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"Okay." Lucy looked into the pot with the pork and cabbage and mushrooms. Then she noticed her mother
was looking at her. Embarrassed, she asked, "What is it?"
"Nothing." Mother laughed which only flustered Lucy worse and then went on, "Or maybe everything.
I'm watching you growing up right in front of my eyes. You're starting to do things I don't know about and
think thoughts I can't follow. What was going through your head while you were cutting up that cabbage?
Your eyes looked like they were a million miles away."
Farther than that. A lot farther than that, Lucy thought. Mother knew all kinds of things. But if Lucy tried to
explain about different worlds, would she follow? Lucy didn't think so. She wouldn't have believed it herself
if she hadn't had her nose rubbed in it.
Besides, Paul had asked her to keep his secret. She bit down on that as if on a piece of bone in some meat.
Who was more important, Paul or Mother? It was Paul's secret, but even so ....
"I don't know," Lucy said. "I'm all confused."
Her mother didn't laugh now. She put an arm around Lucy's shoulder. She had to reach up to do it Lucy
was three inches taller. Mother said, "Whether you know it or not, getting confused some of the time is part
of growing up, too. Things are more complicated for you than they were when you were a little girl."
Lucy found herself nodding. Mother was absolutely right about that.
Nine
Paul thought hard about disguises. He had very few clothes to work with. He'd got away from Curious
Notions with only what he had on his back. Buying more ate into his cash, so he'd done as little as he could.
Luckily, San Francisco's mild climate meant he didn't have to have a lot of different kinds of clothes.
Everything could be about the same, and he could mix and match.
He thought about growing a mustache like his father's, but decided it would take too long. He thought about
buying a false mustache or a blond wig. The one, though, might not change his looks enough. As for the
other . . . He didn't see how he could look like anything but a brunet wearing a blond wig.
If he went out as himself, the men from the Tongs were going to follow him. Since he couldn't do anything
about that, he resigned himself to it. He even tried to make it work for him. He stayed in the shabby little
room as much as he could stand. When he went out, he went to the most boring places he could find: to the
laundry, to a little cafe around the corner, or to the newsstand to buy a paper. Then he'd head back to his
room.
This San Francisco had buses, but it didn't have the BART subway lines. He couldn't disappear into a hole
in the ground and lose people like that. All he could hope to do was lull them into thinking he was the dullest
person in the world, somebody they could follow if they were half asleep.
He still had enough money to leave town. If this were his world, he would have done it if he saw the
chance. As things were, he couldn't. He couldn't leave his father, and he couldn't get too far from Curious
Notions. Down below the shop was the only way he could get back to the home timeline.
What were they thinking there? When shipments and messages stopped, they'd figure out that something
had gone wrong . . . wouldn't they? But if they did, would they try to send somebody to this alternate to find
out what? They might. If they did, though, they were liable to walk right into the Feldgendarmerie's hands.
However much Paul wanted to, he didn't see what he could do about that. He did try to get free of his
followers one foggy morning. He went into that cafe around the corner he often ate breakfast there. This
time, though, he took off his denim jacket, put on a cloth cap he'd stuffed into his pocket, and left without
ordering anything.
He kept his head down, walked with a limp, and muttered to himself in what he hoped sounded like an old
man's voice. Maybe all that confused the men from the Tongs. Maybe the fog had more to do with it.
Whatever it was, it worked. As soon as he rounded the corner, he sped up. He went left and right at
random for several blocks. Every so often, he would pause in a doorway to see if he'd shaken off his
followers. When he didn't see anyone, he'd move on.
There he was, on his own. The fog lifted. The sun came out. It turned clear and crisp and lovely, the kind of
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