The Wells Bequest (16 page)

Her Royal Highness, the Rani of Chomalur

W
e walked back to the El station. Just before we got there, a train rattled by over our heads. “Quark! That was our train,” said Jaya. “Let's walk.” She turned away from the station and started uptown, her legs kicking her skirt.

“It'll be quicker to take the next El,” I said.

“I can't wait that long. It's only a mile or so,” said Jaya impatiently.

“You realize you're so impatient you're actually wasting time?” I said.

She glared at me without slowing down.

“Fine,” I said. A few minutes wouldn't make that much difference. We hurried north under the train tracks, passing rundown buildings that no longer exist.

Things started looking familiar again when we got to Washington Square Park. The fountain was still there—I mean already there. So was the white marble arch. It must have been brand new since it wasn't dingy with coal smoke yet like most of the buildings nearby. The air was about the same temperature as back home, but it felt different—softer. It was spring here instead of fall. The leaves were still bare, but there were a few crocuses in the flower beds.

“Listen, Jaya,” I said. “When we find Tesla, you can't tell him about time travel and the lab fire and everything. That would risk seriously changing the future. We might never—”

“—Might never be born, we might trigger the apocalypse, blah blah blah. Don't worry, I'm not an idiot,” said Jaya. “But we have to tell him
something.
We need him to let us into his lab so we can stop Simon's great-great-grandfather.”

She had put her finger on the problem, but I didn't see the solution. “Right, but telling him about time travel would make it worse.”

“I know. Don't worry. I have a plan.”

“What's your plan?”

“Tesla was—Tesla
is
—famous for giving his friends and investors midnight tours of his lab.”

“So what? We're not his friends or investors.”

“We're potential investors. I'll tell him I'm the Rani of Chomalur.”

“The
what
of
what
?”

“The Rani of Chomalur. Where my family's from. It's a small kingdom in India. The rani is the queen.”

“You don't look like a queen,” I pointed out. “You look like a tomboy stuck in the wrong clothes.”

She made her fire-flashing dragon face. “How would
you
know what the Rani of Chomalur looks like? As a matter of fact, I look
exactly
like the Rani of Chomalur, because I
am
the Rani of Chomalur!”

“Oh, come on! You are not.”

“Yes, I am . . . almost. I mean, Chomalur doesn't exist anymore, in our time. And even if it did, my grandmother would be rani, not me. The current, 1895 rani is . . . let's see . . . my great-great-great-grandmother. Or great-great-great-great? Something like that.”

“Okay, so you're a princess.” Big surprise—no wonder she was so bossy. “But you still don't look like one. You're not dressed like a rani, and you talk like a modern New York girl. You have to convince Tesla, remember?”

“I
will
be dressed like a rani when we get to Tesla's club. You'll see. And I have no trouble sounding like a lady who's been educated by the best English governesses,” she added in a perfect imitation of her aunt's upper-class English accent.

“What about me, though? I
definitely
don't look like royalty.”

“I'll tell him you're my servant.”

“Oh, thanks.” But it wasn't like I had a better plan.

By then we'd crossed the park and reached Fifth Avenue. It was less sketchy here than in Tesla's neighborhood. The big, square brick houses had neatly painted shutters and cast-iron lampposts. Men strode by in black coats and top hats, some swinging canes. A woman pushed a baby carriage past us toward the park. Every so often a horse carriage rattled over the cobblestones.

Jaya grabbed my arm. “Look, Leo! Isn't that the cutest thing
ever
? Even cuter than the steam engine! I didn't know they still had them this late!” She was practically squealing.

Turning to look at where she was pointing, I saw a carriage the size of a minivan coming up the street, pulled by three white horses. The driver—a man in a conductor's cap—sat on a little platform at the front. He held a long whip in one hand and the reins in the other. The carriage had a rounded roof with another, bigger platform on top and benches where people were sitting. On the side, in fancy gold letters, it said
Fifth Avenue.

“What's so cute about it?” I asked. The back wheels were much bigger than the front ones, which was sort of amusing, I guess, in an old-fashioned-tricycle kind of way—but it sure wasn't anything to squeal about.

“It's a bus! A horse-drawn
bus
! Come on, we've got to take it!”

“Really?” I said. “We only have a few more blocks, and that thing looks kind of—shaky.”

But there was no stopping Jaya. She practically ran in front of it, waving and calling to the driver. He pulled on the reins and the horses clomped to a stop, shaking their heads and bracing their shoulders against the carriage's momentum.

Jaya handed the driver a nickel.

“That's ten cents, miss.”

“Oh, sorry,” said Jaya. She took back the nickel and found a pair of dimes in her purse. “For both of us,” she said. The driver put the coins in his belt and waved us aboard.

I held out my hand to help Jaya up the steps, but she didn't wait. She scrambled up to the top bench. I climbed after her.

The seats had hard, slippery leather cushions. The whole thing felt very precarious. What was wrong with me? Okay, I admit I'm naturally cautious. But I shouldn't be this nervous on some stupid
bus.
It was as if the trip backward in the time machine had left me with a gigantic load of extra dread.

The bus felt even more precarious when the driver flicked his whip at the horses and the three big animals lurched forward over the uneven cobblestones. The carriage bumped, rocked, and swayed.

“Isn't this fun? I wish he'd go faster!” said Jaya. Strands of hair were squiggling out from under her hat.

Since there were no traffic lights, pedestrians went dodging in and out of traffic and carriages crossed in front of each other without waiting. “I liked the
Terror
better,” I said.

She laughed. “You're just scared of horses.” Then she looked at me seriously. “You really are worried, aren't you?”

I nodded, wishing like crazy the dread would go away. “Not about the horses. About the death ray. About a maniac running around loose in our time trying to destroy our city. And my mom and dad and sister and the Empire State Building. I mean, I know it's kind of corny and touristy, but I really love the Empire State Building. What if I never see it again? It hasn't even been built yet here. And my sister can be totally irritating the way she always tells me what she thinks is wrong with me, but she's my
sister.
”

“I know! Believe me, I know all about not wanting evil maniacs to destroy irritating sisters. Is your sister irritatingly perfect? Because mine is.”

“Disgustingly perfect.”

“Well, don't worry. I mean, I know you have to—you wouldn't be Leo if you didn't—but try not to, okay? I have
lots
of experience rescuing sisters from evil maniacs. Just ask my sister someday. Anyway, Simon's never going to win. We have way more going for us than he does.”

“He has the death ray,” I pointed out.

“Not necessarily. He says he has it, but he might not. Whereas
we
—” She counted on her fingers. “We have the time machine. We have the shrink ray. We have the librarians on our side. We have
justice
on our side. We managed to make it back to 1895, and we're on our way to meet Tesla. And we have the smartest, most kick-ass Wells Bequest page the repository has ever known.”

“Don't be so modest!”

She gave me a hard nudge with her shoulder that almost knocked me off the omnibus and said, “Modest yourself! I'm talking about
you,
silly!”

The compliment shut me up. I was too pleased and embarrassed to say anything. I held onto the seat as the bus clattered up Fifth Avenue and we intersected with another wide street.

“Hey!” I said. “Wasn't that Broadway? We missed our stop!”

“It can't be—where's the Flatiron Building?” said Jaya.

“It must not be built yet. Come on!”

We yelled to the driver, scrambled down from the bus, and walked back toward the wedge-shaped block at 23rd Street, where the Flatiron Building should have been. The Flatiron is one of my favorite buildings. It was one of the earliest skyscrapers in the city. It's a tall, wedge-shaped tower that looks like an ocean liner sailing into the sky. In our time it stands by itself, taking up its whole pie-slice-shaped block. I always thought of it as really old. It's way older than the Empire State Building, anyway.

Somehow, the Flatiron Building's absence made the city feel more alien to me than anything else had so far, even horse-drawn buses and men in top hats. New York just didn't feel like New York without the skyscrapers.

In its place, three or four low buildings filled the pointy end of the triangle and a taller building stretched across the wide end. Awnings and banners covered with writing flapped from the haphazard collection of buildings. It looked like a cross between Times Square and a sailboat.

“Check out the wall spam,” said Jaya, pointing at the tallest building.

It was covered with ads. On the uptown side, block capital letters testified that BENSON'S CAPCINE PLASTER
contains Medical Ingredients not found in Allcock's Porous Plasters, hence they are Superior to those of Allcock's.
Other signs, awnings, and canvas billboards advertised Swift's Specifics, the Turkish Bath at the Windsor Hotel, the Erie Railway, and Seabury and Johnson's Mustard Plasters.

“What's a mustard plaster, anyway?”

“It's like a wet cloth thing they put on your chest. It stings,” said Jaya. “Your parents never gave you one for a cold?”

“No, did yours?”

“Not after the first time.” She headed the wrong way down 22nd Street.

“Where are you going?” I hurried after her. “The Electric Club's on the east side.”

“I know. I need to fix my clothes first.” She opened her bag, fished around, and drew out a small box and a gray scarf made of thin silk. It had a pattern of flowers woven into it with silver thread.

“Wow! Where did that come from?” I asked.

“Chomalur.” She wrapped it around her shoulders. Suddenly she looked a lot more like a princess.

She opened the box and took out a gold pin set with a big red stone.

I stared. The red stone glowed in the sunlight like transparent lava. It looked alive. “Is that from Chomalur too?”

Jaya fastened the scarf at her shoulder with the gold pin. “Yeah. I borrowed it from my mom. It's the famous Chomalur Ruby.”

“Won't she kill you? What if you lose it?”

“I'm not going to lose it.” Jaya handed me her bag. “Here, you'd better carry this. Ranis don't carry their own bags in 1895. And remember, you're my servant, so act deferential.”

“Yes, ma'am,” I said.

“You mean, ‘yes, Your Highness.'”

We walked the block to the Electric Club. From the outside it looked like the other brownstones, with a high stoop. “Go ring the doorbell,” said Jaya.

“Yes, Your Highness.” I walked up the stoop and looked around for a bell.

• • •

To my surprise, the door swung open all by itself before I'd reached the top stair.

A doorman sat in a little office to the left. He stood up when I got to the door. “Yes?” he said. He was wearing white gloves and a yellow jacket, with lightning bolts embroidered on the sleeves.

“Her Highness, the Rani of Chomalur, is here to attend Mr. Tesla's lecture,” I told him as pompously as I could. I hoped I sounded like a princess's servant.

Jaya ruined the effect by running up behind me through the open door. He frowned and said, “I'm sorry, but ladies are not permitted in the clubhouse.” He had an Irish accent.

“They are today, Jim,” said a gentleman standing near the door. “Ladies are always allowed at Mr. Tesla's lectures. He supports the rights of women.”

“Yes, Mr. Latimer.” The doorman said to Jaya, “I beg your pardon, miss. Come back in half an hour.”

“Really, Jim! You're not going to turn an Indian princess out into the cold! Surely she can wait in the library?” said Mr. Latimer. He was a middle-aged African American man with little round wire-framed glasses, a cleft chin, and skin about the same tone as Jaya's.