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October 23rd, 1918 Midtown Manhattan
MATT found himself sitting on the ground right in the middle of Thirty-fourth Street. He rolled out of the way of an oncoming car and jogged to the sidewalk, thankful that the traffic was much lighter than it had been just a moment ago. Looking down at his watch, his heart leapt to see he had Traveled exactly three years into the future. He wanted to pump his fist in the air in celebration, but his hands were still cuffed together.
He glanced around without thinking, searching for Page, but of course she wasn’t there—they’d taken him a few blocks away from where she had been when she’d Traveled, before he could follow.
At least Matt had arrived on the day he’d aimed at. All those hours pouring over and struggling with the watch’s programming had paid off when tested. He’d discovered that the time-travel app on the professor’s device contained, for some reason, a limited Traveling program as a subroutine—what appeared to be the same app as on Page’s watch, the one that enabled her to Travel up to three years but could not change her physical location. Not intentionally.
So Matt had hoped he could accurately Travel a shorter temporal distance, but he’d balked at trying out this theory—until he’d been forced to by circumstance. And it had worked just as he’d supposed. It had caught him up with Page after she had jumped three years into the future, inadvertently abandoning him. He wanted to start tracking her down right away.
First though, he’d have to get out of these handcuffs. Already he was garnering some strange looks from a few pedestrians gliding along. He raised his manacled hands and waved at a man nearby before turning and strolling in the opposite direction. If he acted natural, hopefully he could get where he needed without being molested.
Whistling while he walked, Matt casually raised his wrist and flipped to the locator screen to see the blip or bar that would give him an idea where Page was now. But once again there was nothing. Biting back a curse, he changed over to the temporal tuner to see she was right here, in Midtown Manhattan on the same date, in the same hour. It was when he returned to the regular watch face and saw what time it was, in his own personal time, that he realized he had landed nine minutes ahead of Page. Better than two weeks ahead. And much better than three years behind her.
Being unable to use the locator app for tracking her, though, put Matt right back where he had been three years ago—searching for Page among the vast throngs crowding Manhattan. Not that they were in evidence at the moment. Actually, his situation had improved—since today was a Wednesday, the banks should be open. Page would likely head to the main branch of their bank soon, so that should be his first stop too. After he’d gotten himself freed from these handcuffs.
When Matt saw the squat brick precinct house of Midtown South, he was grateful it had stayed where it was for over eighty years into the future so he was able to find it so easily now—even if it had inexplicably changed its precinct number. Holding his hands in the air in front of him, Matt waved to the cops he met as he approached the entrance. Since they saw he was not trying to hide what he was doing, nobody tried to stop him. He bounded up the steps and into the lobby, straight to the sergeant at the duty desk.
Matt lifted his hands to make sure the man saw his predicament. “Good day, sergeant. Can you get these things off me?”
The man gaped for a moment before recovering his poise. Peering closely at the handcuffs Matt was waving in front of his face, he shook his head sadly. “We haven’t used that kind for a couple of years or so. What have you been playing at, son? You trying to be another Harry Houdini?”
Matt grinned. “Actually, yes. I thought I did alright, but now I’m stuck in these things.”
The sergeant sighed and came around the desk. “I’ll just sit you down someplace while I check to see you haven’t escaped from somewhere.”
“Like a looney bin?”
“Then we’ll see about getting those things off of you.” The man escorted him down a corridor, muttering something about ‘students’ and ‘pranks’.
Matt meekly followed the sergeant to a drab little room that looked like the kind of place the police used to interview suspects on television. Hopefully, an interrogation wasn’t imminent. Allowing the police to assume he was a student was one thing, but if they questioned him, he certainly couldn’t tell them the truth. And no story would stand up to scrutiny. But unless someone from three years ago had a really good memory, the sergeant should find that Matt hadn’t escaped from custody and let him loose.
The sergeant sat Matt down in a rickety wooden chair. “You just wait here comfortably while I make some calls. I dare say somebody might bring you a cup of coffee if it takes too long.” He left the room, closing the door behind him but not locking it. Unnecessary inside a police station?
The threatened cup of coffee, which would surely have been as bad as anything out of one of those vending machines in the future, never materialized. But twenty minutes later a plain-clothes policeman did enter the tiny room.
“My name is Lieutenant Cross. Mr.—”
“Walker. Matt Walker.”
“The sergeant said you looked like a college student. One who’s been in a bit of a tussle?”
“I’m a graduate student.” He was still a student eighty-four years in the future. Matt rubbed his jaw where he’d been socked three years ago. “And I objected to a remark someone made about a girl I fancy, and he popped me one.”
Lt. Cross nodded. “Knocked you to the ground, looks like.”
Matt grinned. “I must look a picture. I need to change clothes, but that’s a little difficult wearing a pair of handcuffs.”
“You must’ve been wearing them when you got slugged.” He sighed. “I don’t suppose you’re pressing charges against whoever hit you?”
Matt shook his head while the lieutenant took a ring of keys from his pocket and unlocked the cuffs. “I’d like to give you a lecture, or several, but I know my words would fall on deaf ears.” He removed the manacles and stuffed them in his pocket along with the keys. “I’ll just hold on to them, so whatever mischief you get into, it’ll have to be without handcuffs the next time.”
Matt let his grin disappear and nodded solemnly before slipping out the open door. The man could always change his mind about that lecture, and Matt didn’t need it. It wasn’t as if New York City in nineteen eighteen was overflowing with violent crime. It will come soon enough, though.
Massaging his chafed wrists and giving the sergeant at the desk a manacle-free wave, Matt left the precinct house and took a big lungful of sweet fresh air. Free at last. Now he had to hurry to find Page. He let his long legs carry him effortlessly down one block after another, aware of the time he’d lost and already knowing where to head next. The bank.
If Page hadn’t shown up yet at the main branch of the American International State Bank to get her money, she would soon. After that would probably come shopping—which reminded Matt he needed a new outfit, and all his baggage had been sent to the hotel he’d made a reservation for three years ago. I wonder what they did with my stuff.
When he reached the right corner, he found the bank looking pretty much the same as it ever would and began to dread facing another Mr. Pitt or even a Mr. Hemmings. He didn’t know why they shouldn’t give him a good reception, though. He’d kept most of the money he’d taken from the trust stipend, both in nineteen twelve and three years later, sitting in a savings account. And before he’d set out on his trip three years ago, he’d had them transfer his account here to the main branch. He was a little late, but he should still be a valued customer.
So Matt breezed into the lobby trying to smile—and his eyes searched the place for Page. She’d had enough time to get here, but he didn’t see her. Maybe she was already with the manager somewhere in the back, getting another chunk of money out of the trust.
Like everywhere he’d seen since arriving in this time, the bank was mostly empty. Matt wondered if something important was going on somewhere, but he was glad it meant he could walk right up to a teller’s window without waiting in line. “I need to see the branch manager. Could you let him know Matt Walker is here about the Travelers’ Trust?” If Page was with the man when the message was delivered, that would be that.
The young man nodded, then closed his window and darted away. A minute later, a stout man wearing a dark three-piece suit barreled out of a back office. He took a look at Matt’s nice, but rather rumpled togs and smiled.
“Mr. Walker, we expected to see you three years ago. We’re glad you made it alright. I’m Douglass, by the way.”
He wasn’t the stereotypical banker Matt had expected. Was he using the royal ‘we’ or was the man speaking corporately for the bank? “Well, I’m glad I finally made it. Traveling a great distance poses its difficulties, you know. I don’t suppose a pretty redhead has already shown up today? It couldn’t have been very long ago.”
“Are you saying Miss Page is back in town? We haven’t seen her since—” Mr. Douglass looked into the ceiling. “About three years ago, as it happens.”
Enough time had passed for Page to have come here already, if this was going to be her first stop, or to have gone just about anywhere in the city. “Then I expect her to stop by soon. But I don’t know where she’s staying, so I’d appreciate it if you’d give her a message from me when she comes.”
The banker nodded readily. “Of course, certainly. No trouble at all. But don’t you have business of your own you need to attend to?”
Matt nodded. While he wanted to be out there, searching for Page, visiting stores all over Midtown would be a long and likely fruitless task. “I might as well withdraw some of my money—I think I’ll need plenty. Thank you, Mr. Douglass. But I’ll wait before requesting funds from this year’s stipend, until I have a better idea how long I’ll be sticking around.” Which would depend on Page.
Mr. Douglass laughed heartily. “Of course, certainly. Glad to be of service.” He looked at the teller. “Tyler, help this man take out some of his money. Don’t let him take it all, though.” He turned to Matt again, still laughing. “Isn’t that right, sir? You have to leave us something.”
Matt almost believed he preferred Mr. Pitt and his dry disapproval. Evidently not every banker was made from the same mold. “About this message for Miss Page. Please tell her I’ll be staying at the Hotel Ngaio across the street. I’m hoping they have a vacancy. If not, I’ll come back and let you know where I end up getting a room. Alright?”
The man had stopped laughing and looked a bit startled. “The Ngaio? Of course they’ll have a room for you. Who doesn’t have plenty of vacancies these days?”
Matt remembered the year and supposed it was a side effect of the war, that even New York City had been thinned out. “Then please tell her that’s where she can find me. And now your clerk can get me my money, and you can get back to your business. I’m sure you’re a busy man.”
“You can say that again. But if you do need any more help, I’ll be available.”
“I’ll remember that.” As soon as the banker had bustled away, Matt turned to Tyler to fill out a withdrawal slip.
Once he’d refilled the contents of his wallet, he walked out of the bank and across the street and into the lobby of the Ngaio. Striding up to the clerk at the desk, Matt took one of his new twenties and slid it across the counter. “I need a room.” Remembering the banker’s comments about vacancies, he took a chance and continued. “And if room 412 is available, that would be great. Also, I had my luggage delivered here—”
“Yes, sir. The name?”
Matt grinned. “Matt Walker. But I had it sent three years ago, so you may have a hard time finding it.”
The clerk goggled for a moment before recovering. “Indeed, sir. It may take us a while. And room 412 is available. You know that’s one of our luxury suites?”
“I’ve stayed there—” He was about to say in the past, but it had been the future. “Previously. It has a sentimental attachment.” He took another twenty and handed it to the clerk. “When you find my bags, and I hope you’ll make every effort, just have them put in my room.” If they were found.
The man nodded. “If you’ll please sign the register.” The clerk slid the book toward Matt and then grabbed a key from behind the counter and handed it over.
Since he didn’t have any baggage to leave in his room, Matt simply turned and stalked out of the hotel to begin looking for Page. For the next few hours he went from one upscale shop to another, describing Page to various clerks and saleswomen without success. Most of them wanted to be helpful, but he couldn’t find anyone who’d actually seen her. With so many stores in Midtown alone, it was worse odds than playing the lottery, but he kept at it.
At one upscale department store, he did have a different kind of success. He stopped in at the men’s department and took time to buy himself a few new outfits, lightweight suits of the latest cut. Of course he had to stand around while they took his measurements, but he insisted on wearing one of them out of the store, even if it hadn’t been tailored to him yet. The rest of his suits and the other clothes he had ordered would be delivered to his hotel room the next day, but at least he had clean clothes to wear in the interim. And he wouldn’t have to worry whether or not the Ngaio found his luggage.
He went on and made further enquiries at more shops, and found the saleswoman more eager to be of help now, but he didn’t find any trace of Page. It was an extremely long day. Matt was weary, worn, and hungry at the end of it—too tired to sit down for a formal meal somewhere. He stopped at a cart selling meat-filled buns and bought a couple—without asking what the meat might be, he was just grateful for the fuel. He consumed his dinner as he walked back to the hotel. He had done all he could for one day.
By the time he was striding back into the lobby, it had grown dark out, and while the city was bright enough, it wasn’t anything like it would be one day. He was glad to walk into the well-lit hotel, and even gladder that he already had his room key. He was so exhausted he even took the elevator up to the fourth floor, and he trudged down the hall to his room with his strength flagging.
He needed plenty of rest. So opening the door, he took the ‘please do not disturb’ placard and hung it on the outside. That sign ought to keep the maids from disturbing him if he slept late, but it would not stop Page if she dropped by the bank in the morning and discovered he was here. And then he nearly forgot to lock the door behind him.
Falling into the bed barely before he’d managed to take off his shoes, Matt realized he was exhausted—and those meat-filled buns weren’t sitting well on his stomach. But he was still young, and even if he’d had a long day, he shouldn’t feel so fatigued.
Thinking he must’ve gotten old fast with all the time-traveling, Matt rolled over onto his back with a groan. He was too tired to pull back the bedspread. He told himself it hardly mattered. What did matter was getting up and getting out of his new suit before it got too rumpled, but he didn’t have the energy.
Then he put his hand to his forehead—and felt a searing heat. He had a fever. For once I pushed myself too hard.
Then he recalled that nineteen eighteen wasn’t just the last year of the First World War—it was also the time of that great influenza pandemic that killed millions. Matt knew it had hit the eastern portion of the country hard in the fall, near the end of the war. And he remembered that it had been the young and healthy who had suffered the most fatalities.
He thought he ought to call the hotel desk clerk and ask for a doctor to be sent up. Or go to a hospital. He had a notion neither of those were good ideas, but he wasn’t sure why—he seemed to be having a difficult time thinking clearly. But it didn’t matter. He didn’t have the strength to get out of bed, much less do anything else.