freeze.
“I’m going to go ahead and hand in the snatch object, okay, Cale?” she says. “I need to get out of these wet clothes as soon as possible.”
I grunt in the affirmative, which is about all I can do until I’m out of my time freeze. As she turns to go, I try not to look at her. That is, I try not to look at her in the same way that I was looking at her on the rooftop in France. Why is that so hard to do? After all, this is Abbie we’re talking about. She could be my sister, for all the time we spent together growing up.
As soon as my time freeze thaws, I follow Abbie’s trail of drips to the sidewalk and then up the front walk to Headquarters.
“Don’t young people these days have any respect?” says Phoebe as soon as I step onto the elevator. Her persona is a little gray-haired woman who looks like she’s being swallowed up by a huge armchair. She’s knitting something, but I can’t tell what it is just yet.
“How do you mean?” I say.
“Just look at your feet,” she says, stabbing a knitting needle in the direction of the floor.
I look down. A small puddle, a souvenir from France, is forming near my boots.
“Er … sorry. I’ll clean it up.”
“When?”
“I don’t know … in a few minutes. As soon as you let me off on four, I’ll look around for a rag or something and then come right back.”
“And what am I supposed to do in the meantime?” she says.“You’re not the only one who uses this elevator. I get a lot of traffic, you know. They’re all going to think I had a little accident on the floor. How can you do this to your grandmother?”
“You’re not my grandmother, Phoebe. In fact, you’re nobody’s grandmother.”
She falls silent, and I grind my teeth. True or not, did I really need to add the second bit about her not being anyone’s grandmother?
“You hurt my feelings,” she says predictably.
I’ve got to stay calm and work this out. Otherwise, I’ll never get to the fourth floor. I wonder what Abbie did about her drips? She was even wetter than me.
“All right, what would you like me to do? Wipe it up with my sleeve?” I say.
“Is your sleeve dry?”
I run my fingers along my sleeve. The outside is still pretty wet, but the part closest to my body is bone dry. “Half and half,” I say.
Phoebe’s persona looks up from her knitting and gives me a grandmotherly smile. “Well, then, you may use the dry half.”
I drop to the floor and wipe the puddle away.
Finally, the elevator starts to move.
“What are you knitting, Phoebe?” I ask to lighten the mood.
“A noose,” she says, and we ride the rest of the way in silence.
June 22, 2061, 5:47 P.M.
Timeless Treasures Headquarters
Tribeca, New Beijing (formerly New York City)
T he couch squeaks in protest as I sit and press the Access button.
The opposite wall retracts, revealing the reception area for Timeless Treasures. It’s totally lit up, but even so, before I move, I ready myself. Although Nassim prefers to strike under cover of darkness, he has also been known to launch surprise attacks with all the lights on.
All is quiet, though, when I step through. He must still be with Abbie, completing the paperwork for Operation Shutterbox.
No one is in the hall or in the lounge. Then I remember Frank saying something about going on a collection for Uncle and that the others had traveled back to 2059 on garbage duty.
I enter the boys’ dorm, kick off my boots, strip off my wet clothes and flop down on my bed. The room has two double bunk beds. Mine is the lower bunk nearest the door. Raoul, a junior time snatcher, has the bunk above me. Frank sleeps in the other lower. The top bunk above Frank has been empty for about two weeks. Johan, its most recent occupant, went missing during a mission to Renaissance Italy. The word around Timeless Treasures is that he tried to escape but Uncle found him working as a street musician in 1553 Florence and shipped him off to the Barrens as a
“I’m going to go ahead and hand in the snatch object, okay, Cale?” she says. “I need to get out of these wet clothes as soon as possible.”
I grunt in the affirmative, which is about all I can do until I’m out of my time freeze. As she turns to go, I try not to look at her. That is, I try not to look at her in the same way that I was looking at her on the rooftop in France. Why is that so hard to do? After all, this is Abbie we’re talking about. She could be my sister, for all the time we spent together growing up.
As soon as my time freeze thaws, I follow Abbie’s trail of drips to the sidewalk and then up the front walk to Headquarters.
“Don’t young people these days have any respect?” says Phoebe as soon as I step onto the elevator. Her persona is a little gray-haired woman who looks like she’s being swallowed up by a huge armchair. She’s knitting something, but I can’t tell what it is just yet.
“How do you mean?” I say.
“Just look at your feet,” she says, stabbing a knitting needle in the direction of the floor.
I look down. A small puddle, a souvenir from France, is forming near my boots.
“Er … sorry. I’ll clean it up.”
“When?”
“I don’t know … in a few minutes. As soon as you let me off on four, I’ll look around for a rag or something and then come right back.”
“And what am I supposed to do in the meantime?” she says.“You’re not the only one who uses this elevator. I get a lot of traffic, you know. They’re all going to think I had a little accident on the floor. How can you do this to your grandmother?”
“You’re not my grandmother, Phoebe. In fact, you’re nobody’s grandmother.”
She falls silent, and I grind my teeth. True or not, did I really need to add the second bit about her not being anyone’s grandmother?
“You hurt my feelings,” she says predictably.
I’ve got to stay calm and work this out. Otherwise, I’ll never get to the fourth floor. I wonder what Abbie did about her drips? She was even wetter than me.
“All right, what would you like me to do? Wipe it up with my sleeve?” I say.
“Is your sleeve dry?”
I run my fingers along my sleeve. The outside is still pretty wet, but the part closest to my body is bone dry. “Half and half,” I say.
Phoebe’s persona looks up from her knitting and gives me a grandmotherly smile. “Well, then, you may use the dry half.”
I drop to the floor and wipe the puddle away.
Finally, the elevator starts to move.
“What are you knitting, Phoebe?” I ask to lighten the mood.
“A noose,” she says, and we ride the rest of the way in silence.
June 22, 2061, 5:47 P.M.
Timeless Treasures Headquarters
Tribeca, New Beijing (formerly New York City)
T he couch squeaks in protest as I sit and press the Access button.
The opposite wall retracts, revealing the reception area for Timeless Treasures. It’s totally lit up, but even so, before I move, I ready myself. Although Nassim prefers to strike under cover of darkness, he has also been known to launch surprise attacks with all the lights on.
All is quiet, though, when I step through. He must still be with Abbie, completing the paperwork for Operation Shutterbox.
No one is in the hall or in the lounge. Then I remember Frank saying something about going on a collection for Uncle and that the others had traveled back to 2059 on garbage duty.
I enter the boys’ dorm, kick off my boots, strip off my wet clothes and flop down on my bed. The room has two double bunk beds. Mine is the lower bunk nearest the door. Raoul, a junior time snatcher, has the bunk above me. Frank sleeps in the other lower. The top bunk above Frank has been empty for about two weeks. Johan, its most recent occupant, went missing during a mission to Renaissance Italy. The word around Timeless Treasures is that he tried to escape but Uncle found him working as a street musician in 1553 Florence and shipped him off to the Barrens as a
Similar Books
