Free Time Trapped by Richard Ungar Page A

suddenly.
    What now?
    â€œLet’s share secrets!” says Phoebe.
    â€œLet’s what?”
    â€œFriends share secrets,” she continues. “You’re my one true friend, Caleb. Ergo, we should swap secrets.”
    Ergo? Ergo, I’d like to get off this elevator before she drives me completely nuts. But I’ve got to humor her to have any chance of getting out of here before next year.
    â€œAll right,” I say. “Here’s mine. When I was in the Barrens, I thought I was going crazy and that I had multiple personalities.” It’s not much of a secret, but it’s the best I can do right now.
    â€œReally?” Phoebe says. “How fascinating. Which was the dominant personality?”
    â€œSomeone called Agnes,” I say. “She was a bossy type.”
    â€œOooh, delicious,” she says. “Now here’s mine. The final event Uncle has planned for you guys is a real doozy.”
    The elevator starts up again and then stops at three. An elderly couple gets on. I look up at the screen. Ancient stones stand alone in a farmer’s field, their shadows made long by the setting sun.
    The elevator stops at four, and the couple steps off.
    â€œWhat’s the final event?” I ask.
    Phoebe’s first persona is back. Except this time she has a T-shirt over her bathing suit that has an image of a round of cheese on it with the caption LOCH NESS MUENSTER .
    â€œPlease, Phoebe. I’ve got to know.”
    She pushes her sunglasses down her nose and whispers, “All I’ll say is that it’s the kind of napping that you don’t do lying down. That’s a huge clue. There, I’ve already said too much.”
    The doors open on five, and I step out. A nap that you don’t lie down for. I wonder what that could mean.
    On the way to the dining hall, I take a shortcut through the casino. The place is packed with people feeding tokens into slot machines. I wonder what they would think if they knew there were time-traveling thieves on board? Which leads me to wonder what name Uncle used to check us in under so that he could score the private dining room: Portree Pipes and Drums Band? Lower Manhattan Frisbee Golf Team? Or maybe he didn’t check us in at all.
    The dining hall is packed and full of the sounds of clattering plates and people talking. There’s even live jazz—three performers—a clarinet player, a guy on keyboards and a singer. I wonder how they’re going to get to their next gig after they finish their set. Then it dawns on me. In a way, they’re prisoners. They can’t just pack up and leave. They have to wait until the cruise ends or comes to port to get off the ship like everyone else.
    At the far end of the dining hall is a set of double doors labeled CLAN MACNAUGHTON ROOM . As I approach the doors, I take a deep breath before opening them. The room has a giant mural of rolling green hills sprinkled with farmsteads. In the center is a burnished mahogany dining table with seven settings.
    But no one is at the table right now. They’re all lined up at the buffet next to it.
    I join the back of the buffet line behind Raoul. Wow—there’s so much food here! All kinds of salads, pasta, seafood, pizza, you name it. There’s even a guy in a chef’s hat cutting slices off a huge hunk of roast beef.
    I heap food on my plate and join the others at the table. No one dares touch the food until Uncle arrives. And for some, including Frank, it’s a particularly tough battle. I look at his plate. Lots of eel. You are what you eat, I guess.
    â€œ
Feasgar math.
Good evening, people.” Uncle sweeps into the room and takes his place at the head of the table. “Did everyone have a great day today?”
    We all nod. Uncle is looking sharp in a red and green tartan kilt and argyle jacket.
    â€œRaoul, will you say the blessing?” says Uncle. “In Mandarin, please.”
    Mandarin?