The Harry Ferguson Chronicles Box Set

by William David Ellis

“Not the same, Belle. I am a soldier. I go after the dark things that go bump in the night. Things that kill innocent people because they are in the way or simply because the beast is hungry.”

  Belle had never understood the difference and was about to debate it when Harry continued. “There are wolves, and sheep, and then there are sheepdogs. Some people can’t tell the difference, but there is one.”

  “I knew I shouldn’t have come. What is it you want? We need to end this conversation before one of us forgets there is a truce.”

  “It won’t be me, Belle.”

  She knew that was true and knew he knew it too, and it bothered her.

  “I honor my word too, Harry,” she said, her teeth clenching.

  Harry reached across the table and gently took her hand. “I know you do, but I am not the one who mentioned truce breaking.”

  Belle liked the touch of his large callused hands. She nodded and the tension eased. He tried to pull his hand back, but she held it.

  “Harry, I think that what you were trying to say a little earlier may have had something to do with…” And now Belle Rodum stalled.

  She winced. A sick grin tried to manifest but scurried away. She started again. “Harry, I read people’s body language almost as well as their words. The body has to be taught how to lie, whereas words seem to be born twisted. When I saw…” The words were hard to release; they created vulnerability, and being out of control was something Belle Rodum despised. She forced herself and tried again. “When I saw that you think… that you think we… have a child… it ah… amused me,” she lied through a forced smile.

  Harry looked at Belle and said, “Amused, uh, I don’t think so, Belle. I think you didn’t know whether to shit or say a prayer!”

  Belle choked and had it not been for her cobra quickness would have spewed truffle across the room. She wanted to laugh but her pride forced her to pretend offense. “I beg your pardon!” she huffed.

  Harry wouldn’t have any of it. “You can beg all you want and playact till dark, but you thought that was funny.” Then he sighed and rolled his eyes. “But you’re right, that was inappropriate and I shouldn’t have said it. Please forgive me.”

  Belle had never had an adversary apologize who was not begging for his or her life. She had been trained to see it as weakness. But when presented with someone who was not in fear of his life and who honestly admitted his fault, it was not something she had ever known. He certainly wasn’t weak.

  She stared back, uncertain. Harry shrugged and continued, “But Belle, we do have a child, and her name is Lizzy.”

  This time she had experience with the emotion.

  Belle’s body stiffened. She raised a hand like a traffic cop warding off cars, her eyes widened, and her breath stopped. She angrily shook her head and even tried to stand, but her legs wouldn’t hold her. Finally, she shoved her fears back into their usual crevices and spoke, haltingly. “How?”

  Harry’s eyebrows narrowed; his head moved back as he rubbed his forehead. Then he straightened and looked Belle in the eyes. Uncertain about what to say, he stuttered to a false start. “I do not… I mean I haven’t… I don’t know how, Belle, but the DNA matches, and the speaker sword was the one who verified it. When I first heard the news, I was as stunned as you are. There is no natural way this could have happened. But she lives. She is an adult in my home time. And now that I see you face to face with the opportunity to notice, I see she has your features.”

  Belle was a master of manipulation and deception; for the first time in her life she could not employ either. She just stared at Harry, who bore such a compassionate and painful look she laughed.

  “Well, I know that you did not take advantage of me. That’s for sure.” The threat in her tone was obvious as well as the fear that if any man could, but the last man that would, would have been Harry.

  “Of course not, Belle! You may be my enemy, at the moment, but I would never do that to any woman,” Harry responded in a half growl that did not go unobserved by Belle.

  By then Belle’s brilliant mind had come to a conclusion and she coldly announced, “Well, Harry, I suppose time is about to change. Your daughter, this Lizzy, is not going to exist, not ever.”

  Harry’s stomach clenched, his head dropped, and a pained expression darkened his face.

  Belle’s face also fell. She didn’t understand why—she had never loved anyone in her life, or even been close to someone who had really loved another. She sensed Harry’s agony and was surprised at her own reaction. Sorrow crept into her, a sadness she had no place for or means of comprehending. What is wrong with me? This is ridiculous. I need to get out of here! she thought.

  Harry saw her move to get up and, at first, was tempted to try and stop her. But then he thought, Why stop her? I don’t know what to say. I am devastated that Lizzy may never exist, but as I think about it, I realize Belle is experiencing the reaction that any sane person would. How can I expect any other? What would I have done? If she had said, “Sure, Harry, let’s make a baby,” that would have betrayed Sarah. But now what do I do? I love Lizzy. Lizzy’s mother doesn’t want to do anything but kill me, and the woman I do love is stuck in the form of a dragon.

  Belle Rodum stood slowly, testing her trembling knees. Finally, she stood to her feet, cast a quick glance at Harry’s stricken face, nodded, and turned to walk away.

  Harry stood as well, pain etching his face as he watched her turn.

  His attention was instantly diverted when he glimpsed a flash of movement over Belle’s shoulder.

  Harry’s armor and training reacted between heartbeats, supernaturally triggering his snakelike reflexes.

  A heavily muscled man with Aryan features shoved his table away and began firing a Luger. Before the casings had cleared the gun chamber, Harry shouted, shoved Belle down, and stepped between her and the assassin.

  The shots rang out, ricocheting off his armor, breaking glass, and piercing innocent bystanders, their screams adding to the chaos as they ran for cover. Belle’s training kicked in as well as her anger at Harry for shoving her toward the floor.

  With catlike quickness she was up, arms raised to strike at Harry, when another shooter rose and then another and began firing at both of them. Harry felt the bullets hammer him from his blind side and assumed Belle had fired the shots.

  He slammed into the first shooter, knocking the gun from his hand and consciousness from his body, then turned back toward Belle. She was hit, blood streaming from her side. She had managed to dispatch the second shooter but had not been quick enough to get to the third before his bullets had found their mark. Harry turned to attack the third shooter but was astonished as the man ran through the window and jumped into the Paris sky, screaming as his body fell four hundred feet to the concrete below.

  As he stared at Belle Rodum, a sad smile crossed her face and she whispered, “Silver bullets.” She took a step toward him, then crumpled into darkness.

  ****

  Belle’s first sense of regaining consciousness was an acrid antiseptic smell. As she drew closer to awareness, she also found herself listening to the quick click, click, click echo of hard-soled shoes walking down a long hall. She took a deep breath and felt a sudden pain in her side. She groaned and fell back into the dark. She didn’t stay there long. As she again drew closer to sentience, a stray thought landed. Hospital. I am in a hospital. A relieved sigh escaped and she allowed herself to settle.

  She was about to slip back into oblivion when she heard a growl. Her tensions rose instantly. She had lived with predators all her life, supernatural and otherwise. She knew growls. She tried to focus on identifying the creature behind the guttural rumbling. The more she listened, the more confused she got. The animal-like noise was not like anything she had ever heard. It wasn’t a wolf; it sounded a little like a bear. The closest thing her wounded mind could conjure was an asthmatic jörmungandr. Perhaps one had been wounded and its throat not healed. Then she heard the animal shudde
r, grumble, and mutter… “Sarah.”

  Belle’s eyes popped open. She tried to raise her head but discovered it was too much effort. As her eyes cleared, the predator came into view. Harry Ferguson, her adversary and now rescuer, was sleeping in a chair next to her bed in a hospital room. She slowly rolled onto her side, avoiding her bandaged wound, and watched him. His rugged features were softer in sleep. His skin was tanned and handsome. Even in sleep, he had character. Lechery, anger, deception—none of those things had marked him, but sorrow had left its scars. For a person gifted as she was in reading another’s body language, a sleeping body was like an open and honest book. She could see who he was, that he still believed in good causes and was incredibly strong-willed; he looked peaceful.

  As she watched, he whispered the name Sarah again, and when he did, she saw something else: she saw a broken heart. As she lay there watching him breathe slow, shallow breaths, she had the strongest desire to reach out and touch him. He was close enough to her bed that it wouldn’t be hard. She nudged toward the edge of the bed and was tentatively reaching toward him when she heard someone at the door and pulled back.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  After dinner, Kusaila escorted Sarah back to her tent.

  “I hope you enjoyed my people tonight, Sarah.”

  “I am grateful for the opportunity to get to meet them. They are a remarkable people.”

  “You fit in well with them. Several came to me during the meal and remarked on your graciousness and your beauty. They are glad you are here. You have given them hope.”

  Sarah frowned. “I don’t understand. How can I possibly have given them hope?”

  “They know you are a dragon person. They think that now with two dragons, you and myself, that maybe, just maybe, we can turn back the tide.”

  Sarah looked up into the bronze face of the desert chieftain. He could see the confusion on her face.

  “What don’t you understand?” he asked her.

  “I thought I was here to train and then to go back to my own time and my own people.”

  “You are here to train. But due to the uninvited presence of these invaders, your training will be… how do you say it? ‘On the job’ training… you will have the opportunity to apply your new skills protecting the people you just met.” He raised his hand to his chin and stroked his beard. “Why do I have the feeling this is news to you?”

  “Because it is the first time anyone has told me,” Sarah murmured in an icy tone.

  “The speaker sword seems to have a reputation for such as that. Many of the dragon riders who have helped us in the past were not aware till they got here that we were at war, battling for our very lives and children. Our enemy kills the warriors, enslaves their children to indoctrination, and then rapes our wives to ensure that their hordes continue to grow. I do not have time to be training the dragons and their riders if they are not willing to help my people survive.” The tenor of his voice had risen and an angry undercurrent lay just beneath the surface. “Can you understand that?”

  Sarah’s tone softened. “Yes, sir.” Her grandmother Grace’s lessons in manners guided her speech and she continued, “I understand perfectly. I’m sorry to have been so selfish. It has been a very long and emotionally trying day. Please forgive me.”

  The warrior chief’s eyes relaxed and a whisper of a smile slipped across his face. “Of course, my Sarah.” As they came upon her tent, he looked at her and asked, “Is there anything else you need before I take my leave tonight?”

  Her natural curiosity betrayed her. She didn’t feel it was appropriate to ask, but she had been observing and looking for the answer all night.

  Kusaila saw the question and the hesitancy and said, “Ask, Sarah, whatever you need. If I can’t help you I will send for one of my servants, and surely someone can see to your need no matter what it is?”

  Sarah stepped back into her thoughts. How am I going to get out of this? Kusaila stood waiting. Finally, she gulped and blurted it out. “Where is your wife, Kusaila?” She didn’t ask,

  Do you have a wife? but, Where is your wife? assuming that the chief of the Berbers would be married to at least one woman.

  “Sarah, I do not have a wife. Or a concubine. Nor have I ever. Many of my leaders are critical of this, but I, considering my short life expectancy, could not see making a woman I loved a widow. Or leaving behind children who would not be able to grow up with a father. If I had a family, they would be targets. And if we lose, they would be severely abused. Do you understand?”

  Sarah looked into the dark eyes of Kusaila and saw the pain there. She saw the self-sacrifice and unwillingness to cause loved ones to suffer. As she fixed her eyes on his, she saw them glisten and knew they had held back tears for a long time. Then she heard a voice. Her dragon senses unwittingly probing picked up a whisper. A question. Could she be the one? The whisper vanished before she could probe further and dark confusion replaced it.

  “Goodnight, my Sarah.” He nodded to her and walked into the night.

  Sarah was troubled as she walked back into her tent. She was glad to see someone had lit a candle and that it cast light enough for her to prepare for bed.

  ****

  After she had settled into the soft cushions and clean sheets that Kusaila’s servants prepared for her, Sarah slipped into a much-needed sleep but was interrupted by a familiar voice.

  “Good evening, Sarah.”

  “Now you show up… where have you been the last few days? If ever I could have used the counsel of an invisible friend, it would have been now,” she grumbled as she pulled the warm blanket over her head.

  The sword continued unperturbed, “Sarah, I guess I didn’t make it clear or you just don’t recall my explanation. I am not omnipresent. I have been with Harry and I assure you he needed—although doesn’t always heed—my counsel more than you have these last few days.”

  The speaker’s manner and choice of words troubled Sarah. “Is Harry okay? What’s happened to him? He’s not hurt, is he?” she said, sitting up in her bed.

  “He is fine now. Thanks to my ministrations. He has been in some battles, survived a few attacks, and destroyed a monster or two, but other than that he is fine.”

  Sarah yelped, “What?” Then words burst out like a fire hydrant. “I bet he could have used the help of a dragon too… but no, here I am stuck on the back side, literally the back side, of a desert while Harry is fighting for his life!”

  “Sarah, Harry is an extremely experienced and seasoned warrior. He could have used your help… yes. But he survived. Had you been there you might not have survived. You have to walk through this time… and since you have been made aware of the need of Kusaila’s people, I think you can see why you are where you are.”

  Sarah slipped back down into her covers, frowning but understanding. “I know… I know… these are wonderful people. They are good-hearted and compassionate; they love their families and are… amazingly self-sacrificing. They are tender and strong, disciplined and handsome. They deserve any help I can give them… although I don’t know how much that will be.”

  The speaker, listening to her, thought privately, Handsome? Are you talking about Kusaila’s people or Kusaila?

  “Sarah, I also have a message from Harry. Would you like me to give it to you now or do you want to wait till morning?”

  Sarah snorted, “Seriously, Speaker? Of course I want it right now!” She closed her eyes and the darkness before her turned into a parchment scroll that unrolled as she read. “I like the stationery, Speaker,” she quipped before beginning to read.

  Dear Sarah,

  I haven’t heard from you. I know the mail is slow across the centuries and timelines, but surely you can spare a moment or two to catch me up?

  If only, my love...

  Life for me has been tumultuous, and most of that because of my missions to stop Belle Rodum…

  That’s where I could help a lot: one little spurt of fire and poof… no more p
roblem.

  Who, by the way, lies beside me in a hospital bed in a French hospital.

  What? I’m fine with her being in a hospital bed… but what are you doing lying beside her?

  Now that I have your attention, let me explain.

  Good idea, peasant boy!

  We were having dinner in the Eiffel Tower restaurant.

  So that’s how they deal with assassins in your time now: take them to dinner?!

  Uh… okay, let me try that again…

  “I would if I were you,” Sarah growled under her breath, not aware that a small tendril of smoke had started to rise from her nostrils.

  I was trying to explain to her about Lizzy.

  Oh no, not that already… Harry!

  I had asked her to a truce, so we met in a neutral place, Paris, in a public place, a restaurant. She had already discovered that she and I… that we produced Lizzy.

  Kinda hard to slip that by her, wasn’t it?

  She thought I was insane at first…

  Well, maybe this witch has some sense, after all; I think I am starting to like her.

  But somehow soon realized that I was telling the truth… and really believed that she had a child with me after I explained it over dinner; then she adamantly refused.

  I do like her… and Harry, you are… crazy. What did you expect?

  I realized I would have done the same, had some idiot tried to convince me of the same.

  About time!

  I did not fault her, but at the same time I’m despairing that Lizzy will never exist.

  Oh, Harry, I bet you are… I am so sorry… Tears had begun to boil down Sarah’s cheeks, hissing as they struck the floor and turned to steam.

  But Lizzy does exist.

  Yes, she does.

  So, what happens? Happened? Time tenses confuse me.

  You and me both, beloved…

  At any rate, I thought it better not to press the matter.

  I bet she appreciated that… I mean, I can just see any woman’s reaction to “Why are you mad? All I said was let’s make a baby.”