Up The Line

50.

At one minute to midnight I pulled myself together and went upstairs to take over the job of being the authentic Jud Elliott. As I entered the room I allowed myself the naive hope that I’d find everything restored to the right path, with Sauerabend in his bed again. Let it have been fixed retroactively, I prayed. But Sauerabend wasn’t in the room.

Did that mean that he’d never be found?

Not necessarily. Maybe, to avoid further tangles, he’d be returned to our tour slightly down the line, say in the early hours of the night, or just before dawn.

Or maybe he’d be restored to the point he jumped from — thirteen minutes or so before midnight — but I somehow wouldn’t become aware of his return, through some mysterious working of the Paradox of Transit Displacement, holding me outside the whole system.

I didn’t know. I didn’t even want to know. I just wanted Conrad Sauerabend located and put back in his proper position in time, before the Patrol realized what was up and let me have it.

Sleep was out of the question. Miserably I slumped on the edge of my bed, getting up now and then to check on my tour people. The Gostamans slept on. The Hagginses slept on. Palmyra and Bilbo and Miss Pistil slept on.

At half-past two in the morning there was a light knock at the door. I leaped up and yanked it open.

Another Jud Elliott stood there.

“Who are you?” I asked morosely.

“The same one who was here before. The one who went for help. There aren’t any more of us now, are there?”

“I don’t think so.” I stepped out into the hall with him. “Well? What’s been going on?”

He was grimy and unshaven. “I’ve been gone for a week. We’ve searched all up and down the line.”

“Who has?”

“Well, I went to Metaxas first, in 1105, just as you said. He’s terribly concerned for our sake. What he did, first of all, was to put all his servants to work, checking to see if anybody answering to Sauerabend’s description could be found in or around 1105.”

“It can’t hurt, I guess.”

“It’s worth trying,” my twin agreed. “Next, Metaxas went down to now-time and phoned Sam, who came flying in from New Orleans and brought Sid Buonocore with him. Metaxas also alerted Kolettis, Gompers, Plastiras, Pappas — all the Byzantium Couriers, the whole staff. Because of discontinuity problems, we’re not notifying anyone who’s on an earlier now-time basis than December 2059, but that still gives us a big posse. What we’re doing now, what we’ve been doing for the past week, is simply moving around, year by year, hunting for Sauerabend, asking questions in the marketplace, sniffing for clues. I’ve been at it eighteen, twenty hours a day. So have all the others. It’s wonderful, how loyal they are!”

“It certainly is,” I said. “What are the chances of finding him, though?”

“Well, we assume that he hasn’t left the Constantinople area, although there’s nothing to prevent him from going down the line to 2059, hopping off to Vienna or Moscow, and vanishing up the line again. All we can do is plug away. If he doesn’t turn up in Byzantine, we’ll check Turkish, and then pre-Byzantine, and then we’ll pass the word to now-time so Couriers on other runs can watch for him, and—”

He sagged. He was exhausted.

“Look,” I said, “you’ve got to get some rest. Why don’t you go back to 1105 and settle down at Metaxas’ place for a few days? Then come back here when you’re rested, and let me join the search. We can alternate that way indefinitely. Meanwhile, let’s keep this night in 1204 as our reference point. Whenever you jump to me, jump to this night, so we don’t lose contact. It may take us a couple of lifetimes, but we’ll get Sauerabend back into the group before morning comes.”

“Right.”

“All clear, then? You spend a few days at the villa resting up, and come back here half an hour from now. And then I’ll go.”

“Clear,” he said, and went down to the street to jump.

I returned to the room and resumed my melancholy vigil. At three in the morning, Jud B was back, looking like a new man. He had shaved, taken a bath or two, changed his clothes, obviously had had plenty of sleep. “Three days of rest at Metaxas’ place,” he said. “Magnifique!”

“You look great. Too great. You didn’t, perhaps, sneak off to fool around with Pulcheria?”

“The thought didn’t occur to me. But what if I had? You bastard, are you warning me to leave her alone?”

I said, “You don’t have any right to—”

“I’m you, remember? You can’t be jealous of yourself.”

“I guess you can’t,” I said. “Stupid of me.”

“Stupider of me,” he said. “I should have dropped in on her while I was there.”

“Well, now it’s my turn. I’ll put in some time on searching, then stop at the villa for rest and recuperation, and maybe have some fun with our beloved. You won’t object to that, will you?”

“Fair’s fair,” he sighed. “She’s yours as much as she’s mine.”

“Correct. When I’ve taken care of everything, I’ll get back here at — let’s see — quarter past three tonight. Got it?”

We synchronized our timetables for the 1105 end of the line to avoid discontinuities; I didn’t want to get there while he was still there, or, worse, before he had ever arrived. Then I left the inn and shunted up the line. In 1105 I hired a chariot and was taken out to the villa on a golden autumn day.

Metaxas, bleary-eyed and stubble-faced, greeted me at the porch by asking, “Which one are you, A or B?”

“A. B’s taking over for me at the inn in 1204. How’s the search going?”

“Lousy,” said Metaxas. “But don’t give up hope. We’re with you all the way. Come inside and meet some old friends.”