Odette Speex: Time Traitors Book 1

by Lively, Padgett

  Using the noise from the shouted argument as cover, Odette kicked in the window with her boot and slid through the narrow opening. She was quickly followed by Wu and Fancy.

  *

  Odell heard the clink of broken glass and stood up from the bed. A single candle guttered in a pool of wax and cast a barely perceivable speck of light into the chill gloom. He walked to the door and strained his ears to hear muffled footsteps and finally a whispered voice at the door.

  “Odell?”

  A girl’s voice. One he had heard only in the imagined memories of the womb.

  “Odell?” she said again, more forcefully.

  No. A woman’s voice. He shook the ghost from his head. She sounded like his mother—their mother.

  “Yes,” he croaked. Then cleared his throat and said more strongly, “Yes.”

  He heard a relieved exhalation and then a boy. “Stand back.”

  Odell moved away from the door. He heard a muffled conversation from the other side.

  “Wu, you ain’t got enough room.”

  “The power is in the kick. Not momentum.”

  The door came crashing inward, and three people rushed into the cramped room. Odell experienced a moment of complete disorientation. Three boys stood on the threshold, one was Chinese. All were dressed entirely in black. One of them threw his arms around Odell’s neck and cried into the shoulder of his dirty white shirt.

  “Odell! Thank God!!” the woman’s voice sobbed.

  He put his arms awkwardly around her and patted her back. “Odette?”

  She stood back and wiping tears from her eyes looked up at him. Odell could hardly breathe. Her face was dark, delicate and fine-boned. His mother’s face—with golden eyes.

  How does one get golden eyes?

  His dazed mind reeled.

  “Odell!” She had him by the shoulders, shaking him. “Odell! I know it’s a shock. You… I mean… the future you… told me, you… the now you… might not understand what is going on—”

  “I bet he did,” Odell interrupted sarcastically. He blew out a little gust of air and took her hands in his own. Laying them against his heart, he said, “I’m alright, Odette. It was a shock, but I’m fine now. The same, however,” he continued sadly, “cannot be said for my companion.”

  Odette looked over his shoulder at the shrouded figure on the bed. Wu already knelt beside the body of his master, his head bent and a hand resting on the cover.

  “Oh, no! Wu! Master Yuan!” She ran to him and knelt beside the bed.

  Wu looked at her, grief-stricken. “He is no longer here.”

  “A pity,” boomed a voice from the doorway, “but he was a meddlesome little chink.”

  They whirled as one.

  “Sir Brandon!” Odette exclaimed, recognizing the King’s advisor from his one and only appearance at the ballet.

  “Professor… what?” Odell declared, directing a penetrating look at Odette. “What did you call him?”

  “Sir Archibald Brandon. A member of the King’s Privy Council and rumored spy…” her voice trailed off as the implications of Sir Brandon’s presence became clear. As if the gun to Fancy’s head wasn’t already a dead giveaway.

  Odette looked at her friend expecting to see an expression of terror, but was met instead with a look of self-satisfaction. “I told ya the mastermind-like was from the future.” She smiled smugly, and then grimaced as Sir Brandon yanked painfully at her arm.

  “Shut up, you little whore,” he sneered. He was accompanied by two armed guards. “Take them.” He jerked his head in the direction of Odette, Wu, and Odell. “And keep the little Chinaman in front of me. He is by far the most dangerous.”

  One of the guards grabbed Wu by the arm and pushed him out into the hallway. The other took Odell.

  Sir Brandon motioned for Odette to follow. “I trust the gun to your friend’s head will keep you from doing anything foolish.”

  She nodded agreement and stepped in front of him out into the narrow hallway.

  As they walked along the passage, Sir Brandon kept up a running commentary as if he were a congenial tour guide.

  “The Huguenot family who built this manor could not leave behind their religious paranoia. For this reason, the house is riddled with hidden passageways and rooms. It has, of course, proved most useful as has its owner. Lord Winter’s alcohol-soaked brain is the perfect tool. But really he’s only one step below the rest of the peerage. It took me only a few years living among them to realize they were the perfect sheep. Certainly much more manageable than the individuals spawned by the Enlightenment and the American Revolution.”

  They entered a narrow, twisting stairwell that Odette assumed was one reserved for servants’ use. Going up several flights of stairs, they emerged into a hallway and were ushered into a small withdrawing room.

  “Right now,” Sir Brandon continued, as his guards bound their hands and feet, “half the heirs to the realm are in the adjacent ballroom.” He gave a big guffaw. “The Knights of the Messianic Order! They are all decked out in robes and intoning nonsense grieving for their lost leader, Charles Drake.”

  “He is dead then?” Odette asked, unaccountably saddened.

  “Oh yes,” Sir Brandon confirmed cordially. “Quite dead. You can ask your brother.”

  Odette looked at Odell, who nodded his head. “Yes. Prof… I mean, Sir Brandon, shot him for betrayal.”

  “Betrayal!” she exclaimed. “How?”

  “By not killing your brother,” Sir Brandon replied. “And by killing me, I can only assume.”

  “How can you possibly know?”

  “Because you are here, my dear.” He made a turn about the room and waved the gun a little wildly above his head. He stopped in front of Odette and leaned close with an ugly sneer. “I’m a very smart man, Odette. Ask your brother. The only way you could possibly be here is if Odell survived his trip to the past and returned to an altered reality.

  “And….” He emphasized the word by poking Odette in the chest with the gun. “…and, the only way you wouldn’t know who I was… wouldn’t have recognized immediately the great Sir Archibald Brandon from all the history books… is because I was killed. Presumably, by Charles Drake.”

  Sir Brandon straightened and stepped back, visibly trying to regain control of his temper. He laughed bitterly. “I found him at nine languishing in Newgate prison. I molded him into the man he was and trained him for the mission forward in time. He was to pave the way for my return to an altered future. Instead he killed me and took my place.”

  Sir Brandon breathed deeply and shrugged his shoulders. Feigning nonchalance, he said with a colossal lack of self-awareness, “Apparently his own greed was his undoing.” He looked at Odell. “By keeping you alive as his personal time mechanic.”

  He turned again to Odette, and now his smile was wide and malicious. “And you. No one counted on you. Have you told her yet, Odell?” he asked, never taking his eyes off Odette. “My guess is your future alter ego never said a word—never told her that by restoring the original timeline, she would snuff out her own existence.”

  “That is only one possible supposition,” Odell replied through gritted teeth.

  Odette looked at her brother. Her golden eyes reflected confirmation rather than shock or surprise. “You didn’t know me,” she uttered gruffly. “You couldn’t know me because I didn’t exist in the original timeline.”

  Odell swallowed hard and nodded his head. “You died at birth. Mother was inconsolable. It was the doctor. Some incompetent society doctor,” he stammered through his explanation. “He never checked for an easily resolved illness. They took no precautions at the birth. I was born first, my heart failing. You were already dead, but your organs were still viable.” He struggled, barely able to get the next words out. “Your heart is here.” He brought his bound hands to his chest. “Your heart is my heart.”

  Odette was quietly crying, but Fancy sobbed loudly. She kicked out viciously, just missing
Sir Bandon’s leg. “Black-hearted fiend! Misshapen dick-head! Cankerous pile of shit!” And so on. Years of abuse spilled out of her mouth while even the guards looked on in awe. Finally she was spent and sat with tears streaking down her face.

  She looked at Odette with desperate eyes and whispered, “You can’t die.”

  Sir Brandon shook his head disbelievingly. “Ah, Fancy, I’d put a bullet through your worthless brain right now if you all weren’t going to be dead in a few minutes.”

  He reached down and pulled the crystal key from around his neck. “The miracle of time travel has given me another chance, and I do not intend to leave any loose ends. It’s a pity.” He looked at Odette. “I thought you held all the answers. Then I realized your presence here was answer enough. Now you have to die. I am sorry. Both you and your brother… well… it will be a new beginning for me.”

  He jerked his head toward the door and barked, “You men, let’s go! We’ve got a long night ahead of us.” With that, he was gone.

  The sudden relief of not being shot to death was quickly overridden by the knowledge that something else, equally lethal, was clearly in store for them. Odette, Odell, and Fancy began to struggle violently against their bonds.

  Odette felt a hand on her shoulder.

  “Here, let me.” Wu bent over her bound hands and worked to undo the knots.

  She looked at his bent head and said, “Don’t tell me… you mind-melded with the plant fibers of the rope and they unwound…”

  “Nothing so mystical.” He smiled ruefully. “It is an old trick. You must bunch up your muscles as much as possible when the rope is tied. Sometimes just tightening the fists will do it. There is often only a very little space but working the hands around, escape is possible. A smart captor will know this,” he said as the rope fell away from her wrists. “I do not believe this Sir Brandon is as clever as he thinks he is.”

  “Arthur Bradley, Professor Arthur Bradley,” Odell informed them as Odette untied his hands, and Wu moved on to help Fancy. “He was a middling faculty member when I was at Columbia studying physics. From my first days there until I was expelled he was always around, always asking about my research…” he hesitated, unable to put into words his elusive thoughts. “Mother never wanted me to go to Columbia. And she hated the fact I was studying physics…” He furrowed his brow and tried to grasp something just out of reach. “I can’t put my finger on it—”

  “Well, you can put your finger on it someplace else,” Fancy cut him off urgently, “We gotta get outta here.”

  Chapter 34

  Tom stood with his hands on his knees and gasped for breath. His head swam and he would have one hell of a shiner in the morning, but he couldn’t wipe the self-satisfied smile off his face. Three of the biggest men he’d ever seen lay in various states of injury and unconsciousness. One was likely dead. But that was through no fault of theirs. He had been caught beneath the wheels of a speeding coach. The driver never even looked back.

  The evening’s turn to violence had been sudden. He and Cara were careful to remain hidden. They watched the front gate from the protection of the drooping willow boughs. Nothing moved. Above the nighttime chorus of chirps and croaks, they heard a shouted argument ensue after Gabriel, Simon, and Cyril pounded drunkenly on the door of Lord Winter’s estate.

  After several hostile exchanges, Tom heard an aristocratic voice order the three men thrown off the property. It seemed as if all was proceeding as planned until he and Cara saw them emerge at gunpoint from behind the iron gate. Only one guard had a gun, and it was pointed at Gabriel. The other two held Simon and Cyril by pinning their arms behind their backs.

  “Er now,” the one with the gun said, “orders are to shoot ye three and throw your bodies into the pond.”

  “You can’t be serious, man!” Cyril’s voice was appalled. “For a drunken transgression?”

  “I heard no such orders,” Gabriel’s tone was steady, but Tom could tell he was extremely uneasy.

  “Lord Winter ain’t the one givin’ orders,” the man replied.

  “Our bodies will be discovered,” Simon said, ever the rational scientist. “It is a shallow pond. The bodies will rise and questions will be asked.”

  “Yours’ll be only three of many,” the man sneered, “and not the most important at that.”

  Tom listened with increasing horror. He looked around for a weapon noticing for the first time that Cara was no longer beside him. He turned from side to side his head swiveling almost completely around as he frantically searched the undergrowth for her.

  The loud crack of a whip was instantaneously followed by a high-pitched yelp, and the deafening report of a pistol. Tom’s attention snapped back to the gate and Cara. She stood like an avenging angel, her hat and cloak discarded. The whip had caught the guard around his wrist. It jerked his hand up, and he fired the gun before it went flying from his grip. The bullet whistled wide of its intended target. Tom was just in time to see Cara expertly catch the tail of the whip and flick it out again. This time it sliced the man holding Simon across the cheek.

  What happened next was so swift; Tom afterwards had difficulty putting it into words. In a collective fit of unthinking rage, all three guards rushed Cara, but were simultaneously set upon by Gabriel, Simon, and Cyril. Tom threw himself into the melee punching and kicking with abandon. One guard was soon out for the count. The other two staggered about punching the air while the four friends milled around just out of reach. It was then the coach, moving at breakneck speed, came barreling down the drive. It knocked one of the two remaining guards down, catching him beneath its wheels. The sickening thud and crunch of his body as it churned under the heavy coach seemed to trigger capitulation in the final guard. He released a gasp and crumpled to the ground.

  Tom straightened up and gingerly touched his injured eye. He looked over at Cara. His sharpened night vision saw her disordered curls and the heightened color in her cheeks. She stood breathing heavily through red, parted lips. The whip gripped firmly in her right hand.

  To Tom’s eyes she was the finest, most beautiful woman he had ever seen. “You saved the day, miss!” he pronounced admiringly.

  “Indeed, you did,” Simon agreed, nursing a cut lip.

  Cyril limped over to her. “Where the devil, pardon my language, did you learn to handle a whip like that?”

  Cara blinked as if coming out of a trance. She lowered the whip and rested the tip of the handle on the ground. She looked at the three young men and smiled enigmatically. “My father was a carter in Ireland. Oxen are very stubborn creatures,” was her only explanation.

  Gabriel rubbed his wrenched shoulder and stood just inside the gate looking back at the house. “Who was he talking about?” he asked of the company in general. “Who is giving the orders?”

  “My guess,” Cara offered, “is that he was the occupant of the carriage that rather ungratefully ran over his own henchman.”

  They stood together staring indecisively back at the mansion’s grand, crumbling façade.

  “Listen!” Tom exclaimed with unexpected urgency. “There ain’t no sounds. No crickets or frogs. It’s too quiet-like.”

  Gabriel pressed his lips grimly together and walked purposefully toward the house, “Something…”

  The explosion ripped through the night in a fury of sight and sound that left them cowering to the ground—eyes shut, arms shielding their faces. The heat from the blast was intense and a shower of masonry particles rained down from above.

  It was several minutes before Gabriel could look directly at the remains of the old house. The flames that shot into the night sky lit up the surrounding gardens in a glow of red and orange. His ears rang, and his brain felt bruised from the blast. He looked around at his companions. All of whom were beginning to stand up, brushing ash and grit from their dazed and stricken faces. The ramifications of the explosion hit him with a sudden, blinding terror.

  “Odette!” he yelled and ran toward the burning
ruin. “Odette!”

  He had barely run ten feet when he heard Tom shout, “Holy Mother of God! They’re burnt to a crisp, they are!”

  He stopped in his tracks and watched in horror as four figures staggered toward them. Their blackened skin seemed to melt and drip from their bodies. He swallowed rising bile and went to meet them. If this was Odette, he could at least hold her in her last agonizing… laughter penetrated his frozen mind. He saw one figure raise its hand in greeting as another wiped the black stuff from around its eyes.

  In the next second they were upon him laughing and clapping him on the back, white teeth gleaming in the night. One threw its arms around him, and he felt his own dear Odette. She was wet, filthy, and covered in slimy, black pond scum.

  “What…” he began.

  “We were blown into the duck pond,” she yelled, her ears still ringing. “A good thing too. The fireball reached the stables. It went right over us.”

  Fancy’s teeth chattered, and she shivered violently, more from shock than cold. “That ain’t the only thing that blew right over us,” she gasped, “no way they’re gonna’ piece together who was in there.”

  “Who?” Gabriel asked, his face still reflecting stunned incomprehension.

  “Half the heirs to the realm,” Odette replied. “According to Sir Brandon they were in the midst of a secret meeting of The Knights of the Messianic Order.”

  “Sir Brandon?” several voices parroted back to her.

  “Sir Archibald Brandon, a.k.a. Professor Arthur Bradley, a.k.a. mastermind of the plot to subvert the natural timeline and change history,” she declared, unable to suppress a dramatic flourish.

  They stood shocked into silence, particularly Cyril and Tom, neither of whom had been initiated into the time traveling aspect of the adventure.

  “What the bloody… !” Cyril began.

  Gabriel grasped his arm hard. “We can’t explain now, just trust me! At this moment we have to figure out Sir Brandon’s next move.” He looked at Odette. “That was him in the carriage.”