Revolution in Time (Out of Time #10) (12 page)

Renaud shrugged and finished filling his own glass. “You do not know what you are missing. 25-year-old Glenlivet.”

It was tempting, but Jack wanted to be alert a little while longer, just in case they needed him. Not that he expected to see them until morning, if even then. Not to mention, one drink and he’d be asleep. He was exhausted.
 

He started toward a very inviting looking leather chair by the fire when Teddy passed by the door with a tray in hand.

“Uhm, Teddy?”

Teddy stopped and turned to him, a smile on his face. He was a curious little man. Jack had heard stories about him, but nothing quite measured up to meeting him.
 

Jack nodded toward the tray of food. “Where’re ya going with that?”

“Hmm? Oh, upstairs.”

Jack smiled and moved over toward him. He laid a friendly hand on Teddy’s shoulder and gently maneuvered him away from the hall and into the study. “You might want to give them time.”

“They’ll be hungry.”

Victor snorted and Jack shot him a glare.

Victor merely shrugged.

“I’m sure they will, but they probably want some time alone to …” He struggled with how to frame it. “Get reacquainted.”

“Oh.”

Victor joined them and picked a drumstick off the plate. Jack shot him a look.
 

“No need for it to go to waste,” he said and took a large bite.

Jack had to admit he was right. “I guess he’s got a point.”
 

Teddy still looked confused.
 

“It might be a while,” Jack said and took the plate of food. He hesitated, “Unless you want it?”

Teddy shook his head and Jack sat down to eat.

“Bread,” Victor said and Jack threw a dinner roll to him.

Teddy looked hesitantly at the doorway and then put the now empty tray aside.

“I will retrieve Travers tomorrow,” Victor said.

Jack nodded. “And then we’ll know what they’re planning?”

Victor shrugged the way Frenchmen so often do. “We shall see.”

“And why don’t we know what it is already?” Jack asked, motioning for Teddy to hand him the fork. “Future you should know all about it.”

Teddy started to hand him the cutlery but saw a spot on it. He blew onto it and rubbed it with his fingers before handing it to Jack.

Jack stared down at it, shrugged and shoved a pile of peas onto it.

“I, future me,” Teddy said, “knows a great deal, but some things are in flux. This period of time is one of them. It’s changing.”

This whole thing had twisted Jack’s brain into a pretzel, but he found the less he fought, the more sense it made. He nodded.
 

“In fact, the reason all of this came about was because Elizabeth was killed.”

Jack choked on his food and cleared his throat. He managed to swallow. “She what?”

“That’s why I, the future me, came back in the first place.”

“Are we fixing time or changing it?” Jack asked then held up a hand. “Don’t answer that.”
 

He took a bite of mashed potatoes. “Do me a favor and don’t tell Cross about that other.”

Teddy looked at him in confusion.
 

“About Elizabeth dying in the other timeline. He’s going to be on edge as it is, we don’t want to push him over it.”

~~~

Simon lay on his side next to her propped up on one elbow while he gently ran his finger along her collarbone and down her arm. He hadn’t stopped watching her, hadn’t stopped touching her since she’d awakened. As she looked at him in the dim lamplight of the bedroom, the circles under his eyes were darker and more pronounced. His face was slimmer, drawn. It broke her heart to think of what he’d been through, what had driven him to this.

He looked up from the mindless patterns he was sketching with his finger and gazed into her eyes. His were bloodshot, the green standing out even more against the red.
 

She reached out and touched his cheek. “We’ll have to shave this in the morning.”

He nodded, caught her hand and kissed her wrist. He looked down at her palm thoughtfully. “I love your hands. Small, delicate.” He turned it over and gripped it in his. “Strong,” he added then looked up at her. “It’s funny the things you think about.”

“I’m sorry,” she said again.

He shook his head. “You have nothing to be sorry for. You’re here. That’s all I need.”

“If there had been any other way …”

A cloud came over his face as he looked away.

“Don’t be mad at them,” she said. She’d explained everything, but it was a lot to take in. “They did it for us. To save us.”

He grunted and let out a long breath. Finally, he nodded, but she knew it would take time for him to accept, to forgive.

His hand moved to cover her stomach. “You’re sure she’s all right.”

Elizabeth covered her hand with his. “She’s fine.”

He nodded thoughtfully and then looked back up into her eyes. “Promise me something?”

“Anything.”

“The next time you die, take me with you.”

Fresh tears came to her eyes and she pulled him in for a kiss. Finally, he eased back and lay down, pulling her against him.
 

It was a promise she could never keep.

~~~

While Travers pored through stacks of papers, Jack admired the guns of the impromptu armory that had been established at the far end of the dining room. A sideboard was covered with small arms. Smaller arms anyway. There was nothing small about Revolutionary Era weapons. Most of the flintlock pistols were enormous by modern standards. In addition to the massive flintlocks, there was a pair of what looked like long, slender dueling pistols and a petite snub-nosed gun. Next to the handguns was an impressive array of knives including a small but lethal looking double-edged dagger.
 

They were all interesting enough, but it was the big guns that drew Jack’s attention. He chose one of the long rifles, emphasis on long, and hefted its ample weight in his hands. It probably weighed eight or nine pounds, at least, and the barrel alone was well over three feet long. It was awkward and unwieldy.
 

He lifted it and set it against his shoulder to check the sight, nearly knocking a few plates off the breakfront as he did. Across the room, Travers looked up from the makeshift desk he’d made of the dining table, frowned and went back to his reading.

“Are you a good shot?” Victor asked.

Jack squinted and tried to line up a dangerous looking daffodil in the garden outside the window. “Pretty good.”

“Then I suggest you stick with the musket.”

“Have a lot of experience with them, do you?” Jack asked as he leaned the long rifle back against the wall.

Victor ran his finger thoughtfully down the flat side of one of the bayonets. He seemed lost in a memory before smiling. “Un peu.”
 

He picked up one of the muskets with a familiarity Jack envied, studied it like an old friend, or maybe an old enemy—with Renaud it was hard to tell the difference sometimes—then put it back in line with the others.
 

He nodded toward the musket. “Stick with that. It is a terrible weapon. Heavy, slow, unreliable.”

“You’re overselling it.”

Victor made a sound that was strikingly like a laugh.
 

“This,” he said, touching the blade of the bayonet again, “is the important part. Do not try to use it like a knife; the edges are dull. Strike forward. Thrust. You see the shape of the blade?”

It wasn’t like a sword; it flared out into a triangular shape.

“It pierces the body and the expanding width of the blade creates huge gaping wounds. Far worse than being shot, by most accounts.”

Jack nodded. He’d seen his fair share of combat and the agonies that came along with it. “I’ll bet.”

Victor arched an eyebrow. “Let us hope neither of us has the displeasure of finding out first hand, hmm?”

It was as close to a kind word as Jack had heard Victor utter. Despite that, Jack knew he respected him. Respected him in that way all soldiers do with one another. It was hard-earned and something most civilians couldn’t understand. There were, however, notable exceptions, and one of them was standing in the doorway.

Simon looked more himself than Jack thought he would. A clean shave and a shower had helped, but after what the man had been through he’d half expected him to appear at least somewhat fragile. The man standing in the doorway was anything but that. He was self-possessed and took in the room in that arrogant way Cross had.
 

Jack saw Travers flinch under Cross’ scrutiny. Jack might not have shown it, but he shared Peter’s worry. He wouldn’t be at all surprised if Cross strode across the room and socked him right in the mouth. He could hardly blame him if he did.

Renaud, seemingly unbothered by the fresh tension, walked casually over to the other side of the room near Travers. A slight nod of his head was the only acknowledgment of Cross’ arrival. That left Jack standing alone. He took in and then let out a deep breath, readying himself for whatever hell Cross wanted to unleash.

Simon looked at him, his expression unreadable, and started toward him intently. Suddenly, Jack thought standing next to all of these weapons might not have been the wisest choice.

Simon stopped in front of him, his chest rising and falling as he, too, took a deep breath. Then, much to Jack’s surprise and relief, he held out his hand.

“Thank you,” Cross said.

Jack took the offered hand. “I’m sorry—”

Cross shook his head, dismissing whatever apology Jack was about to give and turned toward Travers.

Travers’ expression mirrored Jack’s own feelings—confusion, relief—while Renaud looked mildly disappointed that there hadn’t been at least one punch thrown.

Simon turned to look at the guns lining the wall and Jack walked over to join Renaud and Travers. He and the latter shared surprised but pleased expressions. They’d both expected Cross to blow up, at least a little.
 

Renaud leaned against the wall and took a short stick and knife from his pocket and began to whittle. Little bits of wood shavings fell to the floor at his feet.

Simon admired the weaponry in silence for a moment. Then slowly, purposefully, he walked over to their side of the room. His eyes fell on the stacks of papers and piles of coins and currency. If they interested him, he didn’t show it. Instead, he pulled out a chair and sat down.

He looked at each man in turn, ending with Travers. “I want to thank each of you for everything you’ve done to protect Elizabeth and Charlotte.”

“If there were—” Travers started but Cross held up a hand and he fell into silence.

“If an easier path had presented itself, I’m sure you would have taken it.”

Peter let out a breath. “Yes.”

Cross leaned back in his chair. “I am … grateful.”

Peter was so surprised he wasn’t sure how to respond at first. “You’re welcome.”

“There is one thing I’m curious about,” Cross said. “How did they know … about Charlotte? I know you were told by Teddy. But how did … what’s his name?”

“Hawkins,” Travers supplied. “Through similar means, I believe. Someone from the future perhaps, and then the actuaries worked the rest of it out.”

Simon nodded. “That my daughter would, at some point in the future, bring about their downfall.”

Travers frowned slightly. “I can’t reveal much about that, you understand. Knowledge of the future—”

Simon nodded again and even offered a small understanding smile. “Of course.”

Jack wasn’t sure what to make of it. This calm, cool and collected Simon wasn’t what he’d been expecting. It was almost more unnerving than exploding Simon.

“And this Harding fellow—” Simon said, but was corrected by Travers.

“Hawkins.”

“Hawkins. He took over your position as director?”

“Yes.”

“And usurped your office, your control, everything? That must have been difficult.”

Jack knew something was wrong now. Under the best of circumstances, Simon might have been mildly sympathetic to Travers’ plight, but these were far from the best of circumstances.

Travers nodded and smiled gratefully at the acknowledgment. “Yes, it was. But we have bigger problems than my job.”

Simon hmm’d slightly. “And I suppose Hawkins was the one who gave the order to …” Simon paused here, his stoicism cracking ever so slightly before he willfully shoved it back into place, “to kill Elizabeth and eliminate the problem Charlotte would become.”

“Yes.”

Simon nodded and hmm’d again. He was so calm. He was
too
calm.

Cross looked around the room. “Where’s Fiske? I’d like to thank him as well.”

Travers frowned in thought. “I’m not sure. Around somewhere.”

Simon smiled and stood.

“We should talk about what’s next,” Travers said. “Our work is far from finished.”

“Yes,” Cross said. “It is far from finished.”

“Perhaps we can talk a little—”

“Later.”

With that, he looked at both Jack and Renaud then walked out.

Travers’ mouth nearly hung open at the abrupt exit.
 

Jack walked over to the window and saw Simon start to cross the lawn toward the barn. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

Travers joined Jack at the window. “Where’s he going?”

“To kill Hawkins.”

Jack and Travers turned in unison to look at Renaud. He stopped whittling and nodded toward the breakfront. “He took the dagger.”

“He—he can’t do that!” Travers spluttered.

“It is what I would do,” Renaud said as he resumed whittling.

Jack rushed out of the dining room and hurried outside.
 

“Simon!”

Cross ignored him.

Jack ran across the grass and caught him by the arm. “I know what you want to do.”

Simon pulled his arm from Jack’s grasp. “Then get out of my way.”

Jack put himself between Simon and the barn. “You can’t.”

Simon stopped and glared at Jack. “As long as that man is alive, my family is in danger.”

“I know—”

Simon started forward again, this time holding the knife up. “Then get out of my way.”