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“It’s the only way to prove I haven’t lost my mind—as you no doubt are thinking—and to persuade you just how critical the situation is.” He raised an arm. “Proctor? The frock coat, hat, and hobnail boots, please.”
“Just wait a damn minute,” D’Agosta protested as Proctor draped the articles over his head and shoulders, swapped out his footwear, then returned to a monitoring station at the far end of the machine. The pitch was rising quietly; the man in the white coat was murmuring something; and then D’Agosta saw a ring of light begin to form in front of the machine.
“Oh no,” D’Agosta said. “Hell, no.”
As Pendergast donned a top hat of his own, the ring of light grew larger and brighter—and then a wavering, intangible meniscus formed inside it, beyond which D’Agosta could see vague outlines of what looked like buildings.
“Slow down!” he said. “We’ve got to talk this out first.”
Pendergast came over quickly and grasped D’Agosta’s shoulders, leaning in and fixing him with his gaze. D’Agosta had never seen the man like this. He felt Pendergast’s fingers clamp against his shoulders like steel. “I must have your help, old friend,” he said, “or I shall be lost.”
When Pendergast continued to hold his gaze, D’Agosta found he could do nothing but nod in assent.
“Leave your sidearm and cell phone on that table.”
D’Agosta removed his weapon and phone and did as instructed. Pendergast helped him on with the heavy coat. Then—with a warning to not look directly at the circle of light—he gently guided D’Agosta toward the shimmering surface and walked through along with him.
54
D’AGOSTA BECAME AWAREof a sudden lurching sensation in his gut, then felt himself falling. He was about to give a shout of alarm when he realized he was lying on a cobbled surface, dirty with trash and something worse.
“My dear Vincent.” He heard the familiar voice, felt a strong arm slipping under his shoulder. “Let me help you up.”
After a moment, D’Agosta managed to stagger to his feet. He felt Pendergast brushing his coat. “Let’s get some of this filth off you,” he heard the agent say, “or we’re liable to be arrested as vagrants.”
D’Agosta looked about, the world swimming back into view. They were standing in a narrow alleyway. Solid brick walls rose on either side, and a rotten wooden fence blocked the far end. The air smelled of smoke, horseshit, and piss. At the opening to the alleyway, he could see what looked like a bustling boulevard on a winter’s evening.
“There, I think you’re presentable,” said Pendergast, stepping back and handing him his top hat.
D’Agosta took it and stared at him, still stunned.
“Shall we?” Pendergast gestured toward the end of the alleyway.
Still D’Agosta stared. He was trying to process what was happening, but couldn’t quite manage it.
“Come,” said Pendergast, linking his arm with his. “Let us go then, you and I.”
D’Agosta walked with him out of the alleyway, then stopped again, looking about. He was at one edge of a vast, open square of hard-packed dirt. Horses and carts were going this way and that, while pedestrians streamed along cobbled sidewalks on all sides. A racket of clopping hooves, shouts, and whistles cut through the air. Low brick buildings stretched ahead as far as the eye could see. The lamps were just being lit.
“Welcome to Longacre Square, December twenty-third, 1880,” Pendergast said. “Or, as it will later be known, Times Square.”
D’Agosta stared, scarcely able to think. “It’s June, not December,” he said stupidly.
“Pull yourself together, my friend,” Pendergast replied sharply. “This is going to be a brief visit: just a tour of the city in a hansom cab. Ah—here comes one now.”
Pendergast whistled and a horse-drawn carriage came clattering over, its driver perched on a seat behind the cab and holding a long whip in one hand. With Pendergast’s urging, D’Agosta climbed in and onto the bench seat, Pendergast joining him a moment later. The front of the cab was open to the air, with two glass windows on either side.
“Let us keep our voices low, shall we?” Pendergast said. “Now, Vincent: are you warm enough?”
D’Agosta pulled his coat closer around him. It was very chilly, and patches of dirty snow lay here and there. “This is…sobizarre.”
Instead of answering, Pendergast turned to their driver. “Head over to Fifth Avenue and turn north, if you please.”
“Yes, sir.” The man flicked his whip and the horse took off at a steady trot.
Pendergast glanced back at D’Agosta. “Bizarreness, like salt, gives flavor to existence. Without it, life would be as long and tedious as an opera by Wagner.”
“But…how did you manage this…I mean, what thehellis going on?”