Time Maze

New Adventures, Old Struggles

The first thing Tyson registered was the salty breeze wafting around him, engulfing him in the familiar feeling of peace and relaxation. It reminded him of happy days of childhood spent on the beach.

That was before everything went wrong. So, Tyson couldn't allow himself to be overwhelmed by memories, not now when they seemed one step closer to solving the mystery of the Time Maze.

Secondly, Tyson saw that Beor and Loralei weren't with them and relief and disappointment fought for dominance in his heart. He didn't want to constantly worry about being double-crossed. But he also wasn't sure if they had given them all the necessary information.

"Remind me to ask Beor what it feels like to be spat out by the portal the next time I see him," Marcus said, straightening up his wrinkled clothing.

"I don't think you want to know," Tyson said automatically, his eyes roaming over Marcus's new attire, trying to figure out what time they belonged to.

Unusual trousers tucked into long white socks combined with the odd type of a coat seemed familiar to Tyson. It was definitely a period he knew about. Coupled with the three-corner hat, Tyson knew it was a time he should have put a name to immediately.

"I would say that we are sometime in the 1770s," Sybil said after a quick scan of her surroundings. "Probably 1773 or close to it."

Tyson's mouth popped wide open, staring at Sybil as if she had suddenly grown an additional head. Surely it would be impossible for anyone who hadn't studied history vigorously to guess so accurately.

"How in the world do you do that?" Tyson asked, fascinated.

"Well, the first thing I saw was the hat which puts us somewhere in the 18th century. Then, I heard people mumbling about taxation. How unfair it was, which puts it closer to the 1770s," Sybil said, going through her reasons without ever losing track of her thoughts. "From my previous experiences, I can feel the tension building up, and I believe it's at its height. If I am right, that would mean that, soon enough, the American colonists would rise against the British taxation. Thus, 1773."

"That all sounds like guessing to me," Marcus said, taking off his strange hat to study it further. "You can't just feel what year it is."

"No, I can't be sure, of course. It's just an instinct," Sybil said frustrated. "However, we are in a harbor in America that narrows down the possibilities in my books."

"So, you are combining your detective skills with some feeling mumbo jumbo?" Marcus asked suspiciously.

"Something like that," Sybil said, clearly exasperated at having to explain herself but sure in her predictions.

"Knock it off, you two," Tyson said sternly, feeling like a parent chastising his children on a family vacation. "Let us mingle with the crowd and see what we can learn. Keep your eyes and ears open."

Marcus nodded his head cheerfully, hoping that one of the things he happened to see was some seafood as he hadn't had any for a while. Sybil, however, lowered her head in embarrassment as she wasn't used to being the one who needed scolding. It just seemed like Marcus brought out the worst in her.

After spending some time immersed in the life of the harbor, the three time-travelers dove out of it for air. They choose to regroup a few meters away, afraid that someone might eavesdrop on their strange conversation.

"Okay, this is definitely Griffin's Wharf in Boston, Massachusetts," Sybil said with a big sigh.

It was clear that it was tiring for her, all the jumping around in the past, but she held the same business-like tone that Tyson couldn't help but admire. The focus was on practical matters, not on her feelings about them. Tyson found that very helpful, in contrast to Marcus's usual grumblings and complaints. All of which revolved around how he felt.

"So what?" Marcus asked, feeling left out yet again.

"What do you mean so what?" Sybil asked, shocked. "Don't you know any history at all?"

"The sandwich was named after its inventor, 4th Earl of Sandwich," Marcus retorted instantly.

Sybil was stunned by his answer, trying to figure out how that was connected to anything. Failing, she realized that Marcus was just spitting out random things.

"That's not even true. The 4th Earl of Sandwich is the supposed inventor. However, it existed even before he named it, just under a different name," Sybil said firmly.

"Oh, no, Sybil, please don't go there," Tyson said, feeling one of Marcus's food rants coming on and not being in the mood to deal with it.

"I'll have you know that's a lie!" Marcus said vehemently. "It's a conspiracy theory or something. Why would they keep calling it a sandwich if this wasn't true?"

The expression of victory on his face only managed to paint more annoyance on Sybil's face. Thus, Tyson pleadingly looked at her, hoping that she could read the plea in his eyes. When it came to Marcus, it was always better to be the bigger person and step out of an argument because he believed in things wholeheartedly. So, there was no changing his mind once he was set on an idea.

Tyson could see Sybil biting her lower lip to stop herself from answering the rhetoric question and was relieved to see she was able to do so. It was neither the time nor the place for Marcus's passionate please for justice about the most random things.

"Anyway, Sybil, did you get the exact date?" Tyson said, changing the subject before Sybil and Marcus could get into another pointless argument.

At times it felt like he was the only adult who had his priorities straight, focused on what truly mattered, and that was getting home unscathed. The rest of the Mazers, including Marcus, seemed to prefer bickering about things or fighting each other.

"Yes, we have three days," Sybil said, refocusing her attention quickly.

"Three days for what?" Marcus yelled, exasperated.

"Shh, not so loud," Tyson warned him as they didn't want to draw any attention to them. "Until the Boston Tea Party."

"Oh, I thought it was something serious like Amolo or something. I am not a big tea fan, but a tea party sounds nice right now," Marcus said, completely oblivious.

Sybil's eyes flashed brighter than ever, and Tyson could clearly see all the insults she would have gladly hurdled Marcus's way. Instead, she shrugged her shoulders and seemed to simply give up.

"You mean Alamo, and no, it's not as dangerous as that, although it's not really a party," Tyson explained patiently. "I don't think anyone actually ends up dying, but that doesn't mean that we can't end up in some type of trouble, so we have to be very careful."

"Sure, careful is my middle name," Marcus said, thinking he was always careful, forgetting all the stupid things he had done.

"Alright, Sybil, you have been doing this far longer than us. Can you get us some accommodations?" Tyson asked, wanting to leave as soon as possible.

"Yes, I can do that," Sybil said confidently, clearly already having some experience with the 18th century and a general idea of what would work.

"And food, get us some food," Marcus said even though he wasn't hungry.

His logic was that it was better to eat in advance than starve. Thus, he often acted like a squirrel gathering up nuts for later usage. Even though many of his friends disliked this habit, they found it helpful when hunger suddenly struck Marcus. As it would provide them instant relief from his hangry attitude.

Sybil frowned at him but nodded her head in confirmation. It seemed to Tyson that she was choosing the easy way out, not in the mood to risk an argument with Marcus in a place where tension was already high enough.

As Sybil's dress swooshed around her while she left them behind, Tyson couldn't help but wonder if he might be putting too much trust in the woman whom he didn't even know that well. Still, he was sure that he had to trust someone because it was clear that Marcus and he couldn't find their way out, even knowing everything they knew.

All that was left was to wait and see if his leap of faith would lead to fruition or damnation.