him.

“Lemme handle this,” Razor says. “Hey, kid, what's up?”

The boy doesn't answer. He only looks at us and then trails behind as we continue making our way across the top of the hill. Other boys join him, and soon we have our own small contingent following us along.

We walk through an area where men are busy putting up tents and then past a campfire where about a dozen people are gathered around, sitting shoulder to shoulder. One of the men is playing a lively tune on a violin, and a few of the women are clicking their tongues in time to the music.

A dark-bearded man in a faded green parka approaches us.

“Nice setup you've got here,” Razor says to him. “Real cozy.”

He stares at her.

Razor has started prattling on about something else when he raises his hand. It's got a lot of miles on it; it's all wrinkled, and the fingers are gnarled. But it does the trick—she stops talking in mid-sentence.

For a moment, I think he's going to speak. But instead, he beckons for us to follow, leading us along a path in the snow that has already been pounded down by boots. We pass within two feet of the stone, and I frown when I see two men seated on it, chatting.

Our silent companion leads us to the flap of the only tent that's fully up. As soon as we enter, I pause and look around. The inside of the tent is filled with a hodgepodge of mismatched and worn-looking pieces of furniture.

There's a small fire going, and we're instructed to sit on the layers of blankets covering the ground near the fire. This place reminds me a little of Temüjin's hangout in the Barrens, minus the smell of camel dung.

The man gestures for us to sit and then escorts two others into the tent. I recognize them immediately: Colin and Angus from Westminster Abbey! They sit down on the ground next to us, confused looks on their faces.

Razor's eyes are wide, and her jaw hangs open. I have to admit that I prefer her this way. Dmitri has his usual distracted look.

“I know why you are here,” says a new voice. It's deep and husky; a woman's voice.

Through the swirling smoke, I see the outline of a figure sitting on a cushion behind the fire. Her head is covered by a dark blue kerchief, and she's wearing multiple layers of faded patterned clothing.

“I have been expecting you,” she continues, and her words chill me. It feels like she is speaking to me and me alone.

The smoke clears, and I can see the woman more clearly. She has a strong face with large eyes and a generous mouth. I can tell that she must have been beautiful when she was younger.

“You each believe that you have a claim on it,” she says. “But you are all mistaken. For it cannot be claimed. It is the stone that decides.”

I gulp. How can she know that we've come for the stone? This must be some trick. No, not a trick. Simple observation, seeing with the mind, like Uncle says. Before they set up camp, they must have seen Number Four unload the stone. And they must also have seen us getting into the police car. There, I solved it. No mystery here at all.

The tent flap opens again, and Abbie, Gerhard and Judith are standing there. Gerhard's foot is furiously tapping.

“Ahh, the other travelers,” she says. “It appears that all are here. We can now begin.”

This lady is seriously spooking me. How does she know we are time travelers? No, she didn't say that. She said “travelers.” That could mean almost anyone.

She gestures over the fire, silver bracelets gleaming on her wrist and a ring on each of her fingers.

The flames suddenly leap up a good foot, and I feel a rush of heat on my face.

Tricks. These are all parlor tricks. Just like Houdini. I force myself to relax.

The woman has cards in her hands now, and as she shuffles them, she looks at each of us in turn, eyes gleaming and lips curled up ever so slightly. When her eyes meet mine, the intensity of her gaze makes me look away.

“Five times lost and four times found,” she says. “Three times captured and two times freed. The heads of kings and the heads of state. All have vied for the stone. And all have failed to hold her. A journey of a thousand years, a thousand wars and a thousand tears.”

That all sounds pretty and poetic, but if she's making a point, it's completely lost on me.

“Among you are those whom I shall call the ‘patriots'—ones who would have the stone to wake a nation from its slumber and stoke the flame of independence.”

I look across at Colin and Angus. Even in the firelight I can see that the blood has drained from their faces.

“And there are also those among you who are the travelers—who seek the stone for reasons less noble.”

That would be us.

“But it is not for you to decide what shall be the fate of the stone. The stone does the choosing.”

I'm feeling lightheaded again. Sweat starts pouring down my forehead. A chill comes over me, and I bring my knees to my chest and wrap my arms around them. This must be time fog. What else can it be?

I glance at my fingernail. I can't believe it. Only thirteen minutes left to complete the snatch!

With knobby fingers, the woman smooths the patch of blanket in front of her and lays down the deck of cards. Next she cuts the deck three times, all the while staring straight ahead.

“I will need two now. One patriot and one traveler. You decide who.”

“You go, Cale,” Abbie says.

“Yeah, Jack,” echoes Razor. “You're the man!”

“I don't want my fortune read,” I say.

Abbie gives me the look of death, so I look up at the woman and say, “Count me in for the travelers.”

She nods and caresses the cards.

“And me for the . . . patriots,” says Colin.

She nods at him. “We shall begin with you, then.”

I breathe a sigh of relief. For once I don't have to go first.

She draws a card from the top of the deck and places it facing Colin.

The image on the card is of a man seated at a table. In his right hand he holds a wand, and resting on the surface of the table are a knife, a cup and some coins.

“The Magician,” says the woman. “Very good.”

Then she draws another card and places it next to the first. The card shows a woman seated on a throne. In one hand she holds a sword, and in the other, a pair of scales.

“Justice,” she says.

Her fingers move to the deck for a third time. The card she chooses depicts a woman riding on a chariot pulled by two winged horses, one black and one white.

“And finally, the Chariot.”

She pauses for a moment, studying the cards. Then she taps the Magician card and says, “Past,” taps the Justice card, “Present,” and the Chariot card, “Future.”

This is all very confusing, but at the same time, I can't tear my eyes away.

“Patriot,” she begins, “the Magician, which is your past, symbolizes creative energy and action. This card speaks of infinite possibilities for expressing yourself.

“The Justice card,” she continues, “is your present. It is a card that is concerned with fairness and doing what is right. That is your present predicament, is it not? You are here to do what you see as honorable and just.

“And finally, the Chariot card. This is your future. This card speaks of travel—of a journey you are about to take or have already embarked on. When combined with the Justice card, it tells me that your journey is . . . how shall I say it . . . ‘morally justified.'”

I gulp. There's no mistaking what Colin's “journey” is; it's the same as mine. To steal the Stone of Destiny. But she's saying that he's doing the right thing.

She collects the cards, replaces them in the deck and shuffles. My palms are sweating. Is it too late to back out? Maybe Dmitri wants his future read. Or maybe I can bribe Razor to go in my place.

Only seven minutes left to complete the snatch.

“You are next, Caleb,” she says. The woman knows my name. That's an easy one. She heard Abbie say it. No, that couldn't be. We've been mindpatching each other, not speaking out loud.

She cuts the deck three times and lays three cards in front of me.

The first card shows a man holding an hourglass hunched over a walking stick.

“The Hermit,” the woman announces, “your past.”

The second card is of a man hanging upside down, with one foot tethered to a tree.

“The Hanged Man,” she says, “your present.”

The final card gets me shaking. The image is a horned and winged beast with the face of a man. In his mouth, he holds two naked figures, one male and one female.

“The Devil. Your future,” she says.

Well, I'll be going now. And not at a leisurely pace either. I want to run screaming from this tent and never look back. Because no one wants the Devil card, do they? And that Hanged Man doesn't look like a winner either. The problem is my legs feel like jelly and the only things on me that move right now are my eyes.

“This is very interesting,” the woman says, which doesn't help my blood pressure.

“Hang in there, Jack,” Razor mindspeaks. “Oops, sorry . . . bad word choice.”

“The Hermit,” says the woman, “is a solitary figure whose path through life is guided by his own inner strength. This is your past.”

That doesn't sound too bad. Can we turn the cards around and make this one my future?

“Your present is dictated by the Hanged Man. The Hanged Man symbolizes that your life's path is not yet decided, but that in order to realize your full potential, you must be open to seeing things from a different perspective, to changing your way of viewing the world.”

“I think she means letting me drive,” Razor whispers.

But I hardly hear her. I am completely focused on the woman's hand as it passes over the third card.

“It is rare for this card, the Devil card, to appear on a first reading,” she says. “It denotes that an important choice, a life-changing choice, needs to be made. Although you may feel that there is nothing you can do, that you are enslaved to your present situation, that is not true. You are not powerless in this decision, Caleb. You can make a choice that will change the course of your life and perhaps others' as well . . . for the better or for the worse. One six eight nine trusts that you will make the right choice. But it is your decision and yours alone. Choose wisely.”

I'm about to ask what one six eight nine is when something bumps my shoulder. I whip my head around and see Abbie sprawled on the ground.

“Abbie!”

“I . . . I don't know what happened, Cale,” she says, eyelids fluttering. “I got really dizzy all of a sudden.”

No! Now Abbie's got it too.

“It's time fog,” I say. “I'm taking you back right now,” I say, gesturing to Gerhard to help.

“No,” she says. “I'll be okay. I just need some air.”

Gerhard helps me get Abbie to her feet. The woman is already standing and beckons us to follow.

She leads us outside and past a line of tents that weren't there before. They must have been put up while we were inside during the reading. A blue car is parked next to our van. I'm guessing it belongs to Colin and Angus.

Finally, the woman stops and gestures for us to gather around.

“This is what you seek,” she says, pointing to the stone.

I crouch down next to the stone and place my trembling fingers on it. It would be a shame to come all this way for a replica. The next moment, the scan comes back positive. This is it, all right. The real Stone of Destiny!

She clears her throat, and I'm certain she's going to tell us who the stone has chosen. But she says nothing. Only turns and walks back toward the line of tents.

All of us, including Colin and Angus, are left standing there.

It's come down to this. I check my fingernail and gulp. Only three minutes left to complete the snatch.

“Mumbo jumbo, that's all it is,” says Razor. “Let's snatch it now before this wind turns us into Popsicles!”

Razor's words spur me to action. “Dmitri, the duplicate,” I mindpatch him. “Transport it, please, to the spot right next to the stone.”