Alcibiades."
"They have libraries back here," Max said. "Maybe we should visit one and see what the newspapers have to say about Astor."
Sierra laughed, ironically. "If I'm not mistaken, Astor's grandfather or great-grandfather founded the New York Public Library in the 1850s. But I don't know where the main branch is now – we didn't pass it as we walked up Fifth Avenue and 42 nd Street."
"I think that's a few years away from being constructed there," Max said. "Cyril Charles would know where the closest, decently-stocked branch is now."
***
They encountered Cyril Charles as expected at his post in the vestibule. He knew better than to ask them whether they had traveled somewhere and returned, or had decided not to travel through time at this point at all.
Max smiled and shook his hand. "Do you know the address of the closest branch of the New York Public Library?"
"That would be the Lenox Library, up on 70 th Street and Fifth Avenue," Charles answered, immediately. "There's also the Astor Library to the south – but that is a bit further away, below Washington Square Park." He smiled slightly, knowingly, at the name Astor.
"Thank you," Max and Sierra said, ignoring the smile. They walked to Fifth Avenue and turned north.
"Do they have microfiche in use yet?" Sierra asked Max.
Max scrunched his face. "It's been invented already, for sure. But I don't think it's in common use in libraries as yet. But they should have copies of the newspapers themselves that we can look through."
Sierra looked up the Avenue. "The Library's about 20 blocks north – should we walk it?"
"Those horse-drawn carriages look like fun," Max said.
"We could probably walk faster," Sierra said, gesturing to a slow-moving carriage that now stopped and discharged a passenger.
"Where's your sense of adventure?" Max asked, playfully.
"Ok, we'll take the damned horse," Sierra said, and waved to the driver, who nodded back at them.
"Wait," Max said. "Did you take any money with you from the hotel?"
Sierra shook her head no, and waved the driver off. He nodded again and continued north with his horse-drawn carriage.
"How much is the fare?" Max asked Sierra. "A penny?"
"Doesn't matter," Sierra said. "It's a penny we don't have."
"We should have asked Astor for some cash," Max said, "a time traveler's per diem." And the two began their walk up Fifth Avenue.
***
The walk was the longest the two had taken in the 1890s, and filled with everyday history come to pulsating life. They encountered boys and girls selling newspapers in the middle of the Avenue – "no child labor laws back here," Sierra mentioned – and vendors of all ages, raucously hawking their wares on the sidewalks. "Bootblacks," Max looked at a row of men polishing shoes and boots against a wrought-iron railing, and then at his own footwear. They were a pair of nondescript shoes from the future that didn't look too out of place in 1890s, and never needed polishing.
They encountered someone far more interesting as they crossed 60 th Street. Sierra gestured to a man walking towards them, very thin, well dressed, about 40 years of age. His black hair was parted in the middle and he had a moustache, like many men in this city at this time, including John Jacob Astor, except Astor's hair was lighter and his moustache a little longer.
"I'm pretty sure that's Nikola Tesla," Sierra said, and slowed down to a halt.
"Should we talk to him?" Max asked. "How can we not?"
Sierra agreed. "This time and place has more famous people walking around than Ancient Athens or the Library of Alexandria," she said.
The man was in nodding distance. He caught Sierra's eye and smiled.
"Nikola Tesla?" Max asked and extended his hand for a handshake. "We're—"
Tesla took the hand and widened his smile. "I know who you are, and I'm pleased indeed to meet you."
Chapter 4
[Rome, 1615 AD]
Heron had an instinct. He would not find much else of use to him in this time
"They have libraries back here," Max said. "Maybe we should visit one and see what the newspapers have to say about Astor."
Sierra laughed, ironically. "If I'm not mistaken, Astor's grandfather or great-grandfather founded the New York Public Library in the 1850s. But I don't know where the main branch is now – we didn't pass it as we walked up Fifth Avenue and 42 nd Street."
"I think that's a few years away from being constructed there," Max said. "Cyril Charles would know where the closest, decently-stocked branch is now."
***
They encountered Cyril Charles as expected at his post in the vestibule. He knew better than to ask them whether they had traveled somewhere and returned, or had decided not to travel through time at this point at all.
Max smiled and shook his hand. "Do you know the address of the closest branch of the New York Public Library?"
"That would be the Lenox Library, up on 70 th Street and Fifth Avenue," Charles answered, immediately. "There's also the Astor Library to the south – but that is a bit further away, below Washington Square Park." He smiled slightly, knowingly, at the name Astor.
"Thank you," Max and Sierra said, ignoring the smile. They walked to Fifth Avenue and turned north.
"Do they have microfiche in use yet?" Sierra asked Max.
Max scrunched his face. "It's been invented already, for sure. But I don't think it's in common use in libraries as yet. But they should have copies of the newspapers themselves that we can look through."
Sierra looked up the Avenue. "The Library's about 20 blocks north – should we walk it?"
"Those horse-drawn carriages look like fun," Max said.
"We could probably walk faster," Sierra said, gesturing to a slow-moving carriage that now stopped and discharged a passenger.
"Where's your sense of adventure?" Max asked, playfully.
"Ok, we'll take the damned horse," Sierra said, and waved to the driver, who nodded back at them.
"Wait," Max said. "Did you take any money with you from the hotel?"
Sierra shook her head no, and waved the driver off. He nodded again and continued north with his horse-drawn carriage.
"How much is the fare?" Max asked Sierra. "A penny?"
"Doesn't matter," Sierra said. "It's a penny we don't have."
"We should have asked Astor for some cash," Max said, "a time traveler's per diem." And the two began their walk up Fifth Avenue.
***
The walk was the longest the two had taken in the 1890s, and filled with everyday history come to pulsating life. They encountered boys and girls selling newspapers in the middle of the Avenue – "no child labor laws back here," Sierra mentioned – and vendors of all ages, raucously hawking their wares on the sidewalks. "Bootblacks," Max looked at a row of men polishing shoes and boots against a wrought-iron railing, and then at his own footwear. They were a pair of nondescript shoes from the future that didn't look too out of place in 1890s, and never needed polishing.
They encountered someone far more interesting as they crossed 60 th Street. Sierra gestured to a man walking towards them, very thin, well dressed, about 40 years of age. His black hair was parted in the middle and he had a moustache, like many men in this city at this time, including John Jacob Astor, except Astor's hair was lighter and his moustache a little longer.
"I'm pretty sure that's Nikola Tesla," Sierra said, and slowed down to a halt.
"Should we talk to him?" Max asked. "How can we not?"
Sierra agreed. "This time and place has more famous people walking around than Ancient Athens or the Library of Alexandria," she said.
The man was in nodding distance. He caught Sierra's eye and smiled.
"Nikola Tesla?" Max asked and extended his hand for a handshake. "We're—"
Tesla took the hand and widened his smile. "I know who you are, and I'm pleased indeed to meet you."
Chapter 4
[Rome, 1615 AD]
Heron had an instinct. He would not find much else of use to him in this time
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