Torn

  “Please!” Jonah begged. “Can’t we have some food before we do whatever we’re supposed to do here? I’m starving!”

  “Sorry, but no,” JB muttered. It was hard to tell with his voice just coming from the Elucidator, but Jonah had the sense that JB was looking guiltily side to side, glancing back over his shoulder. His voice varied that much in volume.

  “Couldn’t you just yank us out of time, let us eat, then bring us back?” Katherine asked. Usually she made fun of Jonah for being hungry all the time—if she was asking too, things must really be bad. “Or let us have something we can eat fast, without making any noise? We won’t leave any crumbs, we promi—”

  “No!” JB exploded. “I can’t! We don’t even have time to talk about food right now! Everything’s about to start!”

  Jonah’s stomach started churning again. But it wasn’t just the hunger. There was something about the way JB sounded—as if he was even more scared than Jonah and Katherine. And was it Jonah’s imagination, or was there just the faintest hint of a siren sounding through the Elucidator along with JB’s voice?

  “What’s about to start?” Jonah challenged. “You have to tell us—”

  “We’re out of time,” JB said tensely. “There! Do you see the tracer?”

  A ghostly figure appeared on a narrow stairway from below the deck. It glowed faintly, throwing its eerie light into the fog around it.

  Jonah knew that this wasn’t actually a ghost, just like the Elucidator wasn’t actually an antique metal box. Long ago, on their first trip through time, Jonah had learned about tracers, the mostly see-through figures that represented what people would have done—how time would have flowed—if time travelers hadn’t intervened. Only time travelers could see them; they didn’t really exist.

  Jonah still thought tracers were creepy. His experiences in the year 1600 had made him even more suspicious of them. He watched this one warily.

  “Is it just that one tracer, coming up those stairs?” Katherine asked in a barely audible whisper. “Or are there any real people behind him? Do we need to hide?”

  “Don’t worry about that yet,” JB whispered back.

  The tracer walked unsteadily to the side of the ship. It was hard to tell anything about the tracer’s identity, because he was wrapped in a ragged, dirty cloak. Then the tracer leaned out over the railing. The wind knocked back the hood of his cloak, revealing a filthy tangle of light-brown hair and a bony, pockmarked face.

  “Allow me to introduce John Hudson,” JB muttered. “Ship’s boy for his father’s last four voyages.”

  “That’s a kid?” Jonah asked. “His face is so shriveled up I thought he was an old man.”

  “That’s from frostbite, scurvy, knife fights … It’s been a rough winter,” JB said grimly. “And spring.”

  The tracer of John Hudson turned away from the railing and yelled back toward the trapdoor.

  “Ice is breaking up!”

  It took Jonah a moment to realize that the hoarse, creaky voice didn’t come from the tracer’s mouth—even though his lips moved in perfect sync with the words. Instead the voice came from the Elucidator.

  “JB?” Jonah asked. “What are you doing? Whatever happened to not changing time? And—”

  “I’m not changing time. I’m trying to keep time on track.” The voice coming from the Elucidator sounded like JB again, though a very hushed, tense version. “The rest of John Hudson’s shipmates are supposed to hear the boy yell out about the ice breaking up. Since no one can hear a tracer, I had to do it for him.”

  Jonah squinted at the Elucidator. His brain still wasn’t working at its usual speed, but something seemed odd about JB’s answer.

  “Why didn’t you just bring the real John Hudson back a few moments ago and let him say it himself?” Katherine asked. “Wouldn’t that be easier?”

  “Yes, it would,” JB said, and now it sounded as if he was talking through gritted teeth. “That’s how we would have preferred to do it.”

  “Then why didn’t you?” Jonah asked, catching up. “What’s the problem?”

  “That’s one of the things I’ve been trying to tell you,” JB said.

  “What?” Katherine asked, sounding exasperated.

  JB paused. Jonah was almost eerily aware of the seconds ticking by—seconds marked off by the ship bobbing up and down in the water; the icicles dripping on the deck; the wind blowing the raveling end of a rope back and forth, like a pendulum. Time was not waiting for JB’s answer.

  “I’ve been trying to tell you,” JB finally said, “that we lost the real John Hudson.”

  “Lost!” Jonah exploded. “You mean, like, he died?”

  “Oh, no,” JB replied. “At least, he hasn’t yet.”

  “I know, I know!” Katherine said. “Is it like that old movie—what was it called? Back to the Future?—where time travel almost made it so this kid and his brother and sister were never born? Did some time traveler before 1611 make it so John Hudson never existed?” Katherine clapped her hand over her mouth and turned about two shades paler than her natural color. “Did we do that in 1600?” Now she clutched her brother’s arm. “Oh, Jonah, I hope that doesn’t happen to you!”

  Thanks a lot, Katherine, Jonah thought. You’re really helping here.

  “Calm down!” JB commanded. “That’s not what happened. First of all—John Hudson was already born before 1600. He’s a teenager, can’t you tell?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Katherine said, a little sheepishly.

  “I’m sure the real John Hudson is absolutely fine, not in any danger of being extinguished from history,” JB assured her. “It’s just, we had a little … uh … technical difficulty getting him back here in time.”

  Jonah watched the tracer, hunched again at the railing. Now he really did seem like a ghost, some empty husk of a boy who might as well have died.

  With all the time-travel worries Jonah had tried to avoid thinking about, he’d never once thought to worry about it being impossible to get someone back to his native time.

  What if that happened with Jonah and whatever time period he was supposed to belong in?

  Does this mean that John Hudson doesn’t really belong here after all? Does this mean that JB might be wrong about … everything?

  Jonah’s head was starting to hurt.

  Katherine slammed her hand down on the deck. She was already jumping to another question.

  “So what are you going to do?” she asked accusingly.

  “Oh, we’ve figured out a plan that ought to work,” JB said faintly.

  “What is it?” Katherine asked.

  Back home Katherine had been agonizing over whether, the next year in seventh grade, she would try out for cheerleading or basketball. She’d made it sound like the decision of a lifetime, the chance to choose her true identity: Was she a girly girl or a jock?

  Now Jonah saw that she already had a true identity. He could see her future very clearly: She was going to grow up and be a prosecuting attorney. She already sounded like one.

  And JB was answering her questions. He was answering meekly, almost humbly, as if Katherine deserved to have the upper hand.

  “Let me explain,” JB said. “See, Gary and Hodge were just a little premature snatching John Hudson out of time. They were so sloppy.” The scorn in his voice was palpable. “If they’d just waited a few hours, they could have pulled John Hudson out with no problem, no possible chance of damaging time.”

  “So why didn’t they?” Jonah asked, curious in spite of himself.

  “Because it’s a lot easier for time travelers to land on the deck of a seventeenth-century, three-masted sailing ship—rather than in a tiny rowboat bobbing among the ice floes,” JB said contemptuously. “Especially if they’re lazy.”

  “Oh,” Jonah said. He could understand wanting to take the lazy way out.

  “So John Hudson is supposed to end up in a rowboat?” Katherine asked. “In ice?”

  “There’s a mutiny afoot,
” JB said. “We’re just seconds away …”

  A crash sounded below the deck. The tracer version of John Hudson straightened up and rushed over to the stairs. He peeked over the edge, then slid down the icy steps.

  Silence.

  “Is the real John Hudson supposed to be doing something down there?” Jonah asked.

  “No, no, just hiding,” JB said. “Watching. Waiting. Until …”

  “But he’s not really there!” Katherine said, sounding panicked. “He’s not going to end up in any rowboat! What’s going to happen then?”

  Katherine’s panic was contagious. Jonah started thinking about all the awful things that could happen if John Hudson missed some crucial moment in his life: time ruined forever … me never getting to eat again … Andrea and the others stuck in the past forever … Oh, Andrea …

  “Don’t worry!” JB said sharply. “John Hudson doesn’t actually have to be in the rowboat. His shipmates just have to think he is!”

  “Well, what’s going to make them think that if you can’t get the real John Hudson back?” Katherine asked.

  “Our brilliant backup plan,” JB said. “Jonah’s going to play John Hudson’s part.”

  For a moment even Katherine was stunned into silence.

  Jonah thought about how John Hudson’s tracer had looked: the wild, uncombed thatch of hair; the hollow, scarred cheeks; the sunken eyes; the missing teeth. Granted, Jonah hadn’t looked in a mirror in a while. But he didn’t think he looked like that.

  “Um, I’m not a very good actor,” Jonah said, because if nobody else had noticed that Jonah didn’t look anything like the grotesque John Hudson, Jonah would feel really stupid trying to point that out. “And I wouldn’t know what to say or do.”

  It wouldn’t be like in the past time periods they’d visited, where their friends had joined with their tracers and instantly known everything the tracers were thinking, and how to act. People could mesh only with their own tracers.

  “It’s not really a matter of acting,” JB said. “You’re just being a space filler. A prop. All you have to do is stay in the general vicinity of the tracer when he comes back up the stairs. This situation coming up—it’s all about Henry Hudson. Not his son.”

  “Hold on,” Katherine said. “You said there’s a mutiny about to happen? What if someone shoots Jonah? Or stabs him to death?”

  Jonah hadn’t thought of that. He stopped worrying that he might look as hideous as John Hudson.

  “Let’s just say his costume will be both bulletproof and stabproof,” JB said. “Even his wig and mask.”

  Oh—a costume, Jonah thought. Wig. Mask. Of course.

  “I’m game,” Jonah said, immensely cheered at finding out that he would only have to pretend to be wild-haired, frostbitten, pockmarked, gap-toothed and disgustingly scarred.

  “Are you crazy?” Katherine asked. Jonah couldn’t tell if she was aiming her question at him or JB.

  But the words weren’t even out of Katherine’s mouth before Jonah felt something rough and scratchy settle over his shoulders. He looked down at what appeared to be an exact replica of the black cloak John Hudson’s tracer had been wearing. Or not an exact replica, Jonah told himself. Not if this one’s bulletproof. His face felt oddly stiff, and when he reached his hand up to touch it, he discovered craters and crooked scar lines. One seemed to be lightly oozing blood.

  “Jonah?” Katherine whispered. Her eyes were wide with horror. “Is that really you in there?”

  “Sure,” Jonah said, but even his voice came out sounding as if it belonged to John Hudson.

  “We embedded voice modification software in the teeth overlays,” JB explained. “Pretty amazing, isn’t it?”

  Jonah ran his tongue over his teeth—which suddenly seemed chipped and broken-off and crooked, as if he’d just gone through some kind of reverse orthodontia. He gagged, and choked back nausea. Even though it fit loosely, the woolen coat suddenly felt as if it were suffocating him. He tugged at his face, at his hair, trying to pull off the mask and wig. They didn’t budge.

  Jonah couldn’t breathe. He whipped his body from side to side, struggling to escape.

  “Katherine—slap him!” JB ordered. “He’s going into hysterics!”

  “I’m not going to slap him!” Katherine snapped. “Not when he’s in agony like that!” She threw her arms around his shoulders. “Oh, Jonah, I know you’re in there! Don’t worry—we’ll get you out! I love you! You’re the best brother ever!”

  This was so ridiculously sappy that Jonah couldn’t help himself: He started laughing.

  Maybe that was all he needed, because when he stopped laughing, he found he could breathe fine.

  “Can I keep this costume when we go home?” he asked JB. It was still weird to hear his voice come out sounding like somebody else’s, but he was able to hold the panic at bay. For now. “This would be great for Halloween! Look how easy it was to scare Katherine!”

  He lifted his arms in a zombie/Frankenstein/monster-type move: “Argghh!”

  Katherine shoved him away.

  “You are so mean!” she said. “I was really worried about you! I thought you were actually scared.”

  “Not me,” Jonah bragged, even though it was a lie. “Nothing scares me.”

  “Would you two focus?” JB asked. “The tracer’s going to be coming up the stairs again in a moment. With other people, real people—”

  “Then you have to make Katherine invisible,” Jonah demanded. He might tease Katherine like crazy, but he wasn’t going to leave her exposed in plain sight in the midst of a mutiny.

  “I’m trying,” JB said grimly.

  “What do you mean, trying?” Jonah asked.

  Then, in the next instant, Katherine became as transparent as a tracer. Jonah had seen his sister—and himself and others—turn invisible before. But it was still bizarre to watch. He knew that anyone from 1611 would be able to look right through Katherine; the ship’s crew wouldn’t know she was there. Only Jonah, as a time traveler, was able to see her faint outline.

  To him it looked like she’d turned into glass.

  “What about the Elucidator?” Katherine asked, since it was still sitting on the deck, in plain sight.

  “Oh, um, right,” JB said, sounding distracted.

  For a moment the Elucidator seemed to quiver, but it never quite turned invisible.

  “I can’t do it,” JB said. “Jonah, quick—put it in your pocket—”

  Can’t do it? Jonah thought. Can’t? First they’d lost John Hudson, now the Elucidator’s invisibility was failing—what else could go wrong?

  There wasn’t time to ask. Jonah snatched up the Elucidator and tucked it and the picture of Andrea inside his cloak. Just then the dim glow of John Hudson’s tracer appeared at the top of the stairs. The tracer walked purposefully to a door beyond where Jonah and Katherine were sitting. He lifted his hand as if he were about to knock.

  “Should I go stand there and knock?” Jonah asked. “If I’m playing his role …”

  He was already standing up. But that was as far as he got. It was hard to keep his balance on the rolling deck. And he had another moment of fear: What if he did knock? What if someone answered the door? What was Jonah supposed to do then?

  “Go stand over there, but whatever you do, don’t knock!” JB whispered tensely. “The tracer’s going to chicken out.”

  Indeed the tracer had frozen, his hand poised by the door. Then he backed away.

  Jonah noticed that the tracer’s lips were moving.

  “What’d he just say?” Jonah asked.

  “He said, ‘He never likes to hear bad news. And I’m not sure …,’” JB whispered back.

  “Should you say that for him? Should I?” Jonah asked.

  “No, no—nobody could hear him, so it doesn’t matter what he says,” JB whispered.

  Like that whole ‘if a tree falls in a forest …’ question, Jonah thought. If no one hears him, who cares if there’s a sound o
r not?

  Jonah was feeling light-headed, and still wasn’t entirely certain that his thoughts were making sense. Was it from the timesickness? The panic? The effort of trying to figure out what he should do as John Hudson?

  He stepped carefully into the space that John Hudson’s tracer occupied. Crazily Katherine stepped up right behind him, as if they both needed to stay within the tracer’s dimensions.

  Or maybe she was scared too.

  A strangled cry sounded behind them, and both of them whirled around. A man’s head was just dipping down out of sight at the top of the stairs.

  Jonah had no clue what the tracer was thinking—Jonah had no idea what to think himself. Had the man slipped on the icy stairs? Had someone attacked him?

  The tracer began creeping toward the stairs, stealthily, as if he wanted to see what had happened to the man but didn’t want anyone to see him. Jonah shuffled forward too, not quite getting the rhythm of the tracer’s steps.

  Oh, yeah, you kind of have to wait between rolls of the ship. Is the water always this rough? Jonah wondered, lurching forward, catching his balance, then lurching forward again.

  Jonah reached the edge of the stairs only a split second behind the tracer. He peeked down into the—what would it be called? The hold? But he couldn’t really see what had happened, because his eyes hadn’t adjusted to the darkness below. He squinted, trying to make out shapes.

  Then he heard screaming above him.

  “No! You are not going to hit my brother! Jonah! Watch out!”

  Jonah whipped his head around to see a giant club descending toward him. It was already too close to dodge, but Jonah tried anyway. He hunched his shoulders and brought his arms up to protect his head and rolled to the right and …

  And how is it that that club hasn’t hit me yet?

  He realized that he’d squeezed his eyes shut, defensively, but now, still rolling, he dared to open one eye partway.

  The club was still poised above him, but he was no longer directly in its path. He scooted a little farther to the right. The club still hovered overhead.

  It wasn’t moving.