TimeBomb: The TimeBomb Trilogy: Book 1 (29 page)

‘Let me frame my question differently,’ said Dora, undeterred. ‘From when does she hail, my lord?’

At this Sweetclover spun on his heels and fixed Dora with a sharp stare. ‘Why would you ask such a question?’

Dora stood her ground, meeting Sweetclover’s gaze. Sarah stood by her daughter’s side, looking bewildered and scared.

‘I would ask it, my lord, because I would fain know the answer,’ replied Dora. ‘I have reason to believe that she hails from years hence. That she has journeyed here across a sort of magic bridge that traverses the river of time. What say you to such an idea?’

‘I would say,’ he replied, ‘that my wife’s suspicion of you, which I have hitherto not shared, seems now to be most prudent. You know things that a scullery maid should not. I wonder, does this make you dangerous to us?’

Dora shook her head. ‘Not so, my lord. But I fear it may make
you
dangerous to
me
. I only wish I understood why that should be the case. You use my mother and me most ill.’

‘And I am sorry for it,’ he said, with seeming sincerity. ‘But my wife wishes to talk with you, and I wish to attend the conference.’

‘I am told that your wife is a woman most dangerous.’

Sweetclover laughed softly. ‘That she certainly is, to those who would seek to do her harm. If you pose no threat, you have nothing to fear.’

Dora turned to Mountfort. ‘Do you believe that, Master Mountfort? Did you help save me from the noose only to deliver me to a witch who can conjure fire from dry wood and commands a militia most unnatural? A hag who hides her monstrousness behind a mask? A foul creature who …’ She was prevented from finishing her sentence by the ringing slap that Sweetclover dealt her across the face. Dora cried out and staggered backwards.

‘You will speak of her with respect,’ snapped Sweetclover.

Sarah also cried out in alarm, and held her daughter’s arm to support her. She flashed Sweetclover a look of total incomprehension. ‘My lord,’ was all she could manage to say.

But Mountfort found his tongue easily. He stepped forward, placing himself between the women and his new commanding officer. ‘That will not stand,’ he said, raising his sword. ‘I will not abide such behaviour.’

Sweetclover dismissively batted the sword away with his bare hand. ‘You will follow orders, Goodman Mountfort, if you seek the glory attendant upon saving the king.’

‘There is no glory in wanton cruelty, my lord,’ he replied.

Sweetclover sighed and shook his head. ‘I knew I was not born to be a leader of men,’ he said ruefully. ‘I have had one soldier under my command for ten minutes and already he flies to mutiny.’

‘Young Goodwife Predennick,’ said Mountfort to Dora. ‘If you would care to lead your mother back the way we came, I will ensure you leave unmolested.’

‘I cannot allow that, Mountfort,’ said Sweetclover, but his attempt to recapture his authority was futile.

In a single smooth movement, Mountfort flipped the sword around and smashed the hilt hard against Sweetclover’s skull. The lord of the manor dropped like a stone. Sarah screamed and knelt by Sweetclover’s side. Dora and Mountfort looked down on her with a mixture of pity and disgust.

‘We must away from here,’ said Mountfort, taking Dora’s hand.

‘On the contrary, brave friend,’ she replied. ‘We must hurry to the aid of my companions. Quickly, help me hide him.’ She bent down, took Sweetclover’s ankles and looked up at Mountfort expectantly. ‘We can hide him behind some of these kegs.’ Mountfort reluctantly took Sweetclover’s wrists and together he and Dora laid him behind a row of barrels, hidden from view. As soon as this was done, Dora picked up the candle and hurried forward into the gloom.

‘Bring my mother.’

Presented with no option but to obey, Mountfort took Sarah’s hand – the other was at her lips as she bit her nails nervously – and pulled her along in pursuit. They reached a small chamber that marked the intersection of three vaults – the one they had just travelled along, and two others which snaked away to the left and right. Ahead of them was a small wooden door, partly ajar.

Dora stood waiting for them, peering down the two other chambers, confused. ‘This is the door through which we entered, but I can see no evidence of any kind of room in any of these chambers.’

‘Who are these friends you seek to aid, Mistress Predennick?’ asked Mountfort, placing a hand on her arm to stop her hurrying away. ‘Are they girls, such as yourself?’

Dora shook her head. ‘They are older than I, but no less victims of Lord and Lady Sweetclover.’

‘But you believe them to have been captured by their militia? These men with blue faces who do not fall when peppered with musket balls?’

‘It is possible.’

‘Then they are lost, miss, as surely as your brother’s soul. And so will we be, if we fall into their hands. You said this door was your means of ingress. If so, we should use it now, to flee this devilish place while we still can.’

Dora shook her arm to dislodge Mountfort’s hand. ‘I will not abandon them. But you are, of course, free to leave on your own account.’

Mountfort stared her down for a moment, but he could see she was not to be turned from her course. ‘In which case, I am sorry, but for the sake of your own safety, I must compel you.’ Knowing that she was not going to come quietly, but determined to do whatever was necessary to safeguard the wilful girl, he sheathed his sword, stepped forward and grasped her tightly in his arms. She gave a cry of outrage and kicked him in the shins.

‘Unhand me this instant,’ she said.

Mountfort shook his head. ‘You will thank me for this one day, I swear.’

She writhed and kicked, wriggled and pushed, but he was able to drag her to the small door. He stopped dead, however, when he felt her teeth bite softly into his left ear. ‘Now now,’ he said. ‘You wouldn’t.’

Her teeth remained clamped there for a few seconds until she released his ear and leant backwards, still in his grasp. ‘You are right, I would not. But I would do this.’

For a moment Mountfort did not know what she was talking about, then he felt a sharp agony in his right wrist and looked down to see her holding the candle flame to his flesh. He yelled loudly and released her, springing backwards as the pain shot through his arm.

‘You ungrateful cub,’ he swore as he blew on the livid red burn. ‘I am trying to save your life.’

‘I am tired of being rescued,’ replied Dora hotly, ‘and then being told what to do. I accept your intentions are honourable but your assistance is unwelcome. I thank you for your earlier aid, but the tunnel is there, and I suggest you take it. Meanwhile I would like, if you do not mind, to attempt some rescuing of my own for a change.’

As Mountfort stood there, hopping from the pain in his shins and wincing from the burn on his arm, he decided to acquiesce. He had tried, he told himself. Nobody could have done more. If this girl wished to run towards danger, that was her right. He was about to take his leave when a beam of blinding white light shone down the tunnel and illuminated them.

‘Who is there?’ came the voice Lady Sweetclover, who he surmised was producing the unnatural light by witchcraft.

Mountfort cursed under his breath. There was no escape for him now. ‘It is I, milady, Mountfort. Your husband dispatched me to bring this girl to you.’

‘Dora? Is that Dora Predennick?’ The voice of the woman behind the light was both surprised and, he thought, angry.

‘It is,’ said Dora haughtily.

‘Bring her,’ snapped Quil.

Dora looked back at Mountfort as he unsheathed his sword. Her eyes asked him whether he was still her ally. Churlishly, he gave her no response, but gestured for her to walk ahead of him.

Sarah, who has stood silent and still through all this performance, finally spoke up. ‘That’s my girl,’ she said, seemingly to herself. Mountfort suppressed a smile, and followed the two ladies as they walked into the light that showed the way to their enemy’s lair.

Dora could have sworn the doorway through which Quil led them had not been there when she looked down this corridor earlier. The large chamber that lay beyond it was filled with the kind of machines she recognised from the central labratree, so she was far less shocked and afraid than her mother, who whimpered and held her hand tightly, or Mountfort, whose eyes bulged in amazement at the floating screens and the soft hum of machinery. There were five of the militia guards standing motionless at various points around the room; the only part of them that moved was their eyes, which followed Dora in a way that made her flesh creep.

Jana and Kaz were nowhere to be seen, so hopefully they were still at large. She cast a quick glance at Mountfort, again trying to ascertain whether their argument had changed his mind about helping her, but he gave her no indication either way.

Dora turned her attention to the enemy she had gone to such lengths to track down. Quil stood about six feet tall, a height which seemed freakish to Dora but which she guessed was not uncommon for women of the future, given Jana’s height. She was slender, and dressed in trousers and shirt which flattered her figure. Again, Dora had to remind herself that such attire was common in years to come. Quil wore brown leather gloves and a smooth, white mask. Dora thought maybe it had been carved from some fine stone. There were two wide ovals through which she could barely make out Quil’s eyes, and a series of small holes in a line to mark the mouth. Beyond that there was no adornment – no painted eyebrows or rose blushes to approximate glowing cheeks. It was white, cold, hard and impassive. Dora could make out four metal clips, two on each side, from which leather straps snaked behind her head to hold the mask in place. A cascade of brown hair tumbled around the mask, but something about the way it sat made Dora feel sure it was a wig. The only inch of exposed flesh was at Quil’s neck, between her shirt collar and the chin of her mask; it looked scarred but not raw. She was an altogether singular sight – broken on the inside, but projecting a proud and confident façade.

Quil held up a hand. Dora and Sarah stopped, with Mountfort behind them, still holding them at the point of his sword.

‘I helped you,’ said Dora before Quil could begin talking. ‘I heard your cry, I came to render aid. I held out my hand to you in your moment of need and how do you repay my kindness? You send me into the future, hold me captive, stick me with needles, steal five years of my life, ruin my parents. And for what? Who am I to you to be used thus?’

For a moment, Dora thought Quil was going to be reasonable; something in her body language spoke of weariness. But the moment passed. Quil crossed the distance between them in two long strides and struck Dora a ringing smack across the face. Dora cried out and staggered backwards into the arms of her mother, who gasped and then began, almost silently, to cry.

‘Where is she?’ demanded Quil.

‘Where is who?’ shot back Dora, disentangling herself from her mother and standing tall again, determined not to cower in the face of aggression even though her twice-slapped cheek felt swollen and hot.

‘The woman who was in that bed,’ snarled Quil, pointing to a door that led Dora knew not where.

‘I do not know to whom you refer,’ replied Dora. ‘This is the first time I have set foot in this room.’

‘Then where are your two friends? Yojana and Kazik. Were they down here?’

‘I don’t know who you’re talking about,’ said Dora, folding her arms defiantly. ‘I have returned here to visit with my mother. That is all.’

Quil stood silently before Dora, clenching and unclenching her fists, her eyes wide with fury. But after a moment she took a deep breath, lowered her head and sighed. When she looked up again she peered closer, examining Dora’s face, then held out her hands placatingly. ‘How old are you?’ she asked. ‘How long has it been for you since our first meeting?’

Suspicious of Quil’s sudden calm, Dora answered warily. ‘I have slept but once since you threw me across the time bridge.’

This answer seemed to shock Quil, who took a step backwards and breathed, ‘Once?’ in wonder. ‘Then this is the first time we have met since that day?’

‘It is.’

Quil seemed to consider this for a moment. Dora could never, in her wildest dreams, have expected what Quil said next.

‘I apologise for my temper,’ the masked woman said. ‘You must be very confused by everything that has happened to you.’

Dora did not trust such sudden solicitousness, so she did not relax her defiant stance.

‘You did come to help me, of course you did,’ Quil continued. ‘And I am grateful. I didn’t know my touch would send you through time. It was an accident. A side effect of my own journey. I was full of potential and you earthed me.’

Dora did not understand what this meant, but did not interrupt.

‘You cannot blame me for the five years you have lost,’ Quil continued. ‘I have no control over where or when your travels will take you. As for your parents … I don’t know your father. But yes, I have been forced to modify your mother’s behaviour a bit. We needed a cook, and we needed to stop her spreading stories. But I’ve caused no permanent damage. I used a simple machine from my time, on its lowest setting. The procedure is easily reversed. Although looking at her right now, I’d say she’s in shock, so it might be best to wait until she’s calmer. Sometimes people who’ve been conditioned like she has go a bit screwy if they have a big surprise. It’ll wear off. Here.’ She fished a small packet from her trouser pocket and tossed it to Dora, who caught it. ‘Open that up, slap one of the patches on her wrist. I use them for the pain, but it’ll put her out like a light. Kindest thing.’

Dora glanced at her mother, who was staring at the floating screens in mute wonder, and decided that some strange medicine might be the very thing. She examined the packet and after a moment’s examination realised she needed to peel it open. Inside it she found a patch of cloth, sticky on one side only. She pressed it to her mother’s wrist. As she did this, she continued to talk to Quil, whose unexpected civility had left her befuddled. ‘You possess a machine that can change the very substance of a person’s mind?’ she asked.