The Wells Bequest Read online

  I jumped up. “We can? Let’s go now!”

  Jaya stayed put. “Only if you can’t find one that works. It’s a pain in the neck to shrink parts down to exactly the right size, and we’re not really supposed to do it unless we really need to.”

  “But I really need to see the shrink ray,” I said. “Come on, Jaya! You can’t tease me like that! Anyway, none of these work,” I said, trying the last spring to make my point.

  To my disappointment, it fit perfectly.

  “Good. It’s much better when it’s the right size to begin with. But you’ll go back to the Wells Bequest soon, I promise,” said Jaya.

  I fitted the spring in the hinge and tested the door. It snapped shut with a click. As it did, something clicked in my mind too. I could almost hear the ideas clicking into place.

  “Hey!” I said.

  “What’s the matter? You look like you just swallowed a corn chip without chewing.”

  “I think I thought of something.” I put the stove down and started digging through my backpack. “Here—look!” I pulled out the copy of H. G. Wells’s The Time Machine that I’d been carrying around with me. “The time machine, our time machine! It’s like the spring—it was the right size to begin with!”

  “What are you talking about?”

  I flipped to the scene in the beginning of the book where the mad scientist demonstrates his invention for his friends. “Look,” I said. “The Time Traveller invents a time machine. But before he builds the full-size one, he makes a little demo version. Fully functioning, just like the salesman’s samples.”

  “And you think—?”

  “Yes,” I said. “That must be why I told myself to read The Time Machine! Listen.” I read from the book: “‘The thing the Time Traveller held in his hand was a glittering metallic framework, scarcely larger than a small clock, and very delicately made. There was ivory in it, and some transparent crystalline substance.’” I flipped forward a bit. “‘“This little affair,” said the Time Traveller, resting his elbows upon the table and pressing his hands together above the apparatus, “is only a model. It is my plan for a machine to travel through time.”’”

  “Is that what you saw? Could that be our time machine? The little demo model?” asked Jaya.

  “I think so,” I said. “And I think I know where it goes.”

  “Where?”

  “You’ll see in a sec,” I said. I read some more:

  “‘ “Now I want you clearly to understand that this lever, being pressed over, sends the machine gliding into the future, and this other reverses the motion. This saddle represents the seat of a time traveller. Presently I am going to press the lever, and off the machine will go. It will vanish, pass into future Time, and disappear.” ’”

  “Well, does it disappear? I don’t remember this part of the book that well,” said Jaya.

  “Yes. Listen,” I said. “‘There was a breath of wind, and the lamp flame jumped. One of the candles on the mantel was blown out, and the little machine suddenly swung round, became indistinct, was seen as a ghost for a second perhaps, as an eddy of faintly glittering brass and ivory; and it was gone—vanished! Save for the lamp the table was bare.’” I shut the book triumphantly. “What do you think of that?”

  “Where does it go?”

  “Into the future, of course,” I said. “But that was over a century ago. And you know what the future was over a century ago? It was now!”

  “But where? Where is it?”

  “Right where it was when it went into the future, of course,” I said. “In someplace called Richmond, in England.”

  “Oh, Richmond! That’s part of London now,” said Jaya. “My auntie Shanti lives there.”

  “That’s perfect!” I said. “Your aunt can help us find it.”

  “But I don’t understand—why does the model time machine disappear if it’s still there?”

  “It’s still right there on the table. He explains that in the book. The people in the story just can’t see it because it’s moving through time so much faster than they are. It’s going so fast it’s invisible, like a wheel spinning or a bullet flying. So we just have to find the Time Traveller’s house and figure out how to stop time and then grab it.”

  Jaya jumped out of her chair and threw her arms around me. “Leo Novikov, you are a genius,” she cried. “And so am I, for finding you!”

  I didn’t bother to argue that she hadn’t found me—that I had found her. Instead, I lurched out of my chair and threw my own arms around her. We stood there in a crazy, awkward hug with the model stove getting tangled in her hair, and all I could think was how this had to be the happiest moment of my life.

  • • •

  Like all moments, happy or not, it had to end. So I decided to end it before the hug made Jaya uncomfortable. I opened my arms and backed away slightly.

  “Ow,” said Jaya. “You’re pulling my hair.”

  “Sorry! The stove’s caught. Stop wiggling, you’re making it worse.” I freed it and then carefully pulled a few of Jaya’s long hairs out of the hinge.

  “Come on,” said Jaya, tugging me by the arm.

  “Okay. Where are we going?”

  “To Richmond.”

  “Richmond, England? Just like that? How are we getting there?”

  “I don’t know yet, but Doc will,” said Jaya.

  Ms. Minnian was sitting in the guest chair by Dr. Rust’s desk. “Jaya! Leo! Aren’t you supposed to be in Preservation?” she asked.

  “Yes, but this is important. It’s the time machine,” said Jaya. “Leo figured out how to find it.”

  “You mean how to fix it?” asked Ms. Minnian.

  “No, how to find it. Tell them, Leo.”

  I explained about the demo model.

  Doc cocked an eyebrow. “That sounds distinctly plausible. What do you think, Lucy?”

  “Very clever. We’ve thought about trying to capture the big time machine on one of its trips through time, when we know it was working. But nobody ever thought of looking for the demo model! Shall I alert our friends at the Burton and see if they can capture it?”

  “No, don’t,” said Dr. Rust, just as Jaya was yelping, “No! Let us! We thought of it!”

  Doc waited until she was done and said, “Dr. Pemberley-Potts has doubts about the legality of the Wells Bequest. If she got her hands on the demo model, she’d be sure to declare it a cultural treasure and claim it for the Burton. The lawyers would squabble over it for years, and there’s no guarantee the council would side with us—after all, it technically wasn’t in Steel’s possession when he died.”

  “That’s nonsense,” said Ms. Minnian. “It’s clearly covered in the ‘artifacts to be found’ clause.”

  “Yes, and most likely the ruling would come down in our favor eventually. But eventually can take a long time. I think we’d better go to London ourselves—as quietly as possible.”

  “All right,” said Ms. Minnian. “I’ll book us plane tickets.”

  “But that’s not fair! It was Leo’s idea! We should go,” objected Jaya in a near wail.

  Ms. Minnian glanced at her impatiently.

  I said, “Won’t it look weird if our head repositorian suddenly shows up in London for no reason? If you need it done quietly, you should send me and Jaya.”

  “Nobody’ll notice a couple of kids,” said Jaya. “We can go spend the weekend with my aunt. That wouldn’t draw any attention.”

  “I don’t know. It’s an awfully important mission for a couple of pages,” said Ms. Minnian.

  “For the head page, you mean! Remember that Grimm Collection thief? The pages were the ones who caught him, not the librarians.”

  “You’ll never let us forget it,” said Doc.

  “Besides, what’s the worst that could happen?” Jaya went on. “We go to England, we try to find the time machine, we fail, and we have a nice weekend with Auntie Shanti.”

  Dr. Rust nodded. “True. Since we’re talking about expro
priating an artifact in a foreign jurisdiction without due process, it has to be done very, very quietly. That all argues for the pages doing it. This is a clandestine operation. No commercial plane flights.”

  Ms. Minnian frowned. “Well . . . if you think so, Lee.”

  “In fact,” said Dr. Rust, “if you two do get hold of the model time machine, don’t bring it here. Keep it somewhere safe at home. I don’t want it in our possession until we’ve been over every inch of the legalities. I’ll get in touch with our attorney.”

  “Does that mean you’re letting me and Leo go? Great!” said Jaya. “How are we going? Jet packs? Flying carpet? Dirigible?”

  Jet packs! Flying carpets! Would I ever get used to this place?

  “Jet packs would be fun,” I said, trying to sound calm. “Or could we take the Nautilus?”

  “Too loud and too slow,” said Dr. Rust. “You need something fast, silent, and unnoticeable. We don’t want them shooting you down with fighter jets or blowing you up with depth charges.”

  “What about the dissolution transporter?” suggested Ms. Minnian. “Is it still checked out?”

  “Let’s see.” Doc went over to a card file and flipped through it. “No, it’s back downstairs in the Chresto. Excellent idea.”

  “What’s a dissolution transporter?” I asked.

  “Sort of like a fax machine for objects,” said Dr. Rust.

  “What’s a fax machine, then?”

  “Oh, you young people!” said Ms. Minnian.

  “Never mind about the fax,” said Doc. “A dissolution transporter deconstructs an object—in this case, you—taking note of its exact structure and composition. Then it transfers that information to another location, where the object is reassembled from material there.”

  “Kind of like the transporter on Star Trek except it only works one way,” said Jaya.

  That sounded alarming. “But if we’re deconstructed here and reassembled someplace else, won’t we turn into other people?”

  “Technically, yes. But you’ll be other people with the exact same memories. And exact duplicates of your bodies, down to the last quark,” said Ms. Minnian.

  “Yes, but I’ll be dead! Just because someone else has my memories, that doesn’t mean it’s me!” I objected.

  “It’s okay, Leo,” said Jaya. “I’ve used the diss tran a zillion times and I still feel like myself.”

  “Of course you do. You have all of the original Jaya’s memories, so of course you think you’re her. That doesn’t mean you are.”

  “What makes you so sure you’re the same Leo who went to bed last night?” said Ms. Minnian. “Dissolution transportation is no more discontinuous than falling asleep and waking up again. But you don’t have to go if you’re afraid.”

  “No, I’m not afraid! I want to go.”

  “Great,” said Jaya. “Let’s go get beamed.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Chocolate at the Time Traveller’s House

  We told our parents we were participating in an educational weekend project for the repository—which, if you thought about it, was true. Dr. Rust gave us forms for them to sign.

  “Though I don’t see why I need a permission slip to visit my own aunt for the weekend,” said Jaya, once we had all reassembled in Doc’s office.

  “Because the rules apply to you too, young lady, much as you’d like to believe otherwise,” said Ms. Minnian, putting our forms in a folder.

  Jaya winked at me behind her back. “You talked to my aunt, right, Doc?”

  “She knows you’re coming. I caught her at the office, but we didn’t have much time to talk. I told her you’d explain when you get there,” said Dr. Rust, handing Ms. Minnian a fist-size metal globe. “Will you do the honors, Lucy? You’re so precise.”

  “Of course,” said Ms. Minnian. “Stand over here by the window, you two. No, closer together. You’ve both got your backpacks?” I swiveled slightly to show her mine. She lifted the globe to her eye as if she were looking at us through an old-fashioned camera’s viewfinder. “Get closer together—I don’t want to leave parts of you behind. Leo, put your arm around Jaya’s shoulders. That’s right.”

  Ms. Minnian lowered the globe. I stood there awkwardly with my arm around Jaya—her shoulders felt surprisingly sharp—while Ms. Minnian fiddled with some rings on the globe’s surface.

  “Jaya, what’s Shanti’s address?” she asked.

  “Number 127 Sidney Terrace.”

  “Is that the north or south side of the street?”

  “North.”

  “You sure?”

  “Positive.”

  “Hang on—here’s the Time Traveller’s address,” said Dr. Rust, scribbling something on a blank call slip and handing it to me. “Travel safely, kids. Warm regards to your aunt, Jaya.”

  Ms. Minnian lifted the globe to her eye again. “All right. Stand still now. I said still, Jaya! Don’t fidget, you could lose a finger. Ready, you two?”

  “Ready,” said Jaya and I together.

  Ms. Minnian pressed something on the globe and the world blinked black.

  • • •

  A second later—or maybe a lifetime—the world went bright again. I found myself standing on something unstable, looking down at a small living room from an odd angle. It was evening. Little lamps with colored shades spilled pools of cozy light around the room.

  “Jaya, really—your shoes!” said a woman with an English accent. “Aren’t you a little old to be bouncing on the furniture?”

  I looked down, clutching Jaya’s shoulder. We were standing on a velvet couch with carved wooden arms. I still felt like myself, only more unsteady.

  Jaya shrugged out of my grasp, tumbling me off my feet like a load of laundry. She jumped off the couch and threw her arms around the woman. “Hi, Auntie Shanti!”

  “Hi yourself, incorrigible,” said her aunt, hugging her back.

  Shanti Rao had her niece’s snapping black eyes and long thin arms. She wore her black hair pulled back firmly, but I could almost see it scheming to get loose. “You must be Leo,” she said, holding out her hand. With her accent, she sounded like the narrator on a Masterpiece Theater program.

  “Thank you for having us,” I said, taking her hand to shake it. She pulled me to my feet and looked me up and down.

  “Too tall to sleep on the sofa,” she said. “Pity. I’ve only the one guest bed.”

  “He can have it,” said Jaya. “He’s the guest.”

  “I don’t mind the floor,” I said. “Really, Ms. Rao.”

  “Well, we’ll sort it out later. Please call me Auntie Shanti. Hungry?”

  Jaya and I nodded.

  “Good. Fish and chips? And then you can tell me what on earth the two of you are doing here.”

  • • •

  Richmond, where Auntie Shanti lived, had bendy streets lined with houses made of red or yellow brick. Some were whitewashed, some trimmed with stone. Some had arched doors or bow windows, some had slate roofs and little gardens in front. It was very pretty and very old.

  But it wasn’t raining. Wasn’t it supposed to rain all the time in England? The air felt cool and pleasant.

  Jaya’s aunt bought fish and chips “to take away” at a little shop on one of the wider streets. We ate sitting on a bench in a park where a few people were walking their dogs in the cool evening air.

  I bit through the crisp crust. It was salty, vinegary, and greasy, in a good way. My teeth met in tender, steaming fish. “This is awesome,” I said. “Why don’t we have this stuff at home?”

  “I know, right?” said Jaya. “There’s that place in the Village where I used to go with Simon, but it’s not really the same.”

  “You have better pizza in New York, though,” said Auntie Shanti, crumpling up her empty fish paper. “Now, tell me what brings you here.”

  I ate my fish while Jaya explained.

  “Clever boy,” said Auntie Shanti when she finished.

  “You won’t tell P
em-Po, will you? I promised Dr. Rust you wouldn’t,” said Jaya quickly.

  “No, of course not,” said her aunt. “The Wells time machine belongs to the New York repository.”

  “Doesn’t the Burton have its own time machine anyway?” asked Jaya.

  “Well, yes. A few of them,” said Shanti. “But that never stops any repository from wanting another. Besides, the ones at the Burton are weaker than the H. G. Wells machine.”

  “Of course—that makes sense,” said Jaya.

  “What are you guys talking about?” I asked.

  “Each machine follows the principles of its underlying fiction,” said Jaya.

  “What does that mean?”

  She licked a crumb off her upper lip. “Say you want to travel faster than light. You would need to find a spacecraft from a science-fiction story where faster-than-light travel is possible. If you tried to go faster than light in a rocket from a novel where faster-than-light travel isn’t possible, it wouldn’t work.”

  “But I thought Einstein had proved that nothing can ever go faster than light,” I objected.

  “Yes, he did, for all practical purposes. That’s why the books are science fiction. It’s what makes the Special Collections special. The objects in the Wells Bequest don’t exist in the boring old ordinary world. Or they don’t exist yet.”

  “The same’s true of the objects in the other Special Collections—the ones in other repositories, like the Burton,” said Auntie Shanti.

  I thought about it. “So some of the things in the Special Collections violate the laws of nature?”

  “Of course,” said Jaya. “The whole Grimm Collection, for starters. You’ve got wishing rings and flying carpets and magic tables that make food appear.”

  “Okay, sure, but that’s fairy tales. They’re not supposed to make logical sense. Science fiction is different. It’s supposed to be . . . I don’t know. It’s supposed to be possible.”

  “All the science-fiction objects are possible, in their own terms,” said Jaya. “They do obey the rules of nature—just different rules of nature.”

  “But what if those rules contradict each other?” I objected. “The stories all have different rules. They shouldn’t all be able to coexist in our world. It’s impossible.”