Into the Dim (24 page)

“Yes. Sarah de Carlyle, now wife of Lord Henry Babcock. In the war just past, Babcock fought on the wrong side. But our new king seeks peace with his barons. Even minor, idiotic ones. He restored Babcock's lands but kept most of the family fortune—such as it was. Did your cousin come with a great dowry, perhaps?”

“No.” I still had no idea why this tiny woman was helping me.

“Hmm,” Sister Hectare mused. “She's not young. Though young enough, I see. And somewhat comely. Still, Lord Babcock is not known to pick a wife merely because her face isn't pox scarred. 'Tis odd. He does seem taken with her.”

“Yes, I see that.”

The little toad never took his hands off my mother. Not even when he snatched a chicken leg and began gnawing at it with little gray teeth. Juice glistened in his straggly beard. The bewilderment I'd felt turned to pity as I watched her husband's pale, protuberant eyes narrow when another man greeted my mother.

What happened here, Mom?

“Ahhh,” Sister Hectare breathed.

William Lucie approached the pair. At first, Babcock glared suspiciously at the handsome soldier. But William only gave my mother the briefest of nods before turning to her husband. Babcock's amphibious eyes nearly popped from his head at whatever William told him. He whirled and stared toward the royal table.

“That would be a summons from our queen, requesting to meet one of her most loyal subjects.” Sister Hectare chuckled as Babcock growled a command at my mother and followed William like a preening peacock toward the high table. As they passed, William Lucie shot us a wink.

“Best go, child,” the nun said. “Eleanor won't be able to tolerate Babcock's company for long, but she wanted you to have a moment with your
cousin.
”

She dragged out the word, her hooded eyes glittering as she looked up at me. She knew something.
But how?

As if she'd read my mind, she smiled. “Does it matter, child?”

It didn't. Not a bit.

“Thank you,” I rasped. “And, please, thank Her Grace for me.”

Mom's back was turned to me. I edged forward as if my feet were mired in quicksand. Now that the time had finally come, I was weirdly reluctant. My mouth dried up, and my lips felt glued shut.

“Mo—” My voice cracked. I tried again. “Lady Sarah?”

She froze, fingers twitching at her sides in a nervous habit I knew so well. Her shoulders rose. She turned slowly. When she caught sight of me, her eyes widened, then closed as if in pain.

“No,” she whispered.

A smell of spring wafted toward me. Lilac, her favorite. One hot tear slipped down my cheek. I didn't move as she opened her eyes, though I felt my lower lip tremble like a lost child's.

An instant later, I realized what I was seeing and my mouth fell open in utter shock. My mother's cheeks were too full. Puffy bags drooped beneath her eyes. Even her lips seemed waterlogged.

She whimpered, her eyes scanning the room frantically. She stepped toward me and grabbed my hand, squeezing too tight.

“How?” she said. “How is this possible? I was so careful to keep you out of all this. I don't understand.” She took a deep breath through her nose and dropped my hand, speaking rapidly. “Doesn't matter. You have to leave. Now. If she finds you here, I don't know what she'll do.”

I didn't say a word. I couldn't. Because my gaze was trapped on my mother's abdomen. Her extremely round, extremely
pregnant
abdomen. A sick jolt rocked me back on my heels as a memory consumed me.

Dad had brought my very pale mother home from a short hospital stay. I was seven, and so excited, because in four months I'd be a big sister. No one spoke to me when they got home, and I wasn't exactly sure what had happened. All I knew was that they seemed really sad and that my mother's tummy looked strangely flat. That night, Dad had perched on the edge of my bed.

Well, kiddo,
he'd said,
looks like it's just gonna be the three of us. And that's okay. It's . . .
it's fine.

The scratchy sound in his voice had made my throat ache. And that night, alone in my bed, I heard my mother sobbing from her bedroom next door. I had never, ever heard my mother cry. It scared me so much, I'd huddled under the covers and bawled myself to sleep.

Years later, Dad told me Mom had nearly died when she lost the baby. There'd been a problem, and I'd always be an only child.

“Mom?” I gasped. “I—” God, I couldn't manage to string two words together. I flung a hand at her belly. “When?”

“Soon, I think. They don't exactly have ultrasound dating here.”

Her voice was clipped. I answered back in the same tone. “No. Guess not.”

I counted back in my head, trying not to show it.

She noticed. “Obviously, I didn't know I was pregnant when I left,” she said. “How could I? The doctors said it was impossible.” The muscles in her jaw tightened. “Hope, I don't understand this. How do you even know about—”

Her voice cracked, and she covered her mouth with swollen fingers. I felt myself begin to crumple with disappointment. I'd built this moment up in my mind for so long. Every second since I'd learned she was alive. Now it was here and all I wanted was to run away.

“Aunt Lucinda sent for me,” I said. “
She
told me the truth.”

“She had no right.” Every muscle in her face tightened. “Look, you must understand. I always wanted to tell you. I just . . . I wasn't sure you'd be able to—”

“You know we thought you were dead?” I let the words drop, heavy as a sack of rocks, between us. “There was an earthquake in that city where you were
supposed
to be. A bad one, Mom. Thousands of people died. Hundreds of buildings collapsed, including the university tower that held the lecture hall where you were supposed to be. They never recovered most of the bodies. And since they couldn't find your body . . . they declared you
dead.
”

When she flinched, I felt a throb of something like triumph.

“Oh no.” Her hand covered her mouth again. “I was just supposed to be gone for a few days, I . . . All those poor people. The teachers . . .”

My teeth ground together so hard, my ears popped. I suddenly wanted to hurt her. “We had your funeral the other day, you know. Dad buried an empty coffin. He even had a headstone with your name carved on it. It says ‘Beloved Wife and Mother,' in case you wondered.”

Her lips went white as she whispered, “Sweetheart, I . . .”

When she buried her face in her hands and started to weep, I could only stare in utter and complete astonishment. This wasn't the mother I knew. I'd expected Mom to sweep us all up and take over. Fix everything. That was how it worked. My mother was a warrior. A fixer. And yet, all I felt as I watched her shoulders shake . . . was an uneasy pity.

Her face was blotchy as she raised it and scanned the room. “Where's Lu? I need to speak with her at once.”

That's it?
I shook my head in disbelief.
That's the extent of our big reunion?

Numbness crept out from my chest. “Aunt Lucinda, Mac, and Moira came here a few months ago, looking for you. They couldn't find you. Obviously, they aren't here this time. It's just Collum and Phoebe. And me.”

“Just you kids? Good Lord, what was she thinking? And
you?
You have no practical training whatsoever. How could Lucinda allow this? It's insane.” Her eyes closed for a long moment. When they opened, she looked hard into my eyes. “Listen to me, Hope. The three of you, go and find a safe place to hide until it's time to go back.”

“But—”

“No, Hope.” Her eyes roved from person to person. “You don't understand. You mustn't let Celia find you here. If she does—”

“Celia can't return to this time,” I said, though fear prickled my scalp as she shook her head. “She can't,” I insisted. “She was here before, and Lucinda said the Dim won't allow anyone to return.”

She flinched at my casual mention of the Dim.

“My sister is wrong.” Her hands nearly crushed mine when she grabbed them to jerk me close. Her blue eyes swam with fear as she whispered, “The Timeslippers have found a way to keep this timeline open. I don't know how. But I've seen them here at least three times over the past months, and I know they were here before I came. I don't know what they're up to, but Celia's made some powerful friends here.
She
trapped me.
She
arranged my marriage to that”—she covered her belly with her hands as she growled the word—“monster.”

I was breathing hard now, fear making my lungs shrivel like crumpled paper sacks.

“Celia's little minions watch me all the time, Hope. Which is why you must get away from me. They may already know you're here.”

T
HE NEARBY BLARE OF TRUMPETS STARTLED US BOTH.
During our talk, I'd barely noticed the series of dignitaries parading toward the dais, presenting gifts to the new sovereigns. Now I followed Mom's gaze as a group of bearded men in yellow hats stood before their king. Henry beamed down as one held up a sheath of shining black leather etched with gold and glittering with precious gems.

“The Jews of London are grateful to our new, and most gracious, king,” their leader intoned. “In honor of your coronation and in most humble gratitude for the protection you offer our people, we present you with this dagger.”

There was a collective “ahh” from the crowd as the man yanked the knife from its sheath. It gleamed beneath the candlelight, silver and shining and lethal. “May your reign last as long as this legendary stone fixed into its hilt.”

The Jewish contingent bowed low as their leader laid the dagger carefully on a marble pillar set before the dais to showcase each gift as it was presented. “God save His Grace,” he said as he went to his knees. The crowd joined in. “God save the king!”

The legendary stone fixed into its hilt.

So, this must be the opal Rachel had mentioned. I couldn't see it from where I was standing, but when I turned back to my mother, I saw her cover her mouth with trembling fingers.

“The Nonius Stone?” she mumbled behind her hand. “That's why the timeline stays . . . but no. It couldn't be, could it?”

When the Jews marched from the room, the feastgoers went back to their meals. Lutes and pipes played as people filled the space between the tables, dancing and chatting. Others began stuffing their faces with meat and downing endless goblets of wine.

“Mom,” I said, “listen. I don't care about some ridiculous stone, and I don't care about Celia. We're here to rescue you. But we have to—”

“You idiotic lout!” The shout echoed from the dais.

I whirled in time to see that a servant had just stumbled hard into the pillar. Rocking on its base, the thick marble stand teetered, then crashed over. Shards of stone flew into the crowd. The servant's heavy tray of goblets followed, crimson wine splashing across the rush-covered floor like an arterial spray. The king rose, apoplectic. Angry voices boomed off the rafters as the servant bowed over and over in apology. He leaned down to retrieve the goblets, then began to scurry toward a side entrance.

“Thief!” someone yelled, and I saw that it was Becket. His eyes blazed after the servant. “He's taken the dagger, Your Grace!”

Becket whispered furiously in the king's ear. Henry's hand came up and pointed a beringed finger at the servant, who was now blocked in by two guards. “Seize. That. Man.”

The servant zigzagged through the crowd as men tried to snatch hold of his scarlet servant's tunic. I couldn't see much, only the top of his head, and the ripple effect as he shoved through the mass of people.

An awful dread began to build inside me.

The crowd became too thick. The thief leaped up onto the far table, rampaging down its length. Goblets of wine and plates of food flew into the laps of startled guests.

“Oh God,” I whispered when I finally viewed the man's face. My pulse doubled and my heart began to cave in on itself.

Next to me, Mom made a strangled noise. “Oh, Collum, no.”

Collum MacPherson never slowed as he neared the edge of the tabletop. His muscular thighs bunched as he jumped. He flew through the air, snatching hold of one of the hanging swags of evergreen.

Like a sports commentator diagramming plays for the viewers at home, my mind mapped it all out before he even made the motions. Neon-green lines drew themselves before me in curving arcs.

The first swag. Swoop. The low-slung chandelier. Backswing, then on to the second swag. Another backswing before a vertical drop to the table in the rear. A hop to the floor. Then a sprint out the back door.

Every muscle in my body strained.
Stretch. Swing.
Faster. Hurry, Collum.

“My God,” the king of England shouted. “Look at him go.”

It would've worked. Mathematically, it
should've
worked. If only the last bough had been stronger. The verdant swag ripped beneath his weight, and Collum dropped to the ground in a tangle of limbs.

All the air left my lungs in a rush. A dozen guards merged on him, a mix of the king's crimson and the black and silver of the city watch. I lunged forward, but someone snagged the back of my dress.

“Hope!” my mother yelped in my ear. “You can't.”

A guard went flying backwards. Another tumbled end over end, bowling into the hovering crowd. Collum was up, gladiator sword gleaming as he hobbled toward the open exit.

Phoebe raced to my side, braids flying, chest heaving. “Oh sweet Jesus.”

He was almost out. No one had yet thought to block the exit. Collum was hurt—that was obvious. But it didn't slow him as he raced toward freedom.