Tempus Fugitive (5 page)

‘Mortals,’ snorted Hecaté.  ‘Of course you are! Although no one else is –  being frozen, as they are.’

‘Oh,’ Stiles was disappointed.  ‘Oh well, never mind.  What are you doing there?’

‘I have, thanks to this very useful password, reached the mainframe, historical files, if I am correct, this anachronism here – ’  she indicated a highlighted report,  ‘Would seem to indicate that our friends are in Mediaeval Europe.  Why, do you think?’

‘Lost, probably.  Are they all right?’

‘Hard to say.’

* * *

‘Well, that’s a lot of peasants – with pitchforks,’ commented Denny.  ‘What’s going on, do you think?’

‘Who cares?  They probably have some grudge against whoever lives in the castle over there.  It’s none of our business.’

‘Where – sorry –
when
are we?’

‘Dark ages, I can’t be more specific, but judging from the accents and the scenery – it’s familiar – I think we’re in Aquitaine.’

‘France?’

‘No, Aquitaine, Texas.’

‘Very funny. Let’s go.  He’s not going to be here, is he?’

But it was too late; they had been seen.

They were advanced upon, and, before they could disappear into the undergrowth, they were surrounded.

It transpired that they had turned up in the middle of a siege.  One of many that occurred during the run up to the hundred years war.  (Which actually went on for one hundred and sixteen years in total, and stopped occasionally for no apparent reason.) Tamar remembered bits of it.  She estimated that they were around the end of the twelfth century.  Quite some time before the hundred years war began in 1337. She based this on frequent references from the serfs and soldiers to
Coeur de Lion
– Lionheart. 

Denny was excited when he heard this, but Tamar was scornful.  ‘We won’t actually get to
see
him,’ she said.  ‘Depending on the year, he’s either the Duke of Aquitaine or the King of England and Duke of Normandy – too important for the likes of
us
!  Anyway, he spent most of his reign in the Holy Land, either that or in prison in Germany.

They had been taken prisoner, their strange clothes and sudden appearance marking them out as possible enemy spies.  This, by the way, was the anachronism that Hecaté had spotted.  They were both, unfortunately, wearing jeans and Tamar was sporting a T-shirt emblazoned with the legend “Cool Chick”. 

‘Next time, we change clothes before anyone spots us,’ said Denny.

‘Well, duh!  Look, we’ll get out of here as soon as they chuck us in a dungeon. We’ll be alone then.’

But they were not taken to a dungeon; they were brought before the King. 

The Lionheart himself, back in France to defend his dominions from his bother Prince John. 

Tamar now revised her estimate, it must be around 1188, she said.  After Richard’s triumphant return and near to the end of his reign.

 They were standing in a great hall, surrounded by knights and minstrels and of course, on the dais, behind a long table, was the King himself in all his splendour.  They both felt extremely conspicuous, not to mention underdressed.

‘I feel like a Yankee in King Arthur’s Court,’ said Denny.  ‘Hey, you would know, was he real?’

‘Not now!’ hissed Tamar.

They were forced to their knees.

‘Who are you?’ asked the King.  ‘Are you spies?  You serve my treacherous brother John who some call “soft sword”, who has tried to wrest my kingdom from me while I languished in the Emperor’s prison?’  He spoke in French of course, and old French at that, but Tamar could understand him, and so, to his surprise, could Denny. It must be the power of the Athame, he thought.  

‘No, my liege,’ said Tamar.  Subservience came easily to her, after so many years of servitude.

‘I say you are!’ thundered Richard.  He was an impressive figure, every inch the archetypal king, tall and fair, and regal, and a right chump.  He stepped down from the dais and drew his sword.  He thrust it at Tamar, as the one who had spoken.  ‘You will tell the truth,’ he said.  ‘You will tell me everything.’  He stepped back.  ‘In time,’ he added.

‘Can’t you, you know, bat your eyes at him or something?’ hissed Denny.

‘I don’t think it would do any good,’ she hissed back.  ‘I think
you’d
have more luck than I would, at that.’ 

‘What?  Richard the Lionheart, really?’ he shook his head.  ‘That wasn’t in any of the history books.’

‘He never made a secret of it,’ she told him.  ‘Well I mean, look at him, who’s going to mess with him?’  Of course he didn’t advertise it either, but mostly people knew. –  Except his wife,’ she added as an afterthought.

‘SILENCE!’ thundered the King.  He waved a hand, and a minstrel began to play. 

‘Now
that’s
torture,’ said Denny.  ‘If he keeps that up, I’ll tell him anything he wants to hear.’

‘That’s how torture usually works,’ agreed Tamar. 

The King looked hard at Denny and leaned over to say something to one of his courtiers.

‘What do you think he’s saying?’ hissed Denny.

Tamar shrugged.  ‘Have that boy washed, and brought to my tent?’ she suggested. 

‘That’s not funny.’ 

‘Take them away,’ said the King, impatiently.  They were hustled out of the hall, and chained up outside, unfortunately in plain sight of far too many curious eyes.

‘And where is Sir Antoine?’ they heard the King demand as they were shoved out the door.

* * *

 It is called displacement. When something is full, then adding more only makes it overflow.

Hecate and Stiles were dealing with the overflow.

As represented, in this case, by the intolerably belligerent Sir Antoine D’Arcy. A man who would easily make up the total mass of Denny and Tamar combined – and perhaps a small dog too.

He had arrived in much the same manner as Stiles had on his return from the deleted file. That is to say – unexpectedly.

He had then, on perceiving his surroundings, let out a bellow of protest – as you might expect – and charged Stiles like a maddened buffalo, sword drawn and screaming defiance.

Hecate sighed; she had no idea who this maniac was or why he had suddenly appeared,   but explanations could wait. The first thing to do was to prevent him from skewering Stiles on the end of his sword.

* * *

‘Well, this is great,’ said Denny.  ‘The latest thing in manacles.’

‘I know.  Whatever happened to an old fashioned dungeon?  Nice and cosy – and
private
.  It’s funny; this just isn’t Richards’s style.’ 

‘Well, you have to admit, we
are
a couple of shady characters – what do you mean, not his style?  How the hell would
you
know?’

‘I just mean he never did things this way – from what I heard at the time.’ 

‘Well, look, why don’t we just get out of here?  People believed in magic in these days, didn’t they?  What could it hurt?’

‘I think two people just vanishing into thin air, might be too much for them.  The most they would have encountered before this would have been the odd witch, and they were
very
careful. We’ve caused enough trouble just by getting caught, who knows what the repercussions will be from that.’

‘I bet Askphrit’s not worrying about that. I bet he’d just …’

‘Well, I’m not Askphrit, and I’m not changing history any more than I can help.’

‘I didn’t mean … Look, what’s the worst that could happen?  So a few people see us vanish, so what?  In a hundred years, who’s going to care?’

‘You of all people should know better. Look what Askphrit’s time travelling antics nearly did to
you
.’ 

‘But that was deliberate. He’s trying to kill me.’

‘Okay, suppose one of those people is an ancestor of yours.  They see us vanish and end up in a lunatic asylum, never get married and have children,
ergo
you never exist.’

‘Oh, I see.’

  ‘And that could happen to anyone. It doesn’t matter whether or not it’s your ancestor. That’s just an example.  All these people are the ancestors of
somebody
. We don’t have the right.  One of these people could be the ancestor of De Gaulle for all we know.  But anyway, it doesn’t matter, even if you never have an impact on history, that doesn’t make it all right for someone to mess around with your life.’

‘Okay, okay, I agree, I just hadn’t thought it through.’

There was a silence.

‘The thing is,’ said Denny, eventually, ‘what
are
we going to do?  If everything you just said is right, then we can’t leave Askphrit running around in history doing God knows what!’ 

‘I know, I know, I’ll think of something, we’ve been in worse jams than this.  But I’m not going to do what
he
would do.  Two wrongs don’t make a right.’

‘Don’t spout cliché’s at me. I’ll think you’ve lost your edge.  When they come for us, we’ll just have to fight, and make sure we don’t kill anyone.’

‘Agreed.’ 

‘Or, if they leave us here, maybe we could escape at night.’

‘They won’t leave us, without a guard.’

‘I suppose not.’ 

A burly guard smacked Denny across the head.  ‘Shut up,’ he was told.  ‘You’ll have your chance to talk later, at the trial.’

‘Trial?’  Denny hissed at Tamar.

‘Coals of fire,’ said Tamar, ‘coals of fire.’

‘Gulp.’

 ‘No, we’ll be fine.  We have a magic assist, remember?  Besides, it’ll never get that far.’

‘So, you have a plan?’

‘Yeah, just leave it to me.’ 

‘Why am I not surprised to hear you say that?’

* * *

‘Thanks!’ breathed Stiles, ‘I’m not ready to be made into kebabs just yet,’ He tried to grin.

‘Hmm,’ Hecate was gazing thoughtfully at the stranger, now sleeping peacefully on the floor, having been hurriedly picked up and slammed heavily against the wall, thus bumping his head a little in the process. ‘Where do you suppose he came from?’

Stiles shrugged. ‘History by the looks of him. Why isn’t he frozen like everyone else?’

Hecate shook her head. ‘The historical files …’ she mused. ‘This man has been thrown clear of the file that Tamar and Denny have entered – that is clear enough, but why…?’

‘Well, if
you
don’t know…’ Stiles left this sentence hanging.

‘We must find a way to send him back,’ said Hecate effectively resolving all redundant speculation into one easy problem. Well one very difficult problem actually, but at least it was one they could get to grips with. Theoretically anyway.

* * *

They were left chained up all night.  Around midnight, they had hoped that the man guarding them was about to fall asleep, he was definitely nodding, but then another guard, who was as fresh as a daisy, relieved him.

‘I’ve been thinking,’ said Denny.  ‘How will we know when we’ve found Askphrit?  I mean he could be here, for all we know.’

‘He isn’t.’

‘How do you know?’

‘I just know.’

‘Like you knew how to get in and out of the files?  How do you know all this stuff all of a sudden?’

‘I don’t know, I just do.’  She thought about it.  ‘It’s weird, now you come to mention it, it’s like I’m being told, and then it’s as if I always knew, but I know I didn’t. I think we’re being – helped.’

‘Helped?  By who?’

‘Or what.  Maybe it’s …’

‘What?’

‘Nothing – I don’t know.’

‘Well, if there
is
someone who has that kind of power, why don’t they just go after Askphrit themselves?’

‘I don’t know, maybe they can’t.’

‘Well, why couldn’t they give us a bit more to go on, like the codes?  Or if they can tell you where he
isn’t
, why can’t they tell you where he
is
?  It’s like Clive all over again. Everything’s a bloody mystery.  Everything’s a bloody great slog.’

Tamar did not answer, so he carried on.  ‘So, you’re sure, that saying “close …”.’

‘Shhh.’

‘Sorry, but you’re sure it’ll work?’

‘Yes.’

Denny fell silent.  There did not seem to be much else to say.

At dawn, three guards came for them, one each to unlock them and a spare, presumably to look menacing.  When they were unlocked from the posts, Denny waited until the manacles were put back on his wrists; in other words, he had two pieces of very heavy metal attached to the end of his arms. Or to put it yet another way, his arms were like a hammer.  He brought his arms down on the nearest guard’s sword arm; the guard dropped the sword, cursing, and he bent down automatically to retrieve it. Denny swung his arms down onto the man’s head, knocking him out, despite the helmet.  Tamar followed suit.  As Denny flipped the sword from the ground with his foot and caught it, the third and last guard fled, screaming ‘Demons!  Demons!’

Tamar and Denny ran; a phalanx of soldiers had appeared with creditable alacrity. 

‘Jump!’ yelled Tamar, indicating the outer wall, which was at least thirty feet high.  ‘We might as well. We’re demons now, apparently.’

They leaped the wall, Tamar somersaulting like “Wonder Woman”; she had a wicked urge to give out an ululating war cry – so she did.  Denny landed on top of the wall and waved mischievously before jumping off.  There were gasps of wonder and fear.  ‘See, see, demons – they’re demons, leave them alone.’

They ran into a nearby copse.  ‘So much for not scaring anyone, with our freaky powers,’ said Denny.  ‘Demons indeed!’

‘It could have gone better,’ admitted Tamar.  ‘But demons they can handle, there’s a large section of the public here who believe that the Plantagenets are the spawn of the Devil himself and that King Henry, Richard’s father, was a demon.’

‘Oh, well in that case …
are
they?’

‘It’s a possibility I suppose.’

‘Are you making fun of me?’

‘It’s a possibility.’

Tamar held up her wrists.  ‘I hate wearing these things,’ she said.  ‘Bad memories.’

‘Yes, well, you can get these ones off,’ Denny pointed out, removing his own.  With a flick of the wrist, they fell apart.