Timeline

by Michael Crichton

  “A key?”

  The guard snarled something, and Marek broke off speaking for a moment. Chris got up, brushing the damp off his hose. He said, “We have to get out of here. Where is Kate?”

  Marek shook his head. Kate was still free, unless the shouts from the guards he’d heard down the hallway meant that she’d been captured. But he didn’t think they’d caught her. So if he could make contact with her, she might be able to help get them out.

  That meant somehow overpowering the guard. The problem was that there were at least twenty yards from the bend in the corridor to where the guard was sitting on his stool. There was no way to take him by surprise. But if Kate was within range of their earpieces, then he could—

  Chris was banging on the bars of the cell and shouting, “Hey! Guard! Hey, you!”

  Before Marek could speak, the guard stepped into view, looking curiously at Chris, who had reached one hand through the bars and was beckoning him. “Hey, come here! Hey! Over here!”

  The guard walked up to him, swatted Chris’s hand, which extended through the bar, and then broke into a sudden fit of coughing as Chris sprayed him with the gas canister. The guard wobbled on his feet. Chris reached through the bars again, grabbed the guard by the collar, and sprayed a second time right in his face.

  The guard’s eyes rolled up in his head, and he dropped like a rock. Still holding on, Chris’s arm banged against the crossbars; he yelled in pain, then released the guard, who fell away from the bars and collapsed in the middle of the floor.

  Far out of reach.

  “Nice work,” Marek said. “What’s next?”

  “You know, you might help me,” Chris said. “You’re very negative.” He was down on his knees, reaching through the bars to his armpit, his hand grasping outside. His outstretched fingers could almost reach the guard’s foot. Almost, but not quite. Six inches from the sole of his foot. Chris stretched, grunting. “If we just had something—a stick, or a hook—something to pull him. . ..”

  “It won’t do any good,” the Professor said from the other cell.

  “Why not?”

  He came forward into the light and looked through the bars. “Because he doesn’t have the key.”

  “Doesn’t have the key? Where is it?”

  “Hanging on the wall,” Johnston said, pointing down the corridor.

  “Oh shit,” Chris said.

  On the floor, the guard’s hand twitched. One leg kicked spasmodically. He was waking up.

  Panicked, Chris said, “What do we do now?”

  :

  Marek said, “Kate, are you there?”

  “I’m here.”

  “Where?”

  “Just down the corridor. I came back because I figured they’d never look for me here.”

  “Kate,” Marek said, “come here. Quickly.”

  Marek heard her footsteps as she ran toward them.

  The guard coughed, rolled onto his back, then propped himself up on one elbow. He looked down the corridor and hastily began to get to his feet.

  He was on his hands and knees when Kate kicked him, snapping his head back, and he fell onto the floor again. But he wasn’t unconscious, only dazed. He started to get up, shaking his head to clear it.

  “Kate,” Marek said, “the keys. . ..”

  “Where?”

  “On the wall.”

  She backed away from the guard, got the keys on a heavy ring, and brought them to Marek’s cell. She put one key in the lock and tried to turn it, but it didn’t turn.

  With a grunt, the guard threw himself at her, knocking her away from the cell, into the center of the room. They grappled, rolling on the floor. She was much smaller than he was. He held her down easily.

  Marek was reaching through the bars with both hands, pulling the key out of the lock, trying another. It didn’t fit, either.

  Now the guard was straddling Kate, both hands around her neck, strangling her.

  Marek tried another key. No luck. There were six more keys on the ring.

  Kate was turning blue. She made rasping, choking sounds. She pounded her fists on the guard’s arms, but her blows were ineffectual. She punched at his groin, but his surcoat protected him.

  Marek shouted, “Knife! Knife!” but she didn’t seem to understand. Marek tried another key. Still no success. From the opposite cell, Johnston yelled something in French to the guard.

  The guard looked up and snarled a reply, and in that moment Kate brought her dagger out and slammed it into the guard’s shoulder with all her strength. The blade didn’t penetrate the chain mail. She tried again, and again. Furious, the guard began to pound her head against the stone floor to make her drop the knife.

  Marek tried another key.

  It turned with a loud creak.

  The Professor was shouting, Chris was shouting, and Marek flung the door open. The guard turned to face him, getting to his feet, releasing Kate. Coughing, she swung the knife at his unprotected legs, and he yelled in pain. Marek hit him twice in the head, very hard. The guard fell on the floor, not moving.

  Chris unlocked the door for the Professor. Kate got to her feet, color slowly returning to her face.

  Marek had pulled out the white wafer and had his thumb on the button. “Okay. We’re finally all together.” He was looking at the space between the cells. “Is this big enough? Can we call the machine right here?”

  “No,” Chris said. “It has to be six feet on each side, remember?”

  “We need a bigger space.” The Professor turned to Kate. “You know how to get out of here?”

  She nodded. They started down the corridor.

  30:21:02

  She led them quickly up the first flight of spiral stairs, feeling a new confidence. The fight with the guard had somehow freed her; the worst had happened, and she had survived. Now, even though her head was throbbing, she felt calmer and clearer than before. And her research had all come back to her: she could remember where the passages were.

  They came to the ground floor and looked out into the courtyard. It was even busier than she had expected. There were many soldiers, as well as knights in armor and courtiers in fine clothes, all returning from the tournament. She guessed it was about three in the afternoon; the courtyard was bathed in afternoon light, but shadows had begun to lengthen.

  “We can’t go out there,” Marek said, shaking his head.

  “Don’t worry.” She led them upstairs to the second floor, then quickly down a stone passageway with doors opening to the inside, windows on the outer side. She knew that behind the doors were a series of small apartments for family or guests.

  Behind her, Chris said, “I’ve been here.” He pointed to one of the doors. “Claire is in that room there.”

  Marek snorted. Kate continued on. At the far end of the corridor, a tapestry covered the left wall. She lifted the tapestry—it was surprisingly heavy—and then began to move along the wall, pressing the stones. “I’m pretty sure it’s here,” she said.

  “Pretty sure?” Chris said.

  “The passage to take us to the rear courtyard.”

  She reached the end of the wall. She didn’t find a door. And she had to admit, looking back along the wall, that it didn’t appear as if there was a doorway anywhere in this wall. The stones were smoothly and evenly mortared. The wall was flat, with no bulges or indentations. There was no sign of any additional or recent work. When she put her cheek against the wall and squinted along the length, it seemed all of a piece.

  Was she wrong?

  Was this the wrong place?

  She couldn’t be wrong. The door was here somewhere. She went back, pressing again. Nothing. When she finally discovered it, it was by pure accident. They heard voices from the other end of the corridor—voices coming up the stairwell. When she turned to look, her foot scraped against the stone at the base of the wall.

  She felt the stone move.

  With a soft metallic clink, a door appeared directly in front of her.
It only opened a few inches. But she could see that the masonry had concealed the crack with cunning skill.

  She pushed the door open. They all went through. Marek came last, dropping the tapestry as he closed the door.

  :

  They were in a dark, narrow passageway. Small holes in the wall every few yards allowed faint light to enter, so torches were not necessary.

  When she had first mapped this passage, among the ruins of Castelgard, Kate had wondered why it existed. It seemed to make no sense. But now that she was here, she immediately understood its purpose.

  This wasn’t a passage to get from one place to another. It was a secret corridor to spy into the apartments on the second floor.

  They moved forward quietly. From the adjacent room, Kate heard voices: a woman’s and a man’s. As they came to the small holes, they all paused, peered through.

  She heard Chris give a sigh that was almost a groan.

  :

  At first, Chris saw only a man and woman silhouetted against a bright window. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the glare. Then he realized that it was Lady Claire and Sir Guy. They were holding hands, touching each other intimately. Sir Guy kissed her passionately, and she returned his kiss with equal fervor, her arms around his neck.

  Chris just stared.

  Now the lovers broke, and Sir Guy was speaking to her as she stared intently into his eyes. “My Lady,” he was saying, “your public manner and sharp discourtesy provoke many to laugh behind my back, and talk of my unmanliness, that I should tolerate such abuse.”

  “It must be so,” she said. “For both our sakes. This you know full well.”

  “Yet I would you were not quite so strong in your manner.”

  “Oh so? And how, then? Would you chance the fortune we both desire? There is other talk, good knight, as you know full well. So long as I oppose marriage, I share those suspicions that many harbor: that you had a black hand in my husband’s death. Yet if Lord Oliver forces this marriage upon me, despite all my efforts, then no one can complain of my regard. ‘Tis true?”

  ” ‘Tis true,” he said, nodding unhappily.

  “Yet how different is the circumstance, if I show you favor now,” she said. “The same tongues that wag will soon whisper that I too was party to my husband’s untimely end, and such tales will quickly reach my husband’s family in England. Already, they are of a mind to retake his estates. They lack only the excuse to act. Thus Sir Daniel keeps a watchful eye upon all I do. Good knight, my woman’s reputation is easily defiled, never to make repair. Our sole safety lies in my unbending hostility toward you, so I pray you tolerate what slurs may vex you now, and think instead upon your coming reward.”

  Chris’s jaw dropped open. She was behaving with exactly the same intense intimacy—the warm glance, the low voice, the soft caresses on the neck—that she had used with him. Chris had taken it to mean he had seduced her. Now it was clear that she had seduced him.

  Sir Guy was sulky, despite her caress. “And your visits to the monastery? I would you visit there no more.”

  “How so? Are you jealous against the Abbot, my Lord?” she teased him.

  “I say only, I would have you visit there no more,” he said stubbornly.

  “And yet my purpose was strong, for whoever knows the secret of La Roque commands Lord Oliver. He must do as he is asked to gain the secret.”

  “God’s truth, Lady, yet you did not learn the secret,” Sir Guy said. “Does the Abbot know it?”

  “I did not see the Abbot,” she said. “He was abroad.”

  “And the Magister claims to know not.”

  “‘Tis so, he claims. Yet I will ask the Abbot again, perhaps tomorrow.”

  There was a knock on the door, and a muffled male voice. They both turned to look. “That must be Sir Daniel,” he said.

  “Quick my Lord, to your secret place.”

  Sir Guy moved hastily toward the wall where they were hidden, pulled aside a tapestry, and then, as they watched in horror, he opened a door—and stepped into the narrow corridor alongside them. Sir Guy stared for a moment, and then he began to shout, “The prisoners! All escaped! Prisoners!”

  This cry was taken up by the Lady Claire, who called out in the hallway.

  In the passage, the Professor turned to them. “If we’re separated, you go to the monastery. Find Brother Marcel. He has the key to the passage. Okay?”

  Before any of them could answer, the soldiers came running into the passageway. Chris felt hands grab his arms, pull him roughly.

  They were caught.

  30:10:55

  A solitary lute played in the great hall while servants finished setting out the tables. Lord Oliver and Sir Robert held the hands of their mistresses, danced as the dancing master clapped time, and smiled enthusiastically. After several steps, when Lord Oliver turned to face his partner, he found that her back was turned to him; Oliver swore.

  “A trifle, my Lord,” the dancing master said hastily, his smile unwavering. “As your Lordship recalls, it is forward-back, forward-back, turn, back, and turn, back. We missed a turn.”

  “I missed no turn,” Oliver said.

  “In deed, my Lord, you did not,” Sir Robert said at once. “It was a phrase in the music which caused the confusion.” He glared at the boy playing the lute.

  “Very well, then.” Oliver resumed his position, held out his hand to the girl. “What is it then?” he said. “Forward-back, forward-back, turn, back. . ..”

  “Very good,” the dancing master said, smiling and clapping the beat. “That’s it, you have it now. . ..”

  From the door, a voice: “My Lord.”

  The music stopped. Lord Oliver turned irritably, saw Sir Guy with guards, surrounding the Professor and several others. “What is it now?”

  “My Lord, it appears the Magister has companions.”

  “Eh? What companions?”

  Lord Oliver came forward. He saw the Hainauter, the foolish Irisher who could not ride, and a young woman, short and defiant-looking. “What companions are these?”

  “My Lord, they claim they are the Magister’s assistants.”

  “Assistants?” Oliver raised an eyebrow, looking at the group. “My dear Magister, when you said you had assistants, I did not realize they were here in the castle with you.”

  “I was not aware myself,” the Professor said.

  Lord Oliver snorted. “You cannot be assistants.” He looked from one to the other. “You are too old by ten year. And you gave no sign you knew the Magister, earlier in the day. . .. You are not speaking sooth. None of you.” He shook his head, turned to Sir Guy. “I do not believe them, and I will have the truth. But not now. Take them to the dungeon.”

  “My Lord, they were in the dungeon when they got free.”

  “They got free? How?” Immediately, he raised his hand to interrupt the reply. “What is our most secure place?”

  Robert de Kere slipped forward and whispered.

  “My tower chamber? Where I keep Mistress Alice?” Oliver began to laugh. “It is indeed secure. Yes, lock them there.”

  Sir Guy said, “I will see to it, my Lord.”

  “These ‘assistants’ will be surety to their master’s good conduct.” He smiled darkly. “I believe, Magister, you will yet learn to dance with me.”

  The three young people were dragged roughly away. Lord Oliver waved his hand, and the lutist and the dancing master departed with a silent bow. So did the women. Sir Robert lingered, but after a sharp glance from Oliver, he too left the room.

  Now there were only servants, setting the tables. Otherwise, the room was silent.

  “So, Magister, what game is this?”

  “As God is my witness, they are my assistants, as I have told you from the start,” the Professor said.

  “Assistants? One is a knight.”

  “He owes me a boon, and so he serves me.”

  “Oh? What boon?”

  “I saved his father’s life
.”

  “In deed?” Oliver walked around the Professor. “Saved it how?”

  “With medicines.”

  “From what did he suffer?”

  The Professor touched his ear and said, “My Lord Oliver, if you wish to assure yourself, bring back the knight Marek at once, and he will say to you what I say now, that I saved his father, who was ill with dropsy, with the herb arnica, and that this happened in Hampstead, a hamlet near to London, in the autumn of the year past. Call him back and ask him.”

  Oliver paused.

  He stared at the Professor.

  The moment was broken by a man in a costume streaked with white powder, who said from a far door, “My Lord.”

  Oliver whirled. “What is it now?”

  “My Lord, a subtlety.”

  “A subtlety? Very well—but be quick.”

  “My Lord,” the man said, bowing and simultaneously flicking his fingers. Two young boys raced forward with a tray on their shoulders.

  “My Lord, the first subtlety—haslet.”

  The tray showed pale coils of intestines and an animal’s large testicles and penis. Oliver walked around the tray, peering closely.

  “The innards of the boar, brought back from the hunt,” he said, nodding. “Quite convincing.” He turned to the Professor. “You approve the work of my kitchen?”

  “I do, my Lord. Your subtlety is both traditional and well executed. The testicles are particularly well made.”

  “Thank you, sir,” the chef said, bowing. “They are heated sugar and prunes, if it please. And the intestines are strung fruit covered with a batter of egg and ale, and then honey.”

  “Good, good,” Oliver said. “You will serve this before the second course?”

  “I will, Lord Oliver.”

  “And what of the other subtlety?”

  “Marchepane, my Lord, colored with dandelion and saffron.” The chef bowed and gestured, and more boys came running with another platter. This held an enormous model of the fortress of Castelgard, its battlements five feet high, all done in pale yellow, matching the actual stones. The confection was accurate down to small details, and included tiny flags from the sugary battlements.