The Time Travelers, Volume 2 Read Online Free PDF Page A

way around poverty, and if she could not help herself, she certainly could not help Devonny. Mama had not been able to help Strat either, though she had tried.
    Father was lying to Lord Winden about Strat’s end, claiming that Strat died in a hunting accident in the mountains. But they did not know that. Strat had vanished. That was all they knew.
    Devonny herself had given an order to Annie Lockwood: If you have no other way to save Strat, bring him with you into your own century.
    It was such a strange thought: that Strat might be out there—breathing, running, laughing, reading the paper—but not for a hundred years.
    What if Strat came back?
    The question of money would also come back. If Father’s only son returned, it would be much less likely that Devonny would inherit everything. And much less likely that Lord Winden would want Devonny. In fact, Lord Winden would
not
want Devonny!
    As for Father’s threat … forbidden to marry; a useless dried-up old spinster kept in a separate room … if I could get Strat home, thought Devonny, I could prove he is no lunatic. Then there could be no blackmail! And Strat would take care of me. He’s a man now, and would overrule Father. I would not be thrown into a marriage like a ball into a game! I could marry for love.
    I must bring Strat home
.
    Devonny straightened the long glimmering yellow skirt. She retied the lovely sash. She touched thecameo at her throat. She felt the freshness of the flowers on her hat.
    How had they done it?
    How had they stepped through?
    What magic word, or place, or thought, or need had ripped her brother and Annie Lockwood through a century?
    “Strat!” she cried. “Strat! I need you!”
    But nothing happened.
    Devonny stomped her small foot, but her soft leather sole made hardly a sound in the high grass. She did not even have the power to make noise.
    There was no Annie Lockwood. There was no Strat. In fact, what her father had told Lord Winden was probably the truth: that Strat was dead in the mountains.
    “Somebody help me,” said Devonny tonelessly. She did not raise her voice. “Somebody think of something to do,” she said, not loud enough to make a swallow change flight.
    She shaded her eyes to see the nearest village on the shore. Was Strat there? Just a few miles away—and a hundred years?
    If she stepped through, as somehow they had stepped through, could she find him? Would he be waiting for her? Would he even know her?
    Devonny clasped her hands and held them before her. She addressed Time, which held Strat:
I need him
,she said,
take me to him. I have no power. Only my brother can save me
.
    Tod put his mouth to the spigot and drank several cooling gulps. He never worried about stuff like germs or dirt. When he got a mouthful of rust, he just swallowed it. Tod never got sick. It was a matter of choice. You wanted to stay well, you informed your body, and it obeyed you.
    Within seconds, Tod was hideously sick.
    His head was coming off. His whole body was being wrenched apart.
    Tod had never even had the flu. He could not imagine what was happening. He wanted to throw up, or grab on to something, or scream, but there was no Time.
    Time, he thought; and somehow, grotesquely,
he could touch time
.
    Time, which was invisible, like love or power, pressed up against him, and scraped his skin, and tried to break his bones.
    Tod tried to brush it off himself, as if he’d walked into spiderwebs, but he had no control over his hands, and then his hair peeled away as if he were being scalped.
    There was so much Time.
    Years and decades of Time, fat swollen hours ofTime, like disease. The sickness lasted a century, and yet used up no Time at all.
    Then came the after-feeling of sickness: a thin brain and a weak belly. Tod found himself still gripping the red-handled pump, still kneeling on the soggy grass.
    He tried to breathe deeply but his body was unwilling. He panted in a shallow fashion and forced his hand to relax on the pump