Chapter 31
“Imight have found Sylvia’s old pendant,” James said.
Emily took her eyes off the heating pasta water—it was never going to boil otherwise, anyway—and looked to where he was sitting on the living room sofa. “Huh?”
“You remember the almonite pendant she used to have?”
“The one that infected her, causing her husband to chase her so he could get her blood, leading to Will taking her to Paris to get the thing sucked out of her?” Emily walked over to the sofa. “Yeah, hard to forget.”
“I think this is the same one.” He spread a few hand-written notes on the coffee table.
Emily admired him for being able to read that awful cursive font so quickly and accurately.
Perks of actually being born in those times, she guessed.
“The British branch of the Watchers were looking for it in the eighteenth century. It got lost in a shipwreck, and they didn’t want it to fall into the wrong hands.
In 1794, someone tried to get a pendant like this evaluated and sold in Weymouth, but they were never able to track them down. ”
“Ha. Sounds like the British Watchers, yeah.”
James raised an eyebrow.
“I’m just saying, the Americans would’ve found the culprit.”
“And how did your branch fall apart, again? By going to war with each other?”
“Okay, first, it wasn’t that simple, and—” She punched his shoulder as he started laughing. “Back to the pendant. What’s up with it?”
“I don’t know. It disappeared. But they thought it might be the cause of this strange effect. Temporal ripples, they called it. One of their members accidentally stumbled upon one in 1788, and it sent him to 1815.”
“It what now?” Emily grabbed the paper, trying to make sense of the squiggles. Seriously, worse than a doctor’s handwriting. “That’s not how time travel works!”
“You asked me to find unusual ways of time travel,” James said. “This might be it, although I’m not sure how it could help us. These ripples—small portals from one specific time and place to another—only appeared around Dorset, or at least, one side was always in Dorset.”
“And people walked through them? How come we’ve never heard of that?”
“They couldn’t. Not regular people. The Watchers tested one, and it only opened to those with almonite in their blood. Once it was open, other people could pass through—”
“I don’t want to know how they tested that.”
“But the portal wouldn’t activate without the nearby presence of a time traveler. As in, them being right there.”
“Even with that, over the decades—centuries—there’d be more people using them. Wouldn’t the Watchers themselves want to?”
“The ripples only lasted for a few weeks. They never figured out what created them. Just … random portals.”
“In Dorset, of all places.” Emily furrowed her eyebrows. Interesting—the exact place where Will and the family had been vacationing. Maybe it was a secret magnet for time travelers.
“That’s what I found so far.” James leaned back on the sofa. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be more helpful.”
Emily nestled into the crook of his neck, the reality of their situation hitting her again after the brief moment of excitement.
“You’re plenty helpful. It’s not your fault that we can’t do anything.
” She couldn’t help herself; she took out her phone and refreshed the website she had permanently opened on it.
Fourteen hundred, ninety-six. Fifteen hundred and three. Fifteen hundred and seventeen. Three different numbers—three different estimations of the number of deaths on the Titanic; but ever since she’d started checking, almost a month ago now, none of those numbers ever changed.
She knew it was useless. They wouldn’t change; it wasn’t how time travel worked.
Any changes made in the past were already reflected in the present.
Whether Will’s whole family made it off the ship or not and whether her advice to him had something to do with it or not, that had already been taken into account.
She just didn’t know if any of them were included in those numbers.
“Flicker,” James said gently, taking the phone out of her hands.
“I know. I know it won’t change anything. But I can’t stop …”
“I understand.”
She hugged him tighter. For her, it was the constant checking of the victim count.
For James, it was getting lost in research.
He’d never been into the minutiae of time travel, but now he was gulping down those notes as if they were an oasis in a desert.
Like Emily, he likely knew it wouldn’t help.
They couldn’t travel back and warn Will or even check on his well-being after the event, and they probably wouldn’t find a solution in Watchers’ notes.
If it had been so easy, wouldn’t the Watchers have constantly traveled back and adjusted historical events?
“I hate waiting here and being useless,” she murmured.
Behind them, a high-pitched whistle went off, and Emily flinched away from James.
“Pasta water!” They both stood, but she said, “I’ve got it, I’ve got it!
” and ran to the kitchen. Of course, the instant she went away, it boiled.
She grabbed the prepared pasta but stopped as she was about to throw it into the pot.
The bubbles on the water’s surface were frozen, same as the swirls of steam above them. What the heck? Emily tentatively reached a finger toward the water, jerking it back when it burned her. The water was clearly boiling. It just wasn’t … moving.
“Uh, James?” She looked at him. He’d stopped in a weird position, about to sit back on the sofa, one hand clutching the backrest. He was staring at her, but he wasn’t moving, either.
And then, as if her reality was merely a computer lag, things returned to normal. The boiling water hissed and James sat down at normal speed, although to Emily, it looked sped up for a moment, as if time had to catch up with itself.
James glanced at her over his shoulder. “The pasta?”
She stared at the sheaf of spaghetti in her hand.
“Flicker?” James tried again.
She put the spaghetti back on the counter. “James … I just froze time.”
***
Will stared into the empty darkness of his daughter’s cabin. Regardless of how hard he looked, the situation wouldn’t change.
Emmeline wasn’t here.
Down the hallway, Sylvia had brought the boys out.
Brendon was fastidiously adjusting his life belt while Sylvia fiddled with Tristan’s, trying to fit on the bulky, vest-like garment as comfortably as possible.
Will walked over to them, doing his best to keep the rising panic out of his voice as he whispered to her, “Emmeline is gone.”
“What?”
At her cry, Brendon looked at him. “Father, what’s going on?”
“Everything will be fine,” Will said. “We’re only taking precautions.”
“Precautions for what?”
Further down, where the hallway opened into the main space, passengers began to emerge from their cabins, awakened by stewards. Low murmurs reached them—“Get the life belts on,” “No luggage, ma’am, just dress warmly,” and “To the lounge when you’re ready, please.”
“Papa.” Tristan turned to him with wide, scared eyes, mirroring Sylvia’s.
“You three go to the lounge, do what they say,” Will said. “I’ll go find Emmeline.”
“No.” Sylvia grabbed his hand. “We go together.”
Emily’s instructions rang in his mind. Gather where the rest of the people are, in an open space; get to the boats as soon as possible, starboard side. “You go to the lounge and get ready for the evacuation. I’ll be right behind you.”
“We’ll find her faster if we split and search for her.” Sylvia’s grip on him tightened. “Please.”
She was right. It was still early on; the guests had barely started to wake up and gather.
If they split in two, logic demanded they’d find Emmeline sooner.
“Fine. Brendon, you go with your mother.” He laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder; Brendon nodded.
“Tristan, you and I are going to look for your sister, all right?”
“Where is she?” Tristan asked.
“Somewhere close, I’m sure.” He looked at Sylvia.
“You two check this deck. She’s probably in some public space.
The reading room, or the verandah, maybe.
” He pushed down a feeling of unease, remembering his last conversation—a quarrel, more accurately—with Emmeline.
He didn’t know how she escaped, but she’d undoubtedly done so in anger.
“We’ll check the reception below,” he said to Tristan, trying to make his voice sound as light as possible, and ruffled his hair.
“Okay,” Tristan said.
“Don’t take too long, and don’t go too far,” Will said to Sylvia. “We meet in twenty minutes at the grand staircase clock.”
She nodded, and he gave her a quick peck on the cheek. They walked to the end of the hallway, where they split up. Sylvia and Brendon headed through the revolving door toward the reading and writing room, while Will took Tristan by the hand and led him down the staircase.
“Papa, is Emmeline in trouble?” Tristan asked.
“No, no. She’s fine.”
“But she’s out very late. You don’t let me and Brendon stay up late.”
“Well, she’s a young lady. She can be out late, like me and Mama.
” Will winced at his own words. It was true.
His daughter was growing up; no, she’d grown up already.
And he was trapped in the middle. He’d either treated her as a little girl to be protected from the horrible outside world, not allowed to make a single step on her own, or as an adult who should know better and no longer needed coddling.
When, in truth, all he needed to do was treat her as his daughter.
Let her be her wonderful, spirited self.
Instead, he lost his nerves, all because of some boy. What an idiot he’d been.
“So you won’t be angry at her when we find her?”
He only wanted her back. Wanted her safe. “Of course not.”
He stopped at the bottom of the staircase on B Deck. Passengers headed past them in the opposite direction, being herded upstairs, toward the lounge. Some of them rushed, others hesitated, looking back at the cabins they were leaving behind.
“And in the middle of the night, too,” an older lady complained to her younger companion. “Hell of a lot of hubbub for throwing a propeller.”
“It’s not a propeller, Mother,” the other woman responded. “Lewis went outside. He says there’s ice on deck.”
The older woman hmmph-ed, and they walked up the stairs.
“Down.” Will led Tristan to the back of the staircase.
They descended two more decks, passing more people—some grumbling, some whispering, but most of them reasonably calm, as if the evacuation was a minor annoyance.
He could understand why. In here, safely inside the ship, nothing seemed amiss.
Even he could almost believe they would be safe.
The walls still stood, the lights still shone, and the floor was dry and solid beneath his feet.
The spacious reception room, with its multitudes of tables and cozy wicker chairs, used to be busier than a market during the day.
Now it stood forlorn. The ceiling lights still shone, but they didn’t quite reach the floor, leaving an eerie, ominous shadow.
Will led Tristan through the forest of tables, yelling Emmeline’s name.
Tristan joined him in it, his high-pitched voice bouncing off the walls.
“I don’t think she’s here, Papa.”
Unless she was hiding from him, no. Will wanted to think she wouldn’t do that, but he still checked every nook and cranny and then progressed to the dining room.
No luck there, either; they went through the hallways next, asking a few stray passengers about her, but they were all unhelpful.
Will checked his watch. Time to meet back upstairs.
He had to steady his breathing, reminding himself he and Tristan were only half of the searching party, and Emmeline was much more likely to be somewhere closer to the cabin, in the rooms Sylvia and Brendon were searching.
They were probably waiting for them already.
“Come,” he said to Tristan. “I’m sure she’s with Mama and Brendon.” They headed back up, this time in tandem with the rest of the passengers, all flocking toward the top deck. Tristan watched them with wide, curious eyes, twisting and turning around as Will led him by the hand.
“Papa, is the ship going to sink?” he asked.
“No, no.” Will stopped and kneeled to Tristan’s eye level. “Everything is going to be fine. We’re taking precautions because that’s how the crew was instructed to perform.” He patted him on the shoulder, straightened back up, and continued walking.
“Good, because I don’t want Jack to die,” Tristan said.
“Who?” Didn’t Emily say something about a Jack?
“Mr. Phillips allowed me to call him Jack.”
Oh. The wireless room visit. Tristan had loved that, and the two operators were unusually patient with him, perhaps because they’d found his curiosity and awe amusing.
“Mr. Phillips is going to be fine, don’t worry.
” Even as he said it, Will swallowed. At least the Marconi room was on the top deck, right behind the bridge.
But when would the crew be allowed to leave?
“Mama!” Tristan tore out of his grasp and hurried toward the top of the staircase, where Sylvia and Brendon stood by the intricate wood carving of Honor and Glory presenting a clock.
Will’s heart dropped when he scanned their immediate area. No Emmeline.
Sylvia inspected his face as he approached, her hands clenched at her chest. She shook her head. “What do we do?”
Will took in the small crowd of people, now being directed out of the lounge by the stewards, his chest feeling as heavy as if his lungs had been cast in iron. He couldn’t get Emily’s words, her tone, the tears in her eyes, out of his head.
Seven hundred live. Fifteen hundred die.
He had to get his family off the ship.
“She might be in the lounge,” he said, taking Sylvia by the hand.
“Or even on the deck already. She likes being outside on the promenade.” It made little sense for her to be there in the middle of the night, but he had to go for a simple joining of hope and logic.
Perhaps she wanted to clear her head; that’s what he did after the fight.
She went outside to relax and look at the stars.
She had to be there—and she’d either have been redirected to the lounge, or she was already getting ready to be put into the lifeboats.
One third live. Two thirds die.
She had to be there. She had to.
“Come,” he said and led his family to the lounge.