Chapters and the Hourglass of Time

  “And . . .?” Billy held his breath.

  “A bitter disappointment,” the professor replied, exhaling. “It didn’t make any sense. I only had some separate words and meaningless pieces of phrases.”

  The professor took another sip of his coffee. Billy patiently waited for him to continue.

  “So,” the professor carried on, “I moved onto the second line. Good thing I did it from the same point as I started the first line.”

  “Why is it good?” Billy asked.

  “Because it appeared that the first words from the first line linked to the first words on the second line.”

  The professor paused, giving Billy some time to comprehend the significance of the news. Then he continued excitedly. “The writing on the plate is not linear. All four circles of lines are divided into sectors, like a football stadium, or hockey arena, or the Roman Coliseum. After I completed the third and fourth lines of the first sector, I couldn’t believe what I saw.” The professor paused again. “It was Nostradamus’s quatrain about the rise of Napoleon.”

  “Couldn’t be,” whispered Billy.

  “So I thought,” said the professor. “I went on to the next sector.”

  “And . . .?” asked Billy anxiously.

  “Another quatrain,” said the professor.

  “Well, Professor, I don’t understand. What’s all this supposed to mean?”

  “It means that the plates, dated 3000 B.C., hold engraved writings in Ancient Egyptian that were introduced by Nostradamus in his book, The Prophecies, in 1555 A.D. This means he must’ve had the plates all this time. But how did the Ancient Egyptians know about our history, providing, of course, that the prophecies are true?”

  The professor wasn’t looking at Billy anymore. He seemed to be talking to himself.

  “On the other hand, there is no evidence of Nostradamus knowing Ancient Egyptian. There is not a single word in his biography about any plates. Imagine how hard it is hiding something like this for your entire life.” The professor sighed. “All I have are questions.” Then he looked directly at Billy, “To get answers I must see the plates.”

  The final phrase caught Billy off guard. “I beg your pardon?” He almost spilled his hot chocolate.

  “You see, Billy, when I first learned about the connection between the plates and Nostradamus’s prophecies, I had to share it with somebody, simply to see whether I was right or wrong. I called my colleagues. None of them had heard anything about finding new plates. So, I made some inquires and contacted people that for sure would have known about such a discovery.”

  “And?”

  “No one had the slightest clue,” said the professor. “Thus, I searched the Internet, looking for a magazine or any announcement at all about the plates and came back with the same result—nothing, like it had never happened.”

  The professor leaned back in his chair and drank his coffee. Billy bit his tongue.

  “Exhausted and frustrated, I returned to study the picture,” continued the professor. With these words, he took out of his pocket the picture that Billy and Anna-Maria left for him the other day. “This time I noticed something, a little detail that escaped my attention at the beginning in all my excitement.” The professor placed the picture on the table in front of Billy.

  “Right here, in the upper left corner,” he pointed with his finger. “You can see the spine of a book. There is an emblem here, showing two lions standing on their hind legs. After enlarging the picture and adjusting the resolution, I was able to see the writing underneath the emblem: Esse Quam Videri, which, translated from Latin, means to be, rather than to seem to be. But you, of course, know what it means.”

  “Why would you think so, professor?”

  “Because, there are two letters right next to the emblem, two initials: B and S.”

  Billy could not believe it; he was looking at the corner of his own school agenda.

  “A quick Internet search suggested that the emblem could be a school logo. I followed that lead and found out that one of the local schools did in fact have such a logo. After that, having the name of the school, your initials and description, finding you was only a matter of time. By the way, your friend’s name is probably Anna-Maria?”

  Billy grabbed his bag and quickly stood up. So did the professor. Billy turned around and ran into a huge shadow, which bounced him back.

  “Not so fast, mate,” spoke the shadow in a low voice.

  Billy looked up—in front of him stood a big man in a gray raincoat.

  “I am sorry, Billy,” said the professor. “I had to inform the authorities. I don’t think you fully understand the gravity of this discovery.”

  “Oh, I think I do,” said Billy and flipped over the bag.

  Everything stopped; there was not a single sound, not a single movement. Billy maneuvered around the big man. Then he stopped and glanced back at their table. He quickly returned, took the professor’s coffee and spilled it on the big man’s pants. Steam went up—the coffee was still hot.

  “Sorry, mate,” said Billy and left the coffee shop.

  He ran around the corner counting: twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty . . .

  A scream sounded from the coffee shop. The big man looked at his pants, then at the professor’s empty cup.

  “Why did you do that?” he screamed.

  “I didn’t do that!” shouted the professor.

  Billy grinned, turned around, and kept on running.

  After the first wave of excitement had washed away, he slowed down to a walk. Several times he looked back to make sure that no one was following him.

  His mind worked fast. What now? He was exposed. His secret was no longer a secret. They didn’t know about time travel yet, but it was only a matter of time, like the professor said. The worst thing of all was that he had gotten Anna-Maria involved.

  Happy birthday, A.M., he thought bitterly.

  Billy felt terrible about it. Who knew what they were going to tell her? Who knew what they were going to do to her? Suddenly, it became clear to him that he had to go to Anna-Maria’s right now. He had to get to her first, before those guys, and warn her. He walked faster.

  * * *

  Chapter Twelve

  A Trap

  The distance to Anna-Maria’s house was about a twenty-minute walk. Although it was the first day of the weekend, the streets were full of pedestrians.

  Billy moved at a fast pace. From time to time, he would stumble behind somebody who seemed to be barely moving to deliberately slow him down. Why is it that when you are in a hurry, everything is so slow? The traffic lights were the worst—the Don’t Walk sign lasted forever.

  The professor and his “friend” probably have a car, Billy thought. They’re going to set a trap and wait for me there. Even if he ran the whole way, he would never make it in time.

  His heart was pounding. He considered the hourglass. He could go back and forth in time if he wanted to. However, the memories of yesterday’s painful experience of time travel were still fresh. Besides, he barely made it back to his own time. No, Billy wasn’t ready for that yet. Then a hint of a smile appeared on his face. He didn’t need to go full throttle. Instead, maybe just a little bit.

  At the intersection four lanes of cars moved in both directions like a fast river without any intention to slow down. Trying to look as inconspicuous as possible, Billy slowly flipped over his bag. Everything stopped.

  The silence fell so abruptly that for a moment he thought he had gone deaf. Billy looked around. A dog was stopped with his tail in mid-wag. A little girl was frozen with her mouth half-open, with whatever she was saying to her mom unfinished. A pickup truck stood in front of Billy with a white cloud of smoke hanging in the air behind it. There was not a single sound, not a single movement. Billy started walking across the street, keeping count in his head: eleven, twelve, thirteen . . . When he got to the other side of the road, he whispered the rest, “Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty.” A cacophony of so
unds hit Billy’s ears—everything went back to normal: pedestrians walked, drivers drove. Nobody had even noticed the short break in their lives.

  Billy couldn’t hold back a smile—he was beginning to like it. From now on, he didn’t bother looking for a crossing sign—he would simply flip his bag and walk across anywhere he liked. It was so much fun, strolling in between the cars in the middle of busy traffic. Only seconds ago, cars were moving so fast, and now they were standing frozen, obeying Billy’s command. All the drivers and passengers had different facial expressions, as some were interrupted in the middle of conversation, while others drank their morning coffee. Billy felt like he was at the wax museum, walking around statues of famous people that only looked alive. Twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three . . . Billy got to safety just in time before everything started moving again.

  He kept on flipping his bag all the way, until he finally got close to Anna-Maria’s house. Now he slowed down; he had to be careful. It had taken him about five minutes to get here from the coffee shop. Therefore, the professor and his “friend” were probably still on their way. But there could be others.

  Billy took cover behind a tree on the other side of Anna-Maria’s house. From there he could have a better view of his surroundings. He was looking for anything suspicious. So far, everything seemed to be normal. People were passing by; some kids rode their bikes; two young men in running suits stood on the sidewalk talking to each other. There was nothing unusual. A few cars were parked in front of the house. Because of the traffic, it was hard to see if there was anyone inside. Billy didn’t want to leave anything to chance. He decided to stop the traffic again to get a better look. He went to the curb and flipped over his bag. Everything stopped—not a sound, not a movement. Billy lifted his foot and was about to step onto the road when out of the corner of his eye he saw something that made his blood freeze. One of the men in running suits kept on talking, while his friend slowly turned his head and looked directly at Billy.

  The hourglass had no effect on them!

  Billy was shocked. For a moment, he shut his eyes in disbelief and shook his head. When he opened his eyes again, both men in running suits were staring at Billy, piercing him with their eyes. Billy wanted to run, but he couldn’t move; he felt like his body weighed a ton. The men, on the other hand, began to move towards him. Billy watched them walk around the cars, all the time keeping their eyes on him. With a last drop of will, Billy forced himself to flip his bag again. The seconds in his head went backwards: six, five, four . . . When the men were in the middle of the street, trapped in between moving cars, Billy’s senses came back to him. He backed up and ran into somebody.

  “Watch it, kid!”

  Now, fully awake, Billy turned around and ran. He ran faster than ever before. He swiftly dodged in between pedestrians, trying to avoid hitting them.

  Soon he heard loud voices behind him. When he glanced back, he saw a few people thrown on the ground by the runners jostling through the crowd. They were closing in on him. Billy had to think of something and he had to do it fast.

  He looked at the road—a big long truck was coming in his direction. Billy ran towards it. Only a few steps before the truck he jumped in front of it across the road, flipping the bag at the same time. The truck became frozen when Billy was still in midair. One, two, three . . . He landed and flipped the bag again . . . three, two, one.

  “Wrooogh!” The huge semi passed behind Billy, cutting off his pursuers.

  Billy kept on running along the lanes against the traffic. Some drivers honked at the crazy boy who seemed to have appeared out of thin air. Billy flipped his bag again—

  One, two; then back: two, one. Just enough time to cross another lane. It was extremely dangerous, but he counted the seconds in his mind, so he knew exactly when the traffic would stop and when it would move again. The runners, on the other hand, didn’t know how long the next time interval would be. They stood on the other side of the road helplessly watching Billy getting away. Then they turned and ran to the nearest crosswalk.

  When Billy got across the street, he was standing in front of the mall entrance.

  Just what I need, he thought. He hoped to get lost among the crowd. He ran into the mall.

  At this time, the traffic light turned red and the runners moved rapidly across the street.

  Inside the mall, people were slowly moving in both directions. Billy ran in the middle of the walkway, deciding which way to go. Suddenly, someone’s strong hand grabbed him and pulled him inside the crowd. Billy tried to break through but the man put his other arm around Billy’s chest.

  As you wish, Billy thought and flipped over his bag. Everything stopped but the runners. Billy saw them rushing into the mall. Billy tried to free himself from the man’s grip, but the grip became even stronger.

  “Don’t move,” the man whispered into Billy’s ear.

  Billy felt sick. I’m doomed, he thought. He was about to faint.

  The runners maneuvered through the mall, looking around. They were likely searching for a boy moving chaotically among the frozen figures. But there was no movement. The runners stopped and appeared to be listening, but there was no sound.

  Billy held his breath. It was so quiet that he thought he could hear his own heart beat.

  What if time will never start again?

  That was a scary thought. But moments later, everything came back to normal and people were moving again. The runners passed only a few meters away from Billy, then continued deeper inside the mall. The man holding Billy pulled him in the opposite direction. Billy twisted around in his grip to get a look at the man’s face.

  “You?” Billy exclaimed.

  “Be quiet,” the man said, glancing around. “We don’t want to attract people’s attention, do we?”

  “I remember you. You’re the man from the bowling alley.”

  “Yes. And you are the boy wanted by too many people. So you’d better keep your voice down.”

  “But I thought you were one of them,” Billy said, lowering his voice. “It didn’t work on you.”

  “You mean the hourglass?”

  “You know?” Billy stopped. He couldn’t believe what he had heard.

  “Why don’t we find a quiet place where we can talk?” suggested the man.

  “Like what, a coffee shop?” Billy asked sarcastically.

  “We’ll see,” said the man. “But first we want to get as far away as possible from here.”

  Blending in with other people, they left the mall and jumped onto a bus that had just arrived.

  * * *

  Chapter Thirteen

  The Librarians

  Throughout the entire bus trip, they didn’t say a word. Billy had many questions for the man, but he didn’t know where to start. The man quietly looked out the window. He seemed to have no intention of talking for the moment, as if he were giving Billy time to think over the whole situation. And Billy was thinking. First of all, he didn’t know anything about the mysterious man. The man, on the other hand, knew about Billy as well as about the hourglass. Therefore, there was no reason to hide anything or to lie. Second, he wasn’t with the runners—he had helped Billy to run away from them. And lastly, he couldn’t be with the police. There was more to the man—for one thing, the hourglass had no effect on him.

  As though he could feel Billy looking at him, the man took his eyes from the window and regarded Billy.

  “Do I have to be afraid of you?” Billy asked.

  “I intend no harm to you, if that’s what you mean,” answered the man.

  Billy relaxed, for the first time this day.

  “We’ll get off at the next stop,” said the man after a pause.

  The bus pulled up to the curb outside a large brick building with a fountain out front, made to look like a stack of books.

  “The library?” Billy asked, surprised.

  “No one will be looking for you in here,” the man said.

  As they entered the lib
rary, the man selected a table at the far end of the hall near the emergency exit. He positioned himself so he could easily keep an eye on the main entrance.

  Billy couldn’t wait any longer. “Who were those guys? Why are they after me?”

  “Hush. Keep your voice down,” the man scolded quietly. “You’re in a library.”

  “Why are they chasing me?” Billy whispered impatiently.

  “I guess you have something that doesn’t belong to you,” the man replied, “and they want it back.”

  “I didn’t steal it,” said Billy.

  “Finders-keepers, huh?”

  “Exactly!”

  “Well, then I’m afraid you’re going to be running away from them for the rest of your life,” said the man.

  “But how come the hourglass didn’t work on the runners and you? “ Billy asked.

  “First of all, they are not runners,” said the man. “They are Librarians.”

  Billy’s left eyebrow rose. “I always return my books on time.”

  “Don’t be silly,” the man said with a smirk. “They are a different kind of librarian.”

  “Do you mind explaining, please? I can barely follow,” said Billy.

  “All right, I’ll try to keep it simple,” said the man. “Look around you, Billy. What do you see?”

  “Books,” answered Billy, slightly surprised by the question.

  “Right, books—lots of them. And each book contains a story that involves specific people and events. Each book also has a table of contents: chapter one, chapter two, and so on. You can read a book from cover to cover, or you can open any chapter you want and go from there. The end, however, is always the same. Are you with me so far?”

  “Yeah,” answered Billy, trying to keep up.

  “Good. Now imagine that somebody keeps on changing the events in the story, rewriting different parts.”

  “Like who, the writer?” asked Billy.

  “Could be the writer, could be someone else. That isn’t important,” explained the man. “What is important is that every time an event is altered it generates a totally different chain of events, creating changes in all of the other chapters of the book, making the end uncertain. Would you like that?”