[Tempus Fugitives 01.0] Swept Away

by Susan Kiernan-Lewis

  “She has a relationship with them. Besides, they hate Axel. He destroyed their monastery.”

  They were quiet for a moment, both lost in their own thoughts.

  Ella laughed. “Can you even believe we’re doing any of this?”

  He kissed her tenderly. “I can hardly believe we’re together,” he said.

  “I never should have taken the job in Germany.”

  “Guess you felt like you had to.”

  “It was so stupid. What I can’t believe is I got a second chance with you.”

  “Are you kidding?” He pulled her close to him and tucked her against his chest. “There was no way I was letting you go.”

  Before they drifted off to sleep, Rowan murmured to her, his eyes closed: “What did you tell Greta to put in the letter?”

  “The usual,” Ella yawned. “That he drinks human blood and can make fire come out his fingers.”

  “That’s good. G’nite, beautiful.”

  Ella was up early the next morning. She was too nervous to eat much breakfast but stuffed a heel of bread in the baggy pocket of her raggedy pants. It was still dark out when she stole out of the convent and walked down the lane leading to the Altstadt on the way to the castle. She and Rowan had said their goodbyes from the confines of their narrow bed. But because Rowan was clearly building up a head of steam fretting, she left while he was in the garden relieving himself. She knew he’d be furious, but there didn’t seem to be any point in delaying and all his worry and urgings and be safes were just making her more nervous. They’d gone over it a hundred times. There was nothing else to gain by drawing out the departure.

  Greta was up and Ella gave her a quick wave before shutting the door to the kitchen. Greta’s job today was less dangerous but no less important. She had to set the monks to recreating Axel’s birth certificate.

  Rowan’s job was to avoid attention while setting the explosive charge under the drawbridge of the castle. The explosion needed to be big enough to cause chaos within the castle, but not so big that Rowan himself was captured or, God forbid, blown up in the process.

  As she walked, Ella put thoughts of Rowan and Greta aside. There was no point in worrying about their days. She had all she could handle with her own monumental task. Even with the evidence written in bruises on her face, Ella hadn’t told Rowan and Greta the whole truth about yesterday in the castle. She had been beaten almost as soon as she set foot in the stable. The other stable boys regarded her as an interloper. And because she was mute, they saw her as a natural victim.

  God, this place is fucked up, Ella found herself thinking. After nodding at the guards standing at the base of the castle gate, she trotted to the darkened stable yard in the forecourt of the castle. She snuck into the first stall. The boys were sleeping on the floor like a litter of puppies. The straw was filthy and so were they. Ella held her nose and stepped quietly around them.

  When she reached the other side of the stall, she sat down to wait for them to wake up. As soon as she heard the stable master moving about the stable, she stood up and kicked one of the nearest boys.

  She hoped Rowan would be able to set the charge early according to plan. She was aching to get into the castle. She felt for the cellphone in her inside trouser pocket.

  “What’re you lookin’ at, pisser?” One of the boys snarled at her and she fought to keep her face impassive as visions of five minutes with him and her Taser passed through her mind.

  The stable master appeared in the doorway. He was large and ruddy with short legs, a barrel chest and a bull neck. He had a cruel look in his eye and a scar that ran the length of his face from his eyebrow to his jawline. From the way he treated the boys, Ella was pretty sure he was a card-carrying pederast. She could not imagine how he ended up working with horses unless torturing smaller animals had become boring for him. He caught her eye and smiled his toothless, wicked smile like he wanted to eat her for breakfast.

  Come on, Rowan, blow something up any time now…

  The stable master beckoned to her with a fat curled finger and she pushed off the wooden stall wall toward him. When she got to him, he smashed her hard in the stomach with the wooden bucket he had been holding behind his back. The other boys instantly began to laugh.

  In the process of trying to protect herself from the bucket, Ella smashed one of her fingers. She succeeded in not falling down, which she had a feeling would not have ended well for her. Her finger throbbed painfully as she clutched the heavy bucket and prayed the finger wasn’t broken.

  “Fill it,” he said, “and get ‘em watered.” Then he turned from her and focused on the other boys. Ella bolted from the stall as soon as the man shifted his bulk enough to allow her to squeeze past. She could barely lift the bucket empty and had no idea how she was going to manage it full of water. But she decided to take her problems one step at a time. Getting away from the stable master seemed a top priority at the moment.

  Once out of the stall, Ella looked around to see what might be the best way to get inside the castle. The stalls lined a small courtyard which faced a broad cobblestone walkway that wound up the hill to the castle. She had no idea where Axel or Krüger’s rooms were. But it was a safe bet they weren’t on the ground floor or within easy running distance from the stables. She looked toward town to see if she could possibly see Rowan but she realized it wouldn’t bode well if she could. She walked over to the water trough to fill the bucket. She could hear the horses nicker in their stalls, the same stalls she would be clearing out before the day was done with her bare hands if, like yesterday, the other boys commandeered all the shovels and pitchforks. By the time the boys emerged from the stall, she had succeeded in filling the bucket. Even though she was taller than any of them, she feared them. They were rough and hard. They reminded her of Fagin’s gang: poor, cunning and desperate. She learned that the stupid ones were the most dangerous. But all the boys were to be avoided.

  With a strength she didn’t know she possessed, Ella filled and dragged the heavy water bucket to the horses. She filled each of their ten water reservoirs. When she finished, it probably wasn’t eight in the morning yet but she was already so tired she could barely walk. Her arms trembled as she set the empty bucket down in the dirt with a heavy thud. Like her, the other boys had been too busy to pay attention to anything other than the chore in front of them. Now, she looked around to see where they were. The stable master was not visible, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t there watching her.

  She wiped the sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand. Now what? The last thing she wanted to do was ask for instructions. But she didn’t want to be caught doing nothing either. Why hadn’t the charge gone off? Had Rowan been caught? She looked at the open bloody blisters on her hands and was in the process of turning toward the main stable to find the stable master when the first blast sounded in the distance.

  When it finally happened, a combination of exhaustion and heightened anticipation momentarily immobilized her. As soon as the other boys dropped their tools and began to run around the courtyard, Ella headed for the side of the barn as she had planned to do all morning. She ran up the winding stone pathway. A man with wild eyes came toward her from the castle but ran past without a glance. She looked over her shoulder to see that pandemonium had broken out in the stables. One of the boys, presumably trying to save the horses, had opened the stalls doors. A dozen horses were charging around the courtyard screaming, the whites of their eyes showing in their panic.

  Ella entered the castle. In her experience, even if a person didn’t look like they belonged, if they acted with conviction and purpose, people tended to accept their presence as reasonable. Once inside, she could see that the main hall was straight ahead, the dining hall to the left, and the long stone stairway to the upper rooms on her right. The narrow steps were steep and slick with years of wear. Angry voices and panicked cries came from the main hall. She hesitated. She wasn’t sure she had allowed enough time for the upstairs to vaca
te and she sure as hell didn’t want to meet anyone on her way up.

  She slid behind a ten-foot tall stone vase at the base of the stairs and watched the activity for a moment. Five people came down—mostly servants and a few wealthy landowner types—and ran out the door. When the hall was clear, she moved quickly up the steps, taking them two at a time. She slipped but caught herself on the last step. She was breathing heavily from the climb and her own fear. She stopped to listen for anyone in the hall. Deciding it was now or never, she ran past a set of open doors toward the far end of the hall, where she expected to find Küger’s room. Most of the doors were open and she looked in them as she ran, praying no one was inside to see her.

  The second explosion went off as she was halfway down the hall. She felt a thrill of delight fighting with her fear as she thought of Rowan planting two bombs in order to make things interesting. At the hall’s end, she stood panting in front of the massive double wooden doors of the private chamber of the master of Heidelberg. She put her hands against the right side door and gently pushed it open. As she did, she noticed her hands were shaking.

  The room was anchored by an enormous four-poster bed, its canopy draped with enough canvas to rig a large sailboat. Pausing only long enough to confirm that the room was vacant, she ran to the bedside table on which were several ale mugs, a sheathed boot knife, and two candles in holders. She was sure this was Axel’s room. It was a young man’s room. A warrior’s lair. She rummaged in the pocket of her trousers and pulled out Rowan’s Bic lighter. She wrenched open the wooden drawer on the bedside table and with trembling fingers shoved the lighter to the furthest corner—exactly where the letter to the Magistrate said it could be found. She looked around the room until she saw a door leading to an anteroom. She pushed open the door to reveal a larger, more ornate room in which sat the biggest desk she had ever seen.

  Was this Axel’s den or his father’s? She hesitated and stepped back into the bedroom. She realized she didn’t have time to go looking for another office.

  She entered the office and went straight to the desk, fumbling to turn on her cellphone as she went. It didn’t matter which papers she photographed. She just needed Axel or Krüger’s signature. Quickly, she sifted through the papers on the desk but found nothing signed. She yanked open the top drawer and pulled a large sheaf of papers onto the desktop. She instantly found what she needed. She positioned the cellphone and snapped a picture of Krüger’s signature and another of Axel’s. She found a letter from some guy whose name she didn’t recognize. She photographed that too.

  Through the window behind the desk, she could see smoke curling up in the distance. People were running everywhere and now she could see that several small fires had broken out by the castle wall. Good going, Rowan, she thought. Then she retraced her steps down the stairs. As she passed a stairwell window, she noticed that people were beginning to make their way back to the castle.

  At the bottom of the stairs, she froze. Standing there, and blocking her way was one of the two young lords of the castle. He stood with his back to her, his arm on the shoulder of a servant. Ella took in a sharp breath and began to tiptoe behind him. The servant noticed Ella’s movement, and when he turned to look at her, the young Krüger turned around too.

  It was Christof. Although she had never seen him before, she was sure it was him. His hair was as blond as Hugo’s was back in 2012 Heidelberg. He had the same ideal Arian looks. When he saw her, a puzzled expression came to his face.

  But he smiled. He gave the servant a reassuring pat and spoke to Ella, kindly but quickly in the local German she didn’t understand. She turned and ran down the main hall and out the door, where she easily hid herself in the crowd of servants returning to the castle. Christof called after her but he did not try to follow.

  Dear God. What if it had been Axel? Would he have recognized her?

  By the time she reappeared in the first stall in the stable, the stable master had just begun to orchestrate the roundup of the castle’s horses. He gave her an unsure look as if surprised to see her again, and then bruskly ordered her to help.

  14

  Later that evening, Ella limped back to the convent. She was filthy, aching, and covered with blisters. She still wasn’t sure her finger wasn’t broken. Nonetheless, by the time she saw Rowan standing at the foot of the garden watching for her, she was smiling.

  “You are a sight for sore eyes, sugar,” he said as she hobbled up to him.

  “Best not touch me yet. The street has eyes. The retarded gardener and the mute stable boy would be some pretty hot gossip.” She walked past him though the gate

  “I can wait. Just tell me it wasn’t all for nothing.”

  “I planted it,” she said as he shut the gate behind them. As soon as she heard the gate shut, she stumbled and fell to her knees. Rowan lifted her easily and carried her into the convent.

  Greta had prepared a hot bath for her. She held a stack of thin but clean towels in her arms. She began to usher Ella into the bathing room but Rowan took the towels from her.

  “I’ll take over, Greta,” he said, his hand on the small of Ella’s back, nudging her forward into the room. “A large glass of brandy would be good, though.”

  Greta gave Ella a reassuring smile and left to get the brandy.

  Within minutes, Rowan had Ella stripped and into the tub of hot water. She groaned as she went in. He could see she was covered in bruises and cuts.

  He gently poured water on her shoulders. “What the hell are they doing to you there?”

  She closed her eyes. “The other boys play kinda rough,” she said. “Don’t let me fall asleep, Rowan.”

  “I won’t, babe,” he murmured, soaping her neck. “God, the water’s turning black. Did they have you cleaning the stalls with your hands again?”

  She smiled, her eyes still closed, and shook her head.

  He soaped her arms and hands. At one point, she cried out and pulled her hand back. He examined her finger but didn’t think it was broken.

  God knows what her typical day is like, he thought. And she isn’t going to worry the shit out of me by telling me about it either.

  The door opened and Greta entered with two glasses of brandy, cheese and freshly baked bread.

  “That looks great, Greta,” Rowan said.

  “Has she said anything?”

  Ella opened her eyes. “I’m just about to,” she said. She reached a wet hand to Rowan. “Two explosions,” she said.

  He laughed. “Yeah, kind of a surprise for both of us.”

  “But nobody hurt?”

  “No, thank God.”

  “Why two?”

  “Just thought you might need a little extra boost to the distraction level.”

  “It helped,” she said, closing her eyes.

  An hour later, her hair washed and her battered body clean and nestled in fresh, dry clothes, Ella sat at the kitchen table between Greta and Rowan. She showed them the photographs she’d taken with her phone.

  “We’ve got both their signatures and a letter from some dude.” She pushed the phone across the table to Greta who squinted at the tiny screen.

  “It is a letter from a confederate of theirs, Wilhem Burkmeister,” Greta said. “He does business with Krüger.” She shrugged. “It is not damning in any way. Just a letter from a business associate of Axel’s.”

  “You never know,” Rowan said. “It might come in handy. Good work.” He frowned at Ella.

  She smiled at him. “I’m fine, Rowan. Just tired.” She turned to Greta. “How’d you do today?”

  Greta picked up a flat black box that was on the bench beside her. From it she withdrew an ornately written letter on fine paper.

  “What’s it say, basically?” Rowan asked.

  “As we decided,” Greta said, “it is an anonymous letter addressed to the Protestant Magistrate Herr Schwartz informing him that Axel was witnessed creating fire with his fingertips and dancing with Lucifer.”

 
“And he’s likely to believe this?” Ella said.

  “Absolutely. People have been executed on far less.”

  “Okay,” Ella said, yawning. “What else?”

  Greta produced the birth certificate she had requested from the monastery. It was ornately embellished and looked very official. It registered Axel, his birthdate, his birth mother, but instead of Krüger as father, the name Jorge Klein was written. A waxy magistrate’s seal anchored the bottom corner of the page.

  “Looks official to me,” Ella said. “If nothing else, it’ll put doubt in the old wanker’s mind. Keep it some place safe until we’re ready. Did I mention I ran into Christof?”

  “Did he try to apprehend you?” Greta asked.

  “No, he seemed kind of nice,” Ella said. “Not a dick at all.”

  “That’s my girl,” Rowan said. “Can’t wait to bring you home to meet the folks.”

  She grinned at him, but her eyes were already closing sleepily. Without any more conversation, Rowan excused them both, scooped her up in his arms and took her to bed.

  The next morning, Ella was up before daylight. The other boys already thought she was odd and the fact that she didn’t sleep at the stable only intensified their distrust. Getting there before they awoke at least helped to de-emphasize her strangeness. As she ran up the pathway in the dark to the castle, she collided with a young woman dressed in dark rags who was nearly invisible in the dim light. Ella gasped as the two tumbled to the hard paving stones in the castle courtyard. The girl squealed and lashed out with a fist, obviously thinking she was being attacked. Ella dared not speak for fear of revealing her sex and so only covered her head with her arms against the girl’s blows.

  “Who are you?” the girl whispered when it became clear to her that Ella was no threat. Ella stood up, hoping her attire would be all the answer the girl needed. They recognized each other immediately, even in the gloom. The girl was a kitchen maid that Ella had seen once when she had been sent to the castle kitchen to fetch a basket of rotten apples for the horses.