asked the right question?” Elizabeth repeated, instead of acting like a well-bred young lady and accepting the apology. “What, pray, is the right question? Does it regard this, perhaps?” She held up the pocket watch. “What is it? Where does it come from?”
“I found mine in a garret,” Maxwell said. “I’m afraid no one knows where they originated.”
“But you know what it is?”
“I know what it does.” Maxwell hooked a finger on the chain in his waistcoat. It was an oddly tailored waistcoat, Elizabeth noticed for the first time, extending over the waistband of his breeches in elongated triangle points—and they were not breeches, either, but something closer to Cossack trousers—She shook her head impatiently at herself and redirected her attention from the strangeness of the clothing to the strangeness of the watch, which was clearly of some actual importance.
Maxwell drew it out in exactly the manner of a gentleman wishing to consult the time, detached the chain, and set the watch on the table beside Elizabeth’s. As far as she could tell under the light of three guttering candles, they were identical as to engravings, though not of course as to scratches. Maxwell popped open both lids. They were identical inside as well, with dials and faces such as never belonged to any proper gentleman’s pocket watch.
Maxwell indicated each dial in turn. “This sets the date to which you wish to travel—year, month, day. This allows you to give a precise location, by latitude and longitude, if you know it. You set these dials, and then depress the side button twice and top once. But that isn’t what you did, is it? For this is neither today’s date nor our current location—You must have done it the other way. When the image displayed in this face is one that seems attractive, press the side button once and the top one twice, and the watch takes you there.”
“This was hardly the best selection for your first adventure,” Trevelyan observed from the doorway. “That nice bubbling brook would have been a much better choice.”
“Knights in armor,” William said, stunned. “The watch lets one...journey to the past?”
“And the future.” Maxwell smiled at him in a fatherly sort of way. “What year was it, when you woke this morning? Eighteen hundred...ten? Or twelve? Thereabouts?”
“The...the year of Our Lord eighteen hundred and fifteen,” William answered after a pause.
“I was close,” Maxwell said. He looked at Elizabeth with the same sort of fondness. “I knew you were a traveler like me as soon as I saw the watch, but truthfully, I would have been able to tell anyway. Your gown is becoming, but not at all the current fashion. My mother had one very like it.”
“So we are in London,” Elizabeth repeated. “But where we are is not the important question.” She understood what Trevelyan meant now. “What is the year?”
“The year of Our Lord eighteen hundred and eighty-five,” Maxwell said. “You are seeing a future that will not take place until after your death.”
Interlude
Carron Valley, Scotland, November 1, 1855
It had been what might be mildly termed a trying day, and the message set the final spark to George Brown’s always explosive temper. “There’s a what?”
His aide winced. The boy would never make a soldier, Brown thought disapprovingly. He shied like a rabbit at every little thing. He would have liked to run like a rabbit rather than face his general’s displeasure—Brown could tell by the faint twitching of the muscles under the jawline—but at least he was not such a coward as to actually do it. Instead he repeated, almost steadily, “There is a government observer here to see you, sir.”
“Here? Now? Tonight?” Brown flung a hand at the tent flap, meaning to indicate the camp beyond it and the valley beyond that. “Ridiculous. You’ve been taken in,
“I found mine in a garret,” Maxwell said. “I’m afraid no one knows where they originated.”
“But you know what it is?”
“I know what it does.” Maxwell hooked a finger on the chain in his waistcoat. It was an oddly tailored waistcoat, Elizabeth noticed for the first time, extending over the waistband of his breeches in elongated triangle points—and they were not breeches, either, but something closer to Cossack trousers—She shook her head impatiently at herself and redirected her attention from the strangeness of the clothing to the strangeness of the watch, which was clearly of some actual importance.
Maxwell drew it out in exactly the manner of a gentleman wishing to consult the time, detached the chain, and set the watch on the table beside Elizabeth’s. As far as she could tell under the light of three guttering candles, they were identical as to engravings, though not of course as to scratches. Maxwell popped open both lids. They were identical inside as well, with dials and faces such as never belonged to any proper gentleman’s pocket watch.
Maxwell indicated each dial in turn. “This sets the date to which you wish to travel—year, month, day. This allows you to give a precise location, by latitude and longitude, if you know it. You set these dials, and then depress the side button twice and top once. But that isn’t what you did, is it? For this is neither today’s date nor our current location—You must have done it the other way. When the image displayed in this face is one that seems attractive, press the side button once and the top one twice, and the watch takes you there.”
“This was hardly the best selection for your first adventure,” Trevelyan observed from the doorway. “That nice bubbling brook would have been a much better choice.”
“Knights in armor,” William said, stunned. “The watch lets one...journey to the past?”
“And the future.” Maxwell smiled at him in a fatherly sort of way. “What year was it, when you woke this morning? Eighteen hundred...ten? Or twelve? Thereabouts?”
“The...the year of Our Lord eighteen hundred and fifteen,” William answered after a pause.
“I was close,” Maxwell said. He looked at Elizabeth with the same sort of fondness. “I knew you were a traveler like me as soon as I saw the watch, but truthfully, I would have been able to tell anyway. Your gown is becoming, but not at all the current fashion. My mother had one very like it.”
“So we are in London,” Elizabeth repeated. “But where we are is not the important question.” She understood what Trevelyan meant now. “What is the year?”
“The year of Our Lord eighteen hundred and eighty-five,” Maxwell said. “You are seeing a future that will not take place until after your death.”
Interlude
Carron Valley, Scotland, November 1, 1855
It had been what might be mildly termed a trying day, and the message set the final spark to George Brown’s always explosive temper. “There’s a what?”
His aide winced. The boy would never make a soldier, Brown thought disapprovingly. He shied like a rabbit at every little thing. He would have liked to run like a rabbit rather than face his general’s displeasure—Brown could tell by the faint twitching of the muscles under the jawline—but at least he was not such a coward as to actually do it. Instead he repeated, almost steadily, “There is a government observer here to see you, sir.”
“Here? Now? Tonight?” Brown flung a hand at the tent flap, meaning to indicate the camp beyond it and the valley beyond that. “Ridiculous. You’ve been taken in,
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