“You’re here, and I’m here, and it is now. But the NOW is always the tricky part,” Burnside said. “It’s tricky because you’ve been here before, sitting in this same booth, perhaps.” He reached into the box of pastries and pulled out a flaky croissant, made from well-laminated dough. “It’s a bit like this croissant here, Will. There’s so many layers.” Burnside rotated the roll and peeled apart the flakes. “This layer is HERE. But there are a million different NOWS all stacked up together. Sometimes it’s easy to pick them apart, and sometimes they all merge.” He popped the fluffy center part of the croissant in his mouth, chewing and savoring it. Finally, he swallowed.
“There’s more,” Will went on. “Do you want to hear about the way the truth was frozen, floating all around me like giant snowflakes? I was afraid I’d get too much on me and go mad!”
“I believe you.” Burnside held up a hand. “And there’s no way you went through that without being exposed to radically high levels of absolute truth. You must have an unusually high tolerance for it.” Burnside eyed him appraisingly. “The only thing missing is a catalyst.” Burnside tilted his head back and studied Will.
“Maybe it was a glitch?” Will suggested. “Sometimes these things can happen during a celestial event, right?”
“I see you’ve read my books.” Burnside nodded approvingly. “That’s a remote possibility, but there have been no celestial events in the past week. So where or what else was it? Were you wearing an amulet? Some kind of gemstone bracelet?”
“Of course not! I know the rules of porting!” Will frowned.
“Then it must have been on your passenger!” Burnside surmised. He stared straight at Will, a little too pointedly. “Who were you porting?”
“I was alone,” Will lied. He knew that confidentiality rules prevented him from sharing an answer with Burnside, and he knew Burnside knew as well.
Burnside continued to stare knowingly at Will, a single eyebrow raised. Will squared his shoulders and pushed back his sleeves, refusing to budge from his story. Finally, Burnside ended the standoff by sighing and speaking again.
“Then I’m not sure what to say, Will Porter.” Burnside shrugged. “You’d best turn out your pockets and find that stone if you ever want to time travel again.”
Burnside drained the last dregs of his drink and then used his cane to push himself sideways out of the booth. He stood up slowly and smiled toothily, flashing the sparkling canine once more.
“’Twas a pleasure, Will Porter. I hope you find what you’re looking for, be it here or there, now or then. Do come back and let me know when you do?”
As the old man hobbled back out onto the street, Will laid his head in his hands for a moment. What had he been thinking? He would not untangle all of this in one day.
The least he could do, in the meantime, was stop by the Singapore street market to pick up some freshly made noodles.
Chapter12
Lost and Found
“After you.” Cosimo held the door open to The Knot and Kettle Cafe for Goldie, and she stepped into the dim interior quickly. Normally she would have chosen a cafe with an ocean-facing patio and space heaters. But considering Cosimo’s condition, she settled on a smaller, homier, and darker place.
“Sit wherever you like.” The hostess looked up from her crossword puzzle. “Looks like you’re our only diners this morning.”
“Charming place,” Cosimo commented, taking in the worn furnishings crowded into the lamplit interior. Goldie didn’t think she detected any sarcasm in his voice, and even if she had, she wouldn’t care. Cosimo pointed to a table in the far back corner next to the fireplace. It was the farthest from the door and windows, which were already conveniently shuttered and shaded. Tiny brass lanterns illuminated the interior, which was hung with fishnets and other nautical decor. Goldie always felt that being in this restaurant felt like being in the belly of a boat. She could almost sense the floor rocking gently beneath her feet.
When they reached the table, Cosimo gallantly pulled her seat out for her. It was such an insignificant gesture, and yet it almost brought a lump to her throat. When was the last time anyone held a chair for her? She was lucky if someone held out a hand to steady her while stepping on and off the ferry. And that, she suspected, was only out of concern that the old lady might fall in and delay the departure.
“It’s not fancy, but I rather like it here.” Goldie scooted herself back in the well-padded dining chair. It was just close enough to the crackling fire for her to bask in the heat. “Mostly locals and the coffee is excellent. It’s unpretentious.”
“Seems perfect.” Cosimo sat himself down in the seat opposite and after a quick glance around the low-lit space, he even seemed reassured enough to remove his hat and gloves. “You chose well.” He placed them on an empty chair beside him. “It’s quite cozy and I’m grateful not to have to cover up indoors.”
Goldie was pleased that he approved. She felt a rush of warmth that wasn’t just from the fire. “Good,” she responded. “Hopefully, you’ll like the food as well.”
She studied Cosimo’s angular face. Still so familiar to her. Not being able to place it was like having an itch that couldn’t be scratched. She couldn’t stop staring at him. But he didn’t seem to mind. Much to her surprise, he seemed unbothered by it. In fact, he seemed like he might even be enjoying it a little. He stared back at her, eyes flickering with reflected firelight.
Finally, Goldie broke it off. “Excuse me. I’m just a silly old lady. I don’t mean to stare at you. I still can’t shake the feeling that I know you. Or perhaps I knew your parents?”
“I highly doubt that,” Cosimo said, flipping through the menu. “To tell you the truth, I’m not particularly hungry, but I could do with some coffee. What else do you recommend here?”
“The pancakes aren’t half bad.” Goldie shrugged. She didn’t even have to look at the menu. She always ordered their French toast.
“And the French toast?” Cosimo’s eyes were dancing as he glanced at her over the top of his menu. “Do they make it properly here?”
“They do.” The question surprised Goldie. She didn’t know many people who were as particular as her about French toast. “Just to be clear,” she added, “they use a nice, thick, day-old challah bread, and plenty of cinnamon.”
“As it should be.” Cosimo sighed his approval.
