CHAPTER SIX #2
“Where do we think we’re going?” I ask, stepping into the little routine I still have control over.
Everest hands me the end of the string we made together.
It’s so cold it burns my palm, but ignoring how it sears my flesh, I wind it around my right hand and slip it between one of the rotted threads.
“Egypt would be cool,” Ender says. “We didn’t spend as long as I wanted in that Pharaoh’s tomb.”
Beam shudders. “Yuck. No. I want somewhere spacious, where we can breathe.”
“You don’t breathe.”
“With waterfalls,” Beam continues. “Greenery. Not mummies.”
I’ve got the string pretty much ready to go. I look at Everest, who’s watching my hands so closely I start sweating. “What about you?” I ask him.
Does he already know? Would he tell us? What if he has knowledge of how all of this will play out? Is that why he’s insisted on coming, because it’s just a game?
Everest reaches out to touch the small of my back.
“Why don’t we find out?” he says.
We’re sucked into the carousel before I can utter another word.
We fall out in a pile, with me at the bottom, of course.
Everest groans as he rolls off me, while Beam and Ender snap to attention.
I’m on my feet in seconds as well, scoping out our surroundings.
The carousel typically does a good job of depositing us away from people, but after the underwater cave incident, I’m extremely wary about what it considers a safe starting position.
“No one told me this hurts,” Everest says, rubbing his head. “Where are we?”
“Definitely no tomb or open field,” I say.
We’re in the middle of a giant bedroom: a large, canopied bed sitting under a raised dome ceiling covered with painted lattice work.
Every inch of this place is magnificent; from the intricate embroidery on the bed coverings to the pierced-stone screen that divides the chamber in half.
There are two doors on opposite walls, both equally foreboding in their dark hues, and it feels like Janus, the god of doorways, is balancing our choices in front of us.
I would like to pick neither.
“I don’t think Valentin is from here,” Beam says, studying the walls of the room. No electrical outputs, but there are lanterns placed around the chamber, their fire extinguished given the sunlight streaming in through the window.
Ender floats over to look outside. “No, definitely not. Based on the architecture, I think we’re in the Mughal Empire.”
No destination surprises me, but I was expecting there to be a clearer connection between Valentin and the rot. The issue must be far more widespread than I’d ever imagined – I wonder what the threads are that link a Black woman with an American accent to an empire in 1500s India.
“No point getting distracted,” I say, looking down at the thread. It’s undoubtedly leading us outside this bedroom. “We stick to our normal plan and we can debrief on our findings once we’re back.”
Everest starts walking over to the door. I lurch into his path. “Where do you think you’re going?”
He points to where the thread vanishes under the door. “Following this out?”
It’s a miracle that my eyes don’t fall out of my head. “No interference with the timeline,” I remind him. “Someone could be walking out there as we speak. Did you even think about that? Actually, you know what, don’t answer. It’s best if you follow; we have a process here.”
Cultivated over centuries of practice, but he seems to get the point.
“Lead the way, then,” Everest says, stepping aside.
“Ender,” I say, spinning to find the ghost watching us with a bemused expression. “Please, go scout.”
Ender gives me a small salute with his non-threaded hand, then vanishes without a word, leaving a line of time behind him.
“So, we’re probably in India,” Everest says, drawing out his words with the anticipation of Beam asking for more cotton candy. “Where abouts?”
“I have no idea,” I murmur, trying to wrangle my urge to pace. Something about the air feels wrong, like that claustrophobic sense from the carousel has followed us here.
“Do you think we’re near West Bengal?”
I straighten, surprised. My parents were born near Kolkata, and we spent several summers there visiting my grandparents. “Didn’t think you remembered I was from there.”
He’s busy examining every inch of the room, so his back’s turned to me when he says. “It would be cool to end up there. Then you could show me around.”
“It’s not much to look at,” I confess, even though that’s not entirely true.
Sure, my grandparents lived in small apartments that pale next to the grandeur of Mother Time’s mansion, but those summers were magical.
I remember the hot sun glinting off crowded concrete pavements, the smell of my grandma’s famous prawn curry, and the restless bustle of the street markets my mom would take me to.
All places I’ll never go again. “Besides, even if we did end up in the right place and decades, we can’t go on any excursions. ”
“Says who?” Everest asks. “We could borrow extra string, take a gander around your childhood haunts.”
“While the sentiment is charming, you’re going to give me palpitations,” I tell him, each passing second weighing on me. Something about this whole trip feels wrong.
Everest does not share the same concern. “Are you telling me I have an effect on your heart?”
“Palpitations are cause for concern.” I give him a look that hopefully broadcasts ‘Not now’. “Which is precisely what I’m feeling at the moment. Can we please stay focused on the task?”
“That’s boring.” Unperturbed, Everest collapses on the perfectly made bed. “Wow, this is softer than I expected.”
I march over to him and pull him off, straightening the covers beneath him.
A prickle of unease is starting to spread through me; secretly, I love having Everest around at the fair, but his unpredictable temperament makes me wonder if he would have been better left behind on this trip.
“Make your presence neither felt nor heard.”
Beam is busy peering at the line of unlit camphor candles sitting on a decorative chest. “Thank god it didn’t bring us here at night. These are never effective.”
“We wouldn’t need a candle when we have you,” Everest says, sitting on the floor. “You’re enough to light up this entire palace.”
Beam blushes. “My glow isn’t as strong as Ender’s yet. He says I’m like a dying flashlight.”
Everest waves her off. “He can be Ryka’s lamp and we can pair up. I bet you we’d find the object quicker than them. Hey, we should race!”
“We will not be racing.” I gesture at him to shush as I listen through the door. Ender is usually back within a minute with a report on what lies outside. “We will not be splitting up; we will follow the plan.”
“But what if something goes wrong?” Everest asks.
“Nothing will go wrong if you listen.”
Ender appears through the door, inches away from my face.
“You have that expression that I don’t like,” I say. “How bad is it?”
“Well, the string leads to a palace room,” Ender says. “Where they’re currently holding court. The walls and ceiling have this floral mosaic, and your eye will go there because of all the color, but you have to pay attention to the stone inlays once we get inside. The–”
“That sounds lovely,” I say impatiently. The clock is ticking. “But back to court, please. What’s happening there?”
Ender blinks the excitement out of his eyes, and it’s replaced by deep resignment. “They’re playing music.”
“That’s all you remember?” Beam asks angrily. “What kind of music? What are they wearing? After all these years, we finally end up at a party and you didn’t even pay attention to–”
“We can delve into all details of the event at our debrief,” I say. They can’t tell me I’m not an equal-opportunity interrupter. “Where does the string lead?”
Ender hesitates. “That’s the bad news. It kind of…goes into someone’s pocket?”
“What?” The string has never led to a human being, unless said human has been swallowed by time.
There are methods to release them – it helps that they’re usually babies or folks who are thoroughly under the influence – without being seen.
But for the carousel to lead us to someone in the present…
I’m not sure I know what that would look like, or what we’re expected to do.
“I tried to see if it extends past him, but I’m certain it ends in his pocket,” Ender says.
“What does that mean?” I ask.
Everest starts flicking at the lamp next to him, a glassy clink puncturing the quiet. “Is this so surprising? I’d expect things to be different than usual, considering the circumstances.”
“Stop that,” I tell him, pointing at his hand. The sound is digging into my nerves, and I need quiet to parse through my anxiety, to think straight. “We have to wait it out. Let the court conclude, then we follow whoever it is until they fall asleep. Look in their pocket then.”
“I don’t know if we can,” Beam says, looking at the thread. “What if the celebrations take too long? What Ender’s described could go all night.”
Everest walks towards the door. “Beam is right. We need to go there now.”
My jaw drops. “Are you out of your mind? We can’t be seen out there.”
Everest folds his arms. “Why not?”
“Multiple reasons, the biggest one being that it’s interference,” I say, looking to Beam and Ender for support. They don’t meet my eye, but they can’t possibly be entertaining Everest’s preposterous idea. “We can’t just walk out there, we would be–”
The door to our back swings open.
I dive under the bed, years of honing my time travel instincts helping me slide out of view before my brain has a chance to catch up.
My knee jams against the bedpost and I nearly bite my tongue off to keep from crying out.
Unfortunately, this refined skillset does not extend to the time god who stands statuesque to face our intruders.
For a heartbeat, I consider yanking him by his ankle, but it’s already too late. I wait, an array of disastrous scenarios unfolding in the darkest parts of my brain when Everest says, “Oh, hello there.”