Queen's Peril

by Darin Kennedy

  “He’s about the right age to be Audrey’s grandfather.” Niklaus smiled as the boy and his father reunited with a strapping young man in uniform with a chest full of ribbons just visible in the dim light. “And Audrey never ceases to remind us that she comes from a military family.”

  “We’ll probably never know.” Steven headed for the front of the crowd. “Come on. We’ve got bigger fish to fry.”

  Two years. Arthur Pedone’s nose ran like a river in the morning chill. Two years and it comes down to these last two steps.

  The flash of dozens of cameras blinded the young man as he stepped off the gangplank and onto the dock. He offered the various photographers his most convincing smile, though truth be told, the last thing he wanted to deal with after months in a war zone was yet another barrage of flashing lights. He glanced back across his shoulder at the naval frigate that had been his home for the last several days and slapped the back of the man walking next to him.

  “Looks like we’re finally home, Rex.” Arthur’s breath came out like thick smoke in the frigid morning air.

  “It would appear that way.” Sergeant Rex Caesius clasped Arthur’s shoulder. “If all goes well, you should be a free man again in a matter of days.”

  “Right. Free. Speaking of which, you never did answer my question.”

  Caesius shot Arthur an amused glance. “And what question would that be, Arthur?”

  “What in the blue blazes am I going to do now?” Arthur pulled the collar of his coat up around his neck. “It’s not like colleges were beating down my door before I left and ‘expert with an M-1’ won’t get me too many interviews on this side of the Atlantic.”

  A quiet chuckle passed Caesius’ lips. “Robert Frost said that ‘Home is the place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in,’ if I am not mistaken.”

  “I’m not going back there, Rex.” Arthur’s expression grew stony. “Maine has seen the last of me, I promise you that.” He squinted through the morning haze at the city before them, the lights from the windows of the various buildings like thousands of eyes staring down at them. “Who knows? Maybe I’ll stay here. Try out the Big Apple for a while.”

  “That sounds like a fine idea, my friend, though I would not be so quick to dismiss your home, your roots, your family.” Caesius stared off into the distance. “Some things that are lost can never be regained.”

  Arthur pondered the words for a moment. “Hey, it’s not like I’m not going to visit. I just want to try something new. Something exciting. Something—”

  A pulse of sound erupted from the duffel bag slung across Caesius’ shoulder. His expression shifted from casual nonchalance to acute awareness.

  “This cannot be.” Caesius dropped the bag and worked at the lock that held it closed. “At least not now. The time has not yet come.”

  “What are you talking about?” Arthur watched as Caesius fumbled in his pocket for the large ring of keys he kept there. “What’s going on, Rex?”

  Caesius ignored the questions as he labored to get the duffel bag open. From within, he pulled out a small pouch, its white leather old and weathered. Embossed around the top of the bag were strange symbols the likes of which Arthur had never seen while a silver cord tied around the pouch’s neck held it closed. Freed from its olive drab prison, the pouch began to drone in earnest.

  “What is that thing?” Arthur stared at the pouch. “And why is it making such a racket?”

  “That ‘racket’ is exactly what I was counting on.” The voice came from behind Arthur and Caesius. “Though I’m kind of surprised you can hear it.”

  Arthur turned and squinted through the dim light of early morning to find two figures heading in their direction. Bundled in a heavy overcoat, the man in the lead appeared to be in his late twenties and, in the parlance of Arthur’s infantry brethren, moving with a purpose. Behind him rushed a man who towered over most of the soldiers milling about on the dock, his broad shoulders and close-cut blond hair not unlike that of many German soldiers he’d encountered in the preceding months. Both faces were turned up in earnest half-smiles touched with an undercurrent of worry.

  And strangest of all, a look of recognition.

  “Sergeant Caesius?” The man in the lead spoke in hushed, harried tones. “May I have a word with you?”

  “Certainly,” Caesius asked with a hint of trepidation. “And who, may I ask, might I have the pleasure of speaking with?”

  “My name is Steven Bauer.” He offered a slight bow. “This is my associate, Niklaus Zamek.”

  “Who?” Arthur shot Caesius a puzzled glance. “What do you two want?”

  “Bauer, eh? And Zamek?” Caesius’ mouth turned up into a crooked grin. “Fate, it seems, has lost all sense of subtlety.”

  “You know who we are then?” Steven crossed his arms.

  Caesius raised a curious eyebrow. “Not precisely, Mr. Bauer, nor can I fathom how you possibly could have found me without the very artifact I hold in my hand, but I suspect I know why you are here, at least in part.”

  “I certainly hope so.” Steven let out a relieved sigh that exited his mouth in a plume of steam. “We’ve come a long way.”

  12

  Boys & Girls

  “Let me get this straight.” Arthur Pedone put up a hand to block the wind whistling through the dark alley, lit a cigarette, and took a long drag. “Up until four months ago, you gents were alive and well some sixty years in the future and now you’re stuck here in ‘the past.’” He let out a chuckle. “What, did your jetpacks run out of fuel or something?”

  The curiosity and wonder in the visage of the man who decades hence would call himself Grey negated Arthur’s incredulous stare. “All sarcasm aside, my friend does pose an interesting question.” He studied Steven for a moment, his grey eyes fixing him with their steely intensity. “Assuming, of course, that the pair of you are still in possession of your faculties, tell me: how is it that you came to be displaced in time?”

  Steven shot him a sardonic grin. “I’ll give you one guess.”

  Caesius whispered a single word. A name. “Zed.”

  Steven lowered his head in a grim nod. “As I understand it, killing us wasn’t an option.”

  “So he did the next best thing.” Niklaus spread his arms wide. “And here we are.”

  “You’ve all been reading too much H. G. Wells, I’d say.” Arthur took another drag off his cigarette. “I like a good science fiction story as much as the next guy, but if you start spouting off about time machines and Morlocks, I’m leaving.”

  “Now, Arthur.” Caesius shifted his gaze to his friend. “Let us hear them out. I suspect their story is far more interesting than any fiction you have read.”

  “Going by Caesius these days, huh?” Niklaus stroked his chin and smiled. “I took Latin for a couple years in university. Clever.”

  “I have always felt that what we call ourselves becomes part and parcel of who we are, would you not agree, Mr. Zamek?” Caesius studied Niklaus. “Your appellation, for instance, speaks of strength, power, invincibility, and yet you hide behind walls of your own design and hurl barbs at the world below.” He turned to Steven. “And you, Steven Bauer. A conundrum, indeed. A leader, yet still a follower. Always at the forefront, yet ever a step behind. You seek answers to questions you can barely voice.”

  Niklaus and Steven shared a disquieted glance.

  “Do not be dismayed.” Caesius offered both men a warm smile. “Though we have yet to discuss the specifics of your banishment to the past, it is clear the two of you are among the Chosen for the coming iteration of the Game. Trust that in many ways I understand each of you better than you understand yourselves.”

  “Chosen?” Arthur’s hands went to his hips, his brow bunching together in consternation. “What in blue blazes are you three talking about? Rex?”

  Caesius rested a hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “I am sorry, my friend, but there are things about me you do not know nor could e
ver understand.” At his friend’s insistent stare, he added, “It would take considerable time to even begin to explain.”

  “Well, from where I’m standing, it looks like we’ve got nothing but time.” Arthur dropped the cigarette to the wet ground and stamped it out with his foot. “Let’s hear it.”

  “You trusted him before.” Steven took a breath. “I mean, you trust him sixty years from now. Whatever. God, this is confusing.”

  Caesius let out a resigned sigh. “Very well, though might I suggest we seek somewhere less exposed to continue our discussion?”

  “Agreed.” A connection that had sputtered in Steven’s mind for days suddenly flared to life. “In fact, I think I know just the place.”

  The quartet waited outside Dante’s Deli for better than half an hour in the frigid January air. Arthur, his slight build providing little protection from the cold, shivered despite being bundled up in his government-issue trench coat. Still, not a single complaint or grumble left his lips. Even Niklaus kept his tongue for the most part, though Steven guessed a sarcastic remark or two swam just below the surface. Only Caesius seemed unaffected by the bone-chilling cold. His patient demeanor bordered on stoic, and as always, Steven wondered what thoughts danced behind those tired, grey eyes.

  “You’re sure they won’t miss us?” The anxiety in Arthur’s voice came through loud and clear. “I mean we’re pretty much AWOL, Rex.”

  “Everything will be fine, Arthur.” Caesius crossed his arms, a smug half-grin on his face. “I have made certain arrangements to ensure neither of us will be missed today.”

  Steven knew all about such “arrangements” and wondered briefly if anyone in Chicago had given his existence so much as a second thought since the man standing across the circle had first come into his life. Even now, better than half a century before they were fated to meet, the man he knew as Grey seemed possessed of a confidence and surety Steven not only admired, but envied.

  The sky had just begun to pink when the lights inside the deli came on. Stuart Matheson stepped into the dining area from the kitchen, his russet hair still wet from his morning shower. Moving slowly as if he hadn’t slept well, he grabbed a damp rag to wipe down the wood countertop. Steven tapped at the window, giving the man a start. With a quizzical expression plastered across his face, Stuart let the four men in and, after a few brief introductions, showed them to a table at the rear.

  “So,” Steven asked, “where should I begin?”

  “At the beginning.” Caesius steepled his fingers below his chin. “Where else?”

  For the better part of the morning, the four men discussed the series of events that led Steven and Niklaus to their current predicament. Stuart provided the quartet an impressive spread of bagels and pastries and kept their coffee cups full but otherwise left them to their business. The new kid, Andrew, despite having followed Niklaus around like a baby duckling since his first day on the job, also gave their table a respectful distance. The third member of the deli’s staff and the one Steven had counted on seeing, however, was nowhere to be found.

  As Steven told his tale, he made a conscious effort to leave out any mention of Arthur or Ruth’s involvement. Learning too much about the future, particularly that his wife of better than sixty years most likely waited under that very roof, likely represented more than the already-baffled nineteen-year-old veteran across the table could take.

  Caesius took in all Steven said with little reaction, his usual hawklike expression as impassive and inscrutable as ever, though one aspect early on in Steven’s tale seemed to captivate his attention more than any other.

  “You claim I charged you with collecting the remaining Pieces.” A rare look of surprise crossed the man’s features. “Of this you are certain?”

  “You made it pretty plain. ‘This task is yours and yours alone,’ I believe were your exact words. Not much wiggle room on that one.”

  Caesius’ eyes slid shut, a long sigh escaping his lips.

  “What is it?” Steven had seen that look before. “Does that mean something?”

  “It is nothing.” Caesius looked again at Steven, his eyes even more tired than they had been a moment before, and sipped at his coffee. “So, you drew your icon from the pouch and adopted your role as the Pawn. What then?”

  Steven debated whether to push the issue. Caesius was avoiding telling him something, and he had a sneaking suspicion this particular something was quite important. He could read in the man’s weary gaze, however, that it was a discussion best left for another day.

  As the man he knew as Grey continued to hang on his every word, Steven marveled at how their roles had reversed, he the one with all the answers and Caesius the one asking the hard questions. Still, regardless of the impossibility of the situation, the grey-eyed mystery man who claimed to have been alive for centuries maintained a certain calm, and Steven guessed that even in that moment, the man knew more than he let on.

  An hour into his tale, Steven finally came to the events of the Brooklyn Bridge and their fateful encounter with the Black. He recounted the last words Grey had said before disappearing into darkness.

  “So, it is to be today.”

  “On the bridge that day.” Steven stroked his chin. “You seemed to know what was about to happen. What Zed intended to do. I can only assume that knowledge came as a result of this conversation.”

  “And your point would be?”

  “My point?” The exasperation in Steven’s voice came through loud and clear. “Why in the hell don’t you warn us of what’s coming?” His eyes narrowed. “You could’ve at least saved yourself, right?”

  Grey sighed, a placating smile spreading across his face. “The answer to your question is quite complex, but at its root, quite elementary as well.”

  Steven’s cheeks went red hot. “For God’s sake, just this once, can’t you just answer a damn question?”

  Caesius paused, weathering the tsunami of Steven’s frustration, though his smile did dim a bit. Strangers and yet not strangers, the pair studied each other without a word for a moment that seemed to last hours. Stuart brought a fresh pot of coffee but wisely held his tongue as the conversational stalemate continued. Arthur didn’t say a word, and even Niklaus managed to keep quiet for once.

  “Very well,” Caesius said eventually. “Simply put, the way things happened is the way things happened.”

  “But, you know what’s coming.” Steven’s hands shot up in exasperation. “I’m sitting here telling you Zed is going to con us all into a trap and, barring a miracle, win the Game. Can’t you change that? Don’t you care?”

  Caesius let out a weary sigh. “I know it seems counterintuitive, Steven, but these events are written and cannot be changed. You and Niklaus sit here in a deli in New York City decades before either of you were born because the events of one day unfolded the way they did. Any attempt by me or anyone else to change the events of that day would ultimately fail, as the impetus to do so would be predicated on this very conversation. What you have described is what did happen to you and what will happen to me.”

  “But…”

  “I appreciate your concern, Steven, but it is ill-placed.” Caesius’ smile returned. “As I see it, I now know that I will live to see the next iteration of the Game, that all of the White Pieces will be safely gathered together, and that they will have a true leader to guide them.”

  Steven let out a sarcastic chuckle. “Some leader I am. In case you missed it, Nik and I are stuck in 1946 while the rest of the White, including you, have ended up God knows where or when.”

  “If you truly believed that,” Caesius washed down a bit of bagel with a gulp of coffee, “you would not be here.”

  “He’s right on that one, Steven.” Niklaus broke his uncharacteristic quiet, his gaze filled with admiration. “Things may look impossible, but we’re going to make it out of here.”

  Steven raised an eyebrow. “That’s pretty optimistic, don’t you think?”

  �
��Don’t you get it?” Niklaus asked. “This little side trip back in time is all part of a bigger picture. It’s like I was saying before. We haven’t been removed from the Game. This, all of this, is the Game.”

  “The Game.” Steven rested his forehead in his hand. “And what makes you so sure?”

  “Look.” Niklaus leaned in. “Our grey-eyed friend here rescues you from a blind date from hell, and then, in the space of three days, you pluck the rest of us from the wreckage of each of our lives and set us on a path to greatness. Not one of us looks back, and in days, it’s like we’ve all known each other forever.” His face lit up with hope. “It’s fate, Steven.”

  “Fate.”

  “Yes. Fate.” Niklaus motioned around the restaurant. “Here we are, sitting in a deli in the Manhattan of 1946 having bagels and coffee with a man you won’t meet for decades. We were sent here by a man who is his opposite in an eternal contest that decides the direction of the world, all in an effort to win said competition by default.” He swept his hands wide. “Move and countermove. Attack and defense. All of it, nothing but parts of one giant, convoluted, incredible Game.”

  “Your friend speaks wisdom.” Caesius smiled. “I could not have said it better myself.”

  Steven groaned. “You two are making my brain hurt.”

  “That makes two of us.” Arthur let out a sarcastic laugh. “Do any of you have any idea how crazy all of this sounds? It’s like you… Wait. Who in the world is that?” Through the course of the conversation, Arthur’s expression had shifted from incredulous to confused to attentive and back again, but in that moment, he appeared nothing short of enthralled, his gaze suddenly fastened on a point across Steven’s shoulder. A familiar gasp followed by the sound of shattering glass made perfectly clear the object of Arthur’s attention.

  Ruth stood by the counter, her cheeks already rose-red with embarrassment, amid a pile of broken glass that had recently been a tray of juice glasses. She stooped for a moment in an attempt to clean up the glass before abandoning the chore and rushing to the back.