Boston, 1889
Will Marshall stared at the well-lit facade of the building in front of him. While it certainly melded well with the rest of the lively Endicott Street, it did not go well with Will's moral code.
“Come on. You need to loosen up a bit. Have some fun.” Charlie grasped his shoulder. His neighbor back in Hartford, Charlie was a few years younger, and now that he too came to study in Boston, Mrs. Jones—Charlie’s mother—kindly asked Will to take Charlie under his wing. He was a little on the wild side, and maybe Will could tone that down.
He was not succeeding. Perhaps the fault was his own. He should’ve said yes to boxing or gambling, Charlie’s previous suggestions. Instead, they ended up here.
In front of a brothel.
“I’m not going in there.” Will tried an authoritative tone.
“You think you don’t want to go. Trust me, my friend, you do.”
“This is really not—”
The door opened, and Charlie used the opportunity to push Will inside, following him.
A sweet, flowery fragrance overwhelmed Will’s senses, pressing on him like an invisible pillow. The inside was lush with fancy furniture and artful decorations easily found in an upscale mansion. Heavy velvet curtains masked the windows, and colorful birds in elaborate golden cages chirped and stretched their wings, not at all bothered by their surroundings.
And of course, there were the women.
“Good evening.” A lady with a low-cut bodice spun around Charlie. “Looking for anything special?”
“Do you have anything special?” Charlie asked, inciting a melodic laugh from the woman.
A brunette in a silky, diaphanous gown wrapped around Will.“What about you, honey?”
“I–uh–no, thank you.” He gently shook her off and took a step back. “Charlie, now would be the time to—”
But Charlie was already being led away. “Charlie!” Will hissed.
“Don’t worry about your friend,” the woman said, plastering herself to Will’s back. “His needs will be taken care of. Now, what are yours?”
Will looked longingly towards the door. It was blocked by another gentleman and lady, starting to get into not-so-gentleman-and-ladylike behavior.
“Water closet,” he squeezed out, and retreated to the other side of the room. Perhaps they'd leave him alone if he looked like he had a purpose. A staircase in the corner led up. To the right, another group of women performed a dance on a low stage. The gathered men’s gazes followed them, hypnotized. No Charlie—darn it, where’d he gone? Mrs. Jones would surely not approve of this kind of ‘guidance’ to her son.
One woman tore off her skirt; the others followed. Will hurriedly turned away, feeling the warmth seeping into his cheeks. Whatever this show was, more and more people were drawn to it, filling the space between him and the exit.
All right, breathe. At least he escaped the attention. Now he only needed a quiet place to wait this out. For example—his gaze flicked upward—the low-lit hallway. He ran upstairs, the soft red carpet muffling his steps.
In his new safe haven, he leaned on the wall and let out a sigh. Better already. He really should’ve said yes to gambling.
“What are you doing here all alone?” A woman stood by the door at the end of the hallway. He knew this was the function of this establishment, but god, there were so many of them!
“Has Laureen sent you? You’re just in time, then. We’re all waiting.”
So much for a safe haven. “Uh, actually, I already have an appointment…” He shuffled by the wall, feeling for an exit with his hands. A doorknob—and it gave in! In a wave of relief, he jumped in and slammed the door behind him. Silence and darkness greeted him, extinguishing the worry of possibly exchanging the frying pan for the fire.
Now he was safe.
He took a deep breath, relishing the peace, when something stirred in the room. A light rustle. A soft whimper.
“Anyone there?”
No answer, but he had heard something—or someone. And even though he was, in theory, hiding, he didn’t feel like standing in darkness with a stranger. Feeling the wall, he found the light and turned it on.
The first revelation was that the room wasn’t a bedroom. Instead, it looked like a study. The second revelation, which took away from examining the room closer, was its mysterious inhabitant. Partially hiding behind a tall cabinet was a young woman with striking, curly red hair piled high at the back of her head, and a pale, round, freckled face. A dainty hat with a single feather slid halfway down her head. Her dress, consisting of a fine velvet jacket and damask skirt, was buttoned up to her neck.
“Don’t come closer!” she shrieked, waving with a pen, pointed at him. “I—I—I’m not one of them.”
“I won’t harm you,” he assured her. “Miss—uh—ma’am—”
“Lady.”
“I’m sure you are, I’d never imply otherwise—”
“No, that’s the title. Lady Sylvia Ross.”
At the name, a strange feeling, a sense of déjà vu, flushed over him. There was something about that name, Sylvia—something he should remember but couldn’t put his finger on. So instead, he asked, “British?”
“Obviously,” she responded, raising her chin.
“Will Marshall. No title.”
She nodded, then lowered the pen.
“Lady Ross, is there anything I can help you with?”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why are you offering to help me?”
“You appear to be in distress, and as such, I believe I should offer my help. I think none of us particularly wants to be here.”
“You came unwillingly?”
“A friend dragged me in.”
Her eyes grew wider. A strange sound emerged from her—laughter? Then she collapsed down the side of the cabinet, fixing the hat with one hand.
“Are you all right?” he said, if only to say something—she clearly wasn’t.
Her laugh transitioned into a short wail. “I’m afraid I did a very stupid thing. A couple of them, rather.”
“You’re not being forced to—”
“Oh, no, I didn’t mean it like that. I came here because my nonsensical brain convinced me that was a smart idea. That this is where he wouldn’t look for me.”
Will approached with tentative steps and knelt down. The reduced difference in height would likely make her more comfortable. Etiquette or not, the woman needed help—not to mention, he was getting curious. Judging by her title, accent, and fine clothes, she was a well-bred lady—literally, a Lady—and not someone he would at all expect to be on the run and hiding in a public house.
“May I ask, who’s looking for you?”
“My husband. Though I do not think it’s for the obvious reasons—”
Ah, so this was something of a lovers’ quarrel…
“But because I stole from him.”
…or maybe not.
“You stole from your husband?”
She shook her head, sending one curl flying. “I—I didn’t mean it. I was packing my things and he was in the other room and he stabbed that man and I don’t think he saw me but I couldn’t—I couldn’t believe…”
Wait a second—stabbed a man?
“…and escaped since the ship had docked. I didn’t know my brother’s address so I only ran, ran to a place he’d never look for me, but it’s all because I took the device accidentally and if he killed the man over it then he’ll want it back—”
“Lady Ross,” Will said firmly. He lay his hand on her upper arm; she didn’t seem to mind. “Please, calm down. You’re not saying you’d witnessed your husband murder someone?”
“But that is exactly what I’m saying!” She clutched the pen so hard her knuckles went white.
“Then we must report him.”
“They’ll never believe me. No one else saw. He—he’ll say I’m still not feeling well because I’ve been ill, that I’d imagined it—and Sir Richard has powerful friends, they’ll protect him.”
He really, really should’ve said yes to gambling.
His legs were starting to tingle from the kneeling position, so he shifted and sat by the cabinet, mimicking her pose.
A minute of silence passed, the air tense with whirling, unspoken thoughts.
“How did you manage to get here unnoticed?” he asked.
“They were distracted by a show downstairs.”
He gave a short laugh. “It appears we’re victims of the same circumstances. Only the show trapped me in here.” When he glimpsed at her, he was surprised by a brief smile—the kind that said, ‘This is a predicament, but at least we’re in it together.’
Well, she was in a much worse predicament.
“I’m afraid we probably won’t be able to hide here for long,” he continued. “Are you sure you don’t wish to go to the authorities?”
She shook her head. “Then he will certainly know I’d seen him. For now, he might think I simply disembarked without him. I would not have behaved as irrationally as to run.” Her eyes glazed over as she stared into the distance. “I don’t know how long he was gone while he… went to get rid of the body. He might even think something happened to me while I was alone. And I don’t know if he’d discovered the missing item already.”
“In any case, he will search for you.”
She nodded and, in a whimper, said, “I don’t want to go back to him.”
“Yes. I understand.”
She wrung her hands, then cast a tentative look in his direction. “Mr. Marshall, I—I would not usually make a proposition like this, but would you take me to my brother?”
“Accompany you?”
“Yes. He should not be far, he’s here in Boston, but I don’t know the city…”
“Of course. Will he be able to help you?”
“Why are you worried about that?”
He shrugged. “Because you need someone to keep you safe.”
He never imagined simple words like these could bring out a look like hers—revelation and relief, gratitude and surprise, all packed behind a pair of sky-blue eyes.
“James will find a solution. He’s always been resourceful. He can protect me from Sir Richard.” She nodded to herself.
“Then let us be on our way. We might even be able to employ your tactics and sneak out thanks to the show.”
That drew out another slight smile from her. He stood and she followed, bringing forward a brown leather valise.
“Please, allow me.” He reached for the bag, but as she swung it forward, one strap slipped her grasp, and the bag toppled sideways.
She yelped.
“All good,” he said, turning the bag over on the floor. Only one thing had fallen out from where the valise wasn’t closed all the way: a square box ten inches across. The box has opened, revealing something round and metallic inside.
Will picked it up, securing the object within. “There you—” he stopped as he turned the box around. He stared at the brass, egg-shaped object nestled in the velvet.
“Mr. Marshall?” Lady Ross looked from him to the object, and back at him.
“May I?” He pointed at the egg.
She gave a curt nod.
A latch at the side opened the object horizontally. Will stifled a gasp at the revelation of the intricate mechanism inside. He’d seen a design like this before—not the same, but very similar. He carefully touched a black-blue metal ball, affixed to the center of the upper half. Almonite? The substance at the core of time travel—every time traveler had it in their blood and their watch, which would help them regulate where they were going. Will did.
Only this wasn’t real almonite—close to it, but not quite. There was no more almonite in this world. No more Watchers.
And yet he was holding Watchers’ technology in his hands.
“It’s the device I accidentally took from my husband,” Lady Ross explained. “After I saw the—you know—I packed in a rush. I must have grabbed the box thinking it was the one holding my jewelry.” She frowned. “I’ll have to find a way to deliver it back to Sir Richard. The man that came to argue, he was there because of this. He said it wasn’t right to use the device, that he shouldn’t have made it. My husband will want it back. Perhaps if I return it, he’ll leave me—”
“No!”
She blinked a few times. “I beg your pardon?”
“You can’t give it to him.” Whatever her husband’s motives were, he killed a man over it. Nothing good could ever come of someone killing for, or because of time travel technology. “Please, Lady Ross.”
“Then what?”
“You could give it to me.”
She raised her eyebrows. “And why do you want it?”
Fair question. Surely she didn’t know anything about time travel. How could he convince her he was the better alternative? “I have knowledge about this technology. Your husband’s actions worry me. I’d like to examine the device first to make sure he couldn’t abuse it.”
She hesitated, her arm half extended toward the box. Then she sighed, and lowered it. “Fine. I won’t pretend I know what it does or how dangerous it could be. I’ll let you have it, but only after you’ve helped me find my brother.”
That was quick. “Really?”
“If you were as bad as my husband, you’d take the device from me, whether I wanted that or not. So I can only conclude you’re not as bad as him and do wish to help me. And in that case—once you have, the device is yours.”
“Very well.” If her brother was in the city, that would be easy enough. “Shall we be on our way?”
She dusted off her skirt. Will put the device back into the box and stored it safely in the bag, then offered her his arm. Lady Ross hesitated for a moment, then drew in a breath and laid her lace-gloved fingers in the crook of his elbow.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “We’ll find your brother. It will be all right.”
“Thank you.”
Will balanced the valise in his other hand, both excited and terrified at the knowledge of what it held. If he remembered the design correctly, a device like this was once used to fix almonite barrels in the watches.
It might allow Will to fix his watch and finally pay a visit four years due.
But a more frightening question was—what did Sir Richard Ross want with it?
