Cyprus smiled and ignored the outburst. “Remember your vision,” she urged, in a tone he’d learned to pay attention to. “Important clues are there, too. Remember the personalities you saw in it, Diggs in particular. And remember, even for mortals, not all experience is physically manifest. Each person, Seven, is partially responsible for the birth of probable worlds … There, don’t frown. You’re doing very well. Your suit is most appropriate too—exquisite twentieth century; quite quaint.”

“You’re just saying that to cheer me up,” Seven protested. But before he could finish, Cyprus said, “Get back to your main-line century for now though, or you’ll end up more confused than ever. And don’t forget, there’s a reason why George the First perceived Diggs.”

“I’m more confused than ever,” Seven complained under his breath. “And how come my body travels through all those probabilities?”

“You’d better get that young thief out of the house before the twentieth-century George catches on,” Cyprus said. “Worry about the rest later.”

Cyprus vanished, and so did the thirtieth-century night landscape. Seven stood (fully visible, he realized) in front of George Brainbridge and the twentieth-century thief. The house still had its Victorian appearance. “Who in thunder are you?” yelled George Brainbridge the First, seeing him this time.

This time Seven concentrated with all his might. “Out, out,” he shouted at Gregory Diggs, and he shoved Gregory out of the twentieth-century door. This time, he really felt his own muscles move.

Almost at the same time he turned to George the First and commanded him to rush back up the nineteenth-century stairs. Eyes ablaze with astonishment, George did as he was told.

Chapter Seven

The Transformation of Gregory Diggs

Gregory Diggs crossed the street outside of George Brainbridge’s house, walked the half block to the river by cutting through back yards, and sat down on the grassy riverbank to think. A few cars passed above him to the right, sweeping over the bridge, but the night was quiet. The air was still warm though damp, with a mist rising from the water. Way to the left was the soft glimmer of downtown lights. Gregory smoked a cigarette and debated.

He’d planned to steal the dentist’s drugs and sell them for some ready cash; and that hadn’t panned out. Not that it was his fault. Even a genius couldn’t have anticipated the nut who’d discovered him—and thinking of it, Gregory started laughing so hard that he rolled on the ground. A house with gas lights, yet, and a clown who dressed like a dude from another century. Oh, God! He gasped. Now that it was all over, the comedy struck him. The guy who sent the other one upstairs must have been his keeper or something, Gregory decided.