Emperors of Time Read online

  Emperors of Time

  James Wilson Penn

  Text Copyright © 2014 James Wilson Penn

  All Rights Reserved

  Acknowledgments:

  I would like to thank the various visitors to my website http://emperorsoftime.weebly.com and anyone who commented on my threads on goodreads in the lead-up to publishing this book. I would especially like to thank the two readers, Michelle Dunbar and Rachel Massaro, who were kind enough to volunteer their thoughts on drafts of this manuscript. They each offered helpful insight, encouragement, and constructive criticism. I also owe a great debt to Rachel Olson, who designed the awesome cover for this book. They were each instrumental in making the book publication-ready, and I owe them a great debt. Any mistakes remaining, of course, are my own.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 1

  John Wilkes Booth

  The clock on the cafeteria wall read 12:05. The red light beside it was not blinking, which was great news. It had been about two months since it had last flashed, and Tim Jennings, like most of the kids at school, had once again started taking its slumber for granted. They almost forgot that at any moment it could start blinking again and ruin the day of any one of the students. It could even ruin someone’s life.

  But Tim’s thoughts were not so morbid as he sat at the lunch table and peeled the wrapping off his chicken sandwich. His line of thought had more to do with the paper he was removing from his lunch, and the fact that it had likely been put on the sandwich not twenty minutes before. In another twenty minutes, he would chuck it in the trash, along with the waste from three hundred other student lunches, and that was just from Tim’s eleventh grade. It was all quite unnecessary. Why wrap the food at all if the wrappers were just going to be taken off and discarded? It wasn’t like his lunch experience was improved by the grease-stained wrapper. It was awfully wasteful, especially since there was a war on.

  Tim was trying to decide how he could work this new observation into some form of witty banter with Julie. She would be sitting down across the table from him at any moment, and it was crucial that the banter be witty. This was the most effective way to get Julie to laugh, and he really liked how she laughed.

  He was still pondering the sandwich wrapper issue when Julie came through the doorway. She looked confused, and Tim gave her a doubtful wave.

  Perhaps she had finally discovered that he was not nearly cool enough for a cute, popular girl like her to be seen with at lunch. When she saw him looking at her, though, an odd look of relief came over her face, and she rushed toward the table.

  She sat down beside him just as Tim’s best friend, Sam, plopped down on his other side.

  “Changing it up today, are we Julie?” Sam’s voice was full of exaggerated drama, as if she’d just told him she was from outer space instead of choosing a different seat.

  Julie looked confused. “Er… yeah, I guess so.”

  Sam shrugged. “No big deal, of course, just means Bridget will be alone on her side. Unless she’s going to sit on your other side, to get as far away from me as possible. You’ve already discussed this, haven’t you?” He delivered this last line with mock hurt and shock, leaning around Tim to glare directly at Julie. Sometimes, Tim thought Sam should be in the drama club. Other times he just got on his nerves.

  Julie gave a forced, nervous laugh. Something was definitely up.

  Bridget arrived at the table just then. While she didn’t sit next to Julie, she did, after a moment’s hesitation at the new seating arrangement, sit in the seat across from Julie, two seats removed from her normal seat.

  Sam threw up his hands in fake astonishment and hurt. “What’s wrong with me that I must be so shunned?”

  “I dunno. Figured you must smell or something, if Julie already dissed you,” Bridget answered with a wink and an air of cool nonchalance.

  Sam grinned, clearly satisfied with the explanation. He began to dig into his bacon cheeseburger. The cafeteria was filling up now, since even students whose fourth period class was at the far end of the upstairs hallway had managed to arrive.

  “Did you forget to pack your lunch, Julie?” asked Bridget.

  Julie hesitated, and Tim saw this as an opportunity to be his own variety of knight in shining armor. He sounded just a touch too excited when he said, “I could loan you a couple bucks!” He heard his disproportionate enthusiasm and worked hard to sound calmer when he said, “You know... if you need to buy lunch?”

  Julie, who seemed to finally gain control of her tied tongue, said, “Oh, no, I have money in my book bag… But Tim, could you stand in line with me? I need to ask you something.”

  Bridget raised her eyebrows, while Sam was still obliviously eating his burger. People at Tim’s school didn’t wait in line with each other unless they both needed food, but Tim was only too happy to agree.

  He wondered if Julie was going to ask him out on a date or something. He had been considering asking her for months, and after a moment’s reflection decided that he would be completely okay with it if Julie reversed normal gender stereotypes and asked him instead.

  Tim followed Julie to the line. “So, what’s up?”

  Julie waited for a moment before answering. She looked uncomfortable. Tim wished he could tell her that if she was going to ask him out, he would definitely say yes. Unfortunately, he couldn’t bring himself to say anything. There was an awkward silence.

  Finally, after almost fifteen seconds passed and the line moved forward several feet, Julie blurted, “Who was the 17th president of the United States?”

  “Er… what?”

  If Tim was surprised by the question, Julie seemed doubly surprised by his lack of an immediate answer. Her jaw dropped. “You mean you don’t know?”

  “What?” asked Tim, still confused. “No, of course I know. Andrew Johnson.”

  At that point, Julie said a pretty bad swear word. Tim had never heard Julie swear before, but they had only started sitting together at lunch recently, so for all he knew, maybe she did swear occasionally. But Andrew Johnson’s presidency, no matter how substandard it may have been in Tim’s opinion, not to mention what 19th century Republicans’ thought about the man, was not something he would have expected to make Julie say a word like that.

  He didn’t have time to clarify any of this before Julie asked, “And the 18th?”

  “Ulysses S. Grant,” Tim answered immediately.

  Julie shook her head, as if the name meant something more immediate to her than a president who many Americans rarely spared a thought for.

  “Did you, um… fail a history test today or something?”

  Julie wasn’t in his history class. Tim supposed it was remotely possible that her class was working on the Reconstruction Era, even though he was in the advanced class and they hadn’t even covered the Civil War yet.

  Julie laughed, and for a second, Tim could hear the carefree laugh he usually associated with her. Then she got serious again and said, “I wish it was something as easy as that.” Tim didn’t know how to respond to that, so she was the next one to speak when she said, “So you, like, really like history, right? Like there’s no chance you’re wrong about those
presidents?”

  Now it was Tim’s turn to laugh. He had a bit of a reputation as a history nerd. “No, there’s no chance I’m wrong. I mean… I read a biography on Grant last month.”

  He quickly decided this had been a dumb thing to share with a girl he wanted to date, but Julie still seemed to have other concerns.

  “And… do you have any idea who Schuyler Colfax was?”

  Tim laughed again. Even for someone as into history as Tim was, that wasn’t a name you heard every day. “Sure, although I bet I’m the only one at the school who has, aside from Mr. Kauffman.” Her blank stare after the mention of Mr. Kauffman’s name prompted him to add, “You know, our history teacher?” He was surprised she wasn’t failing history, if she didn’t even know the teacher’s name. “Anyway… Colfax was Grant’s first Vice President after a run as Speaker of the House. Actually, he died in 1885, after walking three quarters of a mile in negative thirty degree temperatures while trying to change trains in Minnesota.”

  Julie frowned. “But he was never president?”

  Tim shook his head.

  Julie seemed to think about this for a moment before saying, “What are you doing this afternoon?”

  “I don’t have any plans,” said Tim. The idea that she could be asking him out had completely vanished somewhere around the question about Grant. Now, the wild thought that maybe the history quiz had been some sort of prerequisite for having her ask him out flitted through his confused mind.

  “Okay, well… Could you walk home with me? I have something to show you.”

  “I guess,” said Tim, who was getting more confused by the minute.

  “Great,” she said, although her voice still made it sound like something was bothering her. “And you have study hall today, right?”

  “Yeah, next period” he answered.

  “Can you read something I wrote?” she asked. “You’re going to think I’m crazy when you read it, and that’s okay, just so long as you keep your promise to walk me home. Everything will make sense after I show you what I need to show you.” She paused, and then added, “Okay, well, that’s a lie. But at least we’ll both know for sure whether or not I’m crazy.”

  Tim’s mind was reeling. But if nothing else, it seemed like Julie really needed his help. So he agreed, promising that he would walk her home regardless of whatever it was she was going to have him read.

  After they got back to the table, Tim set about eating the rest of his now cold chicken sandwich. He barely had time to register that perhaps those wrappers he had been bashing were intended to keep the heat in. Julie handed him a small black notebook and warned him not to read it until he got to study hall and asked him not to talk to anyone about it until he met her in the lobby after school.

  Julie acted a little bit closer to normal after she gave him the notebook, but not by much. She went off with Bridget to orchestra after lunch like normal, although Tim was sure he heard her asking Bridget if that was where she was supposed to go.

  As soon as he got to study hall, he dug the little black notebook out of his bookbag, deciding that he would definitely blow off the math homework he was supposed to be doing for his next period if it meant he could find out what was bothering Julie.

  He opened the book to the first page, and could almost hear Julie’s voice in his head as he read the hastily scribbled narrative.

  I got a package in the mail this afternoon --Monday

  Tim registered that this meant the story he was reading took place yesterday.

  --Which is weird, because I never get mail, except for on my birthday, from my grandma. Anyway, I open it up and see a silver coin marked with the year 1865, a letter, and a weird looking medallion. Tim, if you’re reading this, I know it’s going to sound crazy, just… Honestly, you’ll probably enjoy this story even if you think I’m making it up, but I’m not. I promise, I’m not.

  At this point, Tim looked up from the notebook and looked around. Julie was coming off even crazier than she had been at lunch, and it almost seemed wrong to be reading this with so many people around.

  Anyway, I admire the coin for a bit… it looks brand new -- I even start to wonder if it’s a replica or something, though later events will show that it’s not… and then I pick up the letter. All it says is to hold the medallion and the coin and think really hard about 3:00 pm on April 15, 1865.

  The day Lincoln was assassinated, Tim thought.

  I pick them up and think about April 15, about Lincoln doing all kinds of presidential things, being happy that the Civil War’s been won, and looking at a clock and noticing that it’s 3:00 pm. I mean, obviously, I didn’t expect anything to happen, but I figured that when I told the story later, it would be funny if I could honestly say that I did what the note told me to do. Well… Funny doesn’t even begin to describe it.

  I’m hardly done conjuring up the image when I realize I’m not in my kitchen anymore. Literally, I blink, and I’m in a different place. The first thing I notice is that the light is different, and then I realize that the only light in the room is coming through the window of a stone wall. There’s not much furniture in the room, either, just a wooden table with two benches. One of the benches is occupied by a middle aged man, maybe 5 foot 9 and ordinary looking. There’s nothing particularly scary about him, except for the circumstances. Like him being in a strange room with me when I’ve never seen him before and I’m seriously baffled as to how I got out of my kitchen without moving. So I scream.

  Tim had read to this point without looking up again. He wasn’t sure why he had read so long when what he was reading was clearly impossible. Maybe he was looking for the punchline. But Julie was right. Even though he assumed by now that she must be crazy, Julie’s story was entertaining. More entertaining than his math homework, anyway, and he had to admit that he didn’t really feel like dealing with Trigonometry right now. So he kept reading.

  “Julie Chapman?” the man asked. It’s then that I realize he’s now holding the coin I got in the mail. I don’t have it anymore, although I’m still holding the medallion.

  “Well… Yeah.” I said. “What’d you do to me?!”

  The man just looked at me patiently and sighed. Personally, I wanted to scream. But I didn’t. I had a feeling this guy wasn’t out to hurt me. That he was on my side or something.

  When he finally opened his mouth, he said, “Welcome to 19th century Washington DC.”

  Tim let out a snort of laughter. Ms. Blanchet, the Study Hall proctor, and a couple of other students stared at him. He gave a sheepish grin and a wave, which was enough to get the other students to shake their heads and get back to their own work. Ms. Blanchet rewarded him with a tight, unfriendly smile, but redirected her attention to a couple of students who, judging from their usual behavior in study hall, had probably been shooting spitballs at other students any time she took her eyes off them.

  Tim decided that if there was anything more ridiculous than Julie claiming she had been instantaneously removed from her kitchen yesterday afternoon, it was the idea that she could have gone back a century and a half in time.

  I opened my mouth to object, to say that there was no way I could be in the year 1865, not to mention that I had no plausible explanation for how I had moved from my kitchen in Pennsylvania to Washington DC, and that I was angry I was clearly being messed with.

  “I do not expect you to believe me,” the man stated. “Not yet, anyway. But I do need you to listen to me. I have an appointment outside this house in about five minutes, and I want you to know a couple things about me and why I am doing what I am about to do before you see that. So, to give you the extremely quick version, I am a time traveler from the year 2347. My name is Steven Hopkins. I’m one of the twelve people who collaborated on the Tempus Project, although apparently I was the only one of the group not privy to the other members’ plan to… well, this is going to sound a little cliché, but they have quite frankly taken over the world.”

  He paused at t
his point, maybe to see if I was buying any of this (I wasn’t). He flipped the silver coin I had held in my hand just minutes before and continued.

  “Like me, the other members of the Tempus Project are scientists. They’re not generals, and until they started messing around with historical timelines, they did not have any way to take over the world using conventional means such as armies, weapons of mass destruction, or politics. What they did have, was these.”

  At this point, he held up another medallion, identical to the one I was holding in my hand.

  “These contain the most powerful microchips ever invented. And believe me, by 2347 that is saying quite a bit. There are only twelve in existence. They are called Domini Temporis, which means Masters of Time. Dr. Russell has a thing for Latin. When you hold one of these in your hand, you can touch any object and the Dominus Temporis senses the being… the essence, if you will, of that object. It can take you to any place and time in that object’s timeline. As you can see, I brought the coin you touched to this house tonight. By thinking about 3:00 pm on April 15, 1865 – the time and date now -- you followed me here.”

  He paused again, and this time I was able to manage a quick, “I still don’t believe you.”

  “Nor are you expected to,” he said. “But I want to refresh your memory on a couple of things that you believe about the year 1865 and those following it because tomorrow, you will discover they are no longer true. Wait until tomorrow. You will have been through enough today. But tomorrow, ask someone you trust deeply, who you know would not lie to you. You are going to want to believe that I am somehow playing a trick on you. So let me ask you a couple questions. First of all, who is John Wilkes Booth?”

  “I have no idea,” I said aggressively, figuring he just made the name up.

  “I suspected as much. Along my timeline, he is only really famous for the one thing. What year did Abraham Lincoln leave the White House?”

  “1868,” I said. “No, wait… was it 1869? I guess technically the inauguration of the next guy was 1869, so he would have retired in the same year. Didn’t he go on to be the president of a college? I don’t remember which one… History isn’t really my thing, I’m more into math and science.” Even now I don’t know why I told him that, or why I answered the question at all. Maybe I just wanted to prove I wasn’t stupid after not knowing his John Wilkes Booth character.