Time Travelers Never Die (28 page)

“It’s part of the light-testing system.”

Dad laughed again and appropriated that, too.

Jake grabbed his father’s shoulder. “Dad, I’m telling you, there were
two
of them. One just came and went. He’s some kind of devil.”

“And he went where?”

“I don’t know. Just faded out when the dogs got after him.”

“Shut up, Jake. You’re imagining things. You ever hear of a devil that’s scared of dogs?”

Jake threw up his hands. “I don’t care. They—”

“Shut up.”
He pointed toward a clutch of trees about a hundred yards off. Away from the river. “You can go, mister. Property line’s a quarter mile
that
way. It’s marked. If I see you out here again, I’m going to put a ball in you. You understand that?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Good-bye.”

“Can I have my property back?”

Dad took out the converter and the gooseberry. Started fingering them.

Please don’t turn anything on.

He tossed them in Shel’s direction, but Shel let them hit the ground. Make no sudden moves when a gun is pointed at you. After a minute, Shel picked them up. He thought about using the converter, but he wasn’t sure what would happen if the weapon fired right after he pushed the button. Best to just walk away.

He put the gooseberry in a pocket and kept the converter in his hand. The shotgun was still aimed at his feet. The hounds started toward him, but Dad stopped them with a word.

Shel turned his back and started walking. Behind him, father and son were arguing. Jake was still trying to convince his father that Shel was not human.

 

 

WHEN
he reached the property line, he looked back and saw that they were gone. As were the dogs. Good. Time to go home.

Poor Dave. He’d looked scared to death when he’d seen the shotgun.

He pushed the button and the daylight started to fade. Then it came back.

He tried again. This time nothing at all happened.

Older men declare war. But it is youth that must fight and die. And it is youth who must inherit the tribulation, the sorrow, and the triumphs that are the aftermath of war.

 

 

 

 

DAVE
had had enough surprises. From now on, when he was traveling, he’d keep a finger on the button and be prepared to move out at a moment’s notice.

He was bleeding, and he was going to need shots. His inclination was to go right back after Shel. But there was no reason he couldn’t go for repairs first.

Twenty minutes later, he limped into an emergency room. They gave him tetanus and antibiotics and whatever else he needed, and stitched him. On the way back to the town house, he bought a pair of binoculars.

He reset the converter to take him back to the farm five seconds after he’d left it. And to position him a hundred yards west of the confrontation.

A gun might have been a good idea, too, in case he had to deal with the animals again. But he didn’t want to shoot the dogs, and in fact had handled a firearm only once, at a range. And that had been at least ten years ago.

 

 

HE
made the transit lying down, so he emerged flat on the ground. Shel still had his hands up. The dogs seemed to be under control, and the kid was still holding the shotgun. Then he saw someone else coming, an older guy from the direction of the farmhouse. When he arrived, he took over the conversation and the gun.

Once or twice, one or the other of the farmers glanced in his direction, but he was reasonably sure he couldn’t be seen at this distance. And he was upwind, so the dogs would not be likely to pick up his presence.

They talked for a few minutes. The guy with the shotgun did most of the talking. He picked something off the ground. The converter. He talked some more. Took something else from his captive. Probably the gooseberry. Eventually, he tossed both units toward Shel, who let them drop.

And they apparently told him he could go. Shel picked up the equipment, turned, and began walking away. The two farmers watched for a minute or two before taking the dogs and starting back toward the farmhouse.

Dave stayed down until they were safely inside. The dogs peeled off into the barn. Then he reset the converter, instructing it to take him forward five minutes. And deposit him, if he had his distances worked out correctly, about fifty yards in front of Shel.

 

 

“WE’VE
got to work out a better way of doing this,” said Shel. “How’s your leg?”

“Okay. I’ve been to the hospital.” He kept an eye on the barn. No sign of the animals.

There was a dirt road directly ahead. And a marker, a gray rock, painted with the words PRIVATE PROPERTY.

Somebody was approaching on horseback. Guys laughing and talking. Three horsemen came around a curve.

The lead rider had a tangled beard. He must have been eighty, a guy who was all elbows and knees. When he saw Dave and Shel, he reined in beside them. “You fellas okay?”

“Yes,” said Shel. “Thanks. We’re fine.”

“You look lost.” The other two, one white, one black, nodded to each other. Sure do. Out in the middle of nowhere, no means of transportation, problem here somewhere. “Where you boys headed?”

“Bordentown.”

“Well, you’re there. But it’s a long walk into town. You want a ride?”

Dave wasn’t sure he knew how to climb onto the back of a horse. “Sure,” said Shel.

Shel, Dave knew, had ridden camels in Egypt while traveling with his father. If you could climb onto a camel, he thought, you could climb onto a horse easily enough. But Dave had never been on one in his life. One of the riders saw his discomfort, smiled, and offered a hand.

Shel prudently waited until Dave was safely on board before climbing up himself. Twenty minutes later, they dismounted in front of a pleasant green-and-white house on the edge of town. They knocked but got no answer.

“Let’s go forward a few hours,” said Shel. “Give them time to get home.”

“They might be in the next county,” said Dave. “Two weeks would be better.”

Dave left, and Shel pressed the button. Nothing happened.

He tried again. This time it worked.

 

 

A
woman answered the door. “We’d heard,” said Shel, “that Thomas Paine was staying here. Is that by any chance correct?”

She frowned. “Who are you, please?”

A young man appeared behind her. “I heard my name. Were you looking for me?”

“Mr. Paine,” said Shel. “We’re headed for Pennsylvania to join General Washington’s army.”

Dave winced. He wished Shel would calm down a bit.

“We heard you were here as we were passing through,” Shel continued, “and we hoped you wouldn’t find it an imposition if we stopped to express our appreciation. For what you’ve done. For the cause.”

Dave hadn’t been aware that Shel was planning to concoct the story, but he was getting used to his fabrications. It was Selma again.

They were standing on the porch of Joseph Kirkbride’s home, in the early evening of Thursday, October 9. Paine looked embarrassed by the adulation, but Shel was enjoying himself. “I suspect the day will come,” he continued, “when you will be remembered as the voice of the Revolution.”

Paine was lean, informal, relaxed. Dave, expecting a firebrand, was surprised. “Thank you, gentlemen,” he said. “I appreciate your going out of your way to come here. And I need not say how pleased I am that you’re going to join General Washington’s force. They need good men.”

A larger, heavier man appeared in the doorway behind him. He bestowed a disapproving look on Paine but kept his voice level: “Maybe your friends would like to come in, and join us for a drink.”

“Of course,” said Shel. “We’d love to, wouldn’t we, Dave?”

Dave had a bad feeling. But the door swung wide. Paine and Shel went inside, into a parlor. When Dave hesitated, he found himself looking at a musket. “Really,” said the big man, “I insist.”

Shel glanced back, and the weapon swung in a short arc to include him, too. His jaw dropped.

Paine also seemed surprised. “You think they’re spies, Joe?” he asked.

“I don’t know.” He waved Dave into the parlor. It was a pleasant room, paneled with oak. Three thick linen-covered armchairs and a couch were arranged around the walls. A table, complete with three cups, stood in front of the couch. The woman who had answered the door had backed well out of the line of fire. “It’s all right, love,” Joe said. “These gentlemen are friends. Aren’t you?”

“You bet,” said Dave.

Shel tried to look indignant. “What would spies want with Bordentown?”

It might have been the wrong thing to say. “Bordentown isn’t very popular with the redcoats,” Joe said. “Or with the traitors who support them. Especially when Mr. Paine is in town.” He signaled them to sit down. On the sofa. He looked at Paine. “Tom, who knew you were coming here?”

“Nobody, Joe.”

He swung back to Shel. “Why don’t you tell us how you found out he was here?”

Shel couldn’t very well say he’d googled it. “It’s common knowledge.”

“I don’t think so.” Joe stayed on his feet. “I assume you know what happens to spies?”

“We’re not spies,” said Shel.

“Good. Tell us who you are.”

“My name’s Adrian Shelborne. This is David Dryden. We’re both from Philadelphia. We made the trip here specifically to see Mr. Paine.”

“Why?”

“Because we wanted to meet him. Because he’s made a major contribution to the Revolution. That’s the truth.”

“Okay,” said Paine. “I’d like to accept your story. But it
is
a little hard to believe. So why don’t you tell me how you knew where to find me?”

Shel was straining for an answer.

Dave kept his hand close to the converter so he could clear out on short notice. “Let me, Shel,” he said. “All right, we promised we wouldn’t say anything. We had a hard time persuading him to tell us, and he was afraid we’d show up here and take a lot of your time.”

Joe’s eyes got hard. “Who?”

“John Kearsley.”

“Dr. Kearsley?”
said Paine. “You know
him
?”

“We’re old friends.”

“How did
he
know where I was?”

“He didn’t say. Probably through Dr. Franklin. I was talking with him, telling him how much I admired your work, and he let it slip that you were going to be here.”

Paine thought it over. “It’s possible.” He looked over at Joe. “When I was coming in from England, three years ago, I came down with typhus. On the ship.” His eyes looked momentarily far away. “I don’t think we’ll need the musket, Joe.”

“Who’s Dr. Kearsley?” asked the woman.

“A friend of Ben’s. When I was sick, he took care of me. Took me into his home for several weeks.”

“Is that generally known?” asked Joe.

“I don’t think so. Ben knew.” Paine shrugged. “Anyhow, I don’t think we need be concerned. These men don’t look dangerous to me.”

Joe lowered the weapon, placed it inside a cabinet, and closed the door. Then he sat down, and Paine introduced his hosts, Melissa and Joseph Kirkbride. Melissa was an attractive woman, with light brown hair wrapped in a bun, and expressive blue eyes. Whenever they turned toward Paine, they shone with pride.

Joe never did quite warm up to Shel and Dave. He watched them carefully and looked ready to challenge them at a moment’s notice.

But Shel paid no attention. And a conversation that Dave thought would last four or five minutes stretched out for an hour. Mrs. Kirkbride produced blueberry muffins and tea, and they discussed the condition of the Continental Army, and the difficulties facing the British in putting down a rebellion that was becoming more widespread every day. Paine, however, admitted that he did not have high hopes for the success of the Revolution.

“Why not?” asked Shel.

“Resources. We have no money to speak of. Our major advantage is the weakness of British leadership. They don’t know what they’re doing, but, in the long run, it might not matter.”

“By the way.” Shel went into his casual mode as he fished several photographs of his father from his pocket. “You might be interested in these.”

Paine looked at the pictures. Handed them to Melissa and Joe. “What are these?”

“Photographs. It’s a new science. Still at an experimental stage.”

“Brilliant,” Paine said. “I’ve never seen anything like them.”

“Do you by any chance recognize the man?”

He shook his head. “No. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him before. Why? Should I know him?”

“He’s one of the researchers. He said he met you once in London. But it’s of no concern.”

The conversation wandered back to Franklin. Shel pretended to be acquainted with him, “slightly.” He held up his hands in a self-deprecating manner. “I don’t really see him often.”

“No,” said Paine. “I rather think he’s busy these days.”

“By the way,” Shel said, “I enjoyed the most recent of the
Crisis
essays.”

Paine tried to look modest. “Well,” he said, “it’s encouraging to think it might be having an effect.”

“I especially liked your comment to General Howe at the end.” He looked at Kirkbride. “I assume you’ve read it, sir.”

“Of course.”

“Pointing out that Howe is nothing more than a tool of a—how did you put it?—a miserable tyrant, and that he has an obligation to stand up for the truth. And, for that matter, for his troops, who are being killed off daily because the king’s an idiot. Brilliant, sir.”

“I didn’t say that last part, Shel.”

“You implied it, Tom. You don’t mind if I call you
Tom
.”