1~
A bright green and gold standard fluttered, softly, in the late afternoon sun, giving stark contrast to the red-stained grass and dull grey armor of the fallen on the battlefield.
A warhorse trod heavily to the edge of a ridge overlooking the field, bearing his silent, yet victorious, commander, who saw the effect of his vast, grim work on the ground below.
In the Twentieth and Twenty-first Centuries, which seemed so distant to him, now, he was known as Everest Greenman, multi-millionaire owner of a global produce empire.
But, now, and in centuries yet written, he was the warring voice of a rising Druid nation, their ecclesiastical and ideological champion, whose name was whispered in reverence in the dark places of their woodland temples and shrines as The Undying Pagan Emperor, the ever-living defender of their ancient faith, and bringer of a new renaissance of the old ways.
He hadn't led his men to hard victory from this high place. Such an act would have shamed him. This was only a vantage point to admire his leading from the front, earlier, while he thought of his place in history, or rather the history he was rewriting with the blood of defeated opposition.
Centuries before, he had gathered mercenary dregs and led them on lightning hit-and-run raids and attacks on churches, temples, and the towns and cities that dared to harbor them. Now, he commanded a growing global network of spies, cowardly, turncoat leaders, hordes of pagan followers, and a standing army, thousands-strong and swelling with every new victory.
Having foreknowledge of the world's tumultuous history gave him a secret and powerful edge in his long crusade, and in the span of many lifetimes, he defied the religious worldview of the existence of the pagan supernatural, by defying death, itself.
In every war and skirmish, he survived battles that would have fell stronger men, giving credence to a divine protection that he, alone, could profess, and proved to every general in local militaries from Europe to the Middle East, to be a frightening, black-hearted foe.
To concerned nobility and the various clergy, he demonstrated his might via more subtle warfare, acquiring crucial influence, supporters, and wealth either through naked fear, blackmail, or the quiet of an assassin's blade.
A lower ranking officer approached him, breaking Greenman from his musings.
"Report," Greenman ordered him.
"Milord, the local prince is still trapped in his fortress," said the officer. "We intercepted a message calling for reinforcements, and the other nobles have fled. Based on the population of the town, more and more people are flocking to our banner."
"Good."
"Even some of the religious hard-liners are recanting their faith to join us. Probably just to survive, sir."
Greenman grinned, slightly. "Even better. If they don't follow us because of the righteousness of our cause, then they can do so out of fear. It doesn't matter, there will always be room for more, in the end."
"Of course, Milord. What are your orders, now?"
Greenman looked, calmly, from the ridge, out towards the known world that was yielding itself to his might, day after strategic day. "Same as always. Heal our wounded, bury our dead with honors, and treat the people well. As for the enemy, well, that's what the crows are for."
"And the churches and temples, shall we prepared to loot them?"
Greenman nodded. "And then burn them. Same as always."
The officer nodded, back, smartly. "Same as always, sir."
A night breeze swayed the boughs and added their soothing song to the quiet chorus of crickets chirping in the dark of a hilly Crystal Cove Cemetery, centuries hence.
If one were outdoors, taking in the night air, and looked up, he or she would be moved by the depth of stars that hung so effortlessly above. If they looked long enough, however, such a person would think it was trick of the eye that some of those stars...were moving.
High over the graveyard, small, round, silvery spheres bee-lined from the four winds to a rendezvous point, above.
On a small hillock, sat two squat stone crypts, and a moment later, the silvery swarm descended towards one of them, and passed through its roof.
"Camo's still holding, guys," Jason announced, tapping an icon on the touch screen on his side of the console.
Running from stored electricity from a previous day, in a previous time, the Mark II's solar-powered camo-stealth field hid the vessel and its passengers within a 360-degree image of the neighboring tomb, recorded and played back with its concealed holographic recorders.
Marcie moved a slim finger over a nearby touch screen. Underneath an icon of an eyeball surrounded by concentric circles were three words: Send, Return and Relay.
She tapped 'Return,' and a hatch on the hull of the Mark II slid away, silently, allowing the small, round objects to sink into the time machine, and then broadcast their collective data into the Mark II's computers for correlation and analysis.
After she tapped 'Relay,' Marcie looked up from her piloting console, through the shimmering disguise of the camouflage, and out onto the sepulchral landscape beyond. The height of the hill gave her an adequate view of the lonely, nighttime sight of acres and acres of weathered tombstones and memorials.
"I hope this doesn't mean anything," she muttered, then brightened for the sake of her friends and reported.
"Well, I can't say much for our landing spot, but, according to these readings from the probes we launched, we might actually be where we need to be."
"How do you know?" asked Daisy, giving herself a stretch.
"Everywhere we went, we always ended up in a different timeline instead of just going straight to the past of our own timeline, because the ship's Bloodhound system was programmed to look for the t-signatures of our group of people, and every double of that group existed in their own alternate timeline. The group we're looking for exists in the same timeline as those outsiders, Mystery Incorporated, just in the past, and I think we, finally, arrived."
"If that's true, then I can finally see Daphne!" Daisy grinned. "What time is it?"
Red, absently, glanced at the instruments on Marcie's console. "8:48 PM."
"I meant the year," she sighed.
"November, 1882," Marcie said. "Not bad, considering this thing once went to the Cretaceous Period. Spring must've tweaked the heck out of the Mark II to get it to go further than the 83 Millennial Range he bragged about."
Red grimaced, slightly, in his seat. Scientific talk always went over his head, and thus, irked him to no end. To change the subject, he asked, "Okay, so if this is our Crystal Cove. What do we do, now?"
"Same as always," Marcie shrugged. "We ask around, but first, we have to find some period clothing, or we'll stick out like sore thumbs."
"Okay, then. Let your fingers do the walking and find us a clothing store that's still open," Daisy suggested.
Perusing the ready-made map provided by the combined reconnaissance of the small probes, earlier that evening, Marcie soon found, among the shifting row of pictures, navigated and moved by her index finger, the windowed facade of an unassuming clothes shop.
"Well, the good news is that I found one. The bad news is that we can't go there."
"Why not?" asked Daisy.
"No money, for one."
"Don't worry about it," Daisy scoffed at the supposed problem. "I'm a Blake, remember? I'm carrying enough to cover us."
"No doubt, but that's not the problem," said Marcie. "Our money wasn't printed in this century. If you use any of it, we might get arrested for counterfeiting, if not bad counterfeiting."
"No problemo," Red said. "We'll just use the ol' five-finger discount on this one."
"Discount?" Jason asked, slightly confused. "I thought we couldn't use Daisy's money."
"I mean that we're going to have to steal the clothes, Jellyfish," Red translated for him. He regarded Marcie, saying, "And, if that's the game plan, then we better get a move on, while it's dark."
Marcie nodded. "Agreed."
The group, quietly, disembarked and walked out of the faux crypt, their bodies distorting the surface of the illusion, as they marched down the side of the hill, and into the night..
"Remember we parked, everybody," Daisy quipped. Although she wasn't known for being a clotheshorse, like her baby sister, she was eager to enjoy a familiar pastime of the Blake women, spending wads of money. "It's time to go shopping!"
Gas lit street lights were a luxury, even in towns that could afford such technology, kept only to the most critical of quarters, and set up in the wealthiest of places in a given geography. As a result, the street on which Penway's Clothiers was located was quiet, and just as importantly, dark.
No one was present to see four dark forms move quickly through the neighborhood, navigating solely by recorded landmarks, and reach the front French door of the establishment.
A practiced application of acid along the periphery of a thin pane of glass over the lock, allowed Marcie to pop the little window into the store, then, carefully reach in, and unlock the door.
The four moved in, guided by her penlight, to the racks of finery in the center of the room, but since it was their only source of light, they had to play quick, fierce rounds of 'Rock, Paper, Scissors' to win chances at its use.
It wasn't long before clothes were selected by criteria of sheer taste and comfort (Daisy and Red), rarity of fit (Jason), and simple, casual style (Marcie), and were folded into neat piles by the front door.
On the counter by the front window, a necklace on a stand, slightly, swayed.
"Hey, do you feel something?" Red whispered.
A continuous, gradually building pulsation, translated from the soles of his feet upwards, as though he were standing on a living thing. "Crystal Cove doesn't have a subway line, does it?"
"It never did," Marcie said, suspiciously. "What's that vibration?"
The answer came in the form of dust clouds falling from the damaging plaster ceiling, clothes dummies and Cheval mirrors tipping over, clothing racks shifting around, ill-gotten clothes-piles spilt to the floor, and the four thieves being rocked to their knees, all to an undulating, geological backbeat, as a tremor danced through the streets of the neighborhood, and indeed, the whole of Crystal Cove.
Daring not to stand, for fear that they might fall over and get hurt, the teens steadied themselves as best they could on all fours, hoping that the mini-earthquake would died down.
After a few more spasms from the floor, the tremors, finally, began to subside, prompting Daisy to comment, "You'd think, with us living in California, we'd be used to this, now."
"Let's get our clothes and get out of here before something else happens," Red suggested, before the unyielding hardness of a shotgun barrel was shoved into his back by the incensed proprietor of the store. "Rats."
The rest looked behind the man to see where he came from, spying an open door that led to a storage room in the back, flanked by two smaller rooms.
"Just our luck," Marcie sighed to herself. "We would hit the one store in town with an armed insomniac for a owner."
The iron bars of the holding cell in the Sheriff's Office might as well have been made of wet bread compared to the sheer hardness of the grim, lined face of the sheriff who peered at Marcie and her friends from where he stood, after hanging up his rumpled and weathered hat and duster.
Sheriff William 'Iron Will' Williamson, studied them with undisguised disdain and disgust, while he listened to Mr. Penway squawk about the criminals.
"So far, so good, Sheriff," the proprietor sighed in relief. "Those hooligans didn't get a chance to run off with any of my merchandise. Good thing I was in the back counting my inventory before the quake hit. I wanted to see if my store was all right, and then I see these...people attempting to steal from me. It's bad enough I get accosted by that no-account Rocky Rattler, at times, but now, I get robbed at night, too?"
"All right, Penway. You brought them over here. Good job," Will praised. "I'll take care of it, now. You better get your store in order for tomorrow."
Reminded of his business after fearing that he would lose it, Penway took a breath to calm himself. "Yes...Yes, you're right, of course. My mind's in a tizzy, what with all of these tremors and such, going on. Thank you, Sheriff, and good night."
"'Night," the sheriff muttered, as Penway left the office and the sheriff to his investigation.
Will strolled back to the cell, staring holes into the surface of the teens' chrononaut uniforms. Jason, not wearing such a garment, felt relieved that he wasn't look at, like a specimen.
"Why are you dressed like that?" the lawman asked, gruffly. "You from the circus, or something?"
"No. We're, uh, just, uh..." Marcie sputtered, feeling a need to explain themselves and garner some brownie points.
Daisy attempted to pick up the ball after Marcie's fumble. "Visitors...from, uh..."
"New York?" added Jason.
"Humph," Will rolled his squinty eyes and growled. "Figures. All right, which one of you is Nitro?"
"Nitro?" Daisy asked. "Who's he?"
Will walked over to his desk and leaned against the front of it, keeping his hard stare on the teens.
"It's obvious that 'he's' one of you. C'mon, now, Nitro, fess up!" he barked. "Every time there's been one of them quakes, you've been robbing and wrecking places owned by the Darrows. Don't know why you'd waste your time hitting a clothes store. They don't even own one. But, that's where you slipped up, and now I've got you and your bunch."
"That's nice and all, Ricochet," Red said, flippantly. "But, we just got into town, and we don't know anything about robbing and wrecking. You reckon?"
"Keep it up," Will warned. "If you are Nitro, don't think a judge'll go easy on you just because you and your partners are young. A noose ain't no respecter of age, boy."
The front door squeaked open before the sheriff could continue his speech on juvenile sentencing and capital punishment, allowing a well-dressed man in a bowler to step, stiffly, into the office's shabby interior, feeling as though he had walked into an abattoir.
A feeling that the sheriff was all-too able to recognize in the visitor, as he casually stood up to face the man.
"I didn't know they let butlers out this late," Will quipped.
"I am a representative of The Darrow Family, as you well know, Sheriff!" the man said, haughtily. "And I have been sent to relay their feelings on your performance of late. That Nitro criminal just attacked another Darrow place of business! The sixth since those blasted quakes! Stupid California!"
"You can always move, y'know?" offered Will.
"Move?" the man asked, almost giggling from the sheer folly of the sheriff's statement. "The Darrows have been a part of this town for years. They made their fortune, here, and built half of this town. As a result, all of Crystal Cove has prospered under their extreme generosity."
"Yeah, yeah, Fancy-pants," Will drawled in exasperation. "I've heard the history lesson before."
"Have you, now? Well, allow me to bring a new addendum to light. If you continue to displease the Darrows, and by extension, the mayor, with this slipshod work of yours, you'll may find His Honor making a request to the governor to have you replaced with someone competent! Good night!"
With that, the Darrow man turned, sharply, on his heel and marched out, relieved to not have to stay in the office another second.
"Go sit on a cactus," Will muttered. Then, a question was issued from the holding cell.
"Pardon me, sir, but we couldn't help but overhear," Marcie said, diplomatically. "Where did that attack take place?"
"Huh? Uh, that big school of theirs," he answered, absently. "Halfway across town."
"Darrow University?" Marcie reasoned. "Then, I put it to you that we couldn't be working for this Nitro, since the clothes store we were caught in was closer to your office, than the university."
Returning to his spot on the desk, Will, thoughtfully, had to agree with the logic of that. "Well, I guess I have to give your reasoning some consideration, in light of being given a dressing down by Fancy-pants, just now. Falsely arresting all of you for a crime you didn't commit wouldn't look good on my record in this town."
"I'm glad that you understand, Sheriff," Marcie grinned, pleased to know that she wouldn't have to leave the holding cells of a future Crystal Cove sheriff, just to languish in the cells of an erstwhile one. "So, would you be kind enough to let us out?"
"Oh, and could you recommend a good place to eat?" Jason added.
"The best place I can think of is an inn in town that's owned by some Frenchman, but that's neither here or there. See, even though I can't fault you for the Darrows' woes, you're still in trouble for breaking into Penway's store, so you stay put."
"Well, we really wouldn't have done that, sir," Daisy pressed with a charm offensive, trying to exorcise depressing thoughts of her wasting away in prison. "But, we really needed better clothes."
The sheriff gave another critical gaze at their form-fitting attire, then nodded, empathically. "I can understand, walking around in that get-up, but the law's the law. No excuses. And don't be trying to negotiate with me, either. The law can't be negotiated."
"It can, if you're a lawyer," Jason muttered.
A dour, fearful silence fell over the cell, as Marcie scowled in thought. She didn't need this to slow her down on the mission. Then, after giving it another thought, an idea flashed in her mind, and she offered, "How about we pay for our crime, then, sir?"
Will had to chuckle at the girl's tenacity. "I think you are, from where I'm sitting, little lady."
Marcie looked past his scoffing and latched onto the fact that he was still talking to her. A good sign in any negotiation. "No, no! I mean let us help you solve this crime. In exchange for a place to stay, at least, for a little while."
Will shrugged. "No, thanks, besides I already solved the problem of where you'll be staying, anyhow."
"But, we can't stay here, forever!" Jason wailed. "My mom's waiting for me!"
"You won't. It's just for a few days."
"Please, Sheriff, be reasonable!" Marcie pressed. "We don't have any money, or a place to stay, but we're really good at solving mysteries!"
Her negotiations came to a abrupt halt when Will raised his hand to stop her talking. "Little lady, this is the Sheriff's Office, not a hotel!"
With a breakdown in the negotiations, Marcie backed down, bowed by the possibility that she wouldn't be getting anywhere with the sheriff.
"Why are Crystal Cove sheriffs the most pig-headed bunch of people ever to walk the Earth?" she muttered to herself.
"Still," Will grumbled to himself. "The mayor's has been on me to solve this case, right pronto, since he and the Darrows are pretty tight."
An opening in the talks still existed. "Yeah! Yeah!" Red interjected. "And, uh, we can help you get on their good side!"
"I don't care about being on anybody's good side, boy. All I care about is serving the law. As long as I'm alive, I'm the justice in this here town," Sheriff Williamson growled, proudly.
Then, with more humility, he told them, as he walked over to the cell's door. "Still, I'm man enough to admit when a case might be too big for me to handle. You say that you got no place to go. If you New Yorkers can help me with this case, then I'll use my power of authority to deputize you for the duration. But, no weapons. Sound fair?"
With a cacophony of hasty agreements and relieved cheers, the door was unlocked, the teens happily left the cell behind, and then they entered the wild and wooly world of Nineteenth-Century law enforcement.
"I wonder how this Nitro even knew when the earthquakes were going to come," Daisy pondered aloud while she polished the benches in one of the holding cells with a stained cloth, the next morning.
"I don't know, exactly, but it's obvious that he's using the earthquakes to cover his crimes," Marcie said, polishing the bars from her cell. "He could have some seismological equipment with him to predict when a quake would occur. The science was still being utilized even then, uh, I mean, now."
From his desk, Will was sorting through some paperwork and reports while he listened to the conference around him. He glanced up at the workers.
"Do a good job in there, girls," he told them. "I want those bars shinning like the doorknob of a cathouse when your done."
"I didn't know you can keep cats in houses, like with dogs," Jason mused, while he folded the blankets they used last night. "I wonder why we don't do it, anymore?"
Marcie glanced at him. "That's not what-"
"Marcie," Daisy interjected, sagaciously. "Let him find out on his own."
"You boys about through over there?" the sheriff asked.
"Finishing up, here," Red said, sweeping the last of the tracked-in dirt from the floor out the door.
"Yes, sir," said Jason, then added. "But, what I don't understand, Mr. Williamson, is why he's only targeting places that the Darrows own? Why is he so mad at them?"
Will gave a thoughtful look, then related. "Y'know, I asked them that once, and they told me that Nitro could have been sent by a business rival to put a hurting on their finances and public image. Whoever Nitro is, he's sure doing that, and them some."
He, then regarded the teenagers. "Okay, kids. I've got some good news and some bad news."
"What's the good news?" Marcie asked.
"Well, do all of you swear to do all you can to uphold and enforce the letter of the law?"
"Yes," they said in unison, wondering why he would need to ask such a thing.
"Then, the good news is that you're all sworn deputies of the town of Crystal Cove, California," he grunted, as he stood up.
"And what's the bad news?" asked Red.
"I only had the two deputy badges on hand," Will explained. "I took them to the blacksmith to get them cut in half, so you all will be wearing half-badges for the duration. But, half a badge or none, your all deputies, now, and I expect you to go pick up your stars, well...half of them, after you get some decent clothes from Penway's, first. Tell him to put it on my tab. He knows I'm good for it."
"But, Sheriff," Red joked. "Isn't comfort and freedom of movement important to a man?"
"Quit your jawing and get." the sheriff scolded. "No deputy of mine is going to embarrass the office by riding in a posse with them blue pajamas."
With the girls leaving the immaculate cells, they followed the boys out the door of the sheriff's office, and into the rest of the day.
In the light of late morning, the gang saw that Old Crystal Cove wasn't the typical town that one would see in Westerns. They were, more often than not, located in somewhat habitable stretches of desert land, poor, ramshackled affairs with citizens eking out a living from what scarce resources the desert could provide. Not so, here.
Crystal Cove was a coastal, Californian town, green with pine, wide of paved boulevards, and strong of infrastructure, blessed by its full bounty of timber, local mining, transoceanic and neighboring trade with Gatorsburg, a cool, temperate climate with a hint of sea breeze, and a contented and prosperous citizenry.
Put back in order from the previous night's action, the interior of Penway's Clothiers looked serene and quiet.
The French door, now with a patch of wood where the one glass pane was breached, opened, admitting four pensive teenagers and the raucous laughter of the citizenry howling in their wake. They were relieved to duck into any building that would shield them from the jeers of the linen, leather and gingham crowd.
"I can't believe how many people were laughing when they saw us. I felt like I walked into a cosplay gone horribly wrong," Jason groaned.
Red leaned against the store counter near the entrance and agreed with his friend, dejectedly. "No kidding. It's hard to be cool when they're laughing at you, this hard."
Marcie headed for the women's section with Daisy. "Big whoop. Every painted lady coming out of that saloon wanted know if Daisy and I wanted jobs in the Red Light District. I didn't even know Crystal Cove had one."
Only Daisy took the various taunts in stride, and shrugged it off, good-naturedly. "Just tell everybody that they're the latest fashion in France. I hear that they eat that stuff up."
Red looked around the store when he didn't see anyone minding the counter. "Where's the owner?"
"I don't know," said Jason, listening through the stillness of the establishment. Then, he heard something. "Wait! What's that noise...in the back?"
From the rear of the store, in the back room where Mr. Penway had the drop on them last night, sounds of a conversation could be heard, but they were too faint to be discerned, clearly.
"Hello, we just wanted to say that we're sorry for trying to rob you, last night," Marcie called out. "We'd like to buy some clothes from you, and smooth things out, if we could."
"Psst!" Daisy whispered the others. She pointed over to the counter, and to the cash register that was both open and cleared of money.
The back room door opened slowly, and a heavy-set, vested man with a salmon bandanna concealing half his face, backed out, one hand holding a large bag of money, and the other, holding a gun pointed at the room's dim interior to cover his escape.
He craned his neck to search behind him for the source of the voice who spoke just then, but saw no one.
However, so focused was he on looking for phantom speakers and closing the distance to the front door, that he didn't notice the slick patch of ice that was spread wide across the wooden floor, until his boots slipped out from under him, and he crashed against the deck hard enough to loose his gun from his hand.
Momentarily dazed, and still on his back, he turned his head to look for the weapon, but then, locked his sight on the large, yelling red-head that barreled out of nowhere, jumped into a high arc with a thick arm folded and pointed downwards, and rammed the breath from his body with a well-placed elbow drop to the man's ample gut.
As the man doubled over in breathless agony, Daisy and Jason rushed him with stylish, leather belts and helped Red swiftly hog-tie the criminal, while Marcie watched the proceedings and covered them with a readied Discourager capsule.
A man's voice called out from inside the room. "What's all that commotion?
The man stepped out, gingerly, in case the robber was still in the store and hadn't finished his predations. When he saw the thief suitably restrained, with the youths from earlier, standing over him, and Jason sitting on him, for good measure, Penway almost laughed at his turn of fortune.
"Well, I'll be bankrupt!" he swore. "It's you strangers from last night. You trussed him up neater that a Christmas goose! What brings you back here, anyway?"
"We came to apologize for trying to rip you off, and to buy some clothes from you," Daisy told him.
The proprietor cast a baleful glance down at the figure on the floor. "Well, this skunk, Rocky Rattler, been robbing my store more than a few times, and never gave me so much as a hello, let alone an apology for it. If one of you could fetch Iron Will-"
"Who?" the teens asked in unison.
"Iron Will. The sheriff," Penway amended.
"Oh, well, it's funny that you should mention him," Red said, cockily. "We're his deputies."
"Or we will be, once we get new clothes," said Jason, standing up from a gasping, winded Rocky. "After that, we promise, as long as we're deputies, no one will ever rob your shop, again."
Plucking the money bag from the floor, Penway walked over to the cash register to deposit the contents. "Well, then, youngsters, let me help you make that official. For saving my shop's earnings, I'll see to it that you're all given some clothes to call your own, free of charge."
"Well, the sheriff did say that you could put it on his tab," Jason replied, before he departed from the store.
"That works, too," Penway said, quicker than he might have wanted. "I'll have to ring it up, since my cashier's out on an errand. Dressing rooms are in the back."
Marcie, now clad in a tan and tangerine-colored bustle dress, with a draped, cranberry shawl, and her chrononaut utility belt, sauntered down the street, past its light, horse-drawn traffic towards the local smithy. Daisy flowed confidently in a prairie dancer dress and her neck scarf, while Red styled a look that was the closest to what he would have worn back home, a striped, homespun shirt, his leather vest, jeans and a pair of boots.
Besides their new looks, they were all cloaked in the mantle of assurance that came from, finally, not having an All-points Bulletin put out on them by the fashion police.
"Y'know, Marcie, you'd probably look better with some contact lenses," Daisy offered.
"Nah," Marcie shook her head. "I like what I'm wearing. Besides, it's not like you ever needed to wear glasses."
Daisy leaned close to Marcie and whispered, conspiratorially, "Don't spread it around, but I actually used to wear specs bigger than your head, a white turtleneck shirt, pink pants, and purple shoes. I was into the whole Geek Chic thing, back then. But, after a while, I outgrew it. Though, honestly, I don't know how you can still pull it off."
"Well, y'know," Marcie said, self-consciously. "It just comes naturally to some people, I guess."
The slow, almost rhythmic sound of struck metal rang through the neighborhood of stables, and tacking and feed stores, coming from the wide, barn-like structure and the open double doors of Hardy Clinker's smithy.
Stepping through the threshold, and greeted by a wall of heat generated by a glowing forge at the far end of the tool-decorated work area, the teens walked past two parked coaches awaiting repairs, and spotted a pair of figures working near the heat source, their broad, leather smock-covered backs turned to them.
The first was a smallish, muscular hill of a man, holding a crude horseshoe with a pair of iron tongs. The other was clearly a taller specimen, musically beating shape into the product with mighty blows of a sledgehammer against a well-worn anvil.
"Excuse me," said Daisy, as they approached, trying to compete with the din of ringing metal, and the constant, low roar of a bellow-fed furnace. The smiths didn't regard her, or turn from their noisy work.
"Excuse me," she said, again, only this time louder. Still, the workers didn't react.
"Excuse me!"she screamed, just as the smaller smith dunked the horseshoe into the waters of a nearby slack tub to cool. Both turned with a start to see her, sheepishly, continue. "Sorry, but we're here to pick up our badges."
When she saw who the taller worker was, her eyes goggled in her head.
Standing at his full height, awash with sweat that poured from his blonde hair and into his beard stubble, Fred Chiles regarded Daisy and the others, the sledgehammer gripped in his raw, rough fist.
It took him a moment or two to get his mental bearings after wiping his eyes clean from the stinging perspiration, but upon seeing her, his eyes, too, began to widen in unexpected recognition.
"Freddy?" gasped Daisy.
"Wha...Daisy?" whispered a stunned Chiles.
"Yes!" she answered, before Freddy laughed and rushed forward, giving her a bear hug that would have deformed a steel bar.
"I can't believe it!" he yelled in voice to rival the moaning forge. "What are you doing, here?"
"We came to find you guys and bring you back home!" she gasped, again. "Who else with you?"
"They are. Just coming back from André's!" he said, looking past her and the other teenagers to the wide, front entrance. "Hey, gang, come here! You'll never guess who I ran into!"
"Who is it? I only brought enough lunch for us," came a voice from outside.
The teens turned back to the doorway to see a gangly male sporting a Van Dyke-style beard and dressed in the livery of an inn's kitchen staff, and a teenaged girl in a light violet homestead dress step through with a full picnic basket.
When the teens saw who she was, Daisy's jaw lost its strength and dropped open. It was Daphne, her baby sister, still alive and whole.
It became an immediate toss-up to see who's eyes grew the widest, as Daphne took a look the girls and asked, as if it were the most important question in the world, "Daisy? Marcie? Is that...you?"
A pair of grateful smiles and nods from both of them, gave Daphne leave to release a pent-up squeal of emotion that she had been holding within her since her arrival.
The Blake Sisters rushed into a collision of animated hugs and happy tears.
"Daisy! I missed you so much!" the youngest sister, sobbed.
"Not as much as I did, baby sister!" Daisy whispered.
"I-I thought I'd never see any of you again! Are Mom, Dad, and the other sisters all right? How are they doing?"
"They're all doing fine, Daphne, and they're going to go over the moon when they see you, again."
In the midst of this joyous, long-overdue reunion, Marcie heard the sound of a whirlwind of paws coming up from behind her. She turned in response to it, and managed to see a large, brown blur overtake and playfully knock her down to the floor. Then, she felt a tongue, almost as wide as a human hand, slap, wetly, against her face.
"Rarcie!" the Great Dane and Annunaki descendant, Scooby-Doo, happily howled upon seeing her, his great weight bearing down upon her lean torso, while his tail whipped back and forth.
"Good to-Good to see you, too, Scooby-Doo," Marcie managed to say, in greeting, under the barrage of licks. "Now, get up off me, you big bear!"
"Rou should get rour glasses cleaned, Rarcie," Scooby advised, amiably. "Ri'm a dog!"
"Not from where I'm sitting," she groaned. "Now, let me up."
The dog relented and Marcie regained her stance, brushing the dust from her newly acquired attire.
"Ugh! I just got this dress," she groused. She saw Scooby trot over to sit at Shaggy's side, and waved to him. "Hey, Shaggy. What's up?"
"Hey, Hot Dog-"
Marcie held up a warning finger before he could finish the lamentable epithet. "Unless you want to get buried on Boot Hill, stop calling me that."
"Oh, uh, sorry about that, Marcie," he giggled a nervous apology, while the two sisters continued to catch up.
"What have you been doing in all of this time?" Daphne asked.
"Working as a cashier over at Penway's clothing shop," her sister answered, then gave Daisy's dress a quick look. "As a matter of fact, those clothes look a lot like what he had in stock."
"Yeah, we just came from there after we foiled a dastardly crime. We stopped some bad guy from robbing the place."
"Rocky Rattler?"
"The same," Daisy said, proudly. "We're all deputies, now! On a case, and everything! That's why we're here, to pick up our badges."
Hardy Clinker, the plug-shaped blacksmith, coming back from a dusty table in the back, handed Marcie and the others, each, a bisected half of badge.
"I don't know why the sheriff wanted me to cut 'em in half, but here ya go. Wear 'em in, heh, good health," he grumbled with gallows humor.
He, then turned to Freddy, saying, "Watch the place 'til I get back. I'm goin' over to the saloon to wet my whistle."
"Yes, sir, Mr. Clinker. I'll get to work on the coaches until you get back," said Freddy, as his employer left the smithy.
"You work for him, Freddy?" asked Marcie.
"Yep. I'm his striker," he said. "That's a fancy, technical term for his assistant. Been working here ever since we came from present day Crystal Cove, I mean, the future Crystal Cove, eight months ago. I think."
"We all are working, now," Shaggy continued. "Scooby and I are a cook and busboy at André's Eatery and Inn. Room and board, and all the leftovers we can eat."
"It's a rin-rin!" Scooby added, smacking his lips.
"Speaking of win-win," Freddy said, walking over to Daphne and holding her beside him with pride. "Would you like to tell them, dear?"
A blush darkened Daphne's smiling face, as she held up a hand, bearing a tarnished, unadorned gold ring.
"We got married!" she squealed to her sister.
For Daisy, calling this a day of incoming emotional shocks to rival a blitzkrieg, would have been a gross understatement. "Married? To Freddy? When?"
"A few months ago," Daphne explained. "We didn't know if we'd ever get home, so we decided to start our new lives together by getting hitched." She heard herself and gave a self-conscious chuckle. "Hitched. I think I'm going native with all of this Western talk."
Daisy couldn't help but grin at the happy news and the mature sense of that their family was transforming into a possibly bigger one. "I'm so happy for you, sis, but you know that Mom and Dad are going to flip when you come back and tell them. You know what they would have done."
Daphne rolled her eyes in pleasant nostalgia. "I know. They would've wanted me to get married in the present. I mean, not this present, I mean, the future. Ugh! You know what I mean. They would've given every caterer in town a raise, hiring them for my wedding."
She glanced up at her husband and mused, "Jeepers, I've never been married to you twice, before. Sounds like fun!"
"Well, you know what they say," Freddy said, flirtatiously. "You can never get enough Fred."
"Oh, Freddy!" she cooed, then noticed that their guests still watching their love play, and said, "You know, when you're done for the day, come by our apartment. We can catch up some more, Daisy, and I can show you the wedding photos!"
"Sounds righteous," her older sister said to her, then said, as an afterthought, "Oh, man! Where are my manners? Marcie, you know, but this is our good friend, Red Herring. We have another friend, Jason Wyatt, but he ran to get the sheriff."
Red nodded, respectfully, to Daphne. "How are you doing, Mrs., uh, what's your husband's name?"
"Chiles," Freddy said. "Pleased to meet you."
"But, ugh, please don't call me 'Mrs. Chiles.'" Daphne groaned. "I'll sound like Mom, or one of my teachers, back home. Just plane old Daphne will do."
Red nodded. "Okay. Mine's Red, but you know that, already."
"Sorry to interrupt, Daphne. Congratulations, by the way," Marcie said, eagerly. "But do you know where Velma is? Is she at work?"
There, then came an uncomfortable silence from Freddy, Daphne, Shaggy and Scooby that made Marcie's feet begin to freeze.
"What's wrong?" she asked. "Where's Velma?"
"She's...gone, Marcie," Shaggy confessed, sadly, not wanting to look directly into her eyes. "She, like, left us."
There was a distant buzzing in Marcie's ears, she grew queasy, and she felt as if another tremor was ripping through the town, threatening to tip her over at any second, to shatter, like bone china. Cold and hollow from within, she debated with herself if staying home, in ignorance of her true Velma's fate, was preferable to this.
For reasons, both emotional and intellectual, she knew that it wasn't. But, as her worried friends watched her stare off into space, she found that she couldn't recall any of them.