Time Snatchers (21 page)

“Have you had trouble with your hearing lately, Frank?” he asks.

“No, Uncle,” says Frank, his voice shaking slightly.

“That’s odd,” says Uncle, “because I distinctly recall telling you that I do not want you interfering with Caleb and Abbie’s snatches.”

Uncle presses the shard’s sharp edge against his own palm. For an instant, I think he’s going to draw blood, but he pulls the shard back at the last second.

Frank stays silent, his eyes riveted to Uncle’s little hand play.

“But since you assure me that your hearing is sound, I must conclude that perhaps you were distracted when I told you this. That perhaps you were only listening with one ear. Do you think that is possible?”

Frank nods. My heart is pounding. Uncle is going somewhere with all of this.

“I’m glad you agree,” says Uncle. “That is what I thought too.”

Quick as a flash, Uncle bridges the distance between him and Frank. Reaching out with the speed of a viper, he grabs Frank by the hair and swings the shard in a fast, downward motion, slicing off the top part of Frank’s right ear.

“My ear!” Frank cries in pain and disbelief, bringing a hand up to the side of his head.

“Why are you acting so surprised?” says Uncle. “By your own admission, you have only been using one of your ears. It’s clear that you had no use for the other one.”

I’m too stunned to move or to say anything.

“Nassim, please escort Frank from my office,” says Uncle. “And do take care. I would prefer that he not bleed on the carpet.”

“Yes, boss.”

Frank, clutching his ravaged ear and sobbing, allows Nassim to lead him away.

I place my elbows on my knees to stop my legs from shaking. But it’s no use.

Uncle picks some fluff off his
hanfu
, looks at Abbie and me and smiles as if nothing has happened. Then he says, “The two of you have performed admirably. As your reward for bringing me the Xuande vase, I will allow you to pick your next assignment from among the upcoming missions.”

Reward? I can’t believe it. He’s going to let us go.

“Th-thank you, Uncle,” Abbie stammers. I hope he’s not expecting me to say something, because I don’t think I can manage it right now.

“No, Abbie. It is I who must thank you and Caleb. Nassim will handle the mission selection process with you. Please allow him a few minutes to finish attending to Frank.”

We nod and turn to go. I’m about to follow Abbie out the door when Uncle calls me back in.

Oh, no. This is it. I knew it. Here comes my punishment.

“Yes, Uncle?”

“Did you know, Caleb, that in his
Analects
, Confucius said something that you would do well to bear in mind?”

“What is that, Uncle?”

“He said, ‘If a man takes no thought about what is distant, he will find sorrow near at hand.’”

“I see. Thank you, Uncle,” I say.

“You are most welcome, Caleb. Again, my congratulations on a snatch well done.”

I nod and quickly leave his office.

I catch up to Abbie by the stairwell.

“What did he say?” she asks.

“He said I’d better spend some time thinking about my future. Or bad things are going to happen to me.”

“Why would he say that?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” I say. “To scare me maybe? Intimidate me? Or threaten me? Take your pick.”

Abbie is quiet for a moment. “Let’s try to forget about all this,” she says, finally, “and focus on something pleasant. I found out what our mission choices are. Do you want to hear them?”

“Sure,” I say. But it’s not going to be easy to forget what just went on in Uncle’s office.

“We’ve got two,” she says. “The first is Bridgeport, Connecticut, on October 14, 1871 to snatch the first Frisbee that was ever flown. The other mission is to snatch silver coins from a Viking hoard near the village of Harrogate, England, on November 27, 954. Personally, I prefer Bridgeport. The weather in the northeast of England in November can be so unpredictable. Besides, I already know what I want to wear to Connecticut, and I’ve got the perfect name for the mission.”

“Which is?”

“An ankle-length plum-colored dress with a bustle and some lace and frills on the—”

“I meant the mission name,” I say.

“Oh,” she says. “Operation Fling.”

I have to admit, it’s a pretty good name. “Fine. Bridgeport it is.”

“Great. I’ll go and let Nassim know,” she says.

“Thanks.”

I expect Abbie to go off in search of Nassim, but she just stands there, shifting her weight from foot to foot and finger-brushing a loose strand of hair—signs that there’s something on her mind.

“Is there anything else you want to talk about?” I ask.

“Well … I know I didn’t say too much during our meeting with Uncle …,” she begins.

“You were kind of quiet,” I agree.

“Frank is going to be very angry, Cale. I just didn’t want to make things worse by saying something that would make him even angrier at us.”

“Angrier at me, you mean,” I say. “For some reason, he doesn’t seem to hold things against you.”

The words are out of my mouth before I even know it. And there was a bit of a snarl in my voice that I’m not especially proud of. But why shouldn’t I be upset? It seems like Abbie is saying that if she had to choose, she’d prefer making me angry over making Frank angry.

“Look, let’s forget I said anything and just start getting ready for Bridgeport,” she says.

“Okay,” I say. But I’m not really okay. The meeting with Uncle has left me feeling totally drained, and I don’t have the energy right now to try to figure out whether or not I’m right to be upset with Abbie.

Without a word, she turns and goes off in search of Nassim. But even after she leaves, I can still feel the tension in the air.

I
land on a roof. If this is someone’s idea of a joke, I’m not finding it very funny. I know mission landings are purposely programmed not to attract attention, but this is a bit much. I’ve got half a mind to complain to management.

But since I’ve already had more than my share of interactions with management lately, I’ll let this little incident go by.

It feels good to be away from Headquarters and the suffocating atmosphere of Uncle’s office. My thoughts go back to his parting words about sorrow being “near at hand.” Abbie said not to think about it. To think about something pleasant instead.

Okay. So how’s this: it’s a good fifteen-foot drop to the hard ground, and I’m betting there aren’t any pillows lying around to break my fall.

As soon as the time freeze wears off, I slither backward on my belly until my legs dangle over the edge. A stone gargoyle crouches nearby. From the expression on its face, I’d say it’s hoping for an unhappy result. Without giving myself a chance to back out, I let go and fall the rest of the way.

I hit the ground rolling, which turns out to be a good thing, because when I finally stop and sit up I hardly feel sore at all. The first thing I notice is the wood-frame buildings. Nice and solid-looking. They line a street that is not much more than a mud track. You’d
think that a mud street wouldn’t have a lot of foot traffic, but all sorts of people are out and about in Bridgeport today: men in smart-looking jackets and bowler hats, ladies in long, frilly dresses and little boys and girls dressed not much differently than the adults.

I spot Abbie lounging outside a storefront under a sign that says
MALLEK & SONS, BLACKSMITHS.

“Good morning, Master Caleb. It is always delightful to see you, even though I can’t say the same for how you are dressed.”

She stretches the words so that they sound vaguely foreign. Abbie seems to be in a good mood. I’m glad. I don’t like it when there’s tension between us.

Still, there’s no way I’m taking responsibility for the mud-brown, pleated jacket, stiff shirt and dark green pants I’m wearing. After all, except for socks and underwear, I don’t have any choice in my mission clothing, and she knows it. Besides, Abbie shouldn’t complain—my outfit is hurting me way more than it’s hurting her. The one thing that’s not too tight is the bowler hat.

She, on the other hand, looks comfortable in a purply-blue dress that sticks out at the back and is tied in front with a large red bow. Her long auburn hair is partly hidden by a white bonnet tied with a pink ribbon under her chin, and she’s holding a small yellow umbrella that looks a lot like the one she lifted from the shop in London. I actually have to stop myself from staring. She looks … well, beautiful.

“Great day for a snatch,” I say to cover up my awkwardness.

She smiles demurely and then begins to stroll along the mud track. I fall into step beside her. We walk in silence for a while, past a post office and a stable. A barefoot young girl wearing a pale yellow dress and sucking on a candy races by us. I don’t need to ask Abbie if this is the right way to the snatch zone. Her sense of direction is flawless.

“So?” Abbie says.

“So what?” I ask.

“Spill it, Cale,” she says. “I want to know the whole thing. How you outsnatched Frank for the Xuande vase.”

I clear my throat, but I’m really just stalling for time. Be calm, I tell myself. There’s no reason to be upset at all. Abbie is perfectly entitled to know. She’s my snatch partner, after all.

“Why do you even care?” I blurt out. So much for being calm.

Abbie stops and turns toward me. “What kind of a question is that? We’re partners … and friends. Of course I care.”

I can’t look at her, so instead I gaze at the mud puddle by my feet.

“What’s bothering you?” she asks.

There is a bit of sky reflected in the mud puddle, but the next moment it’s chased away by dark rain clouds.

“Do you really want to know?” I say, glancing up. “Fine, I’ll tell you. I know that you and Frank went to see Phoebe.”

I watch her eyes carefully. I’m taking a risk with all this. If she’s on Frank’s side, then she’ll go straight to him with this conversation. But I need to know.

“I had to,” she says, her words coming out slowly.

“Had to do what?” I say. “Had to spy on me?”

“I wasn’t spying on you,” Abbie says. “I only went with him because I need to know how he’s doing it.”

A black buggy drawn by a skinny white horse passes us going the other way.

“You know how he’s doing it,” I say. “I’ve already told you. He’s showing up at my snatches—
our
snatches—and sabotaging them.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Abbie says. “Don’t you find it strange that, with all the sabotaging he’s doing, he’s not getting in trouble with Uncle?”

“You call getting part of his ear lopped off not getting in trouble?” I say.

“Well, you’re right about that,” she says, resuming walking along the track. “But that’s the only time I’ve heard of Uncle punishing him.”

“So what are you saying?”

“I’m saying that Uncle doesn’t know about half the things he does,” she says. “Frank handed in the Xuande vase, or at least what he thought was the Xuande vase, but he hasn’t always handed in the snatch items he steals from you. Do you remember the flag of the Great Friendship? He never gave it in.”

Why am I not surprised? When I think about it, I can see Frank’s twisted logic; by interfering in my snatches but not turning in the objects, he can get me in trouble without bringing attention to himself. Now I understand why at dinner the other night, Uncle came up with fifteen completed snatches for Frank while I counted sixteen.

“Why are you helping him?” I ask, cutting to the chase.

“Is that what you think I’m doing?” She starts laughing.

“This isn’t funny, Abbie,” I say. “Like I said—I know you were with him when he went to see Phoebe.”

She glances around as if to make sure no one’s listening. “Cale, Frank has found a way to get around Phoebe.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“I mean,” she continues, “he’s getting Phoebe to share information on stuff that he shouldn’t be getting, like our mission data. But that’s not all. What would you say if I told you that except for his regular missions with Lydia, there’s no record of any of Frank’s other trips to the past?”

“I don’t believe it,” I say. I can buy the fact that Frank is getting Phoebe to share data on Abbie’s and my missions. He’s probably
using bribery on her, same as I am. But getting Phoebe to regularly cover his tracks on all his nonmission trips to the past? That’s huge. I don’t think even Phoebe would agree to do that. It could put her in big trouble with Uncle.

“Well, it’s true,” says Abbie. “Do you want to know how he’s doing it?”

I nod.

“He’s hypnotizing her,” she says.

It’s my turn to laugh. “That’s ridiculous. You can’t hypnotize a computer.”

“You can with one that has human DNA inside it.”

She’s right about Phoebe’s infrastructure containing DNA. Still, Phoebe under hypnosis? What, does he wave a pocket watch back and forth in front of a screen? I find the whole thing hard to swallow.

“Abbie, how are you involved in all of this?” I ask again. “Why didn’t you tell me anything before? And why is Frank letting you in on all his little secrets?” My questions come out rapid-fire.