He laughed. "I never would've tried that on your father, kid. He was too sharp.
But fatso there, he's terrified the Chinaman will give the Middle Kingdom an
edge when it faces down his Royal Navy. All it takes is the slightest hint, and
he folds like a cheap suit."
That made me chuckle -- a cheap suit!
I gave him my best innocent look. "Who else knows about the Frenchman?" I asked
him.
Nussbaum grinned like he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "I
realised about halfway through that conversation that being Lester's boy, you've
probably read just about every word old Jules 'wrote.'"
"I have," I said. I took out "War of the Worlds." "How does Mr Wells feel about
this?" I asked.
"I imagine he's pretty mystified," Nussbaum said. "Would you believe, you're the
first one who's caught on?"
I believed it. I knew enough to know that the agencies that policed the
protocols had their hands full keeping track of art and gold smugglers. I'd
never even thought of smuggling _words_. If the trade courts found out. . .
Well, hardly a week went by that someone didn't propose shutting down the
ambassadorships; they'd talk about how the future kept on leaking pastwards, and
if we thought 1975 looked bad, imagine life in 1492 once the future reached it!
The ambassadors had made a lot of friends in high places, though: they used
their influence to keep things on an even keel.
Nussbaum raised an eyebrow and studied me. "I think your father may've figured
it out, but he kept it to himself. He and Jules got along like a house on fire."
I kept the innocent look on my face. "Well, then," I said. "If Pa didn't say
anything, you'd think that I wouldn't either, right?"
Nussbaum sighed and gave me a sheepish look. "I'd _like_ to think so," he said.
I turned the book over in my hands, keeping my gaze locked with his. I was about
to tell him that I'd keep it to myself, but at the last minute, some instinct
told me to keep my mouth shut.
Nussbaum shrugged as though to say, _I give up_. "Hey, you're headed home today,
right?" he said, carefully.
"Yes, sir."
"I've got a message that you could maybe relay for me, you think?"
"I guess so. . ." I said, doubtfully.
"I'll make it worth your while. It's got to go to a friend of mine in Frisco.
There's no hurry -- just make sure he gets it in the next ten years or so. Once
you deliver it, he'll take care of you -- you'll be set for life."
"Gosh," I said, deadpan.
"Are you game?"
"I guess so. Sure." My heart skipped. Set for life!
"The man you want to speak to is Reddekop, he's the organist at the Castro
theatre. Tell him: 'Nussbaum says get out by October 29th, 1929.' He'll know
what it means. You got that?"
"Reddekop, Castro Theatre. October 29th, 1929."
"Exac-atac-ally." He slid "War of the Worlds" into his briefcase. "You're doin'
me a hell of a favour, son."
He shook my hand. Pondicherry came back in then, and glared at me. "The embassy
contacted me. They can set you at home six months after you left -- there's a
courier gateway this afternoon."
"Six months!" I said. "My Mama will go crazy! Can't you get me home any sooner?"
Pondicherry smirked. "Don't complain to me, boy. You dug this hole yourself. The
next scheduled courier going anywhere near your departure-point is in five
years. We'll send notice to your mother then, to expect you home mid-July."
"Tough break, kiddo," Nussbaum said, and he shook my hand and slipped me another
wink.
#
The courier gateway let me out in an alleyway in Salt Lake City. The embassy had
given me ten Wells Fargo dollars, and fitted me out with a pair of jeans and a
workshirt that were both far too big for me, so that they slopped around me as I
made my way to the train station and bought my ticket to New Jerusalem.
It was Wednesday, the normal schedule for the Zephyr Speedball, so I didn't have
too long to wait at the station. I bought copies of the Salt Lake City _Shout_,
and the San Francisco _Chronicle_ from a passing newsie. The _Chronicle_ was a
week old, but it was filled with all sorts of fascinating big-city gossip. I
read it cover-to-cover on the long ride to New Jerusalem.
Mama met me at the train station. I'd been expecting a switching, right then and
there, but instead she hugged me fiercely with tears in her eyes. I remembered
that it had been over six months for her since I'd gone.
"James, you will be the death of me, I swear," she said, after she'd squeezed
every last bit of stuffing out of me.
"I'm sorry, Mama," I said.
"We had to tell everyone you'd gone away to school in France," a familiar male
voice said. I looked up and saw Mr Johnstone standing a few yards away, with our
team and trap. He was glaring at me. "I've had the barn gateway sealed
permanently on both sides."
"I'm sorry, sir," I said. But inside, I wasn't. Even though I'd only been away
for a few days, I'd had the adventure of a lifetime: smoked and drank and been
'jacked and escaped and received a secret message. My Mama seemed shorter to me,
and frailer, and James H Johnstone was a puffed-up nothing of a poltroon.
"We'll put it behind us, son," he said. "But from now on, there will be order in
our household, do we understand each-other?"
_Our_ house? I looked up sharply at my Mama. She smiled at me, nervously. "We
married, James. A month ago. Congratulate me!"
I thought about it. My Mama needed someone around to take care of her, and
vice-versa. After all, it wasn't right for her to be all alone. With a start, I
realised that in my mind, I'd left my Mama's house. I felt the Wells-Fargo notes
in my pocket.
"Congratulations, Mama. Congratulations, Mr Johnstone."
Mama hugged me again and the Mr Johnstone drove us home in the trap.
#
All through the rest of the day, Mama kept looking worriedly at me, whenever she
thought I wasn't watching. I pretended not to notice, and did my chores, then
took my _Chronicle_ out to the apple orchard behind the Academy. I sat beneath a
big, shady tree and re-read the paper, all the curious bits and pieces of a city
frozen in time.