The Pilgrims of Rayne

FIRST EARTH

I had to get gone. The last thing I needed was for some panicky victim of the train wreck to stumble onto the gate, throw it open, and see me standing there out of breath, looking like an idiot. I cautiously opened the wooden door and peeked out. The last of the three subway cars was right there. Luckily the door to the car was already past the gate. People were starting to climb out, helping one another slip down the few feet to the track bed. Choking smoke was everywhere. That was okay by me. It was good cover. I slipped out of the gate, closed it behind me, and walked quickly to join the others. I hoped nobody would notice one more victim.

“Keep moving!” shouted a firefighter with a flashlight. “Everything’s okay! The platform’s not far. Keep moving!”

I put my head down and got in line behind an older guy who was having trouble making his way over the uneven surface. I took his arm to steady him and helped him the rest of the way. The guy needed a strong arm. I needed cover. Perfect. There wasn’t any panic.

I think everyone was too dazed for that. I helped the older guy all the way to the cement stairs that led up to the station platform.

“Thank you, son,” he said gratefully. “I can take it from here.”

He was a little shaky, but okay. He climbed the stairs and disappeared into the mass of people on the platform.

“Let’s go! Let’s go!” a policeman yelled. They were trying to herd people toward the exits. “It’s over! Nothing to see here!”

Actually, there was a lot to see, but I guess that was their standard line. I stood next to a white-tiled pillar to get away from the crowd of people who were moving toward the exit. Now that I was just another face in the crowd, my head was already on to the next challenge. Find Courtney. The station looked the same as I remembered it. This was 1937. People were dressed up. The men had on suits and hats. The women wore dresses. No jeans or sneakers anywhere. On the far side of the platform I saw a newsstand.

A newsstand! With newspapers. With dates! The big question was still out there-what was today’s date? The success or failure of our trip to find Mark would ride on when the flume had deposited us on First Earth. I pushed my way through the crowd, which wasn’t easy because nobody was going the same way I was. There wasn’t a whole lot of interest in buying newspapers just then. Finally I stepped up to the newsstand and grabbed a copy of the New York Times.

The date? November 1, 1937.

Was this good or bad? My mind flashed back to the library on Third Earth. History showed that the patent for Mark’s Forge thingy was filed in October. We were too late to stop that. But the computer also said that some kind of announcement was made between that KEM company and the Dimond Alpha Digital Organization in November. Mark disappeared right after that. According to the paper, today was November 1. Whatever happened to Mark probably hadn’t happened yet. We might have arrived in time to find out what exactly had happened. Or what was going to happen. Or… you get the idea. I wasn’t sure how to feel about the news. Yes, we had a shot at intervening in Mark’s history. Did that mean First Earth was about to have another turning point?

“Hey! You gonna buy that paper or what?” came a gruff voice.

I looked to see the exact same newsguy sitting behind the counter who chewed me out for the exact same thing the last time I was there. He was a porky little gnome wearing a red plaid shirt. He still chomped on the little stub of a cigar and still needed a shave.

But he wasn’t talking to me.

I heard a girl’s voice bark, “Oh, relax, Yoda. People are too busy running for their lives to buy your stupid newspapers!”

It was Courtney. She was standing a few yards away doing the same thing

I was-checking the newspapers for today’s date.

“Yoda?” I called out with a smile.

Courtney lit up with a big, relieved smile. She ran over and gave me a hug like she thought she’d never see me again. “Bobby! I never thought I’d see you again!” See.

“What happened?” she asked frantically. “Are you all right? What happened with the dados? Did they cause the wreck of the-“

“O-kay!” I shouted, cutting her off. “Let’s talk outside.”

“Yeah,” the newsguy grumped. “Take it outside and stop getting fingerprints all over the goods.”

“It’s old news anyway,” Courtney sniffed. “In case you missed it, there was a train wreck.” She always had to get in the last shot.

We joined the crowd to get out of the subway station. The people were all pretty calm considering what they’d just been through. As we moved with the flow, I began to form a plan. I didn’t want to spring it on Courtney until I had the chance to think it through and set things up, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized it was the best thing for us to do. Maybe the only thing.

No matter how tough it was going to be.

We climbed the stairs into the bright, November sun. Luckily it was a warm day because Courtney didn’t have a sweater or anything. I’m not so sure she would have cared. She was too busy gawking at the new sights. Or should I say the old sights. The Bronx of 1937 was once again busy. Ancient black cars rolled bumper to bumper through the busy intersection. The sidewalks were packed with people. Strangely, the buildings didn’t seem all that alien since tall, cement-faced buildings like this still existed in our time. They just looked a little newer in 1937. The odd thing was what we didn’t see. There wasn’t a single modern-looking steel or glass structure anywhere.

The chemical smell was overwhelming, especially after being on Third Earth, where the air was so clean. I’m guessing it was a mixture of gas, dust, oil, manufacturing exhaust, and BO. Pretty much the normal smells of a crowded city. Giant billboards loomed overhead that advertised everything from soap to liniment. I didn’t even know what liniment was, but the advertisement made it look like I really needed it to “REDUCE PAIN AND CURE ILLS.” I had plenty of ills that needed curing-if I thought a bottle of some bizarre medicine could actually do that, I’d quickly along the sidewalks, headed to wherever it was they were headed. Making the street that much more crowded were the fire trucks that were lined up near the subway entrance. Wailing sirens said there were more on the way. It was a busy day in the Bronx. Thanks to us.

I didn’t say anything to Courtney at first. I wanted her to soak it all up. I knew what it was like to arrive in a new territory. Part of the wonder was seeing a place that was so completely alien. The real brain freeze comes from realizing that you’re standing in the middle of it. There’s no way to get used to that, no matter how often you jump through time and space.

After doing a few slow turns, Courtney focused on me and summed it all up with one simple statement. “Hell of a day.”

I laughed. In the span of a few hours we had gone from Courtney’s house on Second Earth to three thousand years into the future, only to jump back fifty years before we were born. It was definitely a hell of a day. It wasn’t over.

I grabbed her hand and pulled her away from all the excitement. We crossed a few blocks to a wide avenue where traffic was moving faster than a crawl.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“Someplace familiar,” I answered.

I hailed a yellow taxi that was headed downtown. Courtney was about to duck into the backseat when she popped back out and asked, “Do we have money for this?”

“Stop worrying,” I said, and gently pushed her into the car.

The cabbie was a jovial-looking guy with a checkered cap. “Where to?” he asked.

“The Manhattan Tower Hotel.”

The guy whistled in appreciation and said, “Well! Ain’t we the fancy ones!”

He stepped on the gas and we were on our way home. At least to my home on First Earth.

“So?” Courtney asked. “What’s the plan?”

I didn’t want to reveal that just yet. I had to make sure it was possible.

“I still have friends at the hotel” was my answer. “They’ll take care of us.”

“Perfect!” Courtney exclaimed. “Then we track down Mark.”

I put my finger to my lips in the “shhh” gesture, and pointed to the cabbie. “One step at a time.”

Courtney huffed and fell silent. The rest of the trip she spent looking out the window at another era. She didn’t say much. She was too busy marveling at the past. It wasn’t until we were almost at the hotel that she finally said, “It’s like watching an old movie, but it’s real, isn’t it?”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t have to.

“Fifty-ninth and Park!” the cabbie announced as he pulled the cab up to the curb. Instantly a bellhop ran up and opened the car door for us.

“Welcome to the Manhattan Tower!” he exclaimed with a big smile. “Checking in today, sir?”

D. J. MacHale

The Pilgrims of Rayne

I got out of the cab and looked at him. “Pay the cabbie for me, would you, Dodger?”

Dodger, the bellhop, looked at me blankly, as if I had just spoken Latvian. I looked at the confused guy, and smiled. I knew it would take a few seconds for him to catch up.

A moment later his confused look turned to one of wonder.

“Pendragon?” he asked in awe. “Wha-“

“You know I’m good for it,” I said.

“Uh, yeah. Sure, sure,” Dodger said, scrambling to get his wits back. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a fistful of coins. Tip money.

While he paid the cabbie, I leaned back into the car and smiled at Courtney. “Come on out and tell me if my description did this place justice.”

Courtney leaped out of the car and looked up at the imposing, pink building. By modern standards it wasn’t monstrous. It stood only thirty-two floors high. But in 1937 it was pretty impressive, complete with the three-foot-high letters near the roof that spelled out its name: THE MANHATTAN TOWER. At night those letters glowed a brilliant neon green and could be seen all over the city. The hotel took up a whole block, resting in a perfectly manicured garden that was like an oasis in the middle of the city. Being November, the leaves on the trees had turned brilliant colors of red, yellow, and orange. There were pumpkins placed everywhere, probably as Halloween decorations from the night before.

Courtney didn’t comment on how impressive it all was. Or on the beauty of the grounds. Or even on how well I had described it in my journals. Her comment was much more Courtney than that.

“Where did it happen?” she asked.

“Where did what happen?”

“Where did that gangster land that Saint Dane threw out the window?”

I gave her a sour look. That particular gruesome event was one I’d managed to forget about. Until then, thank you very much Courtney.

Dodger came running back to us, looking all wide-eyed. I’m guessing he was around nineteen years old, with slicked-back black hair. He was a feisty little guy who couldn’t have been more than five foot three. What he lacked in size he made up for in energy. He was constantly in motion, with eyes that were always looking around for what needed to be done next. On Second Earth you’d call him “hyper.”

“Hey, old pal! I thought you was gone for good!”

When Dodger wasn’t being a professional and speaking with hotel guests, he had a fast way of speaking that he called Brooklynese. To me he sounded like Bugs Bunny. He spoke quickly, changing subjects in midsentence, barely waiting for answers. If you weren’t up to his speed, he’d leave you in the dust. “Is Spader comin’ back too? Did you know Gunny disappeared? Nobody’s seen him since last spring.” He focused on Courtney, leaned in to me, and whispered, “Hey, who’s the skirt?”

“Skirt?” Courtney shouted.

Apparently Dodger’s whisper wasn’t quite low enough. He froze in surprise.

“That’s the sexist stereotype you reduce girls to? Skirts?” Courtney growled.

“Hey, no offense, doll-“

Uh-oh.

“Doll?” Courtney screamed even louder. “Oh, that’s much better.”

She stepped toward Dodger, ready to do battle. The little guy backed away in fear.

I didn’t think he was used to a skirt, uh, a girl being so aggressive.

“What kind of name is Dodger, anyway? That’s a dog name.”

“It’s a nickname is all,” he stammered. “I like baseball.”

“Baseball? I’ll bet you’ve never even been to Los Angeles!”

“Los Angeles?” Dodger said, confused. “Who said anything about-“

I quickly stepped between them and glared at Courtney. “Dodger’s real name is Douglas. He calls himself Dodger because he likes the Dodgers. The Brooklyn Dodgers.”

That stopped Courtney. She had forgotten about the whole time-travel thing. The Brooklyn Dodgers wouldn’t move to Los Angeles for another twenty years. I looked to Dodger and said, “This is my sister. Dodge. Her name’s Courtney. We’re going to stay in Gunny’s apartment for a while. Okay?”

I figured it would be better to tell everybody Courtney was my sister so nobody would get freaked out about us being together.

“Hey, fine with me,” Dodger said. “You’re lucky Caplesmith didn’t clean the place out. He thinks Gunny’s coming back. Is he?”

I didn’t know how to answer that. Of course I couldn’t tell him that Gunny and Spader were trapped on a territory called Eelong that was full of talking cats and carnivorous dinosaurs. I was just happy to hear that the hotel manager, Mr. Caplesmith, had kept the apartment. Gunny was the bell captain at the hotel. He’d worked there most of his life and pretty much ran the place. I’d bet that Mr. Caplesmith would hold his apartment forever on the remote chance that Gunny would be back. That’s how great a guy Gunny was. It was lucky for us. It meant we had a place to stay

“I don’t know,” I answered truthfully. “I hope he’s coming back.”

Man, I missed Gunny. Spader too. But I couldn’t let myself go there. Self-pity didn’t help things.

“No luggage?” Dodger asked. He kept stealing nervous looks at Courtney, as if waiting for her to tee off on him again. Courtney just glared.

“We’re traveling light,” I said.

“Is that a problem?” Courtney asked aggressively.

“Not for me,” Dodger said. “If you don’t need a change of undies, that’s your business, sister.”

“I’m not your sister,” Courtney shot back, then looked at me and smiled. “I guess I’m his sister.”

“Let’s just go inside,” I suggested, trying to diffuse the situation.

Dodger went ahead of us, leading us up the wide front stairs into the hotel.

“Be cool,” I said softly to Courtney. “Dodger’s okay.”

“He’s overcompensating because he’s short,” Courtney sniffed.

“Whatever. We need him.”

“Okay, I’ll be good… little bro.” She smiled as she said this. It was weird pretending that we were brother and sister.

The hotel was just as I remembered. It was the height of luxury, 1937-style. The lobby had a high, stained-glass ceiling. There were huge, dark oriental carpets everywhere and lots of soft, leather furniture. It was a place that catered to the highfalutin, so all the guests were dressed impeccably. The bellhops looked neat and crisp in their burgundy uniforms with gold trim. They were the same uniforms that Spader and I had worn when we lived and worked there. I actually had lots of happy memories of the place.

Some lousy ones too.

“You hear the big news?” Dodger asked as he strutted through the lobby.

Courtney said, “Heard it? We were there!”

Dodger frowned. “You were in Hollywood last night?”

Courtney and I shared a look.

“You’re not talking about the subway wreck?” I asked.

“Nah, I’m talking about Dewey Todd.”

“The elevator operator?” I asked in surprise.

“Yeah,” Dodger said. “He went out to Hollywood to work in his old man’s new hotel. Last night there was some kind of strange accident. He was running the elevator and it got hit by lightning.”

“Is he okay?” I asked, horrified.

“That’s the strange part. Nobody knows. Everybody on the elevator disappeared. Halloween night. Spooky, aye? Poor sap. I liked the little guy.”

“Littler than you?” Courtney asked.

Dodger gave her a quick look, but let it go.

Poor Dewey. He was clueless, but a nice guy. I hated to hear that something might have happened to him. It seemed like a real mystery, but I couldn’t worry about it. I had enough mysteries of my own to deal with.

Dodger led us to the elevator.

“We’ll take the stairs,” I told him.

“What’sa matter? Afraid lightning might hit?” he asked, snickering.

Neither of us laughed. Dodger stopped chuckling quickly. “Okay, bad joke. You got a key?” “I know where Gunny keeps it.”

“Okay, if you need anything, you know where to find me.” He started to leave, then turned back to me, as if wanting to say something.

“What?” I asked.

“Don’t take this wrong, Pendragon. But you look different. I mean, you’ve been gone for what? Four months?”

It was true. By my clock I had left First Earth a couple of years before. But the flume put us back there not much later than when I had left. It was just another example of how the flumes were guided by some knowing force.

“How come you look so different?” Dodger asked.

“Growth spurt,” Courtney said flatly.

“It’s been a rough four months” was all I could think of saying.

Dodger looked at me quizzically, then shrugged, and walked off. “If you say so.”

“I’ll get you the cash for the cab ride,” I called after him.

“It’s on me,” he said. “Consider it an apology for getting off on the wrong foot with your sister.”

He looked at Courtney, and gave her a genuine, apologetic smile.

“Thanks, pee wee,” she said.

Dodger winked at her and took off. We watched him as he strutted back into the lobby.

“He winked at me,” Courtney said, disgusted. “What is up with that?”

“He can’t help it if he was born in a different era.”

“I’ll let him get away with the skirt comment, but if he calls me a dame, he’s done.”

I laughed and said, “Let it go, all right?”

“And I don’t care where they play, Dodger is still a dog name.”

Gunny had a small apartment on the first basement level of the hotel. It sounds worse than it was. I led Courtney down the stairs and along the corridor, passing the hotel laundry, the vault, and the baggage checkroom. Gunny’s apartment was at the very end.

I reached up to an exposed, overhead pipe where, sure enough, Gunny’s key was waiting.

“Not exactly high-tech security,” Courtney scoffed.

“Not needed.” I reached for the door and turned the knob. The door was already unlocked. “Half the time Gunny never even locked it.”

The apartment was dark, as you might imagine a basement apartment would be. There were a few narrow windows near the ceiling that were just above ground level. They didn’t let in much light, but it was enough to make the place a little less claustrophobic. I flicked on a lamp to see that the apartment was exactly as Gunny had left it. There was a small living room with a sofa and two easy chairs positioned around a big-old radio in a wooden cabinet made by some company called Philco. There were no TVs in 1937. The radio was the center of home entertainment. One wall of the living room was actually the kitchen, with a small sink and stove next to a tiny refrigerator. Beyond the living room was Gunny’s bedroom. Off that room was his bathroom. That was it. Gunny didn’t need much to be comfortable.

There weren’t a lot of knickknacks or personal touches, other than one painting that hung on the wall above the radio. It was an oil painting of a U.S. Civil War battle where the union soldiers were all members of the Fifty-fourth Massachusetts Volunteer Infantry Regiment, one of the first black army units in the Civil War. Gunny was really proud of that.

Standing in that room, I expected to see Gunny walk out of his bedroom with a big smile and a greeting of “Hey there, shorty!” That wasn’t going to happen. The thin coating of dust on everything was a sad reminder that nobody had lived here in a while.

“Are we ever going to see him again?” Courtney asked somberly, reading my thoughts.

“I think so,” I answered optimistically. “When this is all over.”

“So let’s make that happen,” she said, getting down to business. “Can we make this our base while we’re looking for Mark?”

“That’s the plan,” I said. I walked to Gunny’s tiny kitchen and opened the oven. Inside was a metal cookie tin that looked like a log cabin.

“Stale cookies?” Courtney said.

“These cookies don’t get stale, and they are very sweet.” I opened the tin and pulled out a roll of money that was held together by a rubber band.

Courtney whistled in awe. “Yikes! Didn’t he ever hear of a bank?”

“He kept this in case of an emergency. I think this qualifies.” I tossed the roll of bills to her. “For food and more clothes and anything else that comes up.”

Courtney stared at the huge roll of cash nervously. “I think I’d rather have you in charge of this. My palms are already sweating.”

It was time to tell Courtney of my plan. From what I’d seen, everything was working out the way it had to. Gunny’s apartment was still here and available; money wasn’t a problem; and the people at the hotel remembered me. The hunt for Mark could happen from here. That was the easy part. I led Courtney over to the couch. We sat, facing each other while I scrambled to think of the right words.

“This looks serious,” she said. “I’d say you’re breaking up with me, but since we’re not even going out I don’t think-“

“I can’t stay on First Earth,” I said.

Courtney stared at me, not sure how to react. She laughed. Stopped herself. Gave me a curious look. Laughed again and finally shook her head.

“We just got here. We have to find Mark.”

“I know. You need to do it alone.”

“What?” Courtney jumped up. “No way! Just… no way!”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“Don’t be sorry,” she shot back. “Be serious.”

I took a breath to try and keep my voice calm. It was killing me to do this but I couldn’t see any other way.

“I am being serious. I can’t stay here because Saint Dane went to Ibara. That’s where I need to be.”

Courtney paced. I couldn’t tell if she was angry or frightened. Probably both.

“He wants to beat me, Courtney. He has to beat me. I think that’s just as important to him as taking control of Halla.”

“Then don’t let him!” Courtney screamed. “He’s luring you there, Bobby, don’t you see that? He wants you to follow him so he can beat you.”

“You’re right. That’s exactly why I have to go. I don’t think he can control Halla until he beats me, once and for all. But it works both way If we want to stop him, I mean really stop him, forever, I’m going to have to beat him straight up. That’s the only way this can all end.”

“That’s pretty arrogant, don’t you think?” she sniffed. “I mean, thinking that the future of all existence is only about the two of you.”

“It’s not,” I countered. “It’s about how we influence events, and the people of the territories and the choices they make.”

Courtney shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

“This has been torturing me from the beginning,” I answered. “On every territory, with every conflict, Saint Dane has challenged me. You’ve read about it all. He always gets me to follow him to his next target. The Travelers have ruined his plans more often than not. The guy is a lot of things, but he’s not an idiot. He could have won every single territory if the Travelers hadn’t stopped him, but we never would have gotten the chance if we didn’t always know where he was going. But he always tells me. Don’t you wonder about that?”

Courtney plopped down in one of the cushy easy chairs, shooting out a small cloud of dust. “Yeah,” she said, resigned. “I have. Are you saying he really wants to be beaten?”

“No!” I said quickly. “He wants to win, all right, but winning for him isn’t just about toppling a territory. It’s about beating the Travelers. Beating me. I think the battle here is more complicated than we even realize. It isn’t just about wars or destruction or us trying to make sure the people of a territory have a peaceful way of life. I think it’s more about the way it happens. The decisions people make. The paths they choose.”

“You’re getting a little cosmic on me,” Courtney said.

“I know, I’m on shaky ground here, but the more I learn about Saint Dane and the way he thinks, the more I realize he’s trying to prove some kind of point. He talks about the people of the territories being greedy and arrogant and shortsighted. He thinks that whatever horror happens to the territories, the people deserve it.”

“Because he’s a monster,” Courtney added.

“Yeah, but he doesn’t see it that way. He thinks he’s giving the people what they want.”

“Death and destruction and misery?” Courtney asked.

“I know, it doesn’t really follow. But the point is, he thinks he’s serving a grander purpose. I don’t think it’s as simple as him being some kind of megalomaniac James Bond-type villain who wants to rule the universe, muhahahahaha! In some twisted way, he thinks he’s doing the right thing.”

“But that’s just it,” Courtney pleaded. “He thinks the right thing is to steer the people of the territories into disaster. How can that possibly be right?”

“I’m not saying it is. I’m saying that’s how he thinks.”

Courtney looked around the room, letting my confused logic sink in. “So if Saint Dane is on a quest to prove that his way of running the territories is the right way, and the only way he feels he can do that is by beating the Travelers, then by his way of thinking, the Travelers are the bad guys/’

Those words hit me hard. I hadn’t thought of it that way, but if my theory was true, then Courtney was right. If Saint Dane thinks he’s trying to save the territories, in his mind the bad guys who must be defeated are the Travelers.

“That’s not all, Bobby,” Courtney added. “If Saint Dane is trying to prove something, who exactly is he trying to prove it to?”

I sat forward and rubbed my eyes. I was feeling very tired. “That’s the biggest question of all,” I said softly.

“It’s coming to an end, Bobby,” Courtney said. “Whatever the Convergence is, it sounds like it’s what this has all been leading up to. I think what Saint Dane did as Andy Mitchell, what he got Mark to do, has broken down the walls between the territories for good. There are dados on Second Earth. There are dados on Third Earth and Quillan.”

“Dados tried to get onto First Earth,” I reminded her. “For all I know, more are showing up right now.”

“The destinies of four territories have been altered. It’s sounding like those dominos are being lined up.”

“I agree,” I said. “That’s why I’ve got to go to Ibara. I hate to say this, but I’m afraid it’s too late to undo what Mark has done. Too many events have been set in motion. A Traveler has joined Saint Dane, remember? Nevva Winter is on his side. She told me on Quillan that she was thinking of taking the place of the Traveler from Ibara. All signs point to Ibara being that first domino that’s going to be tipped.”

Courtney looked at the floor.

I continued, “I don’t think we can change the future by trying to re-alter the past. We’re too far down the road for that. I’ve got to look forward.”

“So you want to give up on Mark?” she asked.

“No!” I shouted. “It may be too late to undo the damage he’s done, but we still don’t know why he did it. That’s not about Halla. Or dados. It’s about our friend. According to Patrick’s computer, Mark Dimond disappeared sometime in November 1937. Disappearing is bad. Mark is an innocent victim in all this. If something bad is about to happen to him, we’ve got to try and stop it.”

Courtney walked over to the couch and sat down next to me. She held my hand and said, “No, I’ve got to try and stop it. You’ve got to go to Ibara.”

I’m finishing this journal while Courtney is sleeping in Gunny’s bed. I’m lying on his couch, writing. I can’t sleep. My mind is going in too many directions. My plan is to finish this journal and leave it with Courtney. She’ll find a safe place to keep it. From now on, I’ll send my journals to her through the rings.

Courtney is going to stay on First Earth to track down Mark. If anybody can do it, she can. She’s as much a part of this now as I am. She’s been together with Mark from the beginning. They are a team. Or, they were a team. Though I’m worried about both my friends, this feels right. I’ve made loads of sacrifices since becoming a Traveler in the name of saving Halla from Saint Dane. Now I’m abandoning my two best friends. It’s a hollow, dark feeling. But what else can I do? I honestly believe that there’s nothing we can do about the dados. The real concern here is Mark. Where is he? What happened that he knowingly changed the course of history? Is he okay? I believe that Courtney’s mission here on First Earth is not to try and realign Halla. It’s to save Mark’s life. Knowing that I won’t be here to help is killing me, but it’s a sacrifice I have to make. While Courtney tries to save Mark, I’ve got to try and save Halla. I’ve got to face Saint Dane on Ibara. It’s about him and me. It’s about proving the Travelers aren’t the bad guys.

I’ve got the same queasy feeling I always have when I’m about to go to a new territory. What will I find? What kind of culture will they have? Will it be modern? Ancient? Civilized? Primitive? Or will I land square in the middle of a society run by robots?

Anything is possible. There’s only one thing I know for sure.

Saint Dane is there waiting for me.

END OF JOURNAL # 28

Courtney was alone.

More alone than she had ever been In her life. At least that’s what it felt like to her. Even when she was lying in the hospital after having nearly been killed by Saint Dane, there were people watching out for her. But that was on Second Earth. On First Earth she had no one. Nobody knew she even existed, because technically, she didn’t. She was out of place, out of time, and feeling a little bit out of her mind. She wanted to cry. She wanted to go home in the worst way, but that was impossible because to use the flumes without a Traveler would mean disaster. No, she was stuck. She wanted to lie in Gunny’s bed, pull the covers over her head, and pretend she was at home with her mom and dad.

Instead she focused on her mission. She didn’t resent Bobby for leaving. She agreed that he had to go to Ibara. But it didn’t stop her from wishing that he was still around. What kept her going was the hope that she would soon find Mark. History said he disappeared and she knew that couldn’t be a good thing. She needed to find him before whatever was going to happen, happened. She even held out hope that in spite of what Bobby thought, finding Mark and learning why he’d done what he did might somehow realter the course of history and put Halla back on track. But there was another reason she had to find Mark. She needed him. She needed her friend. She needed to hold on to him and cry and hear his dumb stutter and be back together with the only person in Halla who had traveled the same road she had. Mark had become her best friend, her support, her confidant. He saved her life. She needed to return the favor. She needed to get Mark back.

Her first order of business was to get new clothes. She hated the flowery dress from the flume. It didn’t matter what the current cultural standards dictated, girly dresses and Courtney Chetwynde did not go together. After a quick meal in the hotel restaurant of bacon, eggs, potatoes, and orange juice (that cost a whopping thirty-two cents) she went looking for Dodger, the bellhop. She found him at his same post, standing outside the hotel, greeting guests. When Dodger spotted her, his eyes lit up. Courtney wasn’t sure if he was happy to see her, or terrified that she’d start yelling at him again.

“G’mornin’,” he said cautiously. “Everything okeydokey?”

“It’s all good,” Courtney answered. “But I need a favor.”

“Name it.”

“I need to buy some clothes. Are there any shops nearby?”

“You kiddin’?” Dodger chuckled. “We got the greatest shops in the world just steps away. Pendragon knows that.”

Uh-oh. Courtney hadn’t thought of a plausible story about why Bobby was gone.

“Right, she said, trying to buy time to think. “He went home to Stony Brook. A family thing.”

Dodger nodded. “Everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine. Could you tell me where the shops are?”

“I’ll do better than that. I’ll take you there myself. I got a break comin’ up.”

“That’s okay. Just tell me where to go.”

“Tut-tut,” Dodger said, trying to be gallant. “Pendragon and I go way back. I gotta give the red carpet treatment to his sister.”

“Sister?” Courtney asked a little too quickly. “How do you know Shannon-” Oops, she stopped herself. She’d forgotten about the setup. “Right! Sister. I’m his sister. For a second I thought you meant his other sister, Shannon. Who of course is my sister too. We’re all sisters. And brothers. Bobby is our brother. Right?” She giggled nervously.

Dodger gave her a strange look. Courtney smiled innocently. A few minutes later they were walking along Fifty-seventh Street headed for the shops on Madison Avenue.

“Here’s a swell place,” Dodger suggested as they walked by a small boutique with posed mannequins wearing flowered dresses like the one Courtney was wearing.

Courtney kept walking.

They came upon another storefront that displayed lacy clothes and large, straw hats with oversize flowers on them. “Lots of gals like this place and-“

Courtney kept walking. Dodger shrugged and followed. They passed by several other stores that catered to women and girls. Courtney didn’t want anything to do with them.

“What exactly are you looking for?” Dodger finally asked.

“I don’t know,” Courtney admitted. “Something less… Barbie.”

Dodger frowned. “I got no idea what that means, but maybe you should go someplace that’s got a little bit of everything.”

“Is there a place like that?” Courtney asked.

Fifteen minutes and a short subway ride later, Courtney stepped up to the entrance of “the World’s Largest Department Store” on Thirty-fourth Street. Macy’s. The same Macy’s she knew from home, that had all sorts of everything, including a parade on Thanksgiving. Dodger didn’t make the trip because his break was over. That was fine by Courtney. He asked too many questions. She felt that he meant well, in an old-fashioned, “I’m a smart guy who knows best how to take care of a helpless little gal” sort of way, but she didn’t need that. Her plan was to avoid Dodger like the plague.

Walking through Macy’s was an alien experience. It looked nothing like the Macy’s of Second Earth. The clothes were heavy and dark. There was no music. The lighting was dim. The floors were made of wood. Even the escalators had wooden steps. But it was still Macy’s, and Courtney knew she’d find what she needed.

She walked past the ladies’ and girls’ departments and headed straight to menswear. There, as a perplexed salesman wearing a neat suit with a white carnation in the lapel watched in wonder, Courtney bought two pairs of men’s woolen pants and a few white, cotton shirts. She also bought socks, a pair of brown leather shoes that were much more comfortable than the ones from the flume, and a pair of green striped suspenders to hold the pants up. She found a gray woolen cap with a short, soft brim that was big enough to tuck all of her long brown hair under. Courtney put her hands in her pockets and admired herself in the mirror.

The salesman scowled. “Halloween was two days ago, young lady.”

Courtney smiled. “I think I look pretty good.”

She did. Courtney may have been wearing men’s clothes, but there was no hiding the fact that she was a girl. The final piece was an oversize, dark green turtleneck sweater that she knew she’d need once the weather got cold. Satisfied, she paid the salesman and headed out.

“What do I do with this?” the salesman called to her. He was holding up the flowered dress that Courtney had worn into the store.

“I don’t need it anymore,” she said brightly. “Halloween was two days ago.”

The salesman gave her a disapproving frown and Courtney went on her way. She had one more chore before beginning her search for Mark in earnest. She traveled a route she had taken many times before, in another era. From Thirty-fourth Street in Manhattan she took a subway train to Grand Central Terminal. The ride cost a nickel. From there, she got on a New Haven Line train, headed for her hometown of Stony Brook, Connecticut. The hour-long trip was familiar yet alien. The train wasn’t anywhere near as comfortable as the sleek, shock-absorbed cars of Second Earth. She felt herself bouncing around as if she were on a freight train. There was an incessant squeak and rattle that didn’t seem to bother anybody else but her. The constant bouncing was especially annoying because she was trying to read the newspaper.

If she had been tracking Mark on Second Earth, her first stop would have been the Internet. On First Earth all she had were newspapers and the occasional radio news broadcast. At Grand Central Station she bought five different daily papers: the New York Advocate, the Manhattan Gazette, the New York Daily Mirror, the New York Post and the New York Times. She quickly searched through every paper, desperate to find a mention of Mark Dimond, Andy Mitchell, the Dimond Alpha Digital Organization, or KEM Limited. Her thinking was that if Mark’s presentation of the Forge technology was so important, it would have to hit the news, even if it was a small blurb.

She found nothing. The big news item of the day was the mysterious subway derailment in the Bronx. Courtney read that the engineer swore he saw a man jump in front of the speeding train, but no body was recovered. It would forever remain a mystery.

Finding no news of Mark was frustrating and reassuring at the same time. With nothing in the papers, Courtney hoped the news about Mark’s Forge technology hadn’t been released yet. She brightened. Maybe there was still hope of pulling it back before the damage was done.

The train pulled into Stony Brook Station. Courtney stepped onto a wooden platform that had been torn down three decades before she was born. She was tempted to take a tour around Stony Brook to see what her hometown looked like so many years before, but decided she didn’t have the time. She was there for a very specific purpose. The quicker she got back to New York, the better. It was a short walk from the train station to the main street of Stony Brook, which years later would come to be known as “the Ave” to all the kids. Courtney actually recognized some of the older buildings that no longer looked that old. There was an ice-cream soda fountain that on Second Earth would become a bicycle shop; a barbershop that in her day would become an art gallery; and a vegetable market that one day would be the Apple store where Courtney’s parents would buy her an iPod. It was a fascinating and odd trip through the past.

Her destination was the National Bank of Stony Brook. It was the bank where Bobby set up a safe-deposit box to keep the journals he wrote on First Earth. Sixty-some years later on Second Earth, Mark and Courtney would open up that vault to find them. It became the place where Mark kept all Bobby’s journals. Now they were entrusted to her, and she wasn’t going to do any less of a job than Mark. She had the key on a chain around her neck and she had memorized the account and box number. With absolute confidence she presented the information to the stuffy bank manager, who led her into the vault and left her alone. Inside the safe-deposit box were Bobby’s journals from his earlier adventure on First Earth, waiting for her and Mark to discover them on Second Earth.

She had been carrying around a large cloth purse since she left the hotel. In it was Bobby’s Journal #28. Courtney added it to the earlier ones and locked the box back up. For a moment she wondered if she and Mark would find this new journal when they opened up the box for the first time on Second Earth. Was that possible? She decided that worrying about how monkeying with history might change the future made her head hurt. She needed to get out of there and back to New York to find Mark.

A few hours later she was back in Manhattan, walking up Park Avenue toward the Manhattan Tower Hotel. It was midafternoon, but the November shadows were already growing long. It would be dark soon. Courtney’s plan was to go back to the hotel, eat something at the restaurant, then hide under the covers in Gunny’s bed and try to come up with a brilliant plan to find Mark. She got as far as the entrance to the garden in front of the Manhattan Tower, when she felt an odd sensation. She didn’t know what it was at first, so she stopped short. Her every sense was on alert. A second later she realized what it was.

Her ring was activating.

She looked around quickly to make sure nobody was watching. Dumb thought. She was in midtown Manhattan. Everybody was watching. The dark stone in the ring was already melting into crystal. She slapped her other hand over the ring to hide it and ran onto the hotel grounds. Frantically she looked about for a place that would give her some cover. She found it among the perfectly manicured trees and bushes. She leaped off the sidewalk into the dense foliage. The ring was growing. She came upon a small clearing that had a marble bench in front of a pond full of gold fish. Nobody was there, which was good, because whether she liked it or not, the ring was about to open up.

She put it on the ground and watched as the silver circle grew to Frisbee size, revealing a tunnel to the territories. Shafts of sparkling light shot from the dark hole, as did the sweet music. Courtney didn’t watch. She kept glancing around to make sure nobody else was witnessing this impossible, magic event. It was over in a matter of seconds and Courtney was finally able to breath. Her fear turned to curiosity as she jumped at the ring, ready to grab Bobby’s first journal from Ibara. She knelt down to see…

It wasn’t a journal. It was a gray envelope. Courtney curiously turned it over in her hands. It looked like a regular, old, everyday letter. Why would Bobby send her a letter? She quickly put the ring back on her finger and anxiously ripped open the mysterious envelope. Inside was a single piece of paper with printing. Courtney read it once. Twice. A third time more slowly, making sure she understood every word.

It wasn’t from Bobby. It was from Patrick. It was from Third Earth. It was trouble.

Bobby and Courtney,

I am sending this letter to First Earth in hopes that you are there, and that the flume sent you back to a time where you can still affect what happened. After you left Third Earth,

I continued my research into what may have happened to Mark Dimond. When you were here, we learned that he disappeared sometime in November. I now know more and must share it with you.

First, I learned that the company KEM Limited was based in London, England. KEM stood for Keaton Electrical Marvels. Company officials there were the first to have reported Mark Dimond missing. He was due to meet with them in London on November 13, 1937. He didn’t attend that meeting and was never seen again. There is no mention as to what may have happened to him. Foul play was suspected, but there was no proof of that.

I also found a small article that ran in a newspaper published in southern New Jersey. On November 20, 1937, a body washed up on shore in Atlantic City It was a male who was so badly decomposed it was impossible to identify him, though the cause of death was clear. He didn’t drown. He was shot. Oddly enough, he was wearing a tuxedo. In his pocket was a silver spoon that was engraved: RMS Queen Mary.

Bobby, Courtney, I found a record that stated Mark Dimond booked passage and left for London aboard the ocean liner Queen Mary on November 7. The implication is frightening. The coincidence is too great. I’m afraid that Mark Dimond never made it to London. I fear he was killed aboard the Queen Mary and his body dumped overboard.

If that’s the case, then your goal is clear. You’ve got to get to Mark before November 7 and stop him from boarding, because somebody on that ship means him harm.

If I learn any more I will send it to you. I hope you’ve received this. Good luck.

Patrick Mac “So that’s how it works,” came a voice.

Courtney jumped and yelped. Somebody had been watching her. She quickly crumpled Patrick’s note, shoved it in her pocket and stood up to face… Dodger.

“Y-You’re spying on me,” Courtney said angrily, her voice cracking. Her head was spinning. Too much was happening too fast.

“Sorry,” Dodger said. “I saw you walking toward the hotel then suddenly get all snaky and run into the bushes. What can I say? I was concerned.”

Courtney froze. How much had he seen? Dodger seemed troubled. He looked at her as if wanting to say something, but couldn’t find the right words. She decided the best way to deal with him was to get away.

“Don’t spy on me,” she said sharply, and started to walk.

“Wait!” Dodger exclaimed.

Courtney stopped, waiting for him to make the next move.

“Gunny’s my pal,” he said in the voice of a frightened little boy. “He’s one of the good guys. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for him.”

Courtney didn’t respond. She didn’t know where Dodger was going.

“Before he left for wherever it was he went, he asked me for a favor. He never asked favors of nobody, so I figured it had to be important. He told me there might come a time when he’d need my help. He wasn’t specific or nothin’, he just said he had an important job to do. Him and Pendragon and Spader. You know what he was talking about?”

Courtney did, of course, but she didn’t say.

“Anyhow, he said he was gonna leave for a while, but there might come a time when somebody came here looking for help. He asked me to do what I could for ‘em. Of course I said I’d do it. I’d do anything for Gunny. But when I asked what it was all about, he said he hoped I’d never have to know. Now I’m thinking it’s time I know.”

“Why’s that?” Courtney asked.

Dodger lifted his hand. He was wearing a silver band around one finger. He twisted it, showing Courtney that he was wearing it backward. When he spun it around, Courtney gasped.

It was a Traveler ring.

“He asked me to be his acolyte. I got no idea what that means, but I’ve been wearing this ring ever since. Then all of a sudden Pendragon comes back with you, and you’ve got one of these rings, and I just saw yours spew out sparks like it was the Fourth of July. I’m thinking it’s time I found out what Gunny was talking about.”

Courtney’s mind raced. What should she do? She definitely needed an ally, but was he telling the truth? She trusted a stranger once before and it nearly killed her. Was Dodger exactly what he said he was? An innocent friend that Gunny chose to be his acolyte? Or was there something sinister going on? Was this another disguise of Saint Dane’s?

“I just want to do what Gunny asked,” he said sincerely. “I want to help you.”

“Are you Saint Dane?” Courtney asked, point blank. “Not that I think you’d tell me if you were, but I figure I have to ask, just to let you know I’m thinking you might be.”

Dodger gave her a puzzled look. “Saint Dane? You mean like the dog? Or is that Saint Bernard? Or Great Dane? I’m more confused now than a second ago.”

Courtney didn’t know what to do. Confide in Dodger? Blow him off? Run away and never look back? She knew she needed to make a decision, but couldn’t.

A second later the decision was made for her.

‘You’re telling me you have no idea what this is all about?” she asked.

“Not a clue,” Dodger said.

“Then here’s your first,” Courtney said, lifting up her hand. It was the hand with her ring. The stone was glowing again. Dodger’s eyes grew wide, “What the-” Bobby’s next journal was about to arrive.