Time Snatchers by Richard Ungar

Author:Richard Ungar
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9781101561126
Publisher: G. P. Putnam’s Sons
Published: 2012-03-14T22:00:00+00:00

October 14, 1871, 11:17 A.M.

Bridgeport, Connecticut

Operation Fling

I land on a roof. If this is someone’s idea of a joke, I’m not finding it very funny. I know mission landings are purposely programmed not to attract attention, but this is a bit much. I’ve got half a mind to complain to management.

But since I’ve already had more than my share of interactions with management lately, I’ll let this little incident go by.

It feels good to be away from Headquarters and the suffocating atmosphere of Uncle’s office. My thoughts go back to his parting words about sorrow being “near at hand.” Abbie said not to think about it. To think about something pleasant instead.

Okay. So how’s this: it’s a good fifteen-foot drop to the hard ground, and I’m betting there aren’t any pillows lying around to break my fall.

As soon as the time freeze wears off, I slither backward on my belly until my legs dangle over the edge. A stone gargoyle crouches nearby. From the expression on its face, I’d say it’s hoping for an unhappy result. Without giving myself a chance to back out, I let go and fall the rest of the way.

I hit the ground rolling, which turns out to be a good thing, because when I finally stop and sit up I hardly feel sore at all. The first thing I notice is the wood-frame buildings. Nice and solid-looking. They line a street that is not much more than a mud track. You’d think that a mud street wouldn’t have a lot of foot traffic, but all sorts of people are out and about in Bridgeport today: men in smart-looking jackets and bowler hats, ladies in long, frilly dresses and little boys and girls dressed not much differently than the adults.

I spot Abbie lounging outside a storefront under a sign that says MALLEK & SONS, BLACKSMITHS.

“Good morning, Master Caleb. It is always delightful to see you, even though I can’t say the same for how you are dressed.”

She stretches the words so that they sound vaguely foreign. Abbie seems to be in a good mood. I’m glad. I don’t like it when there’s tension between us.

Still, there’s no way I’m taking responsibility for the mud-brown, pleated jacket, stiff shirt and dark green pants I’m wearing. After all, except for socks and underwear, I don’t have any choice in my mission clothing, and she knows it. Besides, Abbie shouldn’t complain—my outfit is hurting me way more than it’s hurting her. The one thing that’s not too tight is the bowler hat.

She, on the other hand, looks comfortable in a purply-blue dress that sticks out at the back and is tied in front with a large red bow. Her long auburn hair is partly hidden by a white bonnet tied with a pink ribbon under her chin, and she’s holding a small yellow umbrella that looks a lot like the one she lifted from the shop in London. I actually have to stop myself from staring. She looks … well, beautiful.

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