GERTIE HELD UP HER WRIST. “This must be the lucky watch! Look, it’s the same one as in the picture.”
Kolt opened his window to grab the leaf of newsprint. “What a stroke of luck!”
“So we’re in London,” Gertie said, looking around at the men in dark suits and women in tall feathery hats. “Have you been here? Where is it?”
“It’s in far western Europe, capital city of an island that’s known for bad weather, horrible food, and people who are exceedingly polite—when they’re not trying to invade your country.”
Kolt pushed a button, and the engine turned over with a groan.
“We can’t stay in the middle of the road,” he said. “Let’s find somewhere to park.”
“But is there a way we can get back to that abandoned city?” Gertie asked. “I felt closer to my family and my old life there than anywhere else so far.”
Kolt said nothing and steered the Time Cat down a narrow street, parking between two shops, Turnbull & Asser Shirtmakers and Bates Hats.
“Kolt!” Gertie said, irritated by his refusal to answer.
“I know it must be frustrating,” he replied gently, “but for now we have a watch to return—and it’s your first mission, so let’s just do our best, and talk about everything else later, when we can write things down and start keeping a record.”
Gertie adjusted the pretty gold timepiece on her wrist. “You’re right,” she said. “I wanted to return it, and the B.D.B.U. let me, so I’d better focus on what I’m doing.”
Across Jermyn Street was a shop window full of socks, umbrellas, cravats, ties, pajama sets, silver straws for making fizzy drinks less fizzy, evening gloves, driving gloves, dinner gloves, fingerless gloves, even gloveless fingers for eating oysters. In other words, Kolt said, necessities, luxuries, and niceties that most people in history never dreamed they would need (and probably never would).
Behind them, men with aprons tied over starched, collarless shirts and black trousers were unloading barrels of ale from a delivery truck. Gertie watched as they barked instructions to one another and then rolled the barrels down wooden planks into a basement. Someone else was up on a ladder, dusting the restaurant sign that had a drawing of a friendly lobster in a top hat.
“That’s odd,” Gertie said. “If I were a lobster, I definitely wouldn’t be trying to get people into a restaurant that served lobster—I’d be trying my best to look poisonous.”
There were fewer people on this street, and most were carrying small boxes rolled in brown paper and tied with string.
“So what now?” Gertie said, looking at their ancient North African costumes. “How are we supposed to blend in?”
“See what I mean about the B.D.B.U.?” Kolt grumbled. “Any normal book—even your basic encyclopedia, even a comic—would have brought us home so we could change in the Sock Drawer. We don’t even have money. We might starve on this mission!”
Gertie read the front page of the newspaper that Kolt had grabbed from the windshield.
“Kolt, look! It says the swimmer who is missing her watch is getting an award at a place called the Ritz Hotel tonight during something called a masquerade ball.”
“That’s a costume party,” Kolt said. “Maybe we’ll go unnoticed after all?”
Gertie felt triumphant, as though everything were part of a perfect plan. “So us coming straight here was exactly what the the B.D.B.U. wanted!”
“Are you sticking up for the old book?”
Just then, a bell rang loudly somewhere along the street, and a young man exited a shop dressed as a clown.
Gertie and Kolt, thinking the same thing, jumped out of the Time Cat as the man bounded toward them along the sidewalk in oversize red shoes.
“Whoa!” he said with a broad American accent. “How terrific you both look!” Then he pointed to the Time Cat. “And what a spiffy automobile. I love the rabbit emblem on the bumper!”
Gertie and Kolt turned sharply to see Robot Rabbit Boy, frozen solid to the rear bumper of the Time Cat.
“Oh dear,” Kolt muttered. “He must have followed us.”
“Well, we can’t leave him here,” Gertie said, trying to hide her excitement. “The poor thing is frozen stiff.”
“We’ll have to deal with it later, Gertie,” Kolt said, in hushed tones so the man in the clown suit wouldn’t hear. “We have more important Keeper business to attend to.”
The friendly American clown kept saying how beautiful the Time Cat was. “I’ll bet it’s a lovely car to drive.”
“Oh yes,” said Kolt, “she really flies!”
“Shame about the broken taillights,” the man pointed out. “An accident, I’m guessing? Other drivers can be such losers.”
Kolt nodded with delight. “That’s exactly what they are!”
While Kolt chatted with the friendly clown, Gertie knelt down and winked at the Series 7 Forever Friend that—despite being completely frozen—managed to shake an icy, worn-out rabbit paw in greeting.
“We have to go now,” Gertie whispered, “but I know the perfect place for you to sleep back at the cottage after you’ve had a nice bath.”
Robot Rabbit Boy tried to nod, but the ice encasing his neck was too thick, so instead he twitched one droopy ear.
“Say . . .” Kolt said to the clown, “it seems like we’re on our way to the same costume party. How about we go together?”
“Suits me,” said the clown.
Kolt was pleased with their good fortune. “A costume party!” he said in a fake British accent. “A bloomin’ costume party! Yes please, I do think so, jolly good. . . .”
Together, the trio walked toward a glowing sign with the words RITZ HOTEL spelled out in tiny light bulbs.
“Oh dear,” Kolt said, biting his lip, “this might be quite fancy.”
“Just say we’re ancient shepherds from the sand dunes of North Africa,” suggested Gertie, “but maybe hold off on the fake British accent.”
« • • • »
They followed the friendly clown up some marble steps and stood beneath a blue awning, beside a revolving door.
“My name is Fred,” said the clown, “and I’m visiting from New York.”
They watched as he fished out two paper tickets from his pocket and presented them to Gertie.
“I’m acting in a musical comedy,” he said. “It’s called Lady, Be Good! and it’s my first big European show. Take these tickets for tomorrow night. In case you’re free, it’s really a hoot—you’ll laugh your heads clean off!”
“That would be very nice,” Gertie said, taking them. “Thank you.” She knew they would be long gone by then, but didn’t want to hurt the young man’s feelings.
“You two seem like a swell pair!” The man grinned. “If you want to meet after the show, just hang around when the curtain falls, and if anyone asks, tell them you’re waiting for Fred Astaire, that’s me.”
“Thanks, Fred,” Gertie said. “Good luck with it, and thanks for being so nice to us.”
Then with a smile and a little dance, the young American ushered Gertie and Kolt into the lobby of the Ritz Hotel.
“What a lovely man,” Kolt said. “I hope he makes it as an actor, I really do.”
The Palm Court was overflowing with jesters, princesses, kings, peasants, wizards, queens, angels, someone dressed as a toothbrush, devils, dragons, giant fish, and even a knight in armor whose helmet had gotten stuck, and who was surrounded by waiters whittling away with can openers. Gertie knew that somewhere in the chaos of the costume party was a young woman missing a watch. All she had to do was find her.