Time Inn
Written by interest of Waen.
The man walking down the dirt road towards the only inn in Port Burdock was about thirty years of age. He had a neat golden beard and long sand-coloured hair, and his eyes were an interesting shade of blue. He was dressed plainly but well, and the people watching him avidly through the dirty windows of the inn turned and whispered about him among themselves.
"Will he come?" asked one man, in accented, impatient English.
"Oh, Gabriel, do be patient. You always think everything should come at once, and that, despite the fact that everything should, is rather over-expectant on your part. He's walking this way, and he looks tired. He'll come in--Stephen, what does your watch say? Mine's for show and never has the right time." The tall young man looked across the room at Stephen, who fetched out his watch obligingly.
"A quarter of five, by my watch."
"He'll be here by ten till. We need only wait five minutes, Gabriel," the young man added to Gabriel, who was evidently having trouble getting the English numbers to make sense.
Stephen stood and stretched, straightening his long, black overcoat self-consciously. "Well, in that case, I believe we have time enough for a drink."
"If you like," the middle-aged fellow in the corner muttered, listlessly fingering his cufflinks. "I'm having nightmares again."
The young man stood as well, but he frowned and looked 'round the room. "Good lord, gentlemen. Melancholy is in fashion, of course, but we ought to give our guest a proper welcome." A slight smirk crept over his face. "Stand, act sober, be ready to bow. After all, not everyone can see the inn. We should honour those who can."
"Very well, Henry, we'll turn out," said Stephen tiredly, straightening his overcoat again. "Here he comes. Stand, gentlemen."
The man who entered the main room of the only inn in Port Burdock stood in the doorway for a moment, almost as though he were unsure of stepping in, but not quite. "Hello, gentlemen," he said, in a pleasant Cockney accent that made Henry smile.
"Hello to you, too. I am Henry," he murmured politely, extending a slim, gloved hand. "Welcome to Time Inn, as we like to call it."
"Or Time Out," said the young fellow in the soldier's uniform.
"Or Time and Time Again. It really doesn't matter," Stephen said, "as it's all those things. I'm Stephen."
"And this," Henry added, gesturing at the man with the cufflinks, "is Arkady."
"And he is Nichol," said Stephen, pointing at the silent, well-dressed man in the back.
"By my side is Gabriel, and there is his wife, Andrea," Henry said, indicating the wiry man called Gabriel and his red-haired, dangerous-faced wife.
"George is in uniform and Simon, there, trying to do his own paperwork," Stephen put in.
"And that intelligent-looking man in the opposite corner from Arkady is Paul." Henry's small smile broadened. "Paul hates me."
"I see," said the man, who, they all noted, did not seem taken aback by the welcome he'd just received. That was a good thing. He was less likely to be frightened and hysterical when he found he couldn't leave. "Well, gents, let me introduce myself. Rodney Skinner," and he bowed low.
~~~
Rodney had concealed his surprise admirably, but he really had never seen anything like the inn in Burdock. These fellows it was full of, for one thing. They were all completely mismatched--that man Henry, for instance. He could be a nobleman from about twenty years back (this, incidentally, made him a good potential victim, when Rodney began relieving the inn of its surplus valuables, and he made a mental note), whereas Paul was scruffy and looked as though he'd come out of a play set around the time of that Revolution the froggies had started.
But Rodney shrugged and finally stepped inside, searching for a table with no one sitting at it. He was instantly caught by Henry.
"We all speak English here, by the way. I believe it has something to do with the spells. Oh, I might mention. Stephen and I are in, how shall we say, in power here. In the event you want something, talk to Stephen. I shall probably be busy, because I despise solving problems."
So he was passed on to Stephen, who, when Rodney studied him, had a funny air of tiredness about him. His eyes were tired and even his black overcoat (which Rodney made several mental notes to relieve him of later on) wasn't particularly impressive on him.
"So, how do I get a drink here?" Rodney asked.
"We fetch the proprietor out of hiding. He's gone insane as of late, and he will keep sitting in the kitchen with his books. He's a little mad about his books, by the way--apparently they're quite valuable. At any rate, don't touch them, or he'll go into screaming fits."
"Right-o," said Rodney, adding another item to his list of objects that the inn didn't really need.
They had reached the door to the kitchen, and Stephen called out, "Mr. Marvel!" while tapping gently on the door. An unidentifiable sound was made, and Stephen tapped again. "A customer!"
A moment later, the door opened, and a fat fellow came out carefully. "Had to hide my books," he whispered to Stephen, and smiled nervously at Rodney. "What's it you want, sir?"
"Scotch, if you've got it."
"'Course we've got it. We've got everything you could imagine... Wine for Mr. Henry, Vodka for Mr. Arkady, punch for Mr. Simon..." The fellow shuffled about behind the bar, fetching out a glass and a bottle.
Stephen sighed.
"And Mr. George's brandy, yes, and Mr. Nichol's whiskey and soda..." Suddenly the innkeeper looked over at Rodney, narrowing his eyes. "I say, sir. Do you recognise any of them?"
"Should I?" said Rodney innocently.
"No, you shouldn't," said Stephen, with a glare at Mr. Marvel. "He only says this because he recognises some of us."
"Who?"
"Ah--Paul. Paul has gained some fame in England and America."
"Oh, really?"
"Mm. --Thank you, Mr. Marvel. Your Scotch, Rodney. One doesn't need to pay here."
"And o' course, Mr. Gabriel and his wife don't drink," Mr. Marvel went on. "Mr. Paul takes wine every now and then, but he likes his cigars better than his drink. But Mr. Stephen--"
"That's enough now, Mr. Marvel. Thank you." Stephen began steering Rodney away to a back table, leaving the fellow to finish whatever he was saying to the bar.
"What do you drink?" asked Rodney, slightly intrigued.
Stephen's tired eyes looked tireder. "Absinthe. It hardly matters. I discovered it in France."
"What--the green poison?"
"That's appropriate. Yes, indeed, Rodney, that's what I drink."
"Why?" Rodney was quite aware that he was asking questions which generally well-mannered men didn't ask. But he was very blithely not a well-mannered man, and he considered it his duty to find out about things. It was like looking at the background of a company before investing in it. He wanted to know about the folk he robbed.
"I experienced a great failure several years ago. That is, it was several years ago by normal time. Here, things are different. At any rate, I chased a national hero around the world for a robbery he didn't commit. Between that and the fact I made another mistake and lost my arm, I've never been hired more than a month anywhere else. And then I found the Inn." Stephen sighed again. "It wasn't a difficult decision to stay here. There aren't many places in England that sell absinthe anyway."
But Rodney wasn't listening any longer. He was eyeing Stephen's sleeves interestedly, trying to figure out which of those pale wrists and hands were false.
"Oh. The right one," said Stephen.
"All right. Interesting."
"Well. I'm playing whist with Paul and Henry and Andrea, so I must go back to that. As Henry likely told you, if you need something, come to me."
"Very well." Rodney went off cheerfully to sit by George, who stood and bowed as he sat down.
"Good afternoon."
"Good afternoon. Cheers."
"Health." George drank as well. "So, you're staying at Time Inn. No one actually remembers the real name. I think the sign outside has fallen off, and anyway we don't go out. Mr. Marvel's too off his head to tell us."
"I don't remember a sign."
"Yes. Gabriel always suggests we call it The Sergeant of Waterloo, after his old inn, but that's usually voted against unanimously. And if you're wondering, it's old Nichol has us voting. He claims that's what they do in America."
Rodney nodded amiably, wondering if the buttons on George's uniform were really silver or if they were only imitation.
"Do you recognise any of us?"
Again with that question. For the first time, Rodney was inspired to look at them closely and see if he did recognise them.
"We don't recognise you, you see. No one can think where you've come from."
"Oh?"
"We're not to tell unless you can guess. You mayn't tell us who you are, either."
"All right. Stephen's told me how he came here. Tell me that."
"I'm afraid I've always been--well, to be honest, rather ill-treated by society. I've been thrown out by the man I thought my dearest friend and stripped of my inheritance by that same man; he then followed me and stole the heart of the girl I loved. Worse, he turned everyone against me with cruel lies. I married her sweet sister, but she was seduced by an officer and left me to run away to Scotland. So I came out to the country seeking solace, and stumbled upon Time Inn." George looked at him sorrowfully.
"Bad luck," said Rodney, who was not used to being sympathetic. Those buttons did look real.
"It is, really."
For the next hour, Rodney sat and listened to a pointless, one-sided conversation with George, who was, in his own words, a very troubled man. When Rodney finally escaped, he went immediately from the bar to Arkady's table, as Arkady seemed to be distinctly not talkative.
"'Evening," Rodney said good-naturedly, and Arkady nodded acknowledgement, but nothing else. Delighted, Rodney settled down to enjoy his drink.
By suppertime, he was properly relaxed and working on his list of items. He had added to it Arkady's cufflinks and several of those interesting cigars Paul was smoking, and decided that Simon and Nichol both looked like good prospects as far as general thieving.
But then Henry disturbed him by calling everyone to the long table by the window and announcing that they would be having supper, and that they were to take their places. He then added that he wished to inform everyone that there were certain topics that had been outlawed for dinner discussion, including nightmares, tragic pasts, and insults of all kinds, unless they were very interesting or very clever.
"And," he added with a lazy smile, "I believe that we shall give Rodney the long sought-after place between Stephen and Nichol, as he's a new arrival and doesn't deserve to be by us more talkative misfits."
Rodney grinned his thanks and fell neatly into his place. Nichol eyed him sideways and then proceeded to ignore him, and Stephan attempted to make quiet, pleasant conversation.
Supper was, to Rodney's amusement, a thick brown stew which was remarkably good due to the fact he'd had nothing the day before, but Henry complained about it gracefully. Henry was the only one who did. Everyone else seemed to appreciate it.
Afterwards, the others retired, one after another, and Rodney decided he would too. He wanted one more day to look for valuables.
The next day was unfortunate.
Perhaps that was the kind way of putting it. Perhaps it would have been more to the point to say the next day made itself into a lot of damn' trouble.
Rodney went around the small front room, chatting with all the fellows and trying to find out if they had anything worth taking. Stephen's coat was still at the top of his list, but he was able to add Nichol's watch and chain and an absolutely brilliant pair of dark spectacles owned (for now) by Paul, who disliked the light. Paul had apparently gotten them from Henry.
But then he tried to go outside for a breath of fresh air and found he couldn't get through the door. He found Stephen and protested.
"Of course you can't. Henry may have mentioned the spells--well, we can't any of us get out of Time Inn. We don't want to, for the most part."
"Don't you, now?"
"We're generally disliked men, Rodney. Gabriel is a thief and Paul a revolutionary. I'm a failure and Simon--Simon's last name is Stryver. Have you never heard of him?"
"I believe I have," said Rodney. "Yes."
"So we're glad to have found somewhere no one hates us."
"I see." He pulled a face and ran his hands through his hair. Well, damn them, damn them all. He wanted to be able to get out when he was through.
He spent the rest of the day trying to find ways to do so.
Of course, he hadn't given up his plan to relieve the inn of all these things it had no use for, and although by nightfall he hadn't yet found a way out, he chose to go through with it. He would find a place to put the things if he couldn't get out, and if he could--well then, he was made, wasn't he? They couldn't get out to follow him.
So at twelve midnight by the watch Stephen had left on one of the tables, he crept into the kitchen, looking for Marvel's books.
He was going through the cupboards beneath the counter when he suddenly bumped shoulders with someone else.
"Oi!"
"Merde," muttered the accented voice of Gabriel. "So monsieur is a thief as well? What coincidence."
"Yes," said Rodney. He could have laughed at the improbability of it, but he thought he'd rather not.
"I am taking the books that the innkeeper has. This is a very poor inn." Gabriel laughed hoarsely.
"Yours was good?"
"No, no, mine was a bad inn. But no one stole from me. They could have, but they didn't, because I deserve a better life than other men. I fought in the war."
"Well, I got here first, and I'll be taking the books, monsieur."
"No."
That was when the fight started. Rodney really did not like fights, as they always resulted in noise being made and things (possibly valuable) being broken, and other unfortunate events, but in this case there seemed to be nothing else for it, and he clouted Gabriel hard in the face.
This did not seem to have any impact on Gabriel, and Rodney realised that pinching was much more effective in this situation. Gabriel made a muffled growl and rubbed at his thin arms, as Rodney continued the little pinches.
The good thing about pinching was that if you did it hard enough and often enough in different spots on the body, it hurt and it was confusing too, and then it was easy to knock someone's head against a counter. Not hard enough to do more than knock him out, of course. You didn't want to kill anyone, as that was a far more serious crime than just thievery, and far more likely to get you into trouble.
With Gabriel lying on the floor, Rodney continued to go through the cupboards on this side of the room and then the other before finding the books inexpertly hid under some dishrags. He carried them up his room and wrapped them in a sheet.
After that, going through everyone else's room was easy. He got Stephen's lovely black leather overcoat, and Paul's lovely spectacles, and Nichol's watch. He added them to the sheet package along with Paul's cigars, and all the money and jewellery he could find in Henry and Simon's rooms.
Gabriel and his wife had nothing. Arkady had a good amount of money, but it was all for another country. Stephen had nothing worth taking besides the coat. George was mainly penniless.
Rodney thought briefly that it was a very good thing a fellow didn't need to pay at this inn. He took the sheet and opened his window.
Couldn't get out through that.
He tried every window in every damned room, and still he couldn't get out. At last he returned to the front door.
Andrea was standing there.
"You hurt Gabriel, didn't you?" she whispered, and her voice was accented the same way as her husband's. She was a large woman with a proud face, and she drew herself up as he came closer to the door.
Rodney shrugged. "Had to."
"I know how you can get out..."
"Will you show me?"
"You hurt Gabriel. Why should I not hurt you back?"
"I'll do something for you if you let me get out."
"What can you do for me?"
"I don't know. What do you want?" Rodney spread his palms. "D'you read? D'you like jewellery?"
Something flickered in her face, and she brushed her red hair out of her eyes. There was a little silence, and then Andrea said, "I will hit you, for Gabriel. I love him. I will hit you because you hit him."
"All right. Then I'll buy you something, and we'll be square," said Rodney cheerfully. "Now, how do we get out?"
"The inn wasn't meant for women. You can walk out with me."
"Easy as that?"
"Yes."
"All right."
Andrea took his hand and they went through the door.
"Now you are out."
"So I am. Come with me, and we'll see if we can't find something for you." So Rodney Skinner, the gentleman thief of Port Burdock, strolled down the street looking for a shop. The only one they found was a dusty bookshop, and he bought Andrea three romance novels. Then they went along the road a little, and she explained that she and Gabriel would be leaving soon to go home. Outside of Burdock, she knocked him out and left him lying in the wet grass.
~~~
The next morning, he awoke with a pounding, Godawful headache. The first thing he did was sit up, untie the sheet, and look at the books he'd stolen the night before. Were they valuable? Could he resell them?
He read a little in to one of them, and suddenly stopped.
His forehead creased and his mussed golden hair brushed his ears irritatingly, but he didn't notice.
Invisibility.
Small wonder Gabriel had wanted the books. Small wonder Marvel kept onto them like a miser.
Here was the secret to success, right in his hands.
~~~
Stephen woke in the morning, tired as usual. The first thing he did was look for his black overcoat, but it seemed to be missing.
Down in the kitchen, Mr. Marvel was screaming and crying that his books were gone.
Stephen Fix, ex-detective, drew a long and unhappy sigh.
~~~
Henry is Lord Henry Wotton from Picture of Dorian Gray
Stephen is Mr. Fix from Around the World in Eighty Days
Arkady is Arkady Svidrigailov from Crime and Punishment
Nichol is Captain Nichol from Journey From the Earth to the Moon
Gabriel and Andrea are Monsieur and Madame Thenardier from Les Miserables
George is George Wickam from Pride and Prejudice
Simon is Mr. Stryver from A Tale of Two Cities
Paul is Paul Chauvelin from The Scarlet Pimpernel
Back to the Index.