I have this weakness for shopping for toys...well... toys and books, which at some level are just the same: something to break when the time is right.

in any case, it was getting high time for my baby to get into quantom mechanics. you know, education...

so i went to the multi-D ,BazzarrazzaB , boy, do they have everything. In the end, I got a “mister potato head” , where the add ons are made from collapsed stars. I also got a ‘fit the peg’ toy, where the shape of the pegs an the holes change constantly. and you need to do probabalistic analysis before even trying to push the peg in. I bet my girl will love that.

I got some more shopping done. then made my way to the food court on the third floor/76th, depending on your perspective and sexual orientation/political affiliation. from my last visit, I know they make a good singularity-curry. but I was enticed to try a new treat , for me: time worms. the guy that sold them complimented me on having already bought several worms, only they would be purchased later that day.

now, you may scoff at my provinicial ways, ‘what, you never had time worms before?’ you’d sneer. but I bet that among you fine people , who through some grave misfortune find themselves reading my tripe, some have also never had time worms.

well, the sight was not attractive. time worms are essentially massive tapeworms that devour you, instead of you devouring them. you are swallowed whole,temporarily, digested into quantom fields and then sent to and retrieved from the stretch if time you desired to experience. because the seller saw me twist my face in disgust, at the sight of the sickly white worms hanging from the meathooks, he offered me a free taste.

well..disgusting or not. I never turn down free stuff. so the guy cut me a short length of a worm. I do not know how he could tell, but this tape worm spews you to the future as it may become. it also leaves your lower intestine with hundreds of eggs.. he handed me the wobbly thing, and as it quickly stretched and covered me, I felt strangely arroused. I got thin peek of the future: me reading this challange , where the challange-master, @Last specifically asked for writers to tag him. the experience of reading this stuff on my cellphone was not the most exciting thing in the world. the worm spewed me back out , reconstituted, beside the timmonger. perhaps if the worm had let me stay forva little while longer, something cool would happen, but you get what you pay for in this world..

the guy saw that i was not appreciative of the glimpse he had given me. it was obvious that he was disappointed that I will not make a purchase after all.

“didn’t you just say that I would make a good buy, and even come for more in the future?” I asked, implying rudely that the quality of worms he was selling was not very high.

“yes. " he answered "the worm that I took this morning sent me all through time. you went back for more. you formed a habbit of buying nostalgia worms. I make a ton of selling you the antibiotic for the infeststion as well. we become friends..I guess it...the worm I took sent me to a timeline where you are not so cheap...” said the timemonger. he was about to offer a freebee worm to a young woman, that was showing interest. but just to show him the uniformity of the multiverse, I bought two pounds of nostalgia worms, and another half pound of the chocolate glazed future worms.

later, I sat by myself, eating curry, scrolling in the website, when I came across a challange. it was different from the one I saw in only that the person making the post asked to NOT be tagged. I guess the multiverse is not that uniform after all...

but again, you get what you pay for..

“I need a little more time.” Eamon said. “Just a little more time.”

“You do realize that once you commit to this there will be very little left of your future?”

“It’s worth it. I promised. I need to go back.”

The Timemonger looked up from his scroll at the man before him, and shook his head. Rolling up his scroll dotted with heavy blots and complicated charts, the trader huffed as he searched for another scroll. The chair underneath him creaked under his weight, though he had little of it. Eamon shook his knee, scratching at his stubble. The Timemonger simply sighed as he watched the other man fidget with his coat.

“Here,” the trader said as he rolled out another scroll. It was shorter, simpler. One large inkblot marked its beginnings then streamlined itself forward until another smaller dot created more branches where some connected to other minor marks or stopped completely. More choices the Timemonger had explained the first time Eamon came to him. After a thought, the Timemonger followed the continuous line until he reached the moment his patron desired. “You want how much in this moment?”

“As much as possible, please.”

“You remember I still need time to resume after you leave it? The minimum as decreed by law is a day forward in time.”

“How much time will that give me in the past?”

“It will give you five minutes.”

“I can’t do five minutes. I need more time. I need to make things right.” Eamon stood then, his face taught as he firmly placed a hand down on the table. The Timemonger did not move, nor look up from the scroll. Instead the Timemonger took off his glasses, rubbed his eyes, then returned to his musings on the scroll.

“You may borrow your own time from the future in order to relive a time in the past. That is the way these things work.”

“I know. I don’t care if I don’t live past tomorrow, I need to go back.” Eamon leaned forward looking at his scroll then back to the tradesman. “You can leave me five minutes in the future. You need time to flow forward, right? Five minutes is five minutes.”

“Mr. Baxter--”

“Please. It’s not for me. It’s for them.” Eamon pleaded. The Timemonger put on his glasses, sniffing dully as he thought.

“Fine.” The Monger raised his hand stopping a reply from the other man. “But the ratio still stands; you trade 28hrs and 55minutes now for 28 minutes and 55 seconds in the past. That leaves only five minutes in the present-future.”

“That will suffice.”

“Will it?” The Monger scoffed under his breath. Taking precise tools from his petticoat, the tradesman got to work on Eamon’s request. The thin surgery-like tools looked to Eamon like locksmith wires rather than fate-altering contraptions. It was a work that eluded him. The tradesman unraveled a point just after a dashed mark and elongated a strip somewhere earlier. Rarely did the Timemonger explain anything he did, he was a businessman afterall, he did not risk a rival or worse. It seemed like ages before he was finished but it was foolish to think any time had passed at all. The Timemonger was anything but a thief, and wasted no currency.

“Is it done?” asked his patron.

“Just about--ah, there.” The Timemonger settled his tools back into their pouch and tucked it back into his coat pocket. Then, taking a canister from the wall, the tradesman rolled the scroll up, placed it carefully within and held it to Eamon to take. Both men stood. Eamon reached for it, but paused for a brief moment and outstretched his other hand. The Timemonger took it, but did not let go immediately.

“You were one of the rare ones Eamon, I’d hate to see you go.” He said. His patron, suprised, retreated his gesture and placed the scroll in his satchel, shrugging.

“Yeah, well you will if all goes well.” Then he left.

With a heavy sigh, the Timemonger almost collapsed into his chair, but knew he could not rest for long. With leaded heels, the tradesman walked toward the inner chambers. There he opened a door to a large inner room littered with devices, some working, some not. But his goal ended at the other side. There opposing him was a large chart resembling old naval and star maps. To anyone looking, the map would simply be an eclectic collection of dots, dashes, lines and inkspots, but to the Timemonger all had a deeper meaning. He searched with purpose and without confusion. In a moment he found the line he was looking for all matching his previous encounter with one exception, a dash with a blooming dot where there previously was none. The Timemonger watched for a few moments more until a bellchime woke him from a daydream. There on the wall adjacent was a bell rung over the lobby sign. The Timemonger glanced over the chart one last time then decided he could not keep a client waiting.

Out in the lobby was a young woman holding a satchel. When his footsteps approached the corridor, she stood smiling readily. This to the Timemonger was most unusual.

“So you must be the famous Timemonger, I presume.”

“You presume correctly, madame.” He spoke. At this the young woman merely giggled.

“Please, it’s Elaine. I owe you much, though you know nothing about me.” The Timemonger could only give a small smile. She was indeed very lovely. With a care, the young lady opened the dampened flap of her satchel, surely so due to the weather, and after rummaging for a moment placed a canister there on the tradesman’s desk. Then in a swift motion she placed a card next to it. “Visit us sometime.”

“Surely this is not all you came for?” He asked.

“It is. I hope you understand, I’m running a bit late as it is. Please do visit though.” One last smile made way to the Timemonger’s lips as she shook out her umbrella to meet the gloomy outside. Then she was gone.

In two steps he was at his desk shaking out the contents of the canister. Two items made their way into the palm of his hand. One a locket, and two some fresh baked wedding cookies, his favorite. The Monger placed them within his hankerchief, then opened the locket. It was inscribed to him although not with his name-not that anyone knew his name. On the other side a photo of a baby girl adorning the portrait. It was an interesting gift. But he would ponder it later. He had the terrible task of covering up his moment of weakness. Taking the canister and placing the locket inside, he reached for the card only to pause. It was for a baking company, and truly had nothing interesting about it. A plain stock with simple design, but there the woman’s name elegantly scribbled on the back with an address.

Elaine Baxter.

It had been years since something like this had happened. It was most unusual to see it within his own timeline, but it was not unheard of. He merely wished he knew what his future self did to allow such a woman the safety of her existence without ridiculous consequences. But that would wait, and in time would come to play out he hoped. For now he had cookies he wished to enjoy.

The duties of a Timemonger be damend.

“Well, Luce?”

“I was thinking, Grim, I have an idea for a little business transaction.”

“I’m always game for something... What is it?”

* * *

I don’t know quite how it got to this point, but I had committed. At least, thus far, I had committed. Now that it got down to the final strokes, I became burdened by some doubts. I wanted of course to go through with the purchase, if you could call it that. Acquisition. It was afterall a great deal. That was just it. It was a great deal, as maybe, too good to be real.

You see the offer was that I could have [*redacted] simply in exchange for “a moment.”

“Yes, a moment of your Time.”

“But, could you be more specific,” I implored, mentally already on board, but: “I’d like to know how long is a moment.”

“As long as you please. Haven’t you given quite a bit of your Time now?”

“Yes, but...”

“Well, what’s a moment, more or less... you will give only as much as you can, and are willing. That is the agreement. We have a portfolio of successful clients,” as he had shown readily before, in slides and video testimonials.

That seemed to put the matter in my hands resoundly. So I went ahead with the paperwork, making sure that in fact, in the fine print, it accurately said that the Contractee will be held liable only to the amount of Time he or she is able and willing to expend. A voluntary contribution, if you will.

Understand, I wanted nothing more than to expend the least amount possible; And having persuaded myself that the deal was in my favor, I scrawled my name.

* * *

It was the death of him, gentleman. No sooner had he entered the deal, than it began to consume him. Night and day. I saw it with my own eyes. Whatever he had left of friends or relations dissipated. He had previously been a bit reserved, but now became increasingly withdrawn. I had been with the manor for decades, with stalwart recommendations and dedicated service. He shut his curtains and doors and avoided my eyes in the halls. Thereafter he forbade me to clean in his office. Soon, the entire second floor was verboten. Until finally, he dismissed me without cause or notice.

“That will be all.”

“But Sir who will attend to the house?”

“Never you mind, it is my concern now,” and he gave me my final pay and an unexpected bonus besides.

That was the last I saw of him. As you can see, the estate is overgrown now and the entry way is entirely barred. I don’t know what’s left of him. There was something weighing on his conscious, and I don’t know what it was.

By all accounts he was a successful businessman.

* * *

08.09.2020

The Timemonger challenge @Last