Florence 1504

Dawn filtered through a light fog along the green hills of Florence. The deep, emerald-colored fields sat beside dirt roads and terracotta-roofed houses. The two men stood atop a hill, taking in the serenity of the new world around them. Benoit passed his fingers along the brim of the top hat he carried in his hand, and his brow furrowed.

“Technically, this shouldn’t exist yet,” he mumbled.

Charles smirked. “Neither should we, really.”

Benoit pursed his lips and nodded slowly. “That worries me deeply.”

“We were fine back in Gettysburg. A little romp through Italy should do us good,” grinned the younger man, striding down the winding dirt road in the direction of the houses in the distance.

“…At any rate, I would prefer that we not stay for too long,” Benoit called before jogging to catch up with Charles. “How do you suggest we find Leonardo da Vinci?”

Charles grinned. “I speak Italian, as a matter of fact.”

The young man fearlessly approached the front door of one of the humble houses, knocking and waiting. “This could be him right now,” he said, folding his arms and resting against the door frame. Benoit kept his distance, glancing at the device on his wrist every now and again as though it would somehow disappear.

Footsteps sounded from within the house. A gruff, disgruntled voice shouted something in Italian. Benoit raised an eyebrow at Charles. “What did he say?”

Charles straightened his suit jacket and tie, saying, “He wants to know who needs him.” He turned to the door again and addressed the man behind it. “Charles Waltham, signore!”

“That won’t do us any good,” Benoit scoffed, but there was silence in the house. After a moment and a nervous glance exchanged between the two, the wooden door pulled back, revealing a middle-aged man with thinning, dark hair and round glasses perched on his nose. At the sight, Charles yelped and drew back.

The old man stepped into the daylight. He wore a white smock of some kind, with metal instruments in the pockets. In his hand was some other device, glowing with white light on one end.

“How—?” Benoit began, but suddenly, Charles threw himself at the stranger, grabbing him by his apron.

“Where were you?!” he burst in English. “What do you think you’re doing here? Why did you leave us?”

“I’m sorry,” the man replied softly, “son, I’m sorry—it was an accident, all of it—”

Wide-eyed, Benoit took a step closer to the fight in the doorway. “Son?”

“An accident that you left me and Mom on our own? That I had to grow up without you, that I didn’t have a father when I needed one?” Charles hissed, pressing the old man against the wall of the house. “What excuse could you possibly have?”

The older Mr. Waltham breathed heavily, his hands trembling as he held them aloft as if under arrest. “I got stuck,” he said. He pointed to the watch on Benoit’s wrist. “The same way you’re here now—I tried to jump through time. And now I’m here. And I can’t come back.” Charles’ father shook his head, tears fogging up his eyes. “You shouldn’t have used that watch. There’s no telling when it could break. They’re extremely temperamental, all of them. I’ve been trying to perhaps make a device that could work… but I’ve been here for over a decade.”

Benoit paled, laying his hand against the watch face. “Are we safe, then? Are we stuck here, too?”

“I’m not certain. Has your watch been emitting sparks, or making any strange noises?”

“Not that I’ve noticed,” Benoit mumbled. “…It won’t… explode on my arm, will it?”

“I haven’t seen that defect yet,” the man replied. “Listen to me, both of you. Go back home, and never try any of this business again.” He tilted his head, pointing at the top hat in Benoit’s hands. “And that doesn’t look like it came from your time, for that matter.”

“Dad,” Charles insisted, “listen, just come home—we can forget all about this time traveling and just live normal lives—”

“Where did that come from?” Charles’ father continued.

Benoit held the top hat closer to him, looking like a guilty child. “The eighteen-hundreds, sir.”

“Well, put it back before it’s too late! You can’t tamper with time like that,” he said incredulously. The man turned to his son, shaking his head with a defeated look. “That’s why I can’t come home. I’ve tangled myself in time too much. Even if I had the power to go back… there’s no telling what kind of repercussions could come about as a result.” He turned back to Benoit, as if he was the main instigator of this crisis. “That’s why you need to return that hat and go back to your regular lives. W-why are you even here, of all places?”

Charles managed a sheepish grin. “We were looking for the Mona Lisa.”

“To look at? You could have gone to the Louvre in your own time,” said the older Mr. Waltham, utterly perplexed.

His son’s ears turned a faint shade of red. “Well, no, rather, some friends and I have been playing a game… we’ve been borrowing certain items—”

Charles’ father held his hands aloft, retreating into his house. The other men followed behind as he began to rage, “You’re stealing from time?!”

“Borrowing,” Benoit clarified, but the older man was so enraged that he could hardly pay attention to anything they said.

He turned to a vast table within his little home, littered with gadgets, gears, and spare parts of machines that hadn’t even been invented yet. “This is how I’ve been spending my existence! Stuck here, making useless inventions and being the loon of this city—I’ve given even Signore da Vinci a run for his money, and why? Because I have nothing left to do. I stole from time, I leapt in and out of the fabric of the universe, and as a result I’ve had to live out my sentence here with this instead of with you, Charles. Time will come to collect, in one way or another.”

“…What if we return everything to where it belongs?” Charles asked meekly.

“You would have to hurry. If your watch were to break before you could return to your time… you’d be like me, never able to go home.” He carefully reached out, touching his son’s shoulder. His posture loosened as he did so. “I want a better life for you, Charlie. I don’t want your sense of adventure to rob you of your chance to live.”

“And I don’t want to leave you here alone like this,” he began, but a high-pitched ringing suddenly sounded throughout the room. Everyone turned to Benoit, who was staring at the watch on his wrist. It emitted a blinding, blue light and was vibrating quite violently, its piercing whistle almost like that of a tea kettle.

“Quick! Go!” cried the elder Mr. Waltham.

“Where?” shouted Charles over the screeching watch. His father grabbed his hand and slammed it against the watch, drawing back just before Benoit and Charles vanished in a shower of smoke and blue sparks.