Time Snatchers (11 page)

“Caleb, do you know who wrote those words?” he asks, sword slicing the air.

I feel a sweat breaking out on my forehead. I haven’t got a clue.

“You, Uncle?” I say.

He lets go with a huge belly laugh and the thing in the aquarium noses up to the glass. “No, not me … but
xiè xiè
—thank you for the compliment.” He hops off the table. “The name of the person who wrote those words is Tu Fu. Some say he was the greatest Chinese poet ever.”

“Very impressive,” I say.

“Yes. Greatness does impress, doesn’t it?”

“It certainly does,” I answer.

“Do you see this sword, Caleb?” he says.

How could I not? “Yes, Uncle.”

“It is an enhanced replica of the sword that belonged to Zhu Yuanzhang, the first emperor of the Ming Dynasty. Zhu rose from the ranks of peasants to become one of China’s greatest military leaders.”

Enhanced
is Uncle’s way of saying “souped up.” The word around Timeless Treasures is that Uncle’s sword can do more than just slice and dice.

“Care to join me for some tea?” he asks, tucking the sword back under his belt and sitting down across from me.

He claps his hands twice, and Nassim appears with two teacups, pots, utensils and what looks like a wooden box with slats on top. He gently places the box down on the table, carefully arranges all the tea things on top of the box and then pours water into the cups, each of his movements slow and graceful.

My eyes flick to the aquarium. The big thing is a black turtle. No, not one. Two turtles. Swimming lazily near each other.

I glance back in time to see Nassim snag one of the cups with a pair of tongs and pour the water from it into a large ceramic container. He does the same with the other cup and then scoops tea leaves into yet another container. After that, he lifts the first container up high, tilting it until the water cascades into the container holding the tea leaves.

If this is what it takes to make a cup of tea, next time I’m ordering coffee.

As Nassim hands Uncle his cup, I sneak another look at the aquarium. The turtles are snapping at each other. And not little love bites, either. They’re really going at it.

“Did you know, Caleb, that the Chinese have been enjoying making tea in this way for thousands of years?” says Uncle.

“That’s a long time,” I say.

“We can learn a lot from the Chinese, you know,” he continues. “Wouldn’t you agree that the Great Friendship is the single greatest historical event of this century?”

I nod and sip my tea. Personally, I’d rank the Great Friendship in second place behind McDonald’s first hamburger sale on the moon, but I’m not about to openly disagree with Uncle. I glance behind me. Nassim has left the office. It’s just me and Uncle now. He’s leading up to something, I’m sure of it. I try hard not to stare at a particularly long vein in his forehead that twitches slightly every time he speaks.

“Do you know how it is that the Great Friendship came about?” Uncle asks, and there goes that vein again.

“Umm. Not really,” I say. It’s true. World politics is not my strong suit. I don’t listen to the news much, and the only news I ever read online is the sports section.

“I will tell you, then,” he says. “It came about as a result of the two greatest powers in the world realizing they had a need that only the other could satisfy.”

“I see, Uncle,” I say, but the only thing I really see is the smackdown going on in the aquarium.

“Think about this,” he says. “There is one universal need, one common longing of all people, that neither of the two greatest powers can satisfy. It is society’s endless appetite for nostalgia. The need for a small piece of the past to claim as one’s own.

“That is where Timeless Treasures comes in,” Uncle continues. “We alone can satisfy that need. But that is not all. With the success of the Great Friendship, the potential market for our services has
expanded exponentially. There are five billion people living in China, Caleb. If only one percent of one percent of all of those people decided to avail themselves of our services, that would translate into half a million new customers!”

Half a million. That’s a big number. Even if Abbie and I and the other time snatchers quadrupled the number of missions we’re doing each week, there’s still no way we’d be able to keep up with that kind of demand.

“We must seize the moment. With change comes great opportunity! The time is ripe for the growth and expansion of Timeless Treasures! The time is ripe to increase the number of time snatchers from five to one hundred!”

Uncle’s eyes are gleaming. He really believes what he’s saying. My mouth goes dry. I don’t like the sound of this. More time snatchers means more collections like the one Frank invited me to go on, more innocent children being kidnapped.

“A project this large cannot be accomplished by one man alone, Caleb,” he says, his forehead vein twitching like crazy. “Generals will be needed to make the dream a reality.”

My hands begin to shake. I feel a strong urge to get up and leave. But I can’t go anywhere until the meeting is over.

“Very soon,” Uncle says, “I will be assembling the team that will lead Timeless Treasures into the next phase of its development. And, Caleb …”

“Yes, Uncle?” I say, my voice trembling.

“I’ll be monitoring you and Frank very closely over the next little while,” he says, smiling. “So far, this month you are leading him in completed snatches by a score of nineteen to sixteen. But if you look at the relative complexity of your snatches versus his, I would say that he is in the lead.”

I grind my teeth. I should have guessed he’d be hauling out the numbers and comparing my totals with Frank’s. But it’s not just that. Uncle’s expert at twisting the results to whatever he wants them to show.

“Do you know why Frank is doing so well?” he asks.

Yes—because he’s been poaching my snatches, I want to say. But if I mention that, Uncle will either not believe me or twist things around so that it’s my fault somehow. So instead I say, “No, Uncle.”

“I’ll tell you why,” answers Uncle. “It’s because he has an extra quality about him that none of my other time snatchers seem to have, including, I’m afraid, you, Caleb.”

I feel myself getting very warm. Please let this meeting be over soon.

“Frank has what I call, a ‘zeal for the steal,’” Uncle continues. “He is enthusiastic about every single mission. He is singularly focused on the snatch and doesn’t let the clutter of everyday life interfere.”

“I’m not Frank, Uncle,” I say, and as soon as the words are out, I regret saying them. Not because they aren’t true, but because I didn’t try to hide my dislike of Frank when I said them.

“That is exactly my point,” continues Uncle. “You are not Frank. But to succeed, Caleb, to meet the high expectations that I have of you, you must become more like Frank.”

I’d rather die than be more like Frank … which, come to think of it, Uncle could easily arrange.

“Think about what I am saying to you,” continues Uncle. “I am telling you these things so that you can improve yourself. So that you can be the time snatcher that I have always thought, and still think, you can be. Am I making myself understood?”

“Yes, Uncle.”

“Wonderful,” he says and stands up. “Now, before you go, I’d like to show you my most recent acquisition.”

He strolls across the room and runs his fingers lovingly over the aquarium’s glass wall. Then he opens a small hatch on top, saunters back and sits down cross-legged behind the low table. My stomach clenches. Uncle’s not the forgetful type. If he leaves a door or in this case a hatch open, you can bet there’s a good reason for it.

“Very impressive,” I say.

“In China, the turtle is a symbol of long life and happiness,” says Uncle. “It is said that when a turtle reaches the age of one thousand years, it is able to speak just like you and I.”

Maybe, but judging by the way those two in the aquarium are going at it, I’d be surprised if either of them make it past the next ten minutes, let alone the next thousand years.

“Let me share a little secret with you,” Uncle continues. “I didn’t purchase Shu Fang and Ting Ting for good luck. I bought them because I find them very entertaining. Especially when they’ve been denied nourishment. In that regard, I would venture to say that they’re not unlike humans. Do you know what happens when the human soul is denied nourishment?”

“Uh … no, Uncle. I don’t know,” I say.

“When one’s soul is deprived of nourishment, it withers,” he says. “Withers and crumbles into nothingness.”

I watch as Uncle’s fingers tiptoe across the table and scuttle up the side of a glass jar. They linger at the top for a second and then dip down inside.

“Jelly bean?” he asks.

It seems like an innocent question, but there are no innocent questions in Uncle’s universe. Everything is said or done for a reason.

I have a sudden urge to bolt. To get out of here before … before
what? I run a hand through my hair and try to get ahold of myself. Got to stay calm. My eyes search out the photo of Uncle and me from the time before, when things were good. I’m out of luck: Uncle’s blocking my view.

Just as I say “Yes,” Uncle moves his hand as if to flip the jelly bean to me. But instead, he tosses it toward the tank. Before he can say anything, I’m up and lunging for the aquarium.

“Get it!” he shrieks and jumps up.

The bean makes the tiniest of splashes as it enters the water.

I plunge my left hand and arm into the tank. Shu Fang and Ting Ting immediately stop their snapping and make a beeline for my body parts.

My fingers thrash through the frigid water. On my second sweep, they brush against something small and hard. The jelly bean! Just a bit farther. I reach out some more and … it squirts away!

I lurch forward again ignoring my aching shoulder. There! Got it!

A searing pain rips into my wrist. Turtle jaws have found me. I want to scream, but not in front of Uncle. I bite down hard on my bottom lip to stifle the yell.

I try to yank my arm out, but Uncle has an iron grip on my forearm, holding it down. Tears stream from my eyes.

“Please … let go.” I want to sound strong, but it comes out as a whimper.

“You have let me down, Caleb,” says Uncle. “I am deeply disappointed. Of all my time thieves, you have a special place in my heart. You were the very first one I adopted. My firstborn, you might say.”

Firstborn, but not first-loved. Frank’s got that spot all locked up.

“Frank mentioned to me that you have been short-tempered with him lately. That trivial things seem to upset you and that you are taking it out on him and the other time snatchers,” Uncle continues,
keeping his grip firm. “This simply will not do. I need all of you to be getting along. Especially when we are on the cusp of the next great chapter in the history of Timeless Treasures. Don’t you agree?”

The turtles’ jaws continue to tear at my exposed flesh. The pain is excruciating. I feel as if I’m about to pass out.

“Y-y-yes, Uncle,” I manage.

“Good, I’m glad you see it my way,” he says.

He pulls my arm from the tank and releases his grip. I cradle my ravaged wrist in my other hand.

“Well?” Uncle asks. But it’s more a command than a question. It’s clear what he wants me to do.

Slowly, I bring my hand up and slip the jellybean between my lips. I bite down hard and grimace as a strong licorice taste fills my mouth.

When I look up, he’s smiling.

“You may go now, Caleb,” he says.

My entire body is shaking, and I make no attempt to hide it. As I leave, out of the corner of my eye I see Shu Fang and Ting Ting circling the aquarium, searching for a way out. But there is no way out. Not for them. And certainly not for me.

C
ome with me,” says Nassim, when he sees me exit Uncle’s office.

I follow him down to the fourth floor.

It’s obvious the redecorating demon didn’t make it as far as Nassim’s office. The place is really drab: no water cooler waterfalls, no stone lions, not even a single three-legged toad sculpture. The only personal touch is a small photograph in a simple wooden frame on the desk. It’s a picture of a man sitting astride a chestnut brown horse. If not for the fact that the man looks much older than Nassim, he could be his twin. Same strong jaw, high cheekbones and flat nose. I’ve seen the photo before. My guess is it’s Nassim’s father, but I’ve never asked him. He’s such a private guy that it wouldn’t feel right.

I sit quietly in the visitor’s chair as he starts rummaging through a first aid kit.

“I believe this will work,” he says, fishing out a large gauze pad and squeezing some antiseptic onto it. I grimace as he gently swabs my wound.

“Looks like Shu Fang’s work,” he says removing a fresh bandage from the kit.

“How can you tell the difference?” I say. Call me racist, but in my book, one turtle looks just like another.

“Here is how,” he says, pulling up his left sleeve, revealing some nasty red marks. “This is Shu Fang.”