“But . . . I don’t speak Russian.”
He nods. “I know. But you’re going to need to learn at least a few phrases to find the historian who’s there to gauge Soviet reactions to . . . I can’t remember the name. Some satellite thing. Mid-1950s?”
“Sputnik?” I throw my hands up. “Are you serious? What kind of crazy people decide to observe events in a dictatorship? One wrong move and I could end up in a freaking prison somewhere in Siberia.”
“I’m sure there’s a long rant on that very subject in the diary you’re holding,” he teases. “If that’s any help. We never found that key, actually, so hopefully you’ll see something new in the evidence.”
My expression must show my doubt on that front, because he laughs.
“I don’t suppose you speak Russian?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “If the jump was to Ireland and you needed some Gaelic, I might be able to dredge up a few handy phrases. But my Russian doesn’t extend beyond borscht, da, and nyet. And dosvedanya.”
“Well, you’re still four words ahead of me. I suppose I should get back and order a copy of Rosetta Stone. It sounds like there’s a lot of work ahead.”
“Yes. I know you’re up to the challenge.” He gives me a smile that I’m sure is meant to be encouraging. Unfortunately, it has the opposite effect. Maybe Other-Kate was up to the challenge, but she wasn’t thrust onto the fast track.
“I’m not so sure.” I protest. “It’s hard to get enthused about the jumps that are ahead. What if something I do just screws everything up again?”
His smile fades. “How could you possibly make it worse than what Saul is planning?”
“If they’re really putting this Culling thing into action, then no, but . . .” I pause for a moment and then continue, measuring my words carefully. “Don’t get me wrong, okay? I don’t think you’re lying about any of this. But how certain are you? I mean, a lot of religions talk about end times and how only the faithful will be saved. Maybe Saul was just looking for a way to get a lot of money and a lot of power, and he and Prudence will just . . .” I shrug, looking down. My mental image is the two of them rolling around in piles of cash, laughing maniacally, but that’s too silly to say out loud.
“I’m certain, Kate,” he says quietly. “And so were you.”
“No!” I snap my head up and stare directly into his eyes. “Maybe she was certain. Not me. I’m not certain about anything except the fact that I don’t know what I’m doing. And even if you are certain, this Culling might be scheduled for a hundred years in my future, two hundred years for you. Maybe the wisest course of action would be to wait until—”
“Until what?” he asks, his voice rising. “Until the Cyrists are even more powerful than they are today?”
“Until I know what the hell I’m doing! Like you said a few minutes ago, this jump was easy. I had a video of their son. Dad and I both have Timothy’s green eyes. I knew pretty much where to find them. They were speaking English, for God’s sake! The others won’t be as simple, and the next time someone tries to kill me, I might not get off with just a scar.”
He doesn’t respond, and I wish I could take back those last words. I didn’t mean them as a rebuke—I really do think I was lucky to escape with only this small reminder, but I can tell from Kiernan’s expression that he took it personally.
I soften my voice. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to argue with you, Kiernan, and I’m definitely not saying I’m backing off. But I also don’t want to get in over my head. I want to plan these next steps carefully.”
He stares down at his hands for a moment. “As well you should. Speaking from past experience, I don’t think Katherine will like me being in on the planning stages, but I want to help. Just tell me what you need.”
I nod and give him a tentative, peacemaking smile, then lean forward to unbuckle my shoes. I take my sweater and the other pair of shoes from the drawstring bag, and my fingers brush against the edges of something rectangular at the bottom. It’s another diary. Giving Kiernan a quizzical look, I hand him both the diary and the bag.
“That was my grandfather’s,” he says. “It’s mostly in Gaelic, and as I said, my Gaelic is pretty rusty. I just use it for the CHRONOS field. Even with those booster cells sewn into the hem, that dress would have vanished at Jess’s store if it wasn’t within range of a diary or a key.”
Once my shoes are swapped out, I stand to unfasten the Velcro at the back of the dress, but Kiernan is already there. The fabric slides to the floor, leaving me in the sleeveless shell and skirt I wore to Dallas. He rests his hands on my bare shoulders for just a moment and then helps me into my sweater.
“You’ll get the dress and shoes back to the storeroom?” I ask.
“I could,” he says. “But it might make more sense to leave them here and set this room as a stable point. That way you can just pull up the location and check to see if I’m home. And you won’t have to sneak in and leave notes for Jess.”
It does make more sense, but I’m hesitant. “I don’t want to intrude on your privacy.”
That brings his grin back, although it’s a bit subdued. “What if I promise to dress and undress behind the curtain?”
I hadn’t even thought about that particular aspect of privacy, but suddenly it’s difficult to think of much else. “Wouldn’t having the dress here just be a reminder of when . . . she was always around?”
“It doesn’t matter, Kate. I’m never really alone in this room.” He follows my glance upward and smiles. “And it’s not just the glow stars you . . . she pasted on my ceiling. Little things hit me at the oddest moments. Your dress and shoes under my bed won’t make the slightest difference.”
I glance up at the stars again. For some reason, their presence nags at my brain, like a mystery that needs to be solved, but I can’t find the clues. Maybe it’s just the intrinsic weirdness of seeing something you’d buy at Spencer’s in this tiny apartment that lacks a toilet, electricity, or running water.
I take the CHRONOS key out of my sweater and run my hand across the center to activate it, punching in the few keystrokes needed to set this room as a jump location. Then I start to pull up Katherine’s house so that I can leave, but Kiernan places a hand on my arm.
“Will you come on Saturday? I really want you to see Norumbega Park. If you’re here by ten, we’ll have time to see the sights before I start.”
“Before you start what?”
He shakes his head. “Not telling. You have to come and see.”
There’s a mischievous light in his eyes, and in that moment he looks so very much like his eight-year-old self, waiting for my decision to hire him as a guide at the Expo. Who could say no to those big, dark puppy-dog eyes?
I laugh. “Okay, okay. You win.”
And even though I don’t want to give him false hope, I can tell from his smile that I have.
∞3∞
There’s a definite drawback to scheduling a time jump in the morning, especially when it takes four tries to get it right and you decide to add in a two-hour side trip. I walked the better part of a mile on each of the four jumps to Dallas and nearly that far in the heat of Boston in July. While you’re there, the adrenaline surge that comes from being out of your time and place keeps you going, but the aftereffect is a bit like jet lag. And it doesn’t help that I’m already wiped out from lousy sleep. I don’t think I’ve had more than two or three nightmare-free nights since I returned from the Expo.