I kept the innocent look on my face. "Well, then," I said. "If Pa didn't say anything, you'd think that I wouldn't either, right?"

Nussbaum sighed and gave me a sheepish look. "I'd _like_ to think so," he said.

I turned the book over in my hands, keeping my gaze locked with his. I was about to tell him that I'd keep it to myself, but at the last minute, some instinct told me to keep my mouth shut.

Nussbaum shrugged as though to say, _I give up_. "Hey, you're headed home today, right?" he said, carefully.

"Yes, sir."

"I've got a message that you could maybe relay for me, you think?"

"I guess so. . ." I said, doubtfully.

"I'll make it worth your while. It's got to go to a friend of mine in Frisco.

There's no hurry -- just make sure he gets it in the next ten years or so. Once you deliver it, he'll take care of you -- you'll be set for life."

"Gosh," I said, deadpan.

"Are you game?"

"I guess so. Sure." My heart skipped. Set for life!

"The man you want to speak to is Reddekop, he's the organist at the Castro theatre. Tell him: 'Nussbaum says get out by October 29th, 1929.' He'll know what it means. You got that?"

"Reddekop, Castro Theatre. October 29th, 1929."

"Exac-atac-ally." He slid "War of the Worlds" into his briefcase. "You're doin'

me a h.e.l.l of a favour, son."

He shook my hand. Pondicherry came back in then, and glared at me. "The emba.s.sy contacted me. They can set you at home six months after you left -- there's a courier gateway this afternoon."

"Six months!" I said. "My Mama will go crazy! Can't you get me home any sooner?"

Pondicherry smirked. "Don't complain to me, boy. You dug this hole yourself. The next scheduled courier going anywhere near your departure-point is in five years. We'll send notice to your mother then, to expect you home mid-July."

"Tough break, kiddo," Nussbaum said, and he shook my hand and slipped me another wink.

The courier gateway let me out in an alleyway in Salt Lake City. The emba.s.sy had given me ten Wells Fargo dollars, and fitted me out with a pair of jeans and a workshirt that were both far too big for me, so that they slopped around me as I made my way to the train station and bought my ticket to New Jerusalem.

It was Wednesday, the normal schedule for the Zephyr Speedball, so I didn't have too long to wait at the station. I bought copies of the Salt Lake City _Shout_, and the San Francisco _Chronicle_ from a pa.s.sing newsie. The _Chronicle_ was a week old, but it was filled with all sorts of fascinating big-city gossip. I read it cover-to-cover on the long ride to New Jerusalem.

Mama met me at the train station. I'd been expecting a switching, right then and there, but instead she hugged me fiercely with tears in her eyes. I remembered that it had been over six months for her since I'd gone.

"James, you will be the death of me, I swear," she said, after she'd squeezed every last bit of stuffing out of me.

"I'm sorry, Mama," I said.

"We had to tell everyone you'd gone away to school in France," a familiar male voice said. I looked up and saw Mr Johnstone standing a few yards away, with our team and trap. He was glaring at me. "I've had the barn gateway sealed permanently on both sides."

"I'm sorry, sir," I said. But inside, I wasn't. Even though I'd only been away for a few days, I'd had the adventure of a lifetime: smoked and drank and been 'jacked and escaped and received a secret message. My Mama seemed shorter to me, and frailer, and James H Johnstone was a puffed-up nothing of a poltroon.

"We'll put it behind us, son," he said. "But from now on, there will be order in our household, do we understand each-other?"

_Our_ house? I looked up sharply at my Mama. She smiled at me, nervously. "We married, James. A month ago. Congratulate me!"

I thought about it. My Mama needed someone around to take care of her, and vice-versa. After all, it wasn't right for her to be all alone. With a start, I realised that in my mind, I'd left my Mama's house. I felt the Wells-Fargo notes in my pocket.

"Congratulations, Mama. Congratulations, Mr Johnstone."

Mama hugged me again and the Mr Johnstone drove us home in the trap.

All through the rest of the day, Mama kept looking worriedly at me, whenever she thought I wasn't watching. I pretended not to notice, and did my ch.o.r.es, then took my _Chronicle_ out to the apple orchard behind the Academy. I sat beneath a big, shady tree and re-read the paper, all the curious bits and pieces of a city frozen in time.

I was hardly surprised to see Mr Adelson, nor did he seem surprised to see me.

"Back from France, James?"

"Yes, sir."

"Looks like it did you some good, though I must say, we missed you around the Academy. It just wasn't the same. Have you been keeping up your writing?"

"Sorry, sir, I haven't. There hasn't been time. I'm thinking about writing an adventure story, though -- about pirates and s.p.a.ce-travellers and airships," I said.

"That sound exciting." He sat down beside me, and we sat there in silence for a time, watching the flies buzz around. The air was sweet with apple blossoms, and the only sound was the wind in the trees.

"I'm going to miss this place," I said, unthinking.

"Me, too," Mr Adelson said.

Our eyes locked, and a slow smile spread over his face. "Well, I know where _I'm_ going, but where are you off to, son?"

"You're going away?" I said.

"Yes, sir. Is that a copy of the _Chronicle_? Give it here, I'll show you something."

He flipped through the pages, and pointed to an advertis.e.m.e.nt. "The _Slippery Trick_ is in port, and they're signing on crew for a run through the south seas, in September. I intend to go as Quartermaster."

"You're leaving?" I said, shocked to my boots.

To my surprise, he pulled out a pouch of tobacco and some rolling papers and rolled himself a cigarette. I'd never seen a schoolteacher smoking before. He took a thoughtful puff and blew the smoke out into the sky. "To tell you the truth, James, I just don't think I'm cut out for this line of work. Not enough excitement in a town like this. I've never been happier than I was when I was at sea, and that's as good a reason to go back as any. I'll miss you, though, son.

You were a delight to teach."

"But what will I do?" I said.

"Why, I expect your mother will send you back East to go to school. I graduated you from the Academy _in absentia_ during the last week of cla.s.ses. Your report card and diploma are waiting on my desk."