The Time Travelers' Club: Chapter 39 -- The Doctor Again

Dr. Herkeimer glared at his minions.  They now numbered seven. Only mourned by Vincent, Quince had been buried a few days ago.

Their mission, as dictated by the Doctor, was to take control of time and change history.

"I have summoned you all here today for a reason,” said the Doctor.  “I want a complete copy of the book.  I must have a complete copy."  He paced back and forth in front of the fireplace.

His incomplete copy of the Namvelt's book on time travel was one of the known seven to exist, however, certain pages had been removed or torn out years before he acquired it as a medical student.  At the time, he had had no knowledge of its true power.  Only the Doctor used the book, keeping it locked away.  He taught each member of his group the incantations he thought they could master well.  Now, many years later, his desire to master its incantations consumed him.  The ultimate prize for him was to change history, but his true reason for the quest remained his secret, known only to him.

"I want you to follow the boy," said Dr. Herkeimer.  "He must be very important to them. What is it that they call themselves?"

"They call themselves The Time Travelers’ Club," said Dreda, more interested in her travel magazine.

Dreda Caligar had flopped on the sofa and put her feet up in the coffee table. She made it clear that she had lived in many exotic places.  Her parents were travelers.  She was fluent in several languages, including ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs.   Her education was common sense.

"What the hell does that mean, darrrling?"  Rolling his "r", Tinean sat on the opposite end of the sofa, but leaned towards Dreda, grinning at her.  Short for 'Argentinean', no one knew his real name.  He had mastered only the time-travel incantation. His real abilities were in precision marksmanship in hand-held weapons such as whips, swords, and daggers, despite his glass eye which looked like a clear marble.  He reached out to touch her leg.

"Get away, you slime dog," said Dreda, rebuffing his gesture of over-friendliness.  "Your breath stinks.  And besides, I never kiss a man who can't even tell me his real name."

Tinean leaned back the other way.

"To answer your question, it means people knew who we were." Dreda was smug and proud.  "We didn't call ourselves The Vagabonds."

Dr. Herkeimer shook his head.  "Such a feeble name.  The Time Travelers’ Club.  You would think they could come up with a more sophisticated name."

Vincent glanced around at the others.  He still grimaced at the idea of this group and their mission.  He wished he could get away from them.

Vincent Waldhead stood furthest away since he feared the Doctor was still angry with him over the death of poor Quince.  With a flair for dramatics, Vincent had advanced degrees and once taught ancient history in several well-known universities.  He had also worked as an actor in his younger days.  He was the most recent recruit to the Doctor's group.

"This boy…  What is his name?"  The Doctor stopped pacing.

"Sam.  Sam Henry," said Dreda lazily still browsing her magazine.  "He's eleven years old.  Surely he knows nothing."

Dr. Herkeimer turned red-faced.   Gritting his teeth and flexing his jaw, he corrected her.  "You do not decide what this Sam Henry knows.  I know he is the key to getting the books.  You don’t tell me what is important.  I will tell you what is important.”

Dreda glanced up from her reading long enough to give a look that said "so-what."

"I want to know everything about this Sam Henry," said the Doctor.  "Where he goes!  What he does!   Everything and anything.  He will slip up and when he does, I want to be ready.   I know they have three copies of the book now.  That means that three copies may still be in existence."

Dr. Herkeimer speculated to himself. "They may have been lost since their printing.  It is assumed that the original Russian text and the papyrus scroll Namvelt used to translate the text from have long been destroyed. Bruno, what did you find out?"  He glared at him.

Bruno, sprawled in a chair in the back of the room, gave no answer and just stared down at the floor.

"I see," said Dr. Herkeimer.

Growing up the weakest in an orphanage, Bruno grew to be the strongest and, when standing, towered over everyone else. While on his travels in Japan, the Doctor had found Bruno working as a fisherman on a Japanese trawler. With his athletic build, he had enough strength to easily lift a person and toss them several feet.  Much to the Doctor's delight, Bruno had mastered the incantation of deflecting orbs.

"If there are copies left of the Russian version.  I can translate it." Fulop Farkas, a Hungarian, leaned his chair back against the wall, balancing it perfectly on its back legs.  He was the most mysterious as far as his personal history, with even Dr. Herkeimer not knowing much about him. Farkas claimed to be a scientist and pledged his allegiance on some days to a former world superpower, and on other days, to the Doctor.

Dr. Herkeimer laughed, applauding Farkas.  "You see. One member understands and will do what it takes.  I have a very special job for you."

Dreda glanced over at a small-framed Chinese man in a pure white linen suit standing near a draped window.  He glared back at her.  She rolled her eyes and sighed.

Fan Kong Tu had supposedly fled China into Siberia in Russia.  Eventually, he traveled to Alaska using fake passports and various name changes.  He had a dark history and rarely spoke to anyone except the Doctor, and never while others were within ear shot.

Dr. Herkeimer gave orders.  "Vincent and Dreda.  You are to start in New London.  Follow the boy without getting too close.  I want to learn as much as we can.  Steers obviously has a great deal of confidence in him.  The rest of you will be given assignments.  Please see me individually."

With that, Dr. Herkeimer dismissed them.  "Remember... You will make the world a better place..."  His voice was sweet and comforting, yet they knew below his soft words was a hard man.

In the corner, Dr. Herkeimer sat down in his high-back chair that towered almost eight feet up.  At the top in the center of its crest was a carved scowling demonic face.  Its eyes were two white pearls with painted black pupils, that appeared to stare at anyone who stood in front of it.  It was the only piece in the room that didn't match the rest of the furnishings. He stretched his fingers out as he rubbed the wooden arms back and forth.  

Staring into the fire, he mumbled to himself over and over.  "I must have a complete copy. I must have a complete copy. I must have a complete copy."