Shift (ChronoShift Trilogy) (19 page)

They reached the lone tree and swung their rope over the fated branch.  After some heckling and jeering, they got down to business and sat Jefferson on a horse.   Plageanet wrapped the noose around his neck, an expression of sublime satisfaction inscribed on his face.

Both Ty and Mark readied themselves.  Mark sighted Plageanet through his scope.  The man’s eyes were not cruel like Regnier’s, just cold.  Cold, arrogant, and merciless.

“May I?”

Ty nodded.  “Be my guest.”

Plageanet slapped the rear of Jefferson’s horse.  The horse bolted and Jefferson slipped off, dropping fast. 
Crack! 
The branch snapped as planned, and Jefferson fell all the way to the ground.  Plageanet’s eyes opened wide in surprise, which would be the last expression the man would ever wear.

Mark calmly depressed the trigger, and then Plageanet was no more, his face disappearing in a cloud of red.  His body slid lifelessly from his horse.

The silencer kept the rifle’s report from being heard by the other men.  Initially, no one saw the blood, except a man standing to Plageanet’s right.  Mark took him out as well.  Ty dispatched Regnier almost simultaneously.

Three down in a matter of seconds.  The men were beginning to realize they were under attack, but not hearing the customary, loud crack of gunshots, nor seeing the expected puffs of gray smoke, they had no idea where to search for their ambushers.  Controlled panic ensued as they raced their mounts in circles, desperately seeking the source of the shots.  All had drawn their pistols, but they held them impotently pointed to the sky.

Ty swiveled and fired again.  Another man toppled from his saddle.  Several of the lynchers were now spurring their mounts to the safety of the tree line like there was no tomorrow.  One bold individual, however, rode over to Jefferson and brought his pistol to bear on the kneeling man’s head to finish the execution.  Mark almost saw what was happening too late.  He whipped his rifle around and dropped the executioner before he could pull the trigger.  A second shot killed another of the scoundrels at that man’s right.

With six dead, including their leaders, and two others in flight, the last two gave up as well and rode off like bats out of hell in full retreat.

Jefferson Sr. just knelt in the dust, palms up to the sky, a look of shock painting his visage.

Mark and Ty leaned back and raised their muzzles.

“You thinking what I’m thinking?” Ty asked.

“This ain’t gonna to work, is it?”

“Don't think so.  My plan sounded great until we actually did it.  There’s gonna be relatives and friends who'll want revenge.  They've no idea who we are, but they'll sure know who Jefferson is.”

“Yeah, he’s a dead man.  Not much way we can protect him now.  There’s always going to be someone after him.”

“So what now?”

“We could whisk him and his family away.”

“With this many white people dead, they'd probably pursue him to Siberia.”

“Why don’t we hang around the Martin plantation for a while, see if we can learn anything from the aftermath of our handiwork?  Maybe we’ll stumble across a better way there.”

“Sounds good to me.  Nice thing about these shifters,” Ty tapped his watch, “History’s never final.”

5:38 PM, April 15
^th
, 1863, Madison, GA

“Massah Martin shal’ be dow’n fort-wit.”

Mark had trouble believing he was standing in an actual functioning plantation home.  Expensive hand-made furnishings dotted the interior of the home, all finished in a dark walnut stain.  Plush, burgundy rugs blanketed the floors.  The wallpaper coverings were ornate and full of dark, but vibrant colors.  He waited in the parlor for the master of the home to attend to him.  Ty stood outside, waiting patiently.

“Sir?  I do not believe I have had the pleasure.”

The man’s smooth southern accent rolled off his tongue in a refined drawl.  His face was ordinary except for a slightly hawkish sharpness to his features, which was mostly due to a hook in the tip of his nose.  His dark hair was plastered flat with some kind of oil.  He had a lanky figure, which belied his imposing personality.

Mark stood.

“Phillip Trudeau, at your service, sir,” Mark responded, “Sorry to bother you, but we were traveling along the road near here when my slave fell and injured his leg.  He's sprained it quite badly, I fear.  We were on our way to Covington, but it appears he will not capable of continuing without some rest.  Might we trouble you for room and board for a few days.  I’d gladly reimburse your kindness, of course.”

“Mr. Trudeau, it would be our pleasure to host you,” the man flashed a slick smile, “Hospitality is a pillar of our society, is it not?  No payment will be necessary, of course.  You shall be our guest.”

The man’s head twitched to the side, an unusual look entering his eyes.  “Are you sure the injury is sincere?”

“Sorry, what?...No.  Uh, yes, I mean, I do know my slave quite well and feel I could tell if that were the case.  No, his injury is quite real and incapacitating, I’m sorry to say.”

“Some men would force him to continue regardless.”

“I believe in taking good care of my property.”

Martin smiled.  He understood that line of reasoning.

“Well, you are welcome to stay here while he heals.  My servants will take your things to your room.  Your man shall find a bed down at the slave quarters.”

“You are too kind.”

“On your way to Covington, eh?”

“Yes, we have relatives down there.”

“Ah, I see.  Well, I must excuse myself.  I have business to attend to, but perhaps we can chat more at dinner.”

Cool night air washed the plantation in tranquility.  Crickets chattered their comforting song to rich and afflicted alike.  Oak and magnolia branches waved in the blue moonlight under the influence of light breezes that came and went like ripples on a calm sea.  From somewhere down the row, the faint rhythm of slaves singing evening hymns drifted his way.  Smoke from a campfire mingled with the aromas of roasting meat and baked beans.

It was an altogether pleasant atmosphere, which Mark never would have imagined could belong to this oppressive time and place in history.

Intellectually, his mind knew in which time he stood.  Freedom was denied here to so many, yet right now, his heart couldn’t feel it.   For the moment, all was at peace.

Mark ducked through the low doorway into the warm interior of the shack.  It was warm now only because Jefferson Sr. had stoked the fire well for the cooking of the evening meal.  By morning, all the holes and cracks in the walls would allow the invading cold to dominate once more.

Mark and Ty had shared with Jefferson that they were the ones who had saved him, but only because it seemed easier than remaining incognito.  They had warned him to keep a tight lid on it, but the warning was unnecessary.  He knew the risks better than they.  He was curious to how they'd happened to be at just the right place at the right time, and what kind of magic guns could shoot without noise, but he was also used to keeping his mouth shut, so it wasn't hard to avoid his pointed and difficult questions.

Having a meal with a regular family was a nice respite from lonely bachelorhood for Mark.  Jefferson’s wife, who they called Gabi, served some sort of vegetable stew and fresh cornbread.  She was kind and hospitable, though the idea of a white man eating with them in her shack obviously made her nervous.

Their baby, Jefferson Jr., was only three months old.  He cooed and giggled, oblivious to the problematic world around him.  He’d rolled over for the first time that very morning.

After dinner, Mark stepped outside for some fresh air.  He knew he was making Jefferson and his family uncomfortable with his presence, but he wanted to keep a close eye on them.  He felt responsible for their welfare now.  Plus, he couldn’t stand the idea of lounging around up in that mansion while they were down here with Ty.  That just wasn’t his style.

It certainly confounded the Martins as to why he’d want to fraternize with slaves and deny himself comfort, but he didn’t care.  He wouldn’t be here long anyway.  Just long enough to get a feel for things, have a chance to hear local gossip, and come up with some other way to save Jefferson.

Whump!

Something heavy struck Mark hard in the back of the head.  Before he could turn to see his attacker, his legs gave out.  The last thing he saw was the ground rushing toward his face.

***

7:47 AM, April 16
^th
, 1863, Madison, GA

“Wake up, boy.”

Cold water splashed his face, shocking him back into full consciousness.   Gasping, Mark sat up and sputtered, struggling to get a grip on his surroundings.

He was in some kind of shack with a dirt floor.  It smelled of damp soil and smoked meat.  His back was to the wall.

His arms ached from being pinned behind him for some length of time.  When he tried to bring them around, he realized a cord had been wrapped tightly around his wrists.  His hands were tied behind his back.

His hands were tied behind his back!

He had no way to reach his watch.  No way to shift out of whatever mess he was in.  Desperately, he strained against the bonds to see if he could break them or slip out, but they held firm.

“No use strugglin’.  We gotcha tied up good.”

His ankles were also wrapped with a thick rope, which was knotted around a rafter in the ceiling.  The rope had a little play in it so he could move around a bit, but if he tried to go too far, the rope configuration would yank his feet out from under him.

Ty sat against the opposite wall, similarly bound like Mark.  He was awake too.   His face looked beaten and a trail of dried blood ran down one of his cheeks.  His head hung low, eyes to the ground, as if defeated.  Mark hoped that was an act for the sake of their captors.  The Ty he had gotten to know over the past few days wouldn’t give up so easy.

“Listen here, boy, Ah wanna know if you the man kilt my pa.”

“Who are you?”

“Hugh Plageanet.  You two kilt my pa, I’d bet my life on it.”

“Never heard of you, nor your pa.  I don’t have any idea what you talking about.  We were traveling to Covington to visit some family.  We stopped at the Martin house to rest while my slave’s leg healed.  Now, I demand you untie us!”

“Likely story I say.  If’n that so, whatcha you doing in Jefferson’s shack, the same slave pa was gonna hang for theft when he was kilt by some skirmisher?”

“I was looking for a bunk where my slave could sleep, and Jefferson offered his shack.  I don’t think Mr. Martin would look to kindly on you kidnapping his guests in the middle of the night.”

“Oh, John Martin, he’s all for it!  Once I told him six men were dead, including my pa, and that somehow his slave Jefferson was involved, why he was more than happy to help see justice brought.  When we found you two down at the shack, we knew you had to be involved somehow, bein’ strangers and all.  It only makes sense.  Mr. Martin, he agreed.”

“Martin may not think like us Plageanets as to the treatment of these no account negroes, but he sure ain’t gonna stick his neck out for one.  Much less for some stranger who don’t even sound like he’s from the South.”

They were on dangerous ground now.  Anybody not from the South was by definition a traitor.

“I’m from Richmond.”

Richmond, VA was close enough to Washington DC, that the lack of a strong southern accent could be explained.

“Could just as easily be from the other side of the border.”

Mark shrugged.  He glanced at Ty who still sat motionless.  This could get ugly for both of them fast.

“I obviously can’t convince you of the truth, so what are you going to do?”

“We gonna hang Jefferson and your’n slave too, jes’ for the heck of it.  We gotta talk some about you.  I reckon you’rn a northern spy, but there’s a chance you ain’t.  I’d hate to kill another southern boy when we’s so short on ’em already.”

Turning, he walked out the door and closed it behind him.  Ty lifted his face.  He sat more erect and his defeated spirit melted away.  No, he had not given up.

“You got some plan going, Mark?”

“I’m thinking.  We’ve got to get our hands free somehow.”

“You ain’t kidding.  This situation right here is noooo good.  No good at all.”

“We’ll think of something.  Regardless of what they decide about me, I won’t leave you.”

Ty smiled a smile that came from the heart.  “Didn’t think you would, buddy.  Still, I appreciate you saying it.”

“In a way, it’d be better if they let me go.  Then, I could go back and get our rifles and shoot you out of this.”

“Sure am glad you finally woke up.  They must have hit you harder than they hit me.  Plageanet’s spawn was having a good old time roughing me up before he decided to wake you.  By the way, Jefferson’s tied up outside.”

They heard footsteps and Ty changed back to intimidated slave mode.  Hugh Plageanet stormed back in, furious determination blazing in his eyes.  Three other men trailed behind him.