The Time Corps Chronicles (Complete Series)

by Heather Blackwood

  The cat waited, giving him the silence he required when his brain was functioning well and he was birthing an idea.

  “If he didn’t know the time, then that’s important,” he said. “A Time Corps member always knows where in time they are. If he doesn’t, then he’s either lost, or outside of time.”

  “He sent the message from within the Library. So he was outside of time.”

  “Yes. But the bowl had to make it into the ordinary world. He had to get it out. But he didn’t just toss the thing into the void, hoping it would wash up somewhere useful. He knew, from his place within the Library, that it was going to Norway.”

  “Do you think the Library brushed up against Norway and he got it out somehow?”

  “Or he knew someone who could take it for him. You said the Library was filled with scholars. They’d come and go. Why couldn’t one carry something out?”

  “A possibility, but it puts us no closer to a location.”

  Huginn had to admit that she was correct. And he had lived so long, that pinpointing a date within his youth was impossible as well. He flew up to the top of the sail, taking his favorite perch and studied the coastline, distant patches of deep green cut by jagged slate-colored rocks, thrusting upwards. The land was so much emptier in this time than the twenty-first century, so much wilder. The people were as well.

  A gust of wind buffeted him, but he held on, turning into the bracing, frigid wind, relishing the sensation of being near his ancestral home. A moment later, something struck him so hard that he fell, the sky and sea spinning wildly in his vision until he flapped and righted himself. The ship was sailing on without him, and he flew after it. As he got closer, the thing hit him again, or rather he hit it. It was like flying into a wall, or a large glass window. Not that he had ever done such a foolish thing before.

  He tried another angle, and again, he could not approach the ship.

  “I can’t reach you!” he cried, “Tell Mr. Escobar to turn around!”

  A monkey near the top of the mast lifted his paw to show that he heard, and the little creatures scrambled to turn the ship. Once they were near, he landed on top of the dragon head.

  “It’s me!” he cried as Yukiko and Pangur Ban joined him. “I’m close to myself. That’s why I can’t go any closer to shore. We can’t go within ten miles of ourselves, which means I’m here!”

  Yukiko perked up at that. “All we need to do is find you and ask you about that statue. Oh, but what if you don’t remember where you saw the statue?”

  “I may not. But my brother will.”

  Yukiko walked into town, Pangur Ban beside her, and it didn’t take her sensitive sense of smell or keen eye to know that this place was a war zone. The stench of burning was everywhere, and even the icy ocean wind did not carry it away. She pulled her coat tighter around herself and adjusted her appearance to be an average-looking Northern European woman of about thirty, unremarkable and hopefully undesirable.

  Ships sailed away, one by one, vanishing into the distant fog, carrying away spoils and possibly people. This town had been sacked, and though there were still residents here, they moved quickly, heads down, as if wishing to become invisible. Music and song came from the largest building, toward the center of the settlement.

  “I would not go in there if I were you,” said Pangur Ban. “To be a female here is dangerous.”

  “I know. I just want to find the ravens and leave.”

  They searched the town, keeping to the edges of things, slipping silently between buildings and avoiding anyone who didn’t look terrified. Eyes watched them from slitted windows and peeped at them from shadows. Not a soul spoke to them.

  “The ravens are in the big building,” said Yukiko. “They have to be.”

  “Then I will go inside. You should not.”

  Yukiko agreed. Even if she changed into her fox form, she would draw attention. These were hunters, and the pelt of a snow-white fox might be too tempting for them to resist. No one would care about a little cat.

  But Yukiko would not be idle while Pangur Ban looked for the ravens. She studied the passersby, finding a woman in her fifties, one of the oldest people in the settlement. She used a little of her magic to make herself seem small and nonthreatening.

  “I am looking for two ravens,” said Yukiko. “Have you seen them?”

  “No. I apologize, but I must be going.”

  “Wait. Please.”

  Yukiko watched as the woman almost stopped, but then her sense of fear and wariness must have taken over and she continued on. Yukiko fell into step beside her.

  “Have you ever seen a statue of a white cat?”

  The woman did not answer, but instead looked up overhead. Two black birds flapped into the sky from the top of one of the nearby buildings. Side by side they rose, then turned toward the sea, flying out toward the ships in the distance.

  Yukiko cursed. The ravens had not been in the main hall and now they were gone for good. Before she could question the woman again, she slipped away and into one of the houses. Yukiko had to find Pangur Ban, and quickly. Perhaps they could catch the other ship and still speak with the ravens.

  The door of the house where the woman had gone opened and a younger man appeared.

  “You’re not from here.”

  “I’m not. I’m looking for a statue.”

  “So my mother said. What do you want with it?”

  “Do you know where it is?”

  “I’ve seen it. Why do you want it?”

  She wasn’t sure how to answer, but she used a little magic to make herself appear harmless and small.

  “It’s important to me. Could you tell me where it is?”

  He looked her up and down. “Why, so you can take that too?” He glanced toward the main hall and Yukiko heard the sounds of a baby wailing from within his house.

  “I’m not with the invaders. I am seeking to avoid them, in fact. But tell me, is the statue here in town?” she asked, watching him closely in case he gave away its location with a look.

  “It’s half a day’s travel south. In the next village. They were attacked too, and it might have been taken. Now get out of here before they do something to you. You shouldn’t be out alone.”

  The older woman appeared behind him, bouncing the fussy baby on her hip. Of the voices inside, she had only heard children and the man’s mother.

  “Did they take your wife?” Yukiko asked the man.

  “Her and others,” said the old woman, now with a gleam of hatred in her eye that Yukiko hadn’t seen when she was in the streets. “The filthy animals.”

  “Is she still here in town?” asked Yukiko.

  Perhaps, if she used her ingenuity, she could trick the invaders into abandoning their captives. A few choice illusions, a little cooperation with Pangur Ban and Huginn, and she just might be able to save a few.

  “No. All the captives were already taken by ship,” said the man.

  Fury burned inside her, both at the invaders and at her own inability to stop them. Even with Skidbladnir, they were no warrior crew. They’d be killed quickly if they pursued the attackers.

  “I’m sorry,” said Yukiko. “Will you stay here?”

  “We don’t know yet,” said the man. “But I’m not raising my girls where those men can get them.”

  She wished she had brought some money, gold or gems or anything valuable. Instead, she took off her earrings, simple gold studs, and gave them to the man.

  “I hope your gods bless you,” she said, and meant it. Once, long ago, she had been a servant of mankind, but also a servant of a kind and compassionate god. He was dead now, but it did not relieve her of her duty. She needed to remember that. Tailless and dishonored, she could still find purpose.

  She located Pa
ngur Ban, explained about the ravens flying away and headed back to the ship. Huginn was disappointed when he learned about his brother, but they had a location, at long last. They headed south, finding the next town. It was slightly inland, and they never would have known about it had the man not mentioned it.

  This place had not been attacked recently, but on the way into of town they found a few burned-out buildings, empty and picked-over. They got a few suspicious looks, but Yukiko concealed all three of them with enough magic to cause people to pass them by without trouble.

  Near the center of town they found a small temple, one story high with a wood-beam roof and rough stone walls. The interior of the place was dedicated to various Norse gods that Yukiko could not identify. Huginn took a particular interest in a crude statue of a man with one eye open, round and staring, and the other socket empty. The thing looked bizarre, like a winking elf, with a slightly pointed head. It had no real detail and wore no clothing other than a crude kilt-like garment.

  Yukiko recognized him. She also knew what it was like to lose the god one served, and she did not disturb Huginn as he sat in silence, but looked around outside instead. She asked a young man where she might find the white cat statue. He told her it was just outside of town to the east.

  They arrived to find the statue almost enveloped into the huge roots of an overhanging tree. The cat faced south, and it did resemble Pangur Ban, or any white cat for that matter, though it was slightly smaller. The cat shared a rectangular base with a shallow black stone bowl. A stone marker leaned up against the tree, obviously many years old as the base was partially sunken into the earth. There were other markers around the area, scattered here and there. Some of the stones were set into large elaborate patterns while other stood alone.

  “Graves,” said Huginn, hopping up to the cat statue.

  “I thought the Norse burned their dead,” said Yukiko. “I thought they launched them out to sea on flaming boats.”

  “Most did burn them,” said Huginn. “But only a high-ranking person warranted burning up a perfectly good boat. The rest were burned on land.”

  “Then why this grave?”

  “They’d bury the remaining parts and ashes, usually with a few personal possessions.” Huginn paused to read the words carved into the stone. “This was the wife of a chieftain. Foreign born. From the far south.”

  Yukiko studied the black marble bowl with the two ravens carved into it, beak to beak. There was writing along the rim, some in what she knew was Norse, some in another language, and some in English. It said, “Bowls are mirrors. Astrid.”

  “It says the same thing in Norse and a very old language from northern Africa, said Pangur Ban. “It’s rather crude, if I may say so.”

  “At least the English is readable,” said Yukiko.

  “The language doesn’t exist in this time,” Pangur Ban said. “We’re the only ones alive who can read it.”

  “That’s why I couldn’t read the English the first time I saw it,” said Huginn. “Only the Norse.”

  Yukiko picked up the heavy thing by its rectangular base and turned to go.

  “That’s odd,” said Huginn, and Yukiko turned back. His head was cocked to one side. “This isn’t a grave after all. It’s only a memorial marker.”

  “Did they launch her out in a boat?” asked Yukiko.

  “Perhaps. All I can say with certainty is that there’s no body here.”

  Chapter 39

  Hazel had to concede that Yelbeghen’s island was not a bad place to stay. It boasted all sorts of gardens, from spare desert landscapes where rough red lizards basked on rocks to tropical areas teeming with scurrying furry creatures that peeped at her from the undergrowth, only to disappear when she drew closer.

  There were birds too, and Hazel felt sorry for them, as the nearest land was over a hundred miles away and they could not fly to freedom. Ordinary brown ducks paddled around a murky green pond, but there were more colorful animals as well. Bright blue and gold storks waded through a marshy area along with smaller silvery bitterns. She also spotted a flock of ordinary brown sparrows and a solitary black and white hawk, which she only saw once, passing overhead.

  The topiaries frightened her. At first, they had seemed like ordinary sculpted bushes, carefully tended and decorative in a staid, traditional sort of way. Most were geometric, but a few depicted living things, large rodents and serpents, birds with wings outstretched, an elephant and a rearing horse. To the far southwest of the house, a row of topiary people stood, including children, a woman with a folded parasol and a man touching his hat. She found them charming. Then one turned its head to watch her pass and she rushed away down the path.

  After a long walk toward the center of the island, she found a fenced pasture with a few drowsy-looking sheep and some lop-eared goats grazing. A big creature, perhaps a bull, munched on grass in the distance. Spying her, it headed over and she could see it more clearly. It was an ox, a mammoth example of its species, with so many horns she couldn’t count them. There were perhaps a hundred. The thing’s head must have weighed a ton, but the animal managed to maneuver the horns well, raising its chin over the fence to gaze at her with soft, brown eyes in the hopes of a treat. She scratched its ears and it grunted, low and guttural and blew warm breath from its nostrils. The goats and sheep noticed Hazel and trotted over. One had nine eyes, all of them blinking at different times and another had triple cloven hooves instead of the typical split ones. Most were ordinary, as far as she could see.

  Hazel checked her pocket watch. Finally, her appointed time with Yelbeghen drew close. At first, she had thought he lived alone. But along with servants, he also had other people living there. Some were temporary guests, while others lived there permanently.

  She found the drake in a sitting room upstairs, one that provided a view all the way out to the ocean. He was alone, sitting in one of two matching apple green chairs that faced each other across an empty table. She noted that he had not served refreshments, which among her people in the South would have been a conscious insult. She was not certain what it meant to drakes.

  “If this discussion is regarding your raven friend’s brother, I already told Astrid that I don’t know. And if it’s about Astrid’s desire to take my Seelie friend from me, then I must tell you that your efforts will be wasted,” he said.

  “I have a different problem. A man who was turned to earth.”

  “In what way?”

  “He’s a golem. His master came and removed one of the letters from his mouth, and now he’s dead. His body turned to stone. Have you encountered anything like this? Do you know how to help him?”

  “I have never heard of a golem returning to life, no. They are created, obey their masters for a time, then rebel and become destructive. In the end, they must be destroyed.”

  “But this golem wasn’t bad. It was created for bad purposes, to kill people. But then he stopped and became good.”

  “Whether the creature had a bad or good purpose is all in your point of view.”

  “It’s objective reality, however much you may wish to characterize it otherwise. He was created to kill. He refused. His master destroyed him. And I want to bring him back.”

  “And you thought I would know how?” He seemed genuinely mystified by this idea.

  “Well, you’re very, very old, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “And we had to come here for Astrid to deliver that ball to you, so I thought you might know something about golems.”

  “I know nothing of bringing them back to life,” he said.

  “Do other people know? One of our friends said there might be information on golems in the Library, the Alexandrian one that burned. Is that true?”

  “I haven’t been there myself, so I can’t say what that place holds. It just might have what y
ou’re looking for. From what I know, no one ever wanted to revive a dead golem before.”

  “Well I do. He means a lot to me.”

  “I know the Librarian assisted the late Isis when she had troubles with her husband. Perhaps, if he could regain his sanity, he could do the same for yours.”

  “He’s not my husband.”

  “My mistake.”

  “Who is this Librarian?” she asked. “Would he know how to help Neil?”

  “Thoth. The ibis. Or, he used to be. Now he’s just insane. But long ago, when Isis’s husband had been turned to earth, he helped her. He won’t help you, however. You are no deity. Your deceased friend was not a god or demigod, and you are as insignificant a person as could be, living ship or no.”

  “You’re such a flatterer.”

  “I simply state a fact,” he said. “Some people are valued differently than others.”

  “Yes, I’ve heard. I lived through that era already. It seems you never left it.”

  “And value is in the eye of the beholder,” he said and uncrossed his legs. Leaning forward. “But far more interesting to me is this notion that you want to go to this Library to revive your friend.”

  She decided to tell him about Elliot. If Yelbeghen hadn’t been to the Library in all this time, then he wasn’t likely to notify anyone that the Time Corps was trying to infiltrate the place. There was no telling what he might know.

  “We have another friend trapped inside the Library,” she said. “We want to get him out.”

  “I see,” he said, and rose. He walked to the end of the room and back again. In a way, it reminded her of the Professor. Whenever he got busy thinking, he paced. Yelbeghen was more graceful, less animated, and unlike the Professor, he was unlikely to come up with some kind of wild, time-tearing idea.

  “You have a Door who can move between worlds,” Yelbeghen said. “But she can only travel within her own time. But you also have time machines, but the Library is outside of time. An intriguing problem.”