The Second Time Travel Megapack: 23 Modern and Classic Stories Read online

  “Monsieur Clive, you may tell me your story now.”

  Clive commenced by describing America, the ways of living and the conveniences enjoyed by the American people. He did not mention that he was describing 20th century America, however, for that was the part of the tale which seemed to arouse the most disbelief in his listeners—with the possible exception of the queen who had apparently been impressed by some form of clairvoyance.

  “How is it that we haven’t heard of these things before?” asked the king. “We have explorers over there now.”

  “America is a long distance from here,” said Clive. He knew that this was a weak answer, but the king seemed satisfied. He resumed his story, and when he told about meeting the musketeers in America the king interrupted him again.

  “Did you say that you met Messieurs Athos, Porthos, Aramis, and d’Artagnan in America?” he asked. “How did these gentlemen get there and back in such a short time. I know that it hasn’t been over one month since I last heard from them, and besides that I don’t remember giving any of my musketeers permission to make such a trip.”

  “That is the most unbelievable part of my story,” said Clive. “There is a cavern near Amiens, which, in some mysterious manner, is connected with my country.”

  “Ah, yes!” cried the king. “The cavern that you spoke of Treville?”

  Treville nodded his head in assent. The king appeared to be perfectly satisfied with this answer.

  “So you see,” continued Clive, “it was really the musketeers that found the cavern, and brought me back, with them.”

  “I must visit this cavern,” said the king. Clive had finished his story, and no one spoke for some time. Finally the king said:

  “Monsieur Clive, we have not much to offer here in France in comparison to the wonderful country you have just described, but you are welcome to stay here as long as you wish, and you are under my official protection while you are here.” The king’s manner had changed completely, and his attitude toward Clive was now almost benevolent. Clive wondered how long it would be before he changed again.

  “I am fascinated by your country, your Majesty,” he said, “and I should be disappointed if I could not remain for a protracted visit. In the meantime, I shall be glad to use the knowledge I have gained in my own country for the benefit of the people of France.”

  “That is very kind of you, Monsieur,” said the king. “We shall be happy to have your help. Can you build more of those motorcycles?”

  “Well, that is a little out of my line,” said Clive, “although I can get your mechanics started in that direction. I have studied, however, the art of healing and surgery as my friends, the musketeers, can testify.”

  Clive’s friends, the musketeers, would probably have liked to withhold their opinions until they discovered the fate of Clive’s patients, but he had instilled in them a confidence in himself which remained unshaken. They all testified that they had witnessed a demonstration of Clive’s ability, and it was “like nothing they had ever seen before.”

  “Excellent!” exclaimed the king. “You shall be the royal physician.”

  This was exactly what Clive wanted. “Now,” he thought, “I can be near the queen without danger of suspicion.”

  “And now, gentlemen,” said the king, “you have done a great service for your king and country, and your king, at least, is grateful.” He fumbled about in his pockets, finally withdrawing a small leather pouch which appeared to be brim-full of coins. “I know that you gentlemen did what you have done out of loyalty to France, but I also know that musketeers are always in need of money. Here, take this, and don’t spend it all in one place,” he said, tossing the bag to Athos.

  “Ye Gods!” thought Clive, “is that gag that old?”

  “As for you, Monsieur,” the king said to Clive, “I shall give you an order on the treasury for your remuneration, and I shall have quarters prepared for you here in the palace. As for the services you have already rendered, may this ring serve to remind you of my gratitude.” He removed a large, ornate ring from his finger and presented it to Clive. “Keep this ring with you,” he continued, “and you will always have the protection of the loyal subjects of the king of France.”

  Louis again summoned La Chesnaye who had resumed his usual post just outside the door of the former. The valet de chambre was given instructions concerning Clive’s lodgings, and after a moment of thought he left the room, requesting the American to follow him. After mumbling a few words of gratitude to the king, and requesting the musketeers to accompany him, Clive followed La Chesnaye.

  Clive’s quarters proved to be a beautifully furnished suite on the street level floor. The suite had two doors leading to the outside, one leading into the courtyard, and the other communicating via a short path and a small postern gate with the street.

  “Well, I’m doing all right,” Clive thought. “I’ve only studied medicine for three years, and I find myself royal doctor of France.”

  “These are the quarters of a former physician, who attempted to poison the king—it is thought—and was recently executed,” said La Chesnaye. The old man left this thought in Clive’s mind as he left the room.

  “‘It is thought’,” he said to himself: “I wonder who has to think that to have it count against you.” He turned to the others who had found a table and were counting out the money the king had given them. They divided the gold coins into five equal portions, and pushed one of these toward Clive.

  “Here is your share, Monsieur,” said Athos.

  “But the king didn’t give that money to me,” said Clive.

  “All for one and one for all,” cried Porthos. “I repeat you are one of us now.”

  “Come, my dear Clive,” said d’Artagnan, “take your share of the gold and join us, for we know several delightful places where some of it may be spent.” The friends returned to the reception hall long enough to retrieve Clive’s motorcycle, and then the five of them roared off on a tour of seventeenth century Parisian night life. This experience reminded Clive of his days as an undergraduate college student, when, with a group of fraternity brothers, he would experiment with the night life of the university city at the end of each examination.

  * * * *

  The days that followed were the happiest Clive had ever experienced. Shortly after his installation as royal physician he made a journey back through the caverns, accompanied by d’Artagnan, and returned with a large supply of medicine and surgical instruments, and a larger supply of books on all scientific subjects, most of them written in French.

  The science of mathematics had reached a fairly advanced state, and Clive presented it with Newton’s calculus some fourteen years before the birth of this gentleman. To the mathematicians Clive also presented books on mechanical engineering, and electrics. Chemistry was just emerging from the enshrouding mists of alchemy, and it was here that Clive made his biggest contribution by presenting this science with Mendeleeff’s Periodic Table. Mineral deposits were located by means of charts that Clive had brought with him, and rich mines were opened in France and Germany. An expedition was in the process of preparation to go into eastern Europe to drill for oil. Clive had enlisted the services of several locksmiths and Cartwrights, and others of a mechanical turn, and had set them to work making simple pieces of machinery. All of this was done in such an amazingly short time that even Clive was astounded.

  In this time Clive had seen the queen but very little, for she never appeared with the king except upon state occasions, and upon these chance meetings she feigned ignorance of his acquaintanceship, although a certain look always lingered momentarily in her eyes. As an upshot of the pigeon and falcon incident, Clive had heard in a roundabout way that the queen had suffered some persecution at the hands of the cardinal, for what reason he could but guess.

  The three cardi
nalist guards, upon whom Clive had practiced his surgery recovered in very short order, and so amazingly without complications that even Clive was surprised. When the report reached His Eminence this minister was actually pleasant with Clive, even though he had harbored enmity toward the American since their first meeting.

  “You are indeed a man of superior intelligence, Monsieur,” said the cardinal, “and for that reason I intend to disclose to you some of my plans, which are really state secrets.”

  “That is very kind of you, Your Eminence, but I am not seeking political secrets.” Clive was immediately suspicious of the cardinal’s about-face in his attitude toward him.

  “Ah, yes,” replied the cardinal, “but you are intimately concerned with these plans, for they propose to make you a man of destiny!”

  “Heil Hitler!” Clive replied sarcastically, and then to himself: “This is undoubtedly the same old oil the dictators of the twentieth century are handing out, but it should be amusing.”

  “A person of your intelligence can undoubtedly see that one state in Europe would be a much more satisfactory system than the several hundred states that now exist,” the cardinal continued. “And with the knowledge you can give the people, and the freedom I can give them, Europe can be a veritable paradise.”

  “Is that all then that I need do to help bring this about?” asked Clive. “I merely instruct these people in the knowledge of the better things of life?”

  “That will come later,” beamed the cardinal. “For the present I will need your help in producing arms and fighting equipment to bring about this union. If you will supply me with these things, I will make you the second man in the new order.”

  “That’s what I thought you wanted,” said Clive. His eyes flashed with anger as he continued. “I agree that a united Europe would be a very good arrangement, but not a conquered Europe. You are putting the cart before the horse, my friend, the knowledge and instruction must come before union is attempted. I refuse to have anything to do with your plans, and I shall do my best to forget that we ever had this chat. Good day, Monsieur!” Clive marched out of the chambers of the most powerful man in France.

  “I believe that you will have changed your mind within a week,” the cardinal said, benignly, as Clive passed through the door.

  Clive had returned to his quarters but a short time before a messenger presented himself at the American’s door, and informed him that the king desired an audience with him immediately.

  “Must be his gout again,” Clive murmured as he picked up his medical kit and followed the messenger. When he entered the apartment of the king, however, he found the latter pacing back and forth, with an occupied, and somewhat worried expression upon his face. Although he saw Clive enter the room, he made no sign of recognition, but continued his pacing as though he were trying to arrive at a weighty decision. Finally he turned to Clive:

  “Do you have a remedy for a pain in the stomach?” he asked.

  “What sort of pain?” asked Clive.

  The king hesitated in another moment of indecision. “Perhaps you had better see her,” he said, as though he were speaking to himself. And then: “The queen claims to be stricken with a violent pain in her stomach, enough to make her quite ill. Of course, it can’t be very serious, but you know these women, they can’t stand the slightest pain.”

  “Appendicitis!” This was the snap-diagnosis that immediately flashed into Clive’s mind. He felt like letting his majesty have a taste of a good right fist in the face—but he restrained himself.

  “How long has this been going on?” Clive’s question was almost a demand. The king was somewhat alarmed by his attitude.

  “Since yesterday, but it can’t be serious—can it?”

  “It’s probably a matter of life and death,” said Clive. “We must act at once, so if you will lead the way, your highness, there may still be a chance of saving her.”

  It was but the work of a moment to verify Clive’s original surmise, the queen had a bad case of appendicitis. For a moment a feeling of helplessness swept over the young doctor, he realized his own deficiencies in surgical training, and here he was called upon to handle the “hot” appendix of the one person that meant everything to him. For a moment he thought of transporting her through the caverns to the U.S., but immediately realized that to be impossible. He then thought of bringing a surgeon in, and though that was more feasible, the queen would probably not survive until he arrived.

  Fortunately Clive had been expecting some such emergency, and had been training some assistants. He now took over a small room in the Louvre and after removing all furniture and tapestries, and scrubbing the room from top to bottom, he converted it to an operating room. When all preparations had been made he went to Anne’s chambers, and sending everyone from the room excepting his two assistants he spoke to her in English:

  “Anne dear,” he said, “what I am about to do you will not understand but you must trust me, and believe that what I do is necessary to save your life.”

  The queen did not speak, but her wan smile and the light squeeze she gave Clive’s hand spoke volume.

  The operation was a success, the appendix had not yet ruptured and the queen progressed without complications. Clive, however, remained at her side constantly for the first twenty-four hours, and returned again as soon as he had snatched a few hours’ sleep. In the next few days Clive felt that he had reached the peak of happiness—to be allowed to remain with the queen without question was a new-found paradise, a dream from which he was rudely awakened one week after the operation.

  Clive was leaving the queen’s chambers when he was accosted by one of the cardinal’s messengers.

  “Monsieur Clive,” he said, “His Eminence the cardinal wishes to see you immediately.” Clive was about to tell him to let His Eminence jump in the lake, but he was so happy that he decided to humor Richelieu, and he followed the messenger to the apartments of the cardinal.

  “You look very pleased with yourself, Monsieur,” said’ the cardinal. “I am glad to see that you have reconsidered my offer.”

  “Who says I have reconsidered?” demanded Clive, his brow clouding with anger. “I told you I wanted no part in your schemes, and if that is all you brought me here for, I am ready to leave.”

  “I am sorry you have taken that attitude again,” said the cardinal, “and in that case I must show you something very interesting.” He reached in his desk and brought out a small leather case.

  “My camera!” exclaimed Clive.

  “Oh, you know what this is then,” said the cardinal with mock surprise, “then you will understand what this is.” He handed a slip of paper to the American. Clive took the slip with a trembling hand for he could see that it was a photograph, and he realized the possibilities of his undoing at the hands of the cardinal. “How would you like me to explain to the king what this camera is, and show him that interesting photograph?” Richelieu asked the bewildered American.

  The photograph showed Clive sitting at the side of the queen, the latter was sitting up in bed, and the two appeared to be about to embrace.

  “Of course,” continued the cardinal, “I know that you are completely innocent, but what do you suppose the king will think? And you know that such an action is a crime punishable by death!”

  It took several moments for the full realization of his situation to penetrate Clive’s mind. He had finally arrived at the situation from which he had so frequently planned his escape. His motorcycle was in a hiding place outside the Louvre and his revolver was at his side. He must fight his way out, and make his way to the caverns at Amiens. But first he must destroy the evidence the cardinal had against the queen. Clive quickly drew the revolver from its holster at his side, and warning His Eminence not to make a sound at the risk of his life, he stuffed a handkerchief in his mouth and then proceeded to
tie him to his chair.

  The cardinal’s worst enemy could not have called him a coward, but in common with everyone who knew of Clive’s revolver he was terrified by the sight of such a deadly weapon, and he permitted the American to bind him firmly without offering any resistance.

  When His Eminence was securely bound Clive searched through his desk until he found the damning negative, which he burned along with the photograph, then retrieving his camera he left the room, walking as fast as he dared without attracting any attention. Arriving at his apartments he found Planchet, d’Artagnan’s lackey, waiting for him with a message from his master. Clive seized the envelope and tore it open, extracting the message.

  “Amiens cut off!” it said. “Fly to the east.” It was signed d’A.

  “Monsieur d’Artagnan said that you must leave immediately if you are to make good your escape,” said Planchet.

  “How does d’Artagnan know I must flee?” he asked himself. “Why is Amiens cut off? Is the cardinal behind all this?” These were the thoughts that raced through Clive’s mind as he followed Planchet through the garden gate and the postern gate. They passed the house in which Clive had secreted his motorcycle, but Planchet urged the young doctor onward. After what seemed like miles of narrow, winding, filthy streets, Planchet, stepped into a doorway, and motioned Clive to follow him. The latter found himself in a small, squalid room which was nearly filled by the figures of the four musketeers and two motorcycles.

  “D’Artagnan will accompany you,” said Athos when Clive had entered the room, “while Aramis and I will cover your retreat and keep you posted on developments in France. You must leave now as the roads to the east will soon be blocked.”

  Clive opened his mouth as though to speak, but Athos cut him short: “D’Artagnan will explain as you arrive in safe territory,” said the latter. “But you must ride like fury if you wish to escape the Bastille.”