The Time Travelers' Club: Chapter 30 -- An Old Friend

Chapter 30 – An Old Friend

Mrs. Steers appeared on a deserted street in Whitechapel.   She prayed that Sam was safe in St. James's Place with Rose to protect him.

"Don't fret, Lottie… He's fine."  She repeated to herself, trying to comfort her fears with her own words.  She felt terrible leaving Sam without telling him.

"Rose… Rose will watch him…"  She pulled herself together and took several deep breaths.  Right now, Mrs. Steers had a greater mission to complete. Walking along the street, she peered into several alleys, hoping to find the right one.  Stopping under a flickering gas wall sconce, Mrs. Steers reread her directions.

"Between Rup and Lam...  Look for the bill with QVDJ..."  She had deciphered the clues and knew where to go and what to look for.  Somewhere between Rupert and Lambert Streets in the Whitechapel area was an alley with a handbill about the Queen Victoria's Diamond Jubilee.

After much searching, Mrs. Steers spotted a weathered handbill glued to a brick wall down an alley.  Studying the faded print, she read the words Join us in our Diamond Jubilee.   This was it, the bill with QVDJ. 

"Where is it?  It should be here.  He told me to meet him here.  Just as the instructions said."  She glanced up and down the dim street.  The flickering pale glow of the gas lamplights weren't much help.

As she stood in the dark street, a dimly lit store front appeared on the brick wall behind her.  She whirled around to see oil lamps illuminating the stained-glass windows.  It was Rupert Jameson's bookshop where she and Albert had gone many times since their first visit.  Now, Jameson was a trusted friend.

As Mrs. Steers entered the shop, the bell hanging above the door tinkled.  The lamps glowed, casting dancing shadows on the packed shelves.    She crept towards the warm pot-belly stove.  There was no sign of Jameson.

She whispered. "Jameson!  Are you here?"

"Lottie?  Is that you? Are you alone?"  From behind an immense pile of well-worn books, Jameson appeared.  "Thank goodness.  I thought you were one of them."

"Are you alright?  Have they caught up with you?" Mrs. Steers held his hands.  "Don't worry, I'm alone.  And you have your great veil keeping the place well hidden.  I thought I'd missed you."

Jameson looked at her.  "They're on the move.  I've heard they're after the book.  Somehow, they know it's here.  How about the boy?"

"Sam is with me.  Well, he's not here at this moment.  He's hiding somewhere in Whitechapel with Rose keeping an eye on him."  Mrs. Steers wrung her hands.  "I hope he's safe.  He’s a bright boy.  He can take care of himself.”

Jameson looked concerned. "He still knows little of what is actually going on?"

"As far as I know he doesn’t, but this is not the time to be concerned," said Mrs. Steers.  "He'll be fine.  Do you have it?"

 "Yes.  It is well hidden.  Follow me."  Jameson and Mrs. Steers moved to the back of the store, standing behind the warm pot belly stove.

Picking up an oil lamp from the counter, Jameson led the way down a narrow aisle filled with packed shelves of old leather-bound books, boxes of various sizes and shapes, and dusty old bottles filled with unidentifiable potions and mixtures. Jameson balanced the lamp on a waist-high wooden crate.

“I have to unpack this,” said Jameson. “It’s in my way.”

“What is it?” asked Mrs. Steers.

Jameson only said “A holy relic” as he slid a stack of dusty old books to one side, exposing a box covered in green velvet.  Its silver handle and closing clasp sparkled in the lamp's light.  He lifted the box from its hiding place and held it in front of her.

"Open it," said Jameson.

After raising the lid, Mrs. Steers removed a book-sized package wrapped in brown paper.  "That makes four.  You would never guess where it was found.  In a village named Denhoff in an area of the United States called North Dakota.   Are you familiar with it?"

"Well, not the town, but I know where North Dakota is," said Mrs. Steers. "How did it get there?"

"Apparently, a family migrating from Southern Russia to this Denhoff had gotten the book in Odessa before they sailed.  The details are rather sketchy," he added indifferently.

"Interesting place for it turn up," said Mrs. Steers.

"How are the others doing on their own tasks?"  Just then, with a snapping poof, a piece of paper flew out of nowhere.  Jameson grabbed it before it disappeared in the mess.

"Someone has used the messenger incantation," said Mrs. Steers taking the note from him. She read it aloud.  "Whitechapel, now!  Come and get Sam!"

"Oh no!  How could they have found out about him?" Mrs. Steers stashed the book deep inside one of the interior pockets of her travel bag and raced to the door. "Jameson, I have to go.  I'll contact you later, but now I must get Sam and get him safely back home.  Not to mention the book." She patted her travel bag.

"I'll be in touch," said Jameson.

Closing the door behind her, the shop front faded away.  Mrs. Steers disappeared. She had to find Sam.

The Time Travelers' Club: Chapter 29 -- Too Late

Chapter 29 – Too Late

Back in St. James Place, Sam read his notes aloud, still unaware that Mrs. Steers had left him.

"Catherine Eddowes' mangled body was found about two in the morning in Mitre Square.  The policeman had patrolled the area about fifteen minutes before..."  Sam muttered.  "We should go back there.  Hey, Mrs. Steers, do you know what time it is?"

There was no reply.  Sam flashed the light around looking for her. "Mrs. Steers?  Mrs. Steers?"

Jerking his flashlight from one corner of the square to another, Sam felt his anxiety rise.   "She must be here. She must be here.  Maybe she stepped out onto the street."  Sam ran about the square, but there was no sign of Mrs. Steers.  She was gone. Panic set in.

"Maybe she left without me?  Maybe I upset her?   Maybe she got tired and went home?  But how do I get home…  How do I get home?   What do I do?"

Sam put the knuckle of his left pointer finger in his mouth and bit on it.  He was trying to control his panic attack and hold back the tears then he remembered the slip of paper in his shirt pocket with the incantation to take him home.

"I have the spell to return home."  Sam felt for it in his shirt pocket. "Mrs. Steers told me to use if I needed it.  Maybe this is a test to see how I handle the situation?"

A bell pealed twice.  Sam stopped fumbling for the slip of paper.

"Two o'clock. It's two a.m. It's two a.m."  Sam repeated the time as if trying to connect with a forgotten memory.  He remembered. Glancing at his notes, he read aloud.  

"It was about two o'clock when Eddowes was murdered.  In Mitre Square…  The newspaper…"  Forgetting about the incantation along with his panic attack, Sam threw the strap of his bag over his shoulder.

"Let me think. We went out that passage, but Mrs. Steers remarked all we really needed to do was run to that... one." He pointed at another passageway which led to Mitre Street.  He ran out and looked both ways.

"We went that way.” Sam ran to his right. "Here it is."

Sam ran into the dark square. Once again, he recognized the business names. "Kearley and Tonge… Horner and Sons… Heseltine..."

"Which corner was it?  It's too dark to see.  I must get there before it's too late." He scanned the dark corners with his flashlight.  Its beam washed over something lying on the stone sidewalk.  Fixed on that spot, Sam crept towards whatever it was.  He realized what he was seeing.  It was the mangled body of Catherine Eddowes. He was too late. And worse, he had missed Jack the Ripper.

 "Oh!  Yuck!  That smell!" Gagging, Sam quickly turned away, trying not to look.

His stomach churned over the horrid smell of warm raw meat, urine, and body odor.  He knew if he moved closer to her, he would be sick.   He remembered from his readings that Eddowes' body had been ripped open and a kidney removed, taken by the Ripper as a souvenir.  Even worse, her intestines were yanked out and arranged like necklace around her slashed face.

Sam took several steps back. He didn't know her but felt sorrow for her. Tears welled in his eyes. Closing them, his dad's face came into his mind.

Sam saw his dad's cracked lips glistening with lip balm, his hairless head, and his sunken eyes barely open.  The shallow breathing echoed in Sam's head.  The death smell of cancer filled his nostrils.

  

Between the death rattles and the last gasps of air, his dad was able to talk to Sam one last time.  The nurse later said how lucky Sam had been for those last words since most cancer patients go into a coma-like state.  He hated that nurse.  How could she say the word 'lucky.'

Sam cried.  Mrs. Steers abandoned him in 1888 London.  He lost his dad.  Now, he stood alone once again with a lifeless body.  Sam wiped his eyes with his sweater sleeve and pulled himself together, realizing that he couldn't.  He still had the chance to save the last victim and maybe others from the wrath of Jack the Ripper.

Checking the squares' entrances, Sam knew from his research that a constable was nearby making his rounds and would arrive at any moment to discover the body. Sam reached into his book bag and pulled out the newspaper from the bottom.

This was it.  His moment.  He could leave the newspaper with the fingerprint. He would help solve the mystery of one of history's most notorious killers, Jack the Ripper!

As he bent over to put the newspaper near the body, a hand grabbed his wrist. He flashed the light into his captor's face.  It was Rose.

"No, Sam. You cannot do that. It cannot be changed.  Besides you do not know the incantation to force the object to stay in this time and place."

Rose snatched up the newspaper. "We must leave. They may find us. We cannot risk the slightest chance of being seen. They don’t know about you."

Rose tugged him along and slipped down a narrow passage just as a glowing lantern floated through the square's entrance.  It was the constable.  Spotting Eddowes' body, he swore under his breath then frantically blew his whistle, a signal for help.

Rose and Sam watched from their dark corner.   "Excuse me! Why are we hiding? He can't see us."  Sam questioned her.

"It is not the constable I am worried about.  There are others in the area we must fear and they can see us. We must get out of here quickly."

The Time Travelers' Club: Chapter 28 -- One More Round

Chapter 28 – One More Round

Vincent came to, staring up at the ceiling of the House of Lords.  Rubbing his temples, he moaned.  His head pounded from the impact of Rose's orb.

"Ohhh.... My poor head hurts," pouted Vincent, stumblingly pushing himself up from the floor. "Damn Rose and her perfect aim."

Lying on the floor a few feet away, Quince was snoring and occasionally snorting.  Drool ran down his cheek and he mumbled something inaudible.  Staggering around, Vincent finally got his balance and kicked Quince’s upper arm with his foot. 

"Wake up, you dunce! Get up!"  Vincent kept kicking him, slowly at first then a little harder and faster.

"What… what?" said Quince, groggily mopping the drool with his sleeve.

"Get up.  We have to get out of here." Vincent rubbed the back of his neck. "What… what… where am I?"

"You're in the House of Lords in the Parliament Building.  Remember we were attacked.  We have to get going.  We're late."

Pulling themselves together, Vincent and Quince staggered out of the House of Lords and down the steps out onto the sidewalk.  The tower clock struck twelve midnight.

"That damn clock is so loud," said Vincent, covering his ears and moaning.  "My poor head hurts."

"My back 'urts," whined Quince massaging his lower back.  "Where we off to?  'Ome?  I 'ope."

"No, you idiot. This part of the plan failed miserably and we are going to be in big trouble with the Doctor. We must find that old woman and get the book."

"Can't we just forget it?" Quince yawned.  "We're probably too late anyway."

Vincent sneered at first then mock him.  "O my dear Quince.  That would be just a grand idea.   In fact, let us go right now to Dr. Herkeimer and tell him about how tired you were and how we just could not go after the book."

Quince raised his eyebrows, thinking about the Doctor's dreadful consequences.  "Well... maybe we should try to get the book."  And with that, they started walking. "Where we off to then?"

"How should I know?" snapped Vincent stopping to think outloud.  "We need to find the bookshop. Jameson has mastered veiling it. We would never get near it. I wish we could learn to veil, but the pages are missing from the book.  Jameson had also mastered transitioning, not just himself, but the whole shop."

Waiting for Vincent to announce his decision, Quince saw someone walking down the other side of the street passing under the street lamps.  He leaned a little to Vincent's left, looking past him.   It was Xavier Graff.

"'Ey Vincent." 

Vincent, in deep thought, paid no attention to him.

"Uh… 'ey Vincent."

Walking slowly up the sidewalk, Vincent was mumbling to himself.  “Where should we go next?”

Quince kept his eye on Xavier as he tugged on Vincent's coat sleeve. "Oye Vincent. I think you should know..."

"Will you please be quiet?  I am concentrating on finding a way to locate the bookshop."

 "Vinny!" Quince snapped.  That did it. Vincent glared down at Quince.

"Follow 'im and see where 'e's going," pointed Quince. Vincent turned just in time to see the back of someone disappear around the corner.

"Who was that?"

"It was Graff.  'E might be on 'is way to the bookshop now."

"Well, don’t just stand there. After him, you idiot!"

Vincent and Quince rushed to the corner just in time to see Xavier stroll into the park across the street.   They ran to catch up before they lost him."

"Which way did 'e go?"  Quince stared in the dark and shadows.  “I don’t see ‘im.”

"He's in there," said Vincent.  "You didn't see which direction he went?"

"Can't say I did… maybe 'e spirited 'imself away? You know.  Evaporated."

"You mean he transitioned out of here.  I guess that's possible but why would he wait until now? He doesn't know we are following him.  No, he must be here."  Vincent squinted trying to spy him in the dark.   "He can't be far.   You go that way and I'll go this way.  And remember, if you see him, you must follow him. And hope he's going to Jameson's."

The footpath followed along the park's lake.  Quince scurried off in one direction while Vincent traveled the stone path. The gas lampposts that lined the walks reflected on the water’s surface. Ahead of him through the trees, Vincent saw lights from Buckingham Palace at the far end of the park.

"He has to pass under one of these lamps and I should be able to spot him." Vincent dashed between trees on the other side of the path.

Strolling toward a suspension bridge spanning the narrowest part of the shallow lake, Xavier heard rapid-moving footsteps.  Glancing back, he spotted someone hurrying in his direction.  He immediately recognized Vincent's silhouette.

 "Well, well, well... If it isn't my old friend, Vincent Waldhead.  You old scoundrel," said Xavier in his cocky way, tipping his top hat.

"And my dear Mr. Graff, a midnight stroll?" responded Vincent.  "Perhaps you might take a dip in the lake.  A dip for a dip."  Somewhere a clock struck ten.

Xavier responded with his usual brazen tone.  "I would be if it were midnight.  Perhaps you need a pocket watch.  You shouldn't rely on your nocturnal instincts at your age."

Working up an orb, Vincent bounced the grape-sized orb back and forth between his palms. Vincent and Xavier had dueled numerous times before with Vincent always ending up the loser.   Their mutual distrust and dislike showed as they taunted each other.

Glancing around, Xavier started to twirl his own orb around his index fingers. "I admit it's rather odd to see you alone.  Where's your stubby little friend?"

"Oh, he might be around."

"A round what?  A round orange needing squeezing?  How about a round ball waiting to be bounced?"

Vincent snapped back.  "Ha!  Aren't you witty? And how about your friends?"

"Oh, I suspect they are celebrating the fact we have another copy of the book.  While your friend the Doctor… well… doesn't."  Xavier smiled and launched a preemptive strike.

Xavier’s bright purple baseball-sized orb spiraled toward Vincent’s head.  Vincent ducked as the whistling orb just missed his left shoulder.  It sailed across the lake, bursting into sparks against a boulder on the opposite bank.  Vincent retaliated with a well-aimed pitch of his own pale blue orb.  It slammed down next to Xavier causing him to jump sideways.

"Hey!  Careful of the new shoes.  I just bought them." shouted Xavier. 

The duel had begun. Vincent retreated behind a nearby tree.   Dashing onto the bridge, Xavier hid in the shadows of its suspension ropes.

Vincent grumbled using the tree as a shield. "Come out from wherever you're hiding, you scamp!"

"Wouldn't you like that! Go home to Mommy, baby Vinny."  Xavier loved to tease Vincent, knowing he hated that nickname. Vincent lurked in the darkness of the trees, making it difficult to spot someone dressed all in black.

"Keep my Mother out of this!"  Fuming over Xavier's taunts, Vincent sent another orb. It hit the metal post a few feet away from Xavier, exploding like a booming firework.  Fiery blue sparks flared and flashed in a multitude of directions.

Xavier retaliated by sending another orb into the line of trees.  It bounced off the side of a stone pillar, forcing Vincent to run to escape the flaming sparks.  Xavier saw him and hurled orb after orb after orb. Vincent ducked behind another tree while the orbs burst.

Orbs flew back and forth with near strikes at least once or twice.  Those hitting the lake dissolved immediately, creating a spider-web effect on the water's surface.

Xavier planned his escape.  He jumped up and sprinted across the bridge to the opposite side of the lake. Vincent rushed over the bridge before Xavier could throw any orbs.   They ran, weaving between trees. Xavier leapt behind a wooden bench and hid.  He heard Vincent’s footsteps crunching the gravel.

Vincent ran out of the park and stopped across from Buckingham Palace.  It was all aglow as carriages picked up the party-goers after an evening soiree.

Still catching his breath, Vincent wiped the sweat from his forehead with his handkerchief, then cocked his eyebrow. “It's never too late."

Xavier mistook Vincent's scheming looks.  Assuming he knew about Sam.   "I won't let you use the boy."

"Boy? What boy?"  said Vincent.

As far as Xavier knew, the Doctor knew nothing about Sam until that moment.   Vincent knew he would be hailed a hero with that information.  It was too late. Xavier had slipped. Now, he had to think fast.

"Boy?   I said nothing about a boy. Your hearing must be going. Too many orbs to the old noodle, eh, Vincent?"  Xavier concentrated on putting all his energy into his orb, the heftiest he had ever made.

Vincent knew the final moment of the showdown was at hand and began forming his own orb.  

Xavier watched and knew Vincent's orb could be powerful if he worked at them. They were going to have a clash of major proportions.

"There is a boy involved?   How much does he know?"

"Forget it," Xavier snapped.   "Don't even think you are going to get any information out of me."  And with that, they both hurled their orbs.

As the orbs spun towards their target, Quince ran out of the park straight into the line of fire.

Whump!  The two blazing orbs hit Quince, one on each side of his head.  The impact created an incredible flash of light like lighting and a rumble of thunder.  Emitting a gale force of wind, Xavier fell backwards to the ground, barely having time to grab his hat.  Vincent leaned forward, held his ground at first, but staggered back several steps.  The orb's impact thrust Quince eight feet up like a rocket launch before slamming onto the pavement and rolling to the park's edge.

Stunned, Vincent stared at Quince. Smoked curled up from Quince's lifeless body.  His face was heavily burned, charred beyond recognition.  Nothing remained of his hat.  Embers from the clothes around his neck burnt out and completely disintegrated.  His seared flesh smelled like freshly cooked meat.

Quince was dead. Vincent cried out and ran over the seared remains of his friend.  Dropping to Quince's lifeless body, he grabbed Quince's arm and they vanished.

Disbelieving what had happened, Xavier ran into the park before vanishing. He had to find Rose.  He had put Sam in danger.

The Time Travelers' Club: Chapter 27 -- Losing Sam

Chapter 27 – Losing Sam

Mrs. Steers and Sam rushed to the main entrance of Madame Tussaud's exhibition.  The crowd began to fade away like ghosts de-materializing.   The gas chandeliers and sconces gradually came on.  Their flickering flames illuminated the exhibit hall, the main entrance, and the sidewalk in front of the building.  The exhibition had closed.  The crowd was gone.

Outside, it was night time.  The gas street lamps glowed bright.  Carriages rattled by taking.  In A bell tolled nine times.

"Mrs. Steers," said Sam with a look of awe.  "What just happened?  When we arrived, it was in the afternoon and now it's night. We weren't in there that long."

"Good question, Sam.  And no, we weren't.  I refer to what we just experienced as a hiccup in time.   We skipped ahead by several hours.  Thanks to that clock chiming nine times as well as those clocks in that window.  We know it is nine o'clock at night."

Mrs. Steers pointed to a stone-block store front.  A clock-shaped sign hung on a scrolled metal bar extending from the front of the building.  In gold and black letters, it read "D. Buchanan, clockmaker and repairs."  Inside, a brass gaslight shone behind the clockmaker who was winding each clock displayed in the window.  All kept a steady tick-tock pace and read exactly nine-o'clock.

"What luck to find a clock shop when we needed to know the time," said Mrs. Steers.  Sam backtracked to his question about the people at the museum.

"That was eerie," said Sam. "Those people back there at the museum.  They just faded away.  Kind of creepy." Sam and Mrs. Steers strolled along the sidewalk.

Mrs. Steers grinned. "Time-travel has its oddities. You have so much to learn. How are you enjoying your first trip? 

"I've learned a lot. I have way too many notes for my paper. This morning, I kept thinking how crazy you were. No offense, but that's what I thought."   "I totally understand.  I was ready to put Albert in a mental institution when he started talking about this mumbo-jumbo.   That book changed our lives.   I haven't told you this but that book has incantations for more than time-travel.   There's so much more to learn."

That did it.  Excitedly, Sam said. "Like what?"

"Oh, things to make time-travel more interesting. Some forms of magic, some spells, charms."

"Spells? Charms?  You mean like witchcraft?  Cool!" Sam's curiosity boiled over.  "Can you teach me some of them?"

"Sam, I want you to remember why we are here.  Your report. Besides, this is your first time-traveling experience.  Take time to let it sink in.  I am not going to teach you anything else right now.   Let's work on the basics first like the incantation that got us here…"  Sam reeled in his curiosity as best he could.

Sam flash-backed to the last Christmas with his Dad and how he could hardly wait for the morning to arrive.  That particular year, he had begged for one of the newest building block sets, but his parents threw out the same spiel.

"Sam, patience.  You have to wait sometimes before you get what you want."

They walked in silence, passing closed shops, dark and shuttered for the night.  Streets were lined with stone row houses.   A stately clapboard church sat waiting for its next Sunday morning.  The gas lamps illuminated the brick sidewalks.  Nearby, a bell tolled; this time eleven clangs.

"Eleven?" Sam could see the clockmaker's shop sign a couple of blocks behind them.  "Mrs. Steers, did we just experience another hiccup in time?"

Mrs. Steers nodded.  "Strange, isn't it?"  Time had jumped two hours and she had a mission.  Jameson would be waiting and she had to leave Sam alone, somewhere safe.  It was time to put her plan in motion.

"It's getting late.  How far is it back to Whitechapel?" asked Sam.  "We don't want to miss Jack the Ripper."

"Hmmm… good question. Let me check." Mrs. Steers studied her map.  "It is a distance.  Perhaps we should use the quick way."

Seconds later, they stood at the corner of High Street and Commercial Road in Whitechapel.

"Sam, how about we go back to St. James's Place where we first arrived?" said Mrs. Steers.

Sam got out his notebook.  "We might catch a glimpse of Catherine Eddowes again or, even better, Jack the Ripper himself."

"These streets aren't lit well, are they? I wish there were more lamps," said Mrs. Steers.

"I have a flashlight in my bag."  Sam dug to the bottom and pulled out a small silver flashlight.  Its beam illuminated the stone sidewalk.  A couple of times, Sam accidentally shone it on people's faces but they were unaffected by the sudden flash of light.   He started waving it around, flashing it in anyone's face, until he did it to Mrs. Steers.

"Sam, please..." grumbled Mrs. Steers.  "I'm affected by the light unlike those people."

"Sorry," said Sam.

They worked their way through several side streets until they saw a sign with Duke Street on it.

"And here we are… St. James's Place," announced Mrs. Steers.

"Yep, I remember that." Sam pointed to the fire brigade station in the square's center. 

Behind them, a policeman carrying a box-shaped lantern at his side entered the square.  He lifted his lantern and peered into the shadows.  The whole square looked different in the dark.  Sam recognized a couple of the names on the buildings and some of the storefronts.

"Just think, we could be looking at Jack himself at any moment," speculated Mrs. Steers as the policeman strolled out of the square.

"I was just thinking he could be Jack," replied Sam.

"Tell me more about Jack the Ripper and Catherine Eddowes," said Mrs. Steers.

"Well…" Sam opened his notebook and scanned it with his flashlight.  Trying to read and walk at the same time was difficult.  "His true identity was never discovered.  They had lots of suspects.  He killed six women that they know of.  The newspapers called him Jack the Ripper because he ripped his victims apart."

"How awful!"  Mrs. Steers listened while Sam read on.  He stopped reading because Mrs. Steers had stopped walking.  Somewhere in the night, another bell chimed.

"Did you hear that?" said Mrs. Steers.  "That clock only partially chimed.  It must be quarter past the hour.... But what's the hour?"  

At that moment, another two policemen walked around the corner.

"It's pretty quiet tonight, don't you think, George?" said one.

"Ey, it is.  What time do you ‘ave?"

"Last I checked it was one o'clock and with that bell..."

Sam imitating the policemen's accents. "We do ‘ave good luck with finding out the time.  Another one of those ‘iccups.  I've never been up this late." 

Mrs. Steers had to meet Jameson at one-thirty.  She debated about leaving Sam, tempted to change her plan and take him with her.  Peering into the dark corners of the square, she saw a shadow move.  Rose stepped into the light under the gas light and nodded, then disappeared back into the dark. Mrs. Steers felt a little better.

I know it has to be done.  Now is not the time to explain to him the real mission of our trip, thought Mrs. Steers trying to comfort herself.  Sam had returned to reading his notes using the flashlight.

"Enough notes for your paper?" asked Mrs. Steers.

"Yes, more than I need.  I should get an A for sure."

"Why don't you make sure you have written down as much detail as you remember, while I sit for a moment and rest?  Go over there under that gas lamp.  You can save the batteries in your flashlight." Sam switched it off unaware of Rose hiding nearby in the shadows.

"Good idea," said Sam.

Without noticing Mrs. Steers moved towards the square's entrances.  

Busy reading and writing down notes, Sam didn't notice Mrs. Steers vanish.

The Time Travelers' Club: Chapter 26 -- Vincent and Quince

Chapter 26 -- Vincent and Quince

Vincent and Quince walked around the room called the House of Lords in the Parliament Building.

Vincent was awed by the richly decorated room.  One end had a single throne nestled on a special red carpeted platform for the King or Queen.  Rows of red upholstered benches lined each side of the room, looking like bleachers for the lords to watch the action on the main floor.  Above them, carved wooden knights looked down.  Twelve colorful stained-glass windows, with images of all the Kings and Queens of England since the Conquest, allowed light to shine into the hall.

"So, Vinny, where's the Doc want us to put this 'ere pen?" said Quince, focusing his good eye on a black ball-point pen.   His other eye had a droopy eyelid, causing him to tilt his head to see.  "Let's get this done so we's can go 'ome.  Me favorite show is on the telly tonight."

Vincent sighed heavily rolling his eyes. "Vincent, if you please!   I hate it when you call me that. And may I have a moment to enjoy this majestic room..."  With outstretched arms, he slowly circled in the middle of the room.  "Feast your eyes upon this magnificent room.  I adore the neo-gothic style."

“And I adore the thought of gettin’ this done and goin’ home,” said Quince with a deep sigh.

"Have you ever seen such adornment?  Look at this gold work… the red carpet… and red leather upholstery." Vincent examined one of the bench seats.  "I wonder if I should have my dining chairs done in that shade of red.  Did you know this room is also referred to as the House of Peers?   Over 400 Lords come here to sit in council..."  He strolled towards the throne safeguarded behind a brass railing.

“Lovely,” yawned Quince.

"Will you just look at this? The Queen's throne is covered in gold.  Such magnificence this room has… To quote the world-renown architect Frank Lloyd Wright…"  And like a Shakespearian actor, Vincent poised himself in front of the throne as if to address the room.

“Whatever,” yawned Quince again.

"…Every great architect is, necessarily, a great poet…"  He brought his hands together.  "He must be a great original interpreter…"

"'ey Vinny," said Quince.

"…Of his time… his day… his age…" Vincent was lost in the last words of the quote.

"Vinny…"  Quince shook his head with disinterest.   "Yea, that's nice.  Now about this 'ere pen…"

Vincent glared at him.

"Fine, my feather-brained friend…  According to the plan, we are to place the object in question in a prominent location such as the main desk," said Vincent, annoyed by Quince's disinterest.

"I 'ate it when you call me a feather-brain," said Quince.

"Now we are even," said Vincent.

Quince stuck out his tongue and, like a four-year-old tattle tale, added "Ha! Ha! Ha!"

"As I was saying before I was rudely interrupted. We place the pen on the main desk of the room. We place it in plain sight for all to see."  Vincent yanked the pen from Quince's hand and pointed at what he considered the main desk.

"And what 'appens next?"

"Once again, as I mentioned, someone, perhaps one of the Lords, will find it and question what exactly it is.  You see, for the less intelligent, ball-point pens were not invented until later."  Vincent admired the pen like a delicate flower.  "Ah the history of the ball-point pen is a fascinating one."

"I see," said Quince.  And just 'ow much later?"

"How much later for what?"

"Until the pen was invented?"

"Oh…” Vincent fumbled for an answer. “A few years from now."

Quince studied Vincent for a moment.  "You don't know, do you?"

"I do not," Vincent replied.  "It is not important at this moment."

"You know," said Quince.  "We've placed different things in different times, but nuttin' seems to 'appen."

"Too true, but we must try our best, mustn't we."

Quince contemplated Vincent's response.  "That doesn't make sense."

"It does to the knowledgeable mind, like myself of course," said Vincent.

Without further questioning, Quince shrugged of his shoulders.  They looked at the empty desktop for a moment.

"Well," sighed Vincent.  "Let us get this done." Vincent laid the pen in the center of the desk, adjusting it several times before being satisfied with its final resting place.

"How delightful.  And now for the spell." With his hands over the pen, Vincent recited each word of the incantation in his most dramatic tone. 

"…In hoc uno loco et tempora…” said Vincent. “There. I think that should do it. I just love that spell.  I call it the stay-in-place spell. In a little while, the pen should become part of this time and place."

Quince glanced at the pen then Vincent.  "Do you think it'll work this time?"

"I don't see why it should not.  I memorized the spell and practiced for several hours…"

"I see.   But remember the last times…"

  

Vincent interrupted him."Yes, yes, I heard you.  However, this time, I studied the spell closely, and rest assured it will work.  Now, we should be off," said Vincent pointedly.

From out of nowhere came a voice.

"Hey bonehead!" shouted Rose.

Vincent spun around looking for the source of the insult and spotted her standing at the back of the room.

"Hello boys!"  Rose greeted them, grinning, slowly strutting towards them.

"'Ey Vinny, she called you bonehead," laughed Quince, whinnying and snorting like a horse.  Arching his eyebrow and pursing his lips, Vincent glared down at him.

From another corner of the hall, Ari strolled towards Quince. "Laugh it up, gooberstain!" He shook his finger and winked at Quince who stopped laughing.

"Having fun?" said Rose, zigzagging toward him. With her hands behind her back out of sight, she started twirling her index fingers clockwise.  Pale pink strings of light worked their way around them like a rubber band.  She knew the best approach to launching an orb was to keep her opponent from seeing it.

"Well, if it isn't our old friends," said Vincent with a smirk, rubbing his hands together.  "And what brings you to the House of Lords on this lovely day?"

"We were just in the neighborhood and thought we might see what was happening today in lovely British law-making?" said Rose mocking him.

"We heard you gentlemen might be planning to leave a present for our ghostly friends?"

"Us?" said Vincent with a surprised look on his face.  "Why, we are here to admire the majesty of this gorgeous room."

Rose laughed.  "Planning on some home re-decorating, are you? We know you two are up to something devious."

Vincent shook his head.  "Then why did you ask, my dear?"

"I wanted to see if you would tell me what you left."

It was Quince who gave away the location when he quickly glanced to look at the pen resting on the desk.    Thanks to his quick glance, Ari could now complete his part of the mission -- grab the pen.  Rose's part was to take care of Vincent and Quince.

Behind her, the strings of red light had formed a glowing orb of electricity about the size of a baseball.   She worked it in her hands, rolling it back and forth, building its energy.   Forming them behind her back gave her the advantage.   Vincent had no clue what size orb to expect.  Quince watched as Ari slowly moved towards the desk.   Ari taunted him by grinning and waving daintily.  All four were like cats just waiting to pounce on the pen and each other.

Moving closer to Rose, Vincent had put his hands behind his back, forming a light blue orb about the size of a golf ball.  He hadn't mastered the art of the orbs like Rose, whose legendary finesse and skill in the art was unmatched.   Vincent's hope was not to be injured, at worse just knocked out.

"Come now, maybe we can work this out?" said Vincent as Rose forced him from the throne's platform.

"No, I am not in a negotiating mood," replied Rose.  "You two and your good friend the Doctor must understand we take our mission seriously."

 "Pray, enlighten us.  Help us understand.  What exactly is... your mission?"  Vincent's sarcastic tone only infuriated her.

"To leave history alone and let the chips lie where they fell," declared Rose.   She turned to the left then back to face him.  "Oh and one other mission…  We are not to put up with rats like you!"

Without warning, Rose hurled the red orb from behind her back right at Vincent. Once airborn, it sounded like a mortar shell -- first a long, slow whistle then a rattling explosion of sparks -- and would be just as destructive to its target.  Vincent ducked while fumbling to pitch his little pale-blue orb.  Rose's orb missed his left ear by an inch, hitting the gold-colored wall, exploding into a red starburst then faded quickly.  Vincent's weak orb flew by Rose into the center of the throne's seat exploding into blue stardust.

"Ha!  Still haven't mastered the orbs?" Rose immediately formed another and hurled it at Vincent who scrambled for cover behind a row of benches. 

As it flew by, her orb knocked his hat off his head.  "Excuse me!  That is my best hat."

"Why am I not surprised that your hat is best at something and not you."

"Now that was just mean."  Vincent pouted.  Another red orb flew towards him as he ducked back behind a bench.  "And that was just rude!  I wasn't ready."

"You poor dear," said Rose sweetly with a hint of sarcasm. "Come out from behind there and fight like a man.  How about if you take a shot at me?  Come on.  I'll give you a freebie."

Vincent rose slowly from his hiding place, suspicious of her kindness.  "Really?" he said tenderly.  "Do you mean it?"

Rose was gracious and held her hands out in front of her. Vincent, overcome with delight, excitedly began to spin his fingers clockwise.   When his orb reached the size of a tangerine, he threw it at her.   The pale blue orb barely made it across the room before falling to the floor and fizzling out.

"What was that?" questioned Rose impatiently.

"Oh, I am sorry, but I was nervous."  Vincent was apologetic, embarrassed by his orb's poor performance.

"Not as nervous as you're going to be." Rose started hurling orbs so fast that Vincent scarcely had time to move.  He ran between the rows of benches, her orbs barely missing him.

While the scurrying Vincent dodged orbs, Quince had run towards Ari and kicked him in the shin.

"Ouch!  Oh, you nasty eel."  Ari grabbed his shin grimacing in pain.

"You think that 'urt.  You 'aven't felt nuttin' yet." Quince's claim to fame was playing dirty.   In his younger days, he had been a prize boxer and knew how to take down the heaviest and sizable opponents.   He didn't learn the art of orbs, but he knew how to throw a punch in the right places.   With his left fist, Quince's next blow was right between Ari's legs.   He strained and bent over in agony.  Quince stepped back, observing his opponent, and preparing for his next move.

"Had enough?  Come on now you big lug!  Let's fight this out."   Quince waited.

Ari knew this would be tricky, requiring a bit of fancy footwork.   He towered over the short and stout Quince.  Clenching his teeth, Ari managed to straighten up.  His shin throbbed.  His groin ached.

Without notice, Quince sprang towards Ari who in turn took a step to the right.  As Quince sailed by, Ari jabbed him in the left ribs.  Quince screamed in pain as he landed on his stomach.  Ari immediately stepped on Quince's back pinning him down on the floor.

With surprising strength, Quince pushed up from the floor causing Ari to fall backwards.   Ari staggered a few steps before catching his balance, giving Quince enough time to leap up, straddle Ari's leg and chomp into his calf.

With Quince firmly attached to his calf, Ari screamed in agony and shook his leg in hopes of ejecting his foe.

On the other side of the room, Vincent ran from Rose and her barrage of miniature red orbs.

Exhausted, he couldn't concentrate on creating his orbs fast enough to match hers.  He turned just in time to see Rose hurl a weaker orb.  It struck him right between his eyes.   She had no intention of killing him, just knocking him out.   Vincent fell backwards to the floor, stiff as a board.  Rose eyed him for any signs of movement before drawing near.  She crept over and tapped him with her foot.

“He’s out.”  Rose turned to see Quince wrapped around Ari's leg, trying to dig his teeth into it.

"Damn, he plays rough.” Within seconds, she had formed another orb in her hands.

Glancing up, Ari saw her and prepared for one last action.

"Hey gooberstain," shouted Rose. Still straddling Ari's leg, Quince looked up as she threw her orb.  Ari kicked up his besieged leg.  Rose’s orb hit him right in the center of Quince's forehead. Stunned, he fell to the floor. Ari limped away from his opponent.

"Ah, nice." Ari complimented her.

Ari bent down, picked up the knocked-out Quince, limped across the room, and plopped him down next to Vincent.

"Aren't they cute? Just like a couple of sleeping babies," said Rose.  "Look how his mouth hangs open like a cod fish.  Reminds me of the fish I used to catch.”

Ari gave Rose a hearty congratulation. “Great job. Excellent control."

"Thank you.  I have been practicing.  I have some posters of my least favorite people hanging on my walls at home.  I use them for target practice."

Ari laughed and picked up the pen from the desk and slipped it into his shirt pocket.  Rose and Ari left the House of Lords.

"Dunderheads!” said Ari, limping from his gnawing injury.

"You know they are not intelligent," added Rose. "Did I tell you about the time they left a permanent marker in the middle of the Sistine Chapel while Michelangelo was painting it?   They did not even wait to see if anyone would notice it.  I watched them leave, then walked over and picked it up.  How stupid can they be?  Herkeimer has some interesting jackasses working for him."

Rose recounted an experiment of trying to leave an item in another time.  "I remember Xavier, Albert and I tried to use that placement spell.  We went back in time about an hour and placed a hamburger on a plate on the kitchen table in the Steer's kitchen.   We returned to the time we originally left and waited for that hamburger to appear.    You know what happened…"

"What?" Ari asked.

"The hamburger appeared about an hour later… That is how long it takes the spell to work.   But, there was a problem.   The hamburger and the bun lasted for a brief moment…   Xavier ate it.  He said it was delicious.  Of course, it made him sick later, but we blamed that on eating hour-old meat."

“Next mission," said Ari then disappeared.

"I have to find Mrs. Steers and the lad," said Rose as she headed towards Whitechapel.