by Donna Hosie
* * *
—
And then my breath caught in my chest. If I had been able, I would have screamed.
Charles and Alexander of Cleves disappeared. Body and spirit gone in the blink of an eye. It could not be, and yet I knew what I had seen.
They were sorcerers.
* * *
—
I shrank back in the shadows, breathing hard, willing myself not to whimper. My thoughts came as fast as my breath. Whom could I tell without implicating myself? I was out of bed and unaccompanied. That alone would bring me trouble. And there was hardly any wisdom in telling anyone regardless. No one spoke of witchcraft without bringing suspicion upon themselves. I could see the blade of the axe falling on my neck for merely sounding the alarm.
No, I dared not tell a soul what I’d just seen. And yet…
Witchcraft could still save you, whispered a voice in my head.
My breath slowed as the thought wended its way through my brain. Perhaps. Perhaps this was so. Perhaps the mere threat of exposure would persuade the sons of Cleves to help me—to see that I got out of this court. And if I was going to burn in the fiery pits of Hell, I would not be alone in that eternal torment. I had been raised not only to love God, but to fear Him too. The king was now the Supreme Head of the new Church, and those of us who adhered to his word became followers too, but old ways, old fears, do not die on the words of a king driven by lust.
My eternal soul clawed at me. Would the Devil himself want me if I turned to dark ways? If so, I would take the brothers of Cleves with me, from this life into the next, if they refused to aid me now.
Curse them.
Curse them all.
Excerpt from The Forty-Eight Tenets
Through your Director, you will receive orders from the Termination Order Directorate (TOD), a top secret, multinational scientific unit established shortly after the United States bombed Hiroshima and Nagasaki, Japan, in August 1945. TOD’s formation was, in a sense, a “fortunate” by-product of the Manhattan Project, born of the very science that had so recently led to the development of an atomic weapon of mass destruction.
As with many scientific endeavors that chart new territory, experimentation has revealed applications for nuclear fission. As certain implications of nuclear fission became clearer, TOD was formed and funded by a clandestine group of forty-eight like-minded and well-funded citizens from around the globe whose objective it was to bypass the corrupt morals of governments to sustain mankind into the future, with the understanding that some human collateral damage is necessary for the preservation of the masses. This objective was, and is, to be achieved through a series of missions carried out by human Assets over time—and through it. Assets are trained to be time writers—weapons of historical manipulation—whose successful travel relies both on the reconfiguration of human anatomy on an atomic level through space and time, and on the use of carefully harnessed cosmic strings. Over several decades, TOD’s finest physicists have perfected the time travel technique, pinpointing precise dates using the radiation emitted by objects created at the source of the time destination.
You are now in The 48.
Director Asix surveyed the small group of Asset trainees with eyes so dark they were almost black. Exhausted tension rippled through the students. They had been awake for two days.
This was their final test before selection—a process Alex and I had already been through. Now we were observers in the gallery, glorying in the knowledge that we would never have to face the preselection test again. The Asset trainees on the floor knew better than to make eye contact with us, but they were aware we were there. And they knew our presence meant we had just returned safely from our first reconnaissance mission. Meaning we had officially joined the only gods that mattered: The 48.
* * *
—
“Ready stance!” barked Asix.
In one fluid movement, the group stepped left, leaving their legs apart. As one, they raised their hands to their sternums, closed them into fists, and lowered them to their navels.
“On my count…Taebaek Dan…three…two…one…”
Tiger Stance, Low Knifehand Opening Block, Right Front Kick, Right Front Stance, Double Punch.
“Death Tenet!” shouted the director.
“Do not fear death!” they all cried.
Front Stance, Swallowform Knifehand Strike, Right Front Stance, Left Punch, Left Front Stance, Right Punch, Right Front Stance, Left Punch.
They completed the next movements in the tae kwon do black belt form in perfect synchronization.
“But do not make death your friend!”
The air in the windowless room vibrated as every trainee’s voice became one. Alex and I watched transfixed. It was beautiful, almost like a dance.
Six steps later, Mason Isaacs screwed up. Asix’s cane whacked Mason’s legs, and he collapsed. He didn’t make a sound. When he got to his feet, he limped to the side of the room, overtightening his black belt in his fury at himself. He would have to repeat the sequence until he got it right.
I didn’t sympathize with his pain or his humiliation. He was weak.
“Death is your master and your servant!” continued the remaining ten voices. Only eight would recite the next line of the Tenet after another two exhausted trainees failed to complete the next movements to Director Asix’s satisfaction.
“There is no escape!”
Tiger Stance, Scissors Block, Right Front Kick, Right Front Stance, Double Punch, Tiger Stance—with the right foot, with the right foot—Scissors Block, Left Front Kick, Left Front Stance, Double Punch.
“For it comes to all in the end!”
* * *
—
The final two words—screamed by the six remaining—hung in air so ripe with carbon dioxide I felt light-headed just watching.
The trainees returned to the ready position. My heart was thumping in my chest for them. Had they passed? Would they get to experience what Alex and I had?
The door opened and Piermont walked in. I felt Alex flinch. Piermont had that effect on people. It wasn’t just his appearance, which was large, menacing, and severely scarred from the many altercations he’d weathered over and through time.
It was more than that. Of all the Senior Asset Instructors, he was the most exacting. The most ruthless. And as Alex and people like Jack McConnell knew especially well, he was the most sadistic.
I didn’t want to think about Jack McConnell right now.
“They need to repeat,” Asix told Piermont, gesturing to the trainees still gasping on the side of the room. “The rest are dismissed. Charles Douglas, Alexander Douglas—follow me.”
As Asix turned to leave, the faint smell of mint wafted through the air. It was a scent all senior Assets had about them, and I would too one day. If I was fortunate enough to live that long.
Alex and I swapped the briefest of glances as Piermont passed us without comment.
“Did you hear me, sons of Cleves?” Asix asked sarcastically. “Physics lab, now.” He walked out without a word of congratulation to the trainees who had passed, but they all looked too exhausted to care. The 48 could have thrown a party and they wouldn’t have had the energy to go.
Not that we ever had parties at The 48.
I looked back at Mason and the other failures as we left the room. I wished I hadn’t. For Mason Isaacs, the threat of Piermont now overseeing his retesting had done what a cane to the back of the legs hadn’t. His face was a picture of fear.
* * *
—
The signal for the end of trainee lessons was sounding as Alex and I hustled after Asix. The physics lab was in the outer block, well away from the institute’s dormitories, living quarters, and Asset training areas. From a distance, the entire institute looked like a prison. Each building was ten stories high. There we
re bars on the windows, and the doors were usually locked. The buildings were painted ocher, but in the winter—which seemed to begin in September and last all the way to May—it would get so cold the snow would stick to the walls.
It wasn’t for camouflage. We didn’t need it. No one knew we were here.
The lab was the newest building, even though physics was the cornerstone of TOD and The 48. It was the oldest Imperative lesson, and arguably the most important.
The last building had been gutted by fire. An electrical fault, apparently. Alice whispered that it might have been sabotage.
Alice whispered a lot.
* * *
—
Director Asix had outdistanced us and was waiting for us in the new building’s main corridor when we entered. It was so white and clean and clinical in there that the faint shadow of a figure in the far corner of the hallway wasn’t hard to detect. But Asix had his back to it, so unless he had eyes in the back of his head, the eavesdropper was safe.
My stomach tightened and I tried not to flush. I should have been angry with Alice for listening in. I should have reported her to Director Asix. This wasn’t her time. And we weren’t together anymore. There was no reason for her to be here.
But this was an important day for my brother and me. And if Asix was about to do what I hoped he would, then a minuscule part of me was glad Alice was witnessing it.
“Aramis has informed us that you did well on your reconnaissance,” said Director Asix. “I have a note here for you that came with his observations. Deputy Director Grinch and I have evaluated your report, and you are authorized for the full RE assignment.”
I tried not to grin. Before now, RE missions had only been assigned to highly experienced Assets. Our hard work had paid off.
“Cryostorage is in room two.” Asix gestured to the door at his right. “The code to enter is eight-six-three. From there, you are to access the storage drawers. The pills for the forty-eight-day assignments are stored in the first drawer in the center console. Take only one each. Do it now.”
Alex and I turned to the door. I input the code. The sound of decompressing air hissed as the door opened.
“This is a test,” I whispered as we entered. “To make sure we follow instructions.”
“Yeah, which means they’re probably listening in. So for the record, please don’t make me out to be an idiot.” Alex smiled at me. “I’m already capable of doing that by myself.”
We reached the center console. I felt no itching desire to go pawing through any of the other drawers lining the wall, even though there were at least twelve of them and thin wisps of cold vapor were lazily drifting out of the edges of one. We retrieved our pills as instructed. Each was contained in a small, clear protective packet.
“Back to your dormitory,” instructed Director Asix when we returned. He handed me the letter from Aramis; it was sealed. “Doors are still locked at seventeen hundred hours. If you’re late, you sleep outside. No exceptions. Even if you are Assets now.” My stomach dropped as he glanced toward the area where Alice had been hiding, but she was gone. “I should not have to reiterate that the cryostorage code is for official Assets only. You are now part of something that is bigger than either of you. Take care to remember that.”
His polished shoes tapped on the white-tiled floor as he left us. I looked down at the letter. My hands were shaking.
“Director Asix shouldn’t have to reiterate…but he did anyway!” said Alex.
“No turning back now, brother.”
“Why would we turn back?” replied Alex. “I can’t wait to get back to the Tudor court.”
“Okay, show me,” called a voice from the shadows. Alice slipped out from behind a pillar and walked over to us. She was wearing skinny olive-colored jeans and a thick white sweater, which was three sizes too big.
I wanted to hug her.
I didn’t.
“We’ve been given the go-ahead,” said Alex, shaking his little bag with a bright blue oval pill inside it. “We’re officially Assets.”
“How was it?” asked Alice. “How was the Tudor court?”
“Amazing,” I replied. “The adrenaline rush is something that training just can’t prepare you for.”
“And we’re already a big hit with the ladies,” said Alex, laughing. He stopped quickly when he saw the look on my face.
Alice kept her face neutral as she looked at my pill bag. “Why did you only take one? Asix didn’t check. Seems like it might be smart to take a couple of extras, just in case.”
“We took one each because that’s what we’re supposed to do,” I replied, still fighting the urge to hug her. “These are the forty-eight-day pills, and we only need one because we’re only going to the one destination. He didn’t check because he trusts us.”
“Is that it?” asked Alice. “Or is it that you trust him?”
“Would you have taken more than one?” asked Alex.
Alice smiled. “I guess I’ll have to see when it’s my time. Now, are you going to open that letter?”
I looked at Alex, who shrugged. He had no problem with Alice seeing the contents, and neither did I.
I thought it would be an evaluation, but it wasn’t. It was a single piece of ocher-colored parchment.
C/A:
I commend you on a solid reconnaissance.
By now you’ve received word that you are to continue with the full assignment.
Before you depart, be advised that while you work exceptionally well together, it was over my protests that Asix and Grinch permitted this Asset pairing. Assets must be prepared to put themselves first, and as yet I am not convinced a pair of brothers will be capable of that should the need arise.
Prove me wrong, sons of Cleves.
Until we next meet at Hampton court, good luck.
A
Death is the only constant in life. The majority of lives end without notice or legacy, and memories fade into the same dust as the bones to which they once belonged. We of The 48 are charged with ensuring that certain lives either assume, maintain, or are removed from a path of historical significance. As we do, we recall these instructions: Do not fear death. But do not make death your friend. Death is your master and your servant. There is no escape. For it comes to all in the end.
Those were the words written on the three Post-it notes I found affixed to my forehead when I woke up. It took me a split second to remember where I was, and to realize that I still really wanted to be sleeping.
“Why’d you write all this down?” I asked, furious but trying not to sound pissed.
“Because I figured Paris was as good a place as any to remind you about the Death Tenet,” replied Charlie. “All you’ve done is sleep since we left Toronto.”
“Yeah. Because sleep is good for the body, mind, and soul,” I replied. “You should try it, because you look like hell.”
“You slept the entire flight to Charles de Gaulle,” retorted my brother. “You slept in the taxi to the hotel—”
“That wasn’t sleeping,” I interrupted. “Parisian drivers have a death wish and I didn’t feel like watching death coming for me in a Citroёn 2CV. So I closed my eyes.”
My brother was stressed. I had learned a long time ago that sometimes it was best to just let Charlie be…Charlie. But when I was sleep-deprived I was less inclined to be charitable. Besides, I hadn’t slept the entire flight. Mostly, I had shut my eyes so I could concentrate on what was about to happen on the ground.
My brother and I were finally heading off on the real deal.
* * *
—
I dozed off again. When I awoke, Charlie was inspecting our kit bags. I wondered how many times he had done that since we had checked into the hotel. He had an obsessive need to make sure everything was exactly right. Mostly, I was grateful for it. Detail wasn’
t my forte.
The 48 had provided us with two bags that we’d strap to our bodies when we traveled back to the Tudor court. We would be taking more stuff with us this time, like the dossier and small vials of medicine, and Charlie was being extra-meticulous.
If I asked him why he was checking my bag for the millionth time, he’d say nothing must be allowed to interfere with the success of our mission.
If anyone asked me, I’d say my brother was looking out for me.
* * *
—
Loud voices were drifting up from the street below. Our small hotel stood on a side alley that was barely big enough for two cars to pass each other—although that didn’t seem to bother the drivers in Paris, who had no qualms about mounting the sidewalk when necessary. I wasn’t joking about greeting death via a Citroën. From our fifth-floor, front-view window, I had witnessed several fights already over road territory. This sounded just like another argument.
I levered myself off the bed, pulled back the net curtain that covered the grimy glass, and looked down. A silver van with blacked-out windows was parked across from the hotel. Two of its four wheels had mounted the curb, almost blocking the entrance to the pâtisserie opposite.
“What’s going on down there?” Charlie asked, zipping up my kit bag.
“Another fight,” I said. “Go throw some water over them, Charlie. Or go the Middle Ages route and throw a bucket of piss out the window. We could say we’re getting into character again.”
My brother joined me at the window, listening. After a few seconds he turned to me with three fingers raised on one hand and one on the other. I nodded. There were four distinct voices: three sounded male, one seemed female. It occurred to me that something about the female voice was familiar.
Then it cried out three words that were unmistakable above the rest of the shouting.