wooden stool inside of his experimental station outside Colorado Springs. The main workspace is little more than a monstrous barn, dominated by the largest Tesla coil I’ve ever seen. There’s other equipment, too. Generators and light bulbs, among other things, but very little in terms of what you’d call “creature comforts.” I asked Nikola when he broke for meals or, indeed, what he actually ate, and he looked at me like I actually was a martian.
That’s the other thing. He doesn’t believe me about time travel. In fact, he seems far more comfortable with the idea that I’m some sort of extraterrestrial.
This, I believe, is my fault. I landed a bit too close to the workshop and, as such, Nikola saw my ship. Successful air travel isn’t achieved until 1903, remember, so it’s four years too early for me to go whizzing about in a flying machine. There’s that and, of course, the fact that my ship is a bit advanced-looking for the turn of the nineteenth century. In any case, the jump to “alien” isn’t totally out of nowhere.
Damn it, I think that’s him outside now. I should really put this away before I’m caught—
7
Dorothy
The spotlights switched off, leaving Dorothy blinking into spotty darkness. For a moment she heard only the plastic click of buttons, the dying whir of motors.
And then Roman, snickering. “Revel? Really? I’m afraid you’re beginning to show your age.”
Dorothy rubbed her eyes. “People don’t say revel anymore?”
“Not for the last hundred years or so, no.” Roman came out from behind the camera equipment, carrying the duffel bag containing their stolen artwork.
He placed it on the cart that already held the king’s lost jewels and removed the Vermeer, tilting his head to study it.
He sounded awed as he said, “Just think, we’re the first people in over two hundred years to see this painting in person.”
Dorothy allowed her eyes to flick to the painting. It really was amazing. Not just the art, but all the beautiful things they were allowed to see, all the incredible places they were able to visit. Sometimes, they went back to a specific time or place out of necessity, and other times it was merely because one of them had wanted to see it.
The Vermeer, Dorothy had desperately wanted to see. A smile tugged at her lips as she pulled her gaze away.
She stopped beside Roman, lifting the king’s scepter. “You know, I don’t really understand the point of a scepter. Is it just a stick that you’re supposed to hold? Or another place to put—”
Someone cleared her throat, interrupting her. Still holding the scepter, Dorothy turned.
The girl standing in the doorway was tall and broad-shouldered, with round hips and long red hair that she wore in a braid down her back. Her face was so freckled that it was hard to make out the color of her skin beneath, but her eyes were dark brown and vibrant.
“Mira,” Dorothy said, surprised. Mira worked in Mac Murphy’s whorehouse. Mac didn’t usually trust women, but Mira had been with him since before the flood, and so he often allowed her a few small tasks outside of her usual duties.
But Mac always dealt with the Black Cirkus himself. Something must’ve happened for him to send Mira in his place.
Dorothy looked around, suddenly anxious. No one had seen the treasures down here except for Roman and herself. “Perhaps we should speak in the hall. . . .”
Mira cocked her head, amused. “I’m not here for any of this,” Mira said in her rasp of a voice. But her eyes lingered on the jewels, impressed.
“Then why are you here?” asked Roman.
“Mac was . . . unavailable this evening.” She spoke coolly enough, but Dorothy thought she saw a flash in her eyes—humor, perhaps, or delight. There was a story there. “He sent me to collect your payment.”
The Black Cirkus had been squatting in the Fairmont since the mega-quake flooded the city. It was a dilapidated mess, but it was also the only hotel in downtown Seattle that was still livable and, as such, it was incredibly valuable real estate. The Cirkus had managed to hold it for so long by paying off some rather unsavory people—Mac included.
Roman pulled an envelope out of his jacket pocket and handed it to Mira.
She nodded, lips pressed tight as she counted the bills inside. After a moment, she paused, glancing up. “I’m afraid you’re a bit light.”