Stealing Infinity, page 31
I sling my tote over my shoulder and head into the hall to find Roxane standing outside the door of the control center.
Her smile is more efficient than friendly, and as I follow her lead, I can’t help but wonder if she really did lie about going to film school like Song told me. And if she lied about that, what else is she capable of lying about?
When she hands me off to Hair and Wardrobe, I ask where and when I’ll be Tripping. But in that clipped way she has, she just tells me to relax and assures me I’ll be briefed soon enough.
I greet Charlotte like an old friend and settle in for a long session of primping, where a team of people buff my nails, powder my face, rouge my lips and cheeks, twist my hair into a complicated updo with curled bits hanging down past my shoulders, and spritz my décolletage with the same perfume I wore last time.
“No wonder women had so little power,” I say. “They spent half their lives getting dressed and undressed. And look at all the help they required.” I sneak a glance at Charlotte, but she remains focused on her task.
When she’s finished, Charlotte shows me my gown, and I’m disappointed to find it’s an exact duplicate of the same blue dress I wore last time. I was hoping to at least mix it up, add a little variety.
“Isn’t there another dress I can wear?”
Charlotte shakes her head and cinches the corset so tightly, l gasp.
When she adds the pannier, I audibly groan. They’re designed to add an extra foot or two to the width of my hips and they’re incredibly awkward to maneuver in.
“We used to take up so much space, but we had no authority,” I say. “Now, it’s like the more authority we gain, the more we’re required to shrink. Why do we agree to this nonsense?”
Charlotte busies her hands with adjusting the side hoops. “Consider yourself lucky,” she says. “Ours were made of whalebone or cane. Yours is crafted of a much lighter steel developed by Arthur. Besides, they can come in much handier than you might think.” She smooths a hand down the right side and shoots me a look I can’t read.
I guess I’m too focused on her use of the word ours to even begin to guess what additional uses a pannier might offer. With her nimble hands and soft, lineless skin, she looks to be somewhere in her twenties, thirty at the most. “No way you’re old enough to have ever worn one of these monsters yourself,” I say.
Her cheeks flush, and she’s quick to turn away as she reaches for the gown. “I’m referring to my ancestors.” Her face dips into an uncharacteristic frown, then she proceeds to remind me where the hidden pockets are located. The shoes are also duplicates of the ones I wore before, and when I look at her, she beats me to it. “Next time custom,” she says.
“Promise?”
At first, she appears startled, but when she catches my grin, she’s quick to return it.
After she transfers my talisman from the gold chain to the black velvet ribbon she’s fastened at my neck, she steers me toward the mirror, where the reflection that greets me is pretty much identical to the one last time I Tripped.
When I head out to the launchpad, Roxane hands me an envelope containing a square of paper that states:
Your presence is requested!
When: 25-26 February 1745
Where: Palace of Versailles: The Hall of Mirrors
What: The Yew Ball
Why: Celebrating the marriage of Dauphin Louis to Maria Teresa Rafaela of Spain
After my visit to the Vault, I’m not surprised Arthur’s returning me to Versailles.
But why on earth would he send me back to the exact same party?
103
I look between the square of paper and Roxane. “There must be a mistake,” I say.
“I’m certain there isn’t,” she snaps. Then, also like last time, she snatches the paper right out of my hand and makes me repeat what I read.
“You will be Tripping alone,” she tells me, confirming what I already guessed. “You have two hours.”
“That’s an hour less than before!” It comes out like a whine, but I don’t even care. I barely made it back to the portal the last time, and this Trip I can’t rely on Jago to pull me inside.
“You have the right to refuse,” Roxane says. “But if you do, that’s it for your life as a Blue.” Her gaze meets mine. We both know that’s not a choice I’m willing to make.
“How does this work?” I ask. “Going back to the same place and time?”
I mean, of course I studied the concept of past, present, and future all existing at once. Reducing the Yew Ball to a sort of echo of time that repeatedly sounds. But what happens when I run into the drunken lady whose jewels I stole?
Will she still have the diamond swan hair clip—and if so, does that mean the gift I left for Braxton to get to Mason somehow disappears?
Or does my small act of thievery during one visit result in the absence of the thing in the next?
It’s enough to make my head spin.
“The Yew Ball exists as a moment in time that you will revisit,” Roxane says. “I’m sure you’ve already covered that in class.”
Not wanting to antagonize her any more than I have, I just nod.
“That said, you cannot travel back to a time where you already exist, which is also known as crossing your own timeline—”
“Because the duality of existence results in nonexistence!” I gasp, suddenly recalling what my dad once quoted to me when he tried to explain how the universe is in a constant state of flux and change, and how because of that, nothing ever remains the same.
You cannot enter the same river twice, for it’s not the same river and he’s not the same man.
But why would my dad even think to say such a thing, much less quote Heraclitus to the nine-year-old version of me?
And why is it that ever since I arrived at Gray Wolf, long-dormant memories of my father, along with multiple references to that old Greek philosopher, keep popping up at every turn?
When I look to Roxane, I find her staring at me with great interest. “Because of that, we’ve scheduled you to arrive two hours earlier than last time. And, Natasha, whatever you do, do not miss the ride home. The best-case scenario would be you get stuck in 1745. The worst—” She shoots me a meaningful look, and we both know there’s no need to voice it.
The worst-case scenario would mean I risk nonexistence.
104
Instead of the usual F given at a normal academy, nonexistence is the Gray Wolf version of failing an exam.
“Okaaay…” I say, unable to fully wrap my brain around the concept, though it’s probably better that way. “And the Get?”
“Arthur wants you to bring him something beautiful, extraordinary, and one of a kind. I expect you know what that means?”
Inwardly, I heave a deep sigh. I know exactly what that means. Well, kind of.
Outwardly, I just nod.
“Also, this.” She hands me a plain brown envelope. Inside, I find the handkerchief the masked boy gave me during my last visit.
“I—I don’t understand.” I stare at the handkerchief Arthur was so taken with. “Am I supposed to return it?”
“In a way.” She pauses for a breath, while I brace for whatever comes next. “Arthur would like you to locate the boy who gave you the handkerchief and bring him back to Gray Wolf.”
I stand before her, knowing I heard correctly, but sure that can’t be what she actually meant.
“You want me to bring back a person?”
She bobs her head in a brisk, perfunctory way, not a trace of emotion to be found on her face.
“You want me to kidnap someone from another time and place and bring him here?”
Again with the nod. Only this time, her annoyance is beginning to show.
“Killian,” I say. “His name is Killian de Luce. A boy I met at a party that took place over two hundred and fifty years ago and you want me to—”
“Natasha, I think I’ve made myself clear. This is your assignment. Do you, or do you not, accept the terms?”
I gaze at the control room, where a team of people hurry about, each focused on their individual tasks. Then I stare down at the handkerchief. The fabric is clean and soft. And for the first time since Killian gave it to me, begging me not to forget him, I see his initials are embroidered in royal blue thread. Arthur saw those initials, too, which is why he’s assigned me the task of bringing him back.
But who the hell is this person who’s managed to catch Arthur’s interest?
Once again, I find myself wishing I’d taken the time to read a little more history. Though, in my defense, I was sure I’d never see the boy again.
Wasn’t it Jago who told me: It’s rare you get to attend the same event twice. It happens, but Arthur would rather our faces not become too familiar and risk triggering a déjà vu, unless it’s to his advantage, of course.
Well, this is clearly to Arthur’s advantage.
Not only does he think I’m close to finding the missing piece to his prized Antikythera Mechanism, but he’s counting on me to find Killian as well. And while I guess it’s possible in theory, there’s just as good a chance that one small shift in events will ensure I never manage to find him. And what then?
What becomes of me when—if—I return without Arthur’s Gets?
“We need to get you masked and ready.”
The sound of Roxane’s terse voice yanks me away from my thoughts and back to where I now stand in this big puffy gown, dreading my future as equally as this Trip to the past.
“Tell me,” she says. “Do you accept your assignment?”
I fold the handkerchief into a small square and tuck it inside a hidden compartment where the bodice of my dress meets the skirt.
“I’m in,” I tell her, turning to find Elodie standing beside Keane, holding my mask in her hand.
105
The sight of Elodie handling the tool I’ll need to rely on to direct me back to the portal on time is enough to make my heart skip three beats before stopping completely.
“What’re you doing?” I cry, wishing I’d taken a moment to collect myself before I opened my mouth and basically announced how nervous this makes me. But now that it’s out there, it’s not like I can reel it back in.
“Keane is showing me how to program one of these. I’ve always been so curious, and he’s letting me act as his intern today.”
Elodie’s gaze locks on mine, and my vision blurs until all I can see is the image of her inside the portal with Jago—the taunting slant of her lips as she watched me run toward her, the way her fingers toyed with the clicker that could’ve left me trapped in the past forever.
“You didn’t sabotage it, did you?”
She rolls her eyes and hands the mask to Keane so he can go about fitting me. “Why on earth would you think such a thing?” She’s trying for an air of childlike innocence, but it’s not a good fit.
“This is your first solo, so let’s go over a few things.” Keane stands back to inspect me. “You’ve got your talisman?”
I tap a finger to the charm at my neck.
“You’ve got your list of Gets?”
I nod in response.
“Then here’s your clicker.” He hands me a beautiful white gold and sapphire ring I slide onto my finger. When he instructs me to tap the gem, I notice how the stone gives ever so slightly as it glows from within. “That’s only if you need to get out of there early. And it works only when you’re standing inside the portal, so don’t worry about accidentally clicking it and getting locked out.”
I nod again.
“Okay then,” he says. “Have a good Trip. And Natasha…” He pauses as though there’s something more he wants to add, but in the end, he settles for, “Bonne chance!”
The last thing I see before launch is the curl of Elodie’s lips tipping up at the sides, and the murky glint in her eyes as she waves goodbye.
106
When I arrive in the gardens, I cast a nervous glance in the direction of the palace, painfully aware of just how quickly the seconds tick past.
Like grains of sand spilling to the bottom of an hourglass, the countdown is on, leaving me with less than two hours to obtain Arthur’s hidden treasure and one masked boy who I’m expected to find in a crowd that’s reputed to be over ten thousand strong.
It’s a classic needle in a haystack situation with a ticking time clock attached. And if I’m unfortunate enough to miss the return trip and cross my own timeline, annihilation will be the price for my failure.
I will simply blink out of the world as though I never existed.
In the distance, the view of Versailles glowing under a sky full of stars makes for a breathtaking sight. And I can’t help but wonder if this is what King Louis XIV had in mind when he gazed upon the former hunting lodge set deep in the forest and dreamed of the sort of splendor it would one day become under his guidance.
How would he feel to see it on this night, at a party hosted by his great-grandson?
What would he think about the palace’s ultimate future as a tourist attraction, with an orange juice kiosk parked beside the Mirror Fountain, and a shop that sells postcards, guidebooks, and other themed tchotchkes squeezed inside the former Royal Chapel?
I drag my gaze away and focus on the task set before me. Shortly after my visit to the Vault, I started researching everything I could find on the gardens of Versailles, only to discover they’re far more extensive than I initially thought.
And yet, there was one section that stood out among the rest.
One particular fountain that, if I’m right about the symbols on Columbus’s map, should lead me straight to the Antikythera Mechanism’s missing piece that Arthur has tasked me to find.
But before I can begin, I need to figure out just exactly where I am so I can determine which way to head next.
There’s a sculpture beside me of a beautiful woman holding a mask in one hand, while a fox crouches beside her, and I instantly recognize it from a book I found on a shelf of rare first editions in the Gray Wolf library. As I continue to stare at the white marble form, the facts as I remember them unspool in my brain like a breaking news ribbon on cable TV.
The mask symbolizes flattery.
The fox, cunning.
The sculpture was executed in 1685 by Louis Leconte, as per a design by Mignard.
The title he gave it: Deceit.
On the screen in my mind, I replay the clip of Elodie handing over my mask—then zoom in for a tight shot of the forced expression of innocence that didn’t quite fit. And for a fleeting moment, I wonder if this is her doing—if she’s sending a message, trying to mess with my head.
But, just as quickly, I realize how foolish that is. According to Arthur, Elodie doesn’t know about the Antikythera Mechanism, much less the Get he expects me to find.
Sure, she may have been messing around with my mask, but I seriously doubt she has any control over where I ultimately land.
And yet, I can’t let go of the thought that the sculpture holds a message I can’t afford to ignore.
In a moment of panic, I tap the side of my mask, testing to see if it works. Instead of a green arrow directing me to the portal, I see two projected circles shaped like a target, confirming my current location inside its borders, and my shoulders go slack with relief.
While it’s nice to know Elodie hasn’t rigged my only reliable means of finding my way back to Gray Wolf, I am horrified to discover I’ve gotten so sidetracked by nonsense that a full six minutes have already passed.
Or is that what Elodie intended all along?
Was landing me next to Deceit an attempt to make me suspicious enough that—
I shake my head. I have to stop thinking like this. There’s literally no time to waste.
But before I move on, I return to the statue again.
In addition to its symbolism, I also read that Deceit is the first sculpture on the north side of the Allée Royale. Which means, technically, I don’t have all that far to go to reach my desired destination, or at least not on paper.
I exhale an audible sigh of relief and scold my still-wobbling knees to calm the hell down. I have a job to perform. An exam to ace. A sexy boyfriend to return to. Never mind the ultimate threat hanging over my head of my own existential demise.
And yet, despite my efforts to banish all thoughts of Elodie to a land far, far away, that statue continues to nag like an annoying kid kicking the back of a seat on an airplane.
I mean, maybe I’ve got it all wrong.
Maybe I’m acting paranoid, which caused me to misread all the signs.
Maybe Elodie really is responsible, but rather than intending it as a threat, she meant it as an inside joke—a nodding wink, a knowing roll of the eyes from one female to another.
A tangible reminder to not get too carried away by the grandeur of this place and time.
To never allow myself to forget that as exciting as it may seem, back here in 1745 it was perfectly acceptable to portray Deceit as a woman—as though history’s long list of Judases and Brutuses were some sort of anomaly.
I skirt my way down the Allée Royale, before crossing over to the collection of Four Seasons fountains, where I go in search of the Fontaine de Saturne, an allegory of winter that, according to the book, is located on the Allée de l’Hiver which, according to my rudimentary grasp of French, makes sense.
Between these stiff, ill-fitting shoes and the ungainly pannier that makes it hard to move quickly with any semblance of grace, I forge an awkward shuffle toward my destination, intent on moving purposely, without attracting any unwanted attention, all the while wishing there was a horse grazing nearby so I could finally put all those equestrian lessons to use and gallop the rest of the way.
