Keeper of the Books (Keeper of the Books, Book 1) (28 page)

Joe didn’t like the end of his sentence.
Taken care of
had more than one kind of meaning. If this was the same Clive that was sitting with Joe in the saloon in Vandikhan, then Joe would be all right. If this was a different Clive who no longer needed Joe and didn’t care about time traveling and going after mystical books, then Joe was as good as dead already.

The men who came out of the tent weren’t quite as wild looking as the guards who had met them or the soldiers camped along the forest edge. There were four of them. Their weapons seemed a little shinier, their furs a bit warmer. These were the commanders.

At the sight of Clive, they seemed relieved, but when their eyes turned to Joe, all four of them pulled pistols from their belts and pointed them at him. In reaction, Joe reached a hand to his side for his gun but hesitated when they pulled their hammers back. He knew the moment his gun left its holster he would be riddled with bullets.

Clive already had his feet on the ground when the guns came up, his hands in the air, trying to set up a wall between Joe and the commanders. “Hold your fire! Hold your fire!” He winced as he moved forward, his bullet wounds letting out a little blood.

“What’s he doing back here?” one of the commanders asked. “He’s supposed to be dead.”

Joe lifted an eyebrow at this for it confirmed what their intentions had been regardless of whether he showed them a stash of weapons or not. He guessed he shouldn’t have been surprised.

“There’s a lot we need to discuss,” Clive said. He was breathing hard, his arms still in the air. To Joe, he didn’t seem as confident as he had been just a few seconds ago. “There are going to be some changes around here,” Clive continued. “Joe here is to be commended, not executed. Please, just let us into the tent and we’ll discuss.”
 

The commander closest to the wagon took a step forward. “Hand over your pistol,” he said, reaching a hand out to Joe while keeping his weapon steadily aimed. “Nice and slow.”

Joe looked at Clive but was only offered a nod to tell him to comply with the commander. Joe snarled as he pulled out the pistol. He thought about bringing it up to the commander’s head and letting a bullet fly, but he decided against it. He was a killer now, but he wasn’t stupid. He was a good shot, but he wasn’t reckless. He twirled the gun on his finger, letting the handle face the commander. The man snatched it away from him quickly. With his pistol, he motioned for Joe to move.
 

“Get down here,” he said.
 

With hands in the air, Joe did as he was told.
 

The man looked at Clive and shook his head. “You’ve got a lot of explaining to do, Clive.” He turned back to Joe. “But ain’t welcomed in the tent.”

Before Joe could respond, the man’s arm was propelled toward his head at an alarming speed. Joe felt the impact of the pistol butt slam against his head for only a split second. Then, sleep.
 

Joe woke with a start. The sunlight was fading behind him and the familiar ache of his wrists tied against a tree had returned. He felt cold and his head pounded. Whoever had hit him in the head had practiced the move before. He was undoubtedly bruised and he could feel the now dried and crusted stream of blood against his cheek. How long had he been out?

He looked around the camp and saw soldiers walking, talking, sitting by their fires, and getting ready for the night ahead of them. From the base of the tree, he could see the main tent clearly. Clive was probably in there trying to talk some sense into the other commanders. Or maybe he was begging for his own life. Joe didn’t know how these people worked. Maybe they blamed him for the Warlord’s death and were planning both of their executions.

He cursed himself as he pulled helplessly against the ropes. It had been foolish to come back with Clive. He had been offered a chance to go out on his own and leave the Renegades behind forever. But instead, he had become distracted with the idea of time travel and the fact that he wouldn’t see his brother for another six years. Now he started to think that Clive was either crazy or a liar. Or both. But if he was telling the truth and he wasn’t insane, then that meant Joe was going to survive the night. Yet that didn’t stop the growing fear inside him. Such concepts were very new to him. For all he knew, it didn’t matter if he existed in the future. Can’t the future change based on decisions? What if his decision to come back and talk to Clive altered what Joe was supposed to do?

He shook the thoughts away. He didn’t like them. Mostly because they didn’t make any sense. He decided then and there that he was just going to live life the best he knew how. If that meant he wouldn’t be going home for another six years then so be it. Not that
home
was much to him anyway. There was no one waiting for him in Texas or Kentucky. There were no friends that he cared to visit. Perhaps coming to Galamore was the best thing after all. At least here he wasn’t a criminal. He didn’t face the threat of the law coming after him. But one look into the camp made him pull on the ropes again. What was he thinking? He was in more danger here than when he was on the run. At least while on the run he had a chance. Now he was at the mercy of barbarians.

It was a few hours before a group of men came for Joe. They untied his wrists and allowed him to stand. The commander who had hit him in the head stood in front of him. Joe spat on the ground in defiance of the man. He felt it made him seem confident, but really his boldness came from fear. He was likely facing death and he wasn’t about to go out like a coward.

“My name is Clement,” the commander said. “Your future hangs in the balance.”

“What do you mean?” Joe asked, but Clement didn’t answer him. Instead, he motioned for the guards to grab Joe and follow him into the camp.

His wrists were bound by the rope that had held him against the tree, and he was pulled by a large man with a hood over his face that made him look like an executioner.
 

They followed Clement to the middle of the camp and Joe was tied to another tree. This time he was allowed to stand as the hooded guard stood next to him.
 

“You have any idea what’s going on?” Joe asked the man, but he was met with silence. Then something happened that nearly made Joe jump out of his skin. Somewhere behind him someone started banging two iron pots against each other over and over. He didn’t know what was happening until a voice followed the noise.
 

“Get to the middle! Everyone to the middle! It’s time for a vote! Get to the middle!”

Joe watched as soldiers emerged from their tents and did as they were told. Someone about thirty feet away from Joe had started a large bonfire—one that was blazing and could undoubtedly be seen for miles. As the soldiers all began to gather toward the middle of the camp, Joe was happy to have the guard next to him, keeping curious inquisitors at bay. There were plenty of looks in his direction, and Joe could overhear a few of them as they passed by.
 

“Sounds like a public execution,” one of the men said.
 

Another snarled at him and said, “I didn’t know our food shortage meant we’d be eating human flesh.” Joe hoped they were only trying to scare him, but something told him that there was more to it than that.

A figure from near the large fire started making his way toward Joe against the flow of the crowd. Joe’s bodyguard took a step forward to block the man from getting near, but stood down when he recognized who it was.

Clive.
Joe was relieved to see Clive wasn’t dead, but this was far from over. “What’s going on?” Joe asked with a harsh whisper.
 

“A vote,” Clive said. He took a deep breath and shook his head. “They wouldn’t listen to me, Joe.”

Joe felt his insides go cold. “What do you mean they wouldn’t listen to you?”

Clive looked at the guard near them and told him to leave. The man did so without question. Clive then looked down at his feet and slowly brought his eyes up to meet Joe’s. “They were fine with accepting the story about our ambush. But they don’t want to accept that you are in the right. They don’t care if you tried to save the Warlord’s life or that you
did
save mine. They want blood, Joe.”

Joe let the words linger in the air for a moment, half expecting Clive to continue. But when he didn’t, Joe almost lost his temper. “What, that’s it? That’s all you have to tell me? That it’s over? I’m as good as dead now?”

“There is a chance,” Clive said.
 

“Oh really? Are you just going to cut my ropes again? Should we attack all 700 people here and kill them so we can survive?”

“Keep your voice down,” Clive said, looking from side-to-side. “The only chance you have is if I am voted in as the Warlord.”

“I thought you didn’t want to be the Warlord,” Joe said.

“I don’t. But if I have to I will.”

“Oh, how generous of you.”

Clive took a step forward and snatched Joe by the collar. Joe stiffened as if expecting a punch, but Clive only brought his face near to him. “I didn’t have to stick my neck out for you. I could have let you die out there. I could have just killed you.”

“If it wasn’t for me, the Warlord would have killed you, Clive.”

“Maybe.” His grip of Joe’s shirt eased. “But there’s a good chance I won’t win this election and that doesn’t bode well for you. The other commanders want you dead.”

“Who are you up against?” Joe asked.
 

“Clement and Dooley. Both of them think you should be executed. If either of them win, then you’re a dead man. If I win, you’ll go free.”

“What has to happen?”

“The vote’ll take place in an hour. The three of us have to get up in front of everyone and present our case for why one of us should replace the Warlord.”

“Do people like you very much?” Joe asked.
 

Clive let go of Joe’s shirt and took a step back. He stared at the ground again and finally shook his head. “I was the right hand of the Warlord and he was not a very popular man. I can’t say that it looks good. No one can stand Dooley, but many seem to like Clement well enough.”

“So that’s it then? I’m finished?” He cleared his throat. “I should have never come back with you.”

“I didn’t expect this,” Clive said. “I didn’t think they would care about having your blood. But I suppose it will satisfy their need for vengeance.”

“What vengeance? They didn’t even like the Warlord.”

“Which is why you’re still alive.” Clive was pacing now. He seemed very focused and determined, yet clueless at the same time. “There is something else that may help you win your freedom.”

Joe waited.
 

“There is something written in our bylaws.”

“You have bylaws?”

“Of course we have bylaws,” Clive said as if the question was absurd. “Why wouldn’t we? I helped the Warlord write them. Anyway, it states that in the event of an election, if the second place contender is within fifty votes, then he is allowed to challenge the elected leader to a fight. Whoever isn’t dead is the new leader.”

“You said you wrote this?” Joe asked. “Smart thinking.”

“I said I
helped
write them,” Clive said. “That part wasn’t my idea. That’s from the mind of Fredrick Merk. But it’s a law that has never come up considering Merk was the first and only Warlord up to this point.”

Joe let the information sink in for a moment. It was crazy that they wanted him dead in the first place. It wasn’t as if they knew he had killed the Warlord. All Joe had done was lie about a stash of weapons. He had only been trying to get out of being killed in the first place.
 

“So, if you came within fifty votes, you would challenge him?” Joe asked. “You would do that for a person you barely know?”

Clive shook his head. “Of course not. But the bylaws also state that the two can send a willing proxy into the fight. For me, that would be you.”

“What?”

Clive nodded. “
That
part was my idea.”

“Oh, great,” Joe said with as fake of a smile as he could muster.
 

“If I don’t win, which I probably won’t, then it’ll be up to you,” Clive said. “But I can say with confidence that your chances are good whoever you fight.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because you’ve survived to the future,” Clive answered with a smile. “I didn’t meet myself from the future. I met
you
. And you didn’t look maimed neither.”

“That’s reassuring,” Joe said.
 

“I understand that it won’t be easy, but it’s your only chance.”

“What kind of stupid laws are these?” Joe asked.
 

“They are laws that are keeping you alive for the time being,” Clive said.

“Do you think you can get within fifty votes?” Joe asked.
 

Clive stood for a moment, considering Joe’s question. There were 700 people in the Renegades. It wouldn’t be easy.

“I will do whatever I can,” Clive said. “I will make a case for myself and we will see what happens. If time and the future works like I think it does, then you should have nothing to worry about.”

But Joe had already decided to forget about the future. He had decided to live his life like there was no such thing as
The Book of Time.
Yet no matter how hard he tried, he could not escape the fact that Clive believed what he had seen.
 

Joe should have taken comfort in knowing he was probably going to survive. But what if Clive was wrong? Galamore was a strange world. For all Clive and Joe knew, the person Clive had met a few days ago who claimed to be the Joe of the future could have just been Joe’s ghost.

He stared at the blazing bonfire in the middle of the camp and hoped that he was wrong.
 

Autumn, 903 A.O.M.

The company rode together in silence a good ways, Nate figured about a mile, before Alban pulled on the reins of his horse and stopped the cart. No one said a word, though they all knew a conversation needed to happen.