Fic: A Time For Great Things - Chapter 6
TITLE: A Time For Great Things - Chapter 6
FANDOM: Legends of Tomorrow
CATEGORY: Fix-It, Action/Adventure, some angst and eventual romance (CaptainCanary)
The quest to save Snart leads some of the legends to a historic battleground.
AUTHOR’S NOTE: Many, many thanks to Jael, not only for the beta but for giving me the background on Lewiston in the first place. It's a setting I'd never have thought of on my own, and it was fun to work with.
Temporal Zone
Rip could see traces of his future wife in the little girl now sleeping in one of the Medbay beds. Especially in the Cupid’s-bow mouth and the slightly snub nose.
Her given name turned out to be Miranda after all. “Coburn” was the only part of her identity assigned by the Time Masters.
She was in an artificial sleep, kept sedated by Gideon per Time Master protocols. Even if the organization was no longer a going concern, at least some of its ideas were good ones. Such as not terrorizing the small orphan children it picked up throughout history by exposing them to strange future technology.
It was the same principle that had guided the design of the Refuge. The Time Masters could have built it out of steel and concrete, which were both durable and functional, rather than making it a Tudor-style home surrounded by green grass and flowers.
At one point, the Time Masters did have hearts. Rip sometimes wondered what it had taken to change that.
The blue I.V. in Miranda’s arm was doing more than administering a sedative. Her immune system was getting boosted to protect her from any futuristic (for her) viruses or bacteria that might be carried by the Waverider team or by other children at the Refuge. Gideon was also pumping her with vitamins and trace minerals that had been missing from her diet. Miranda had been slightly malnourished, not unlike the other foundlings adopted by the Time Masters.
Not unlike himself, in that respect, although he had been much closer to starving to death. He remembered that all too well: Where he came from, and what his life had been like before the Refuge.
His wife had not remembered those things. It was one of the things that had initially intrigued him about her. It gave her an air of mystery he’d found irresistible. That and her clever mind and those sharp hazel eyes that could twinkle with mischief one moment and glow with love the next.
He rubbed the bridge of his nose. Now was not the time for that kind of memory. It would just take him down the rabbit hole of “what-if” and eventually lead him to staring at that bloody holographic message again. He didn’t have time for that.
But he now understood why Miranda had never been able to remember her past. Gideon put the girl’s chronological age at about two and a half years, far too young to remember her origins. And for that, he felt some relief as he considered the mission debrief with the Lewiston team.
--
Lewiston, New York - December 18, 1813
Jefferson was… fiddling… with his clothes again. Granted, the clothing of this period wasn’t exactly comfortable. But the continual… tugging at the fabric would be out of character for their assumed identities as a pair of Harvard University scholars studying the Indian nations of the Great Lakes region. It could draw attention.
And it was driving Stein up the tavern wall.
He nudged his partner, and shook his head, trying his best to send a message of “stop that” through their psychic link. Jefferson scowled at him and shifted in his seat, stopping the fiddling.
For a moment, anyway. It didn’t take long before he was tugging again. Stein let out a sigh and decided to leave it alone.
Truth be told, Jefferson was attracting attention anyway. The state of New York was still pulling away from slavery, and free black men apparently weren’t seen very often in these parts, being more likely to congregate in urban centers such as New York City. But unlike their experience in the Harmony Falls of 1958, the stares they got were those of curiosity rather than bigotry. The tavern keeper’s wife was equally courteous to both men as she set two steaming bowls of stew and a plate of johnnycake down on their corner table.
Her courtesy didn’t cover her nervous expression, however. After thanking her for the stew, Stein asked her, “What is troubling you, Mrs. Hustler?”
She sighed. “We received a letter today from our son, who’s been serving under General McClure up at Fort George. He said they abandoned the Fort and crossed the river over to Fort Niagara.”
Stein reached out to lay a hand on her arm. “It cannot be easy to have a child in the line of fire.”
She gave him a slight smile. “We are proud of him serving. But what troubles me tonight is the rest of what he wrote. McClure’s men burned the town of Newark, to keep the British from taking shelter in civilian homes. The people there have lost everything. I fear there will be a great reckoning from that.” She sighed, and then nodded to the two men. “Enjoy your stew before it gets cold.”
She walked away, and Jefferson began to poke at the stew in his bowl. “Did she say what’s in this?” he asked.
Stein picked up his own pewter spoon, scooped up some of the stew and tasted it. After a moment of thought, he answered, “I would say turnips, onions, carrots and parsnips for the most part. The meat... hmmm. It could be venison.”
Jefferson smiled and took a mouthful.
“But considering the time of year, the dwindling vegetation for deer to eat and the depth of the snow outside, it could also be squirrel.”
The boy’s eyes bugged, and he began to choke. Stein reached over to pat him on the back. “Easy there, Jefferson. It is venison; I recognize the flavor.”
He felt the disbelief down their link, along with just a little pride that he had been able to keep his partner from sensing the joke ahead of time. “Did you just prank me, Gray?” Jefferson asked after swallowing his mouthful.
“Just trying to lighten your mood a bit,” Stein replied. Then in a lower tone he said, “You’ve been looking around so mournfully that you might raise suspicions.”
Jefferson stared down into his stew. “Can’t help it, Gray,” he said, his voice just as low. “Knowing what’s going to happen here and knowing we can’t do anything about it… I don’t like it.”
They both looked around the tavern’s common room. Normally it would be filled with men, smoking pipes and drinking gin “cocktails” like the ones Mrs. Hustler had so proudly served to the “scholars” when they first came in, seeking shelter for the night.
But most of Lewiston’s able-bodied men were now serving in the militia. Tonight women and children took the tables, with a few old men amongst them. They were gathered for comfort, not camaraderie. Apparently word of Newark’s fate had spread.
They, and Mrs. Hustler, had good reason to fear. In just a few hours, the town would be burned and citizens killed in retribution for Newark.
“The demands of history are beyond our likes and dislikes, Jefferson,” Stein said at last. “I imagine this wait is just as difficult for Dr. Palmer and Ms. Lance. Probably more so, since they are having to spend even more time at their target than we are here.” The advantage of not having to get aboard a cruise ship.
Jefferson nodded as he swallowed another mouthful of stew. “Yeah. They’ve got more chances to get involved.”
“We must act like scholars, and remain detached,” Stein said. He started at a light touch on his elbow, and looked down into a pair of hazel eyes. It was a tiny, dark-haired girl who gazed up at him while sucking on two less-than-clean fingers. She couldn’t have been more than two. Maybe three? Stein had too little experience with children to be certain.
But she was adorable.
“Well, hello,” he said in a kind voice. She kept staring at him. “Would you like a piece of this?” he asked, breaking off a piece of the johnnycake and offering it to her. She pulled her fingers out of her mouth to take it, biting into the cornbread and chewing solemnly, still staring at him.
One of the women across the room broke off her conversation and hustled across to them. “Miranda, do not disturb the scholars!” she scolded the child, sweeping her up into her arms. She looked at Stein apologetically. “I am sorry if she bothered you, sir. You resemble her grandfather, who died last month.”
Stein smiled back at her. “She did not bother us at all, good woman. And I would be proud to have a granddaughter like her.”
The woman bobbed a curtsy to them. “Good evening to you both.”
Jefferson was grinning when Stein turned his attention back to him. “Detached, huh?”
--
He really should have listened to Gray about that “cocktail.” He’d said alcohol of this era would be much stronger than anything he’d ever tried in 2016, and the old man was right.
Again.
When Gray woke him before dawn to finally carry out their mission, Jax’s head was pounding and his mouth felt like it was full of cotton. He was torn between thinking he should have eaten more of the stew and being glad he didn’t. Their countdown clock was ticking, and he really didn’t have time for puking his guts out.
“Here, Jefferson.” Gray lit the small lamp in their room and offered him a mug of water and a small white pill. “A little something from Gideon’s pharmacy.”
Jax took the pill and chased it down with the water. “Thanks, Gray.” He blinked in surprise as the pounding vanished within seconds. “Wow, that’s good stuff! How’d you know to bring it with you?”
His partner smiled. “I decided it was wise as soon as I saw where we’d need to place our chronium. According to the historical literature about Lewiston, Hustler’s Tavern is the birthplace of the so-called ‘cocktail,’ although Mrs. Hustler’s concoction bears little resemblance to anything you might drink in the 21st century.”
Jax rubbed his hands over his face. “Man, you’re not kidding. No wonder life expectancies were so short in this century.”
“I think it’s more likely you can attribute that to poor medical care and sanitation than to the available alcohol,” Gray said drily. He checked his pocket watch. “We have fifteen minutes. Are you feeling more like yourself?”
Jax nodded and began to pull on his clothes. “I’ll be glad to get back into 21st century threads. This stuff itches.”
“Keep your mind on the mission, Jefferson, and you won’t notice the itch,” Gray said, handing him the plate of chronium.
Quietly, they stepped out of the third-floor room they’d been given for the night. Gray went first, carrying the lamp to light their way to the front staircase, which would take them back down to the common room. Jax winced as one of the stairs creaked under his weight.
Then he nearly crashed into Gray when the old man froze at the bottom of the staircase. He could feel surprise through their link, and tucked the chronium into his waistcoat as he peered over his partner’s shoulder
Mrs. Hustler was at the fireplace, staring at them in equal surprise. “Gentlemen, I did not realize scholars were such early risers,” she greeted them. “I might almost think you were trying to avoid your bill, if you had not already paid in advance.”
“Mrs. Hustler, we did not think we would be disturbing anyone,” Gray said smoothly, stepping off the stairs to the middle of the room. “My colleague and I are stepping outside for a short while to observe the Ursid meteor showers, which are peaking just before sunrise.”
She looked at them strangely. “I thought you were here to study the Indians.”
“Uh, yes, we are,” Gray reassured her. “But we never miss an opportunity to learn about other subjects as well.”
“A mind is a terrible thing to waste,” Jax chimed in. He shrugged a little when Gray shot him a look.
Mrs. Hustler shrugged. “If you want to freeze your toes off, I suppose that is your business. Breakfast porridge will be ready in about an hour.”
They both nodded to her and grabbed their greatcoats from the hooks near the door. Once outside, they rounded the corner of the building, away from the windows of the common room.
“Our time is running short, Jefferson,” Gray said. He dug into his coat pocket to pull out a diagram printed before they left the Waverider. “According to this, we have to place the chronium up there,” he pointed, “in the stones of the common room chimney, at the second-floor level.”
“Are you sure we shouldn’t just fly the chronium up there?” Jax asked.
Gray shook his head. “We’ve been over this, Jefferson. The transmutation powers of Firestorm could render the chronium useless. This has to be done the hard way.”
Jax nodded in resignation. “Yeah, well, I guess it’s not too different from climbing the rock wall at the Fun Zone. Except there’s no safety harness. And a lot less light. But if blind people can climb Mount Everest, I guess I can do this.”
He put his hands and one foot on the chimney to start climbing. “Stand back, Gray. If I fall, I don’t want you under me.”
The old man gave him a nod and stepped back as Jax began to climb, hands searching for good holds, feet carefully wedging into slots as he went up. At least none of the stones were loose.
He almost lost his grip when his own pocket watch began beeping at him. “Gray, we’re running out of time!” he called. “Am I high enough? I can’t tell!”
“Another two feet, Jefferson!”
Two feet more. His arms and legs were starting to feel the strain of the climb. He pushed that aside; he’d run across a Soviet prison yard on his bad knee to save Gray, for Pete’s sake. He could put up with a little muscle strain for Snart.
And for Sara. And Mick.
With a groan he pulled himself up one more time.
“That’s it, Jefferson!”
Keeping a death grip on the stones with one hand, Jax reached into his waistcoat and pulled out the chronium plate. He wedged it between some of the chimney stones just as the watch’s beeping turned into a whine. Once he was satisfied it was secure, he began to climb back down.
He was shaking by the time he was on solid ground again. Gray clapped him on the back. “Well done, Jefferson!”
They whirled at the sound of screaming in the distance. They could see a glow of flames down the road from the tavern. “The British are coming?” Jax asked.
“And the Mohawks,” Gray agreed. “I think it is time we made our exit, stage… thataway.” He pointed into the darkness, where Mick was supposed to meet them shortly with the jump ship.
Jax nodded and held his right hand out. Gray clapped his own into it, and Jax felt that familiar surge as they merged into Firestorm. They had barely taken flight away from the tavern when a different sound filled the air. It wasn’t the sound of panicked people or of something burning. Or rather, it wasn’t just those sounds. Those things were overridden by a groaning, like some great piece of metal bending.
They turned to see a glowing blue vortex, spiked through with other colors. It moved toward Hustler’s Tavern. There was a glare of brightness as it reached the building, and then the vortex was gone as quickly as it had appeared.
“Gray,” Jax murmured, “what the hell was that?”
He knew the answer even before Gray “spoke” it in his mind. “Jefferson, I believe we have just seen the manifestation of Jurgen’s Ridge in our world. And I believe we have just seen the first phase of our plan succeed.”
“Oh, man, I hope you’re right. That thing looked freaking scary.” He looked back toward the town, where more buildings were in flames. He could see people running down the main road.
“And that is truly terrifying,” Gray said. “Jefferson, we cannot do anything more here. We need to get to our rendezvous point. Mr. Rory should be waiting by the time we get there.”
Jax sighed. “I know, Gray.” He turned away from the slaughter and flew into the darkness.
The jump ship was waiting for them, just like Gray said it would be. Mick was outside, Heat Gun in hand. When they landed and separated, he said, “We’ve got to go back.”
What the hell? “Mick, are you crazy?”
At the same time, Gray was saying, “Mr. Rory, we completed our mission. We have to get back to the Waverider.”
Mick began walking toward the burning town. “Gideon gave us one more mission. We have to save a kid.”
Jax glanced over at Gray, who asked, “Won’t that interfere with the timeline?”
Mick turned back to them. “Gideon says it’ll mess with the timeline a lot more if we leave her here. Now, I can do this alone, but it’ll be a lot faster if you two have my back.” He resumed his stride across the snow. “You comin’ or not?”
Another look exchanged, and both halves of Firestorm nodded, following Mick across the snowy field toward the town. It looked like more than half of it was on fire now.
“This must be quite the show for you,” Gray said to Mick.
The big man growled. “The British are idiots. Fire has to be respected. You don’t just burn for the hell of it.” He paused, and then continued, “You loot first. Then you burn. These idiots have it backwards.”
Jax could feel Gray rolling his eyes. “Just when we thought you were reformed, Mr. Rory…”
Mick huffed out a laugh. “Professor, I ain’t here to loot.”
“No, just to kidnap a child!” Gray replied.
“You can argue with Gideon later!” Mick was growling again.
Jax broke into the bickering. “Do you know where to find this kid, Mick?”
“Gideon told me…” Mick halted. “Now what the hell is that?”
Just as they reached the town’s main road, new cries rose up. This wasn’t the sound of fear; these were battle cries. They could see a group of men sweeping down a hillside into the town, attacking the British soldiers and Mohawks who had been ravaging Lewiston.
“Those must be the Tuscarora Indians!” Jax said excitedly. “Gideon’s history records say these are the guys who came in and saved the day!”
Mick’s eyes narrowed as he watched the greatly outnumbered fighters. “Yeah? The save’s gonna turn into a slaughter. Look.”
The element of surprise was only good for so long, it seemed. Several of the Tuscarora fighters were already on the ground, and the raiders were rallying back.
“That don’t look like saving the day to me,” Mick said, powering up the Heat Gun. “Come on. Looks like we’ve gotta go fix history.”
Jax turned to Gray with a shrug and held out his hand. They re-merged and launched into the sky.
--
History would later record that the “Tuscarora Heroes” used “ingenious and diversionary tactics” that led the British to believe their “numbers were legion,” buying enough time for many Lewiston residents to escape the ruin of their town.
History did not record the “burning man” who laid down barriers of fire between the raiders and the townsfolk. It also did not record the huge warrior, armed with a flame-throwing weapon, striding through the invaders and burning those in his way, particularly one Mohawk who had just taken a woman’s scalp.
History also did not record how that warrior holstered his weapon and gently picked up the child the woman had been shielding. There was no record of the little dark-haired girl staring at her mother’s body and then passing out in the warrior’s arms.
History recorded none of those things because none of it would ever be believed. Skepticism and disbelief would always work to erase anachronisms from the books.
So there was no record save the memories of Mick Rory, Jefferson Jackson and Martin Stein, who, despite having helped to “save the day” for the people of Lewiston, still looked as haunted as Ray Palmer by what they had seen.
“The bastards were killing kids. Kids are off-limits,” Mr. Rory had rumbled before stalking off to raid Rip’s alcohol stash.
For once, Rip was not going to complain about the man stealing his liquor. If he didn’t need to keep his own head clear, he’d even join him.
At the moment, Sara seemed to be the only member of Rip’s crew who was not emotionally shell-shocked by this mission. Having a goal, having hope of retrieving Mr. Snart, seemed to bolster her inherent strength. But Rip wasn’t sure that would last with this side trip they now had to make.
“Captain, we have arrived at the Refuge.”
Rip gently stroked Miranda’s hair. “We’re home, love.”
--
I know, no Len in this chapter either. Stay tuned!
I also want to note that Hustler's Tavern is one of the few buildings that actually survived the burning of Lewiston. Mrs. Hustler's cocktails may have had something to do with it!
FANDOM: Legends of Tomorrow
CATEGORY: Fix-It, Action/Adventure, some angst and eventual romance (CaptainCanary)
The quest to save Snart leads some of the legends to a historic battleground.
AUTHOR’S NOTE: Many, many thanks to Jael, not only for the beta but for giving me the background on Lewiston in the first place. It's a setting I'd never have thought of on my own, and it was fun to work with.
Temporal Zone
Rip could see traces of his future wife in the little girl now sleeping in one of the Medbay beds. Especially in the Cupid’s-bow mouth and the slightly snub nose.
Her given name turned out to be Miranda after all. “Coburn” was the only part of her identity assigned by the Time Masters.
She was in an artificial sleep, kept sedated by Gideon per Time Master protocols. Even if the organization was no longer a going concern, at least some of its ideas were good ones. Such as not terrorizing the small orphan children it picked up throughout history by exposing them to strange future technology.
It was the same principle that had guided the design of the Refuge. The Time Masters could have built it out of steel and concrete, which were both durable and functional, rather than making it a Tudor-style home surrounded by green grass and flowers.
At one point, the Time Masters did have hearts. Rip sometimes wondered what it had taken to change that.
The blue I.V. in Miranda’s arm was doing more than administering a sedative. Her immune system was getting boosted to protect her from any futuristic (for her) viruses or bacteria that might be carried by the Waverider team or by other children at the Refuge. Gideon was also pumping her with vitamins and trace minerals that had been missing from her diet. Miranda had been slightly malnourished, not unlike the other foundlings adopted by the Time Masters.
Not unlike himself, in that respect, although he had been much closer to starving to death. He remembered that all too well: Where he came from, and what his life had been like before the Refuge.
His wife had not remembered those things. It was one of the things that had initially intrigued him about her. It gave her an air of mystery he’d found irresistible. That and her clever mind and those sharp hazel eyes that could twinkle with mischief one moment and glow with love the next.
He rubbed the bridge of his nose. Now was not the time for that kind of memory. It would just take him down the rabbit hole of “what-if” and eventually lead him to staring at that bloody holographic message again. He didn’t have time for that.
But he now understood why Miranda had never been able to remember her past. Gideon put the girl’s chronological age at about two and a half years, far too young to remember her origins. And for that, he felt some relief as he considered the mission debrief with the Lewiston team.
--
Lewiston, New York - December 18, 1813
Jefferson was… fiddling… with his clothes again. Granted, the clothing of this period wasn’t exactly comfortable. But the continual… tugging at the fabric would be out of character for their assumed identities as a pair of Harvard University scholars studying the Indian nations of the Great Lakes region. It could draw attention.
And it was driving Stein up the tavern wall.
He nudged his partner, and shook his head, trying his best to send a message of “stop that” through their psychic link. Jefferson scowled at him and shifted in his seat, stopping the fiddling.
For a moment, anyway. It didn’t take long before he was tugging again. Stein let out a sigh and decided to leave it alone.
Truth be told, Jefferson was attracting attention anyway. The state of New York was still pulling away from slavery, and free black men apparently weren’t seen very often in these parts, being more likely to congregate in urban centers such as New York City. But unlike their experience in the Harmony Falls of 1958, the stares they got were those of curiosity rather than bigotry. The tavern keeper’s wife was equally courteous to both men as she set two steaming bowls of stew and a plate of johnnycake down on their corner table.
Her courtesy didn’t cover her nervous expression, however. After thanking her for the stew, Stein asked her, “What is troubling you, Mrs. Hustler?”
She sighed. “We received a letter today from our son, who’s been serving under General McClure up at Fort George. He said they abandoned the Fort and crossed the river over to Fort Niagara.”
Stein reached out to lay a hand on her arm. “It cannot be easy to have a child in the line of fire.”
She gave him a slight smile. “We are proud of him serving. But what troubles me tonight is the rest of what he wrote. McClure’s men burned the town of Newark, to keep the British from taking shelter in civilian homes. The people there have lost everything. I fear there will be a great reckoning from that.” She sighed, and then nodded to the two men. “Enjoy your stew before it gets cold.”
She walked away, and Jefferson began to poke at the stew in his bowl. “Did she say what’s in this?” he asked.
Stein picked up his own pewter spoon, scooped up some of the stew and tasted it. After a moment of thought, he answered, “I would say turnips, onions, carrots and parsnips for the most part. The meat... hmmm. It could be venison.”
Jefferson smiled and took a mouthful.
“But considering the time of year, the dwindling vegetation for deer to eat and the depth of the snow outside, it could also be squirrel.”
The boy’s eyes bugged, and he began to choke. Stein reached over to pat him on the back. “Easy there, Jefferson. It is venison; I recognize the flavor.”
He felt the disbelief down their link, along with just a little pride that he had been able to keep his partner from sensing the joke ahead of time. “Did you just prank me, Gray?” Jefferson asked after swallowing his mouthful.
“Just trying to lighten your mood a bit,” Stein replied. Then in a lower tone he said, “You’ve been looking around so mournfully that you might raise suspicions.”
Jefferson stared down into his stew. “Can’t help it, Gray,” he said, his voice just as low. “Knowing what’s going to happen here and knowing we can’t do anything about it… I don’t like it.”
They both looked around the tavern’s common room. Normally it would be filled with men, smoking pipes and drinking gin “cocktails” like the ones Mrs. Hustler had so proudly served to the “scholars” when they first came in, seeking shelter for the night.
But most of Lewiston’s able-bodied men were now serving in the militia. Tonight women and children took the tables, with a few old men amongst them. They were gathered for comfort, not camaraderie. Apparently word of Newark’s fate had spread.
They, and Mrs. Hustler, had good reason to fear. In just a few hours, the town would be burned and citizens killed in retribution for Newark.
“The demands of history are beyond our likes and dislikes, Jefferson,” Stein said at last. “I imagine this wait is just as difficult for Dr. Palmer and Ms. Lance. Probably more so, since they are having to spend even more time at their target than we are here.” The advantage of not having to get aboard a cruise ship.
Jefferson nodded as he swallowed another mouthful of stew. “Yeah. They’ve got more chances to get involved.”
“We must act like scholars, and remain detached,” Stein said. He started at a light touch on his elbow, and looked down into a pair of hazel eyes. It was a tiny, dark-haired girl who gazed up at him while sucking on two less-than-clean fingers. She couldn’t have been more than two. Maybe three? Stein had too little experience with children to be certain.
But she was adorable.
“Well, hello,” he said in a kind voice. She kept staring at him. “Would you like a piece of this?” he asked, breaking off a piece of the johnnycake and offering it to her. She pulled her fingers out of her mouth to take it, biting into the cornbread and chewing solemnly, still staring at him.
One of the women across the room broke off her conversation and hustled across to them. “Miranda, do not disturb the scholars!” she scolded the child, sweeping her up into her arms. She looked at Stein apologetically. “I am sorry if she bothered you, sir. You resemble her grandfather, who died last month.”
Stein smiled back at her. “She did not bother us at all, good woman. And I would be proud to have a granddaughter like her.”
The woman bobbed a curtsy to them. “Good evening to you both.”
Jefferson was grinning when Stein turned his attention back to him. “Detached, huh?”
--
He really should have listened to Gray about that “cocktail.” He’d said alcohol of this era would be much stronger than anything he’d ever tried in 2016, and the old man was right.
Again.
When Gray woke him before dawn to finally carry out their mission, Jax’s head was pounding and his mouth felt like it was full of cotton. He was torn between thinking he should have eaten more of the stew and being glad he didn’t. Their countdown clock was ticking, and he really didn’t have time for puking his guts out.
“Here, Jefferson.” Gray lit the small lamp in their room and offered him a mug of water and a small white pill. “A little something from Gideon’s pharmacy.”
Jax took the pill and chased it down with the water. “Thanks, Gray.” He blinked in surprise as the pounding vanished within seconds. “Wow, that’s good stuff! How’d you know to bring it with you?”
His partner smiled. “I decided it was wise as soon as I saw where we’d need to place our chronium. According to the historical literature about Lewiston, Hustler’s Tavern is the birthplace of the so-called ‘cocktail,’ although Mrs. Hustler’s concoction bears little resemblance to anything you might drink in the 21st century.”
Jax rubbed his hands over his face. “Man, you’re not kidding. No wonder life expectancies were so short in this century.”
“I think it’s more likely you can attribute that to poor medical care and sanitation than to the available alcohol,” Gray said drily. He checked his pocket watch. “We have fifteen minutes. Are you feeling more like yourself?”
Jax nodded and began to pull on his clothes. “I’ll be glad to get back into 21st century threads. This stuff itches.”
“Keep your mind on the mission, Jefferson, and you won’t notice the itch,” Gray said, handing him the plate of chronium.
Quietly, they stepped out of the third-floor room they’d been given for the night. Gray went first, carrying the lamp to light their way to the front staircase, which would take them back down to the common room. Jax winced as one of the stairs creaked under his weight.
Then he nearly crashed into Gray when the old man froze at the bottom of the staircase. He could feel surprise through their link, and tucked the chronium into his waistcoat as he peered over his partner’s shoulder
Mrs. Hustler was at the fireplace, staring at them in equal surprise. “Gentlemen, I did not realize scholars were such early risers,” she greeted them. “I might almost think you were trying to avoid your bill, if you had not already paid in advance.”
“Mrs. Hustler, we did not think we would be disturbing anyone,” Gray said smoothly, stepping off the stairs to the middle of the room. “My colleague and I are stepping outside for a short while to observe the Ursid meteor showers, which are peaking just before sunrise.”
She looked at them strangely. “I thought you were here to study the Indians.”
“Uh, yes, we are,” Gray reassured her. “But we never miss an opportunity to learn about other subjects as well.”
“A mind is a terrible thing to waste,” Jax chimed in. He shrugged a little when Gray shot him a look.
Mrs. Hustler shrugged. “If you want to freeze your toes off, I suppose that is your business. Breakfast porridge will be ready in about an hour.”
They both nodded to her and grabbed their greatcoats from the hooks near the door. Once outside, they rounded the corner of the building, away from the windows of the common room.
“Our time is running short, Jefferson,” Gray said. He dug into his coat pocket to pull out a diagram printed before they left the Waverider. “According to this, we have to place the chronium up there,” he pointed, “in the stones of the common room chimney, at the second-floor level.”
“Are you sure we shouldn’t just fly the chronium up there?” Jax asked.
Gray shook his head. “We’ve been over this, Jefferson. The transmutation powers of Firestorm could render the chronium useless. This has to be done the hard way.”
Jax nodded in resignation. “Yeah, well, I guess it’s not too different from climbing the rock wall at the Fun Zone. Except there’s no safety harness. And a lot less light. But if blind people can climb Mount Everest, I guess I can do this.”
He put his hands and one foot on the chimney to start climbing. “Stand back, Gray. If I fall, I don’t want you under me.”
The old man gave him a nod and stepped back as Jax began to climb, hands searching for good holds, feet carefully wedging into slots as he went up. At least none of the stones were loose.
He almost lost his grip when his own pocket watch began beeping at him. “Gray, we’re running out of time!” he called. “Am I high enough? I can’t tell!”
“Another two feet, Jefferson!”
Two feet more. His arms and legs were starting to feel the strain of the climb. He pushed that aside; he’d run across a Soviet prison yard on his bad knee to save Gray, for Pete’s sake. He could put up with a little muscle strain for Snart.
And for Sara. And Mick.
With a groan he pulled himself up one more time.
“That’s it, Jefferson!”
Keeping a death grip on the stones with one hand, Jax reached into his waistcoat and pulled out the chronium plate. He wedged it between some of the chimney stones just as the watch’s beeping turned into a whine. Once he was satisfied it was secure, he began to climb back down.
He was shaking by the time he was on solid ground again. Gray clapped him on the back. “Well done, Jefferson!”
They whirled at the sound of screaming in the distance. They could see a glow of flames down the road from the tavern. “The British are coming?” Jax asked.
“And the Mohawks,” Gray agreed. “I think it is time we made our exit, stage… thataway.” He pointed into the darkness, where Mick was supposed to meet them shortly with the jump ship.
Jax nodded and held his right hand out. Gray clapped his own into it, and Jax felt that familiar surge as they merged into Firestorm. They had barely taken flight away from the tavern when a different sound filled the air. It wasn’t the sound of panicked people or of something burning. Or rather, it wasn’t just those sounds. Those things were overridden by a groaning, like some great piece of metal bending.
They turned to see a glowing blue vortex, spiked through with other colors. It moved toward Hustler’s Tavern. There was a glare of brightness as it reached the building, and then the vortex was gone as quickly as it had appeared.
“Gray,” Jax murmured, “what the hell was that?”
He knew the answer even before Gray “spoke” it in his mind. “Jefferson, I believe we have just seen the manifestation of Jurgen’s Ridge in our world. And I believe we have just seen the first phase of our plan succeed.”
“Oh, man, I hope you’re right. That thing looked freaking scary.” He looked back toward the town, where more buildings were in flames. He could see people running down the main road.
“And that is truly terrifying,” Gray said. “Jefferson, we cannot do anything more here. We need to get to our rendezvous point. Mr. Rory should be waiting by the time we get there.”
Jax sighed. “I know, Gray.” He turned away from the slaughter and flew into the darkness.
The jump ship was waiting for them, just like Gray said it would be. Mick was outside, Heat Gun in hand. When they landed and separated, he said, “We’ve got to go back.”
What the hell? “Mick, are you crazy?”
At the same time, Gray was saying, “Mr. Rory, we completed our mission. We have to get back to the Waverider.”
Mick began walking toward the burning town. “Gideon gave us one more mission. We have to save a kid.”
Jax glanced over at Gray, who asked, “Won’t that interfere with the timeline?”
Mick turned back to them. “Gideon says it’ll mess with the timeline a lot more if we leave her here. Now, I can do this alone, but it’ll be a lot faster if you two have my back.” He resumed his stride across the snow. “You comin’ or not?”
Another look exchanged, and both halves of Firestorm nodded, following Mick across the snowy field toward the town. It looked like more than half of it was on fire now.
“This must be quite the show for you,” Gray said to Mick.
The big man growled. “The British are idiots. Fire has to be respected. You don’t just burn for the hell of it.” He paused, and then continued, “You loot first. Then you burn. These idiots have it backwards.”
Jax could feel Gray rolling his eyes. “Just when we thought you were reformed, Mr. Rory…”
Mick huffed out a laugh. “Professor, I ain’t here to loot.”
“No, just to kidnap a child!” Gray replied.
“You can argue with Gideon later!” Mick was growling again.
Jax broke into the bickering. “Do you know where to find this kid, Mick?”
“Gideon told me…” Mick halted. “Now what the hell is that?”
Just as they reached the town’s main road, new cries rose up. This wasn’t the sound of fear; these were battle cries. They could see a group of men sweeping down a hillside into the town, attacking the British soldiers and Mohawks who had been ravaging Lewiston.
“Those must be the Tuscarora Indians!” Jax said excitedly. “Gideon’s history records say these are the guys who came in and saved the day!”
Mick’s eyes narrowed as he watched the greatly outnumbered fighters. “Yeah? The save’s gonna turn into a slaughter. Look.”
The element of surprise was only good for so long, it seemed. Several of the Tuscarora fighters were already on the ground, and the raiders were rallying back.
“That don’t look like saving the day to me,” Mick said, powering up the Heat Gun. “Come on. Looks like we’ve gotta go fix history.”
Jax turned to Gray with a shrug and held out his hand. They re-merged and launched into the sky.
--
History would later record that the “Tuscarora Heroes” used “ingenious and diversionary tactics” that led the British to believe their “numbers were legion,” buying enough time for many Lewiston residents to escape the ruin of their town.
History did not record the “burning man” who laid down barriers of fire between the raiders and the townsfolk. It also did not record the huge warrior, armed with a flame-throwing weapon, striding through the invaders and burning those in his way, particularly one Mohawk who had just taken a woman’s scalp.
History also did not record how that warrior holstered his weapon and gently picked up the child the woman had been shielding. There was no record of the little dark-haired girl staring at her mother’s body and then passing out in the warrior’s arms.
History recorded none of those things because none of it would ever be believed. Skepticism and disbelief would always work to erase anachronisms from the books.
So there was no record save the memories of Mick Rory, Jefferson Jackson and Martin Stein, who, despite having helped to “save the day” for the people of Lewiston, still looked as haunted as Ray Palmer by what they had seen.
“The bastards were killing kids. Kids are off-limits,” Mr. Rory had rumbled before stalking off to raid Rip’s alcohol stash.
For once, Rip was not going to complain about the man stealing his liquor. If he didn’t need to keep his own head clear, he’d even join him.
At the moment, Sara seemed to be the only member of Rip’s crew who was not emotionally shell-shocked by this mission. Having a goal, having hope of retrieving Mr. Snart, seemed to bolster her inherent strength. But Rip wasn’t sure that would last with this side trip they now had to make.
“Captain, we have arrived at the Refuge.”
Rip gently stroked Miranda’s hair. “We’re home, love.”
--
I know, no Len in this chapter either. Stay tuned!
I also want to note that Hustler's Tavern is one of the few buildings that actually survived the burning of Lewiston. Mrs. Hustler's cocktails may have had something to do with it!