by Carrie Ryan
From the shore, men shouted for him to jump, but he couldn’t give up. If the SQuare was destroyed, it wouldn’t matter that Dak survived the fire — they’d never be able to fix the Great Breaks and avoid the Cataclysm.
Wind whipped around him, feeding the flames and sending smoke spiraling into the sky. The flaming ships were drawing dangerously close to the bridge. If the Vikings succeeded in catching the bridge on fire, it would collapse and they’d have free reign up the Seine to the cities and villages beyond.
That bridge wasn’t just protecting Paris, but also the rest of France — and the future of Europe. It was the only thing keeping Siegfried and the rest of the SQ from amassing even more power.
Suddenly, Dak’s priorities were split. He had to find the SQuare, but he also had to make sure the flaming boat didn’t make it to the bridge. Which was more important?
With a sinking stomach, he abandoned the search for the SQuare and pulled out an axe he’d found among the battlefield debris. He began swinging it at a seam between two boards of the hull, trying to make an opening. The wood was thick and solid, and Dak despaired of making any headway, but heat from the fire must have already weakened it because a crack began to form.
Billowing smoke choked the air around him, making his eyes water and lungs burn. The fire burned fiercely, consuming everything as it made its way toward the bow where Dak hacked furiously at the hull.
The wood groaned in protest and then a spurt of water sprayed up through a small hole in the bottom of the boat. It only took three more whacks with the axe for a healthy amount of water to begin filling the boat, slowing its progress toward the bridge.
Dak was almost out of time. The fire had already eaten its way past the mast, destroying more than half of the shields along the way. As fast as possible Dak checked the rest of the ship for the SQuare. Water dragged at his feet, climbing up his calves.
He found the SQuare in the very last place left to be checked. The bag holding it was already drenched, and he pulled the SQuare free and slipped it into the waistband of his pants under his tunic.
With a whoop of success he leapt from the ship, landing knee-deep in the shallows of the river. As he fought his way against the current toward shore he watched as the ship took on more water and began listing to its side before capsizing and sinking just as its bow struck a grouping of rocks used to support the bridge.
The other boats fared no better, crashing against the sunken boat just shy of the bridge. It was a beautiful sight to Dak, and he felt a surge of pride at having accomplished both tasks. He’d rescued the SQuare and kept the Vikings from scoring a hit against Paris. All in all, Dak was pretty much a hero as far as he was concerned.
Before he could gloat too much, Dak was forcibly spun around. Gorm, the scarred Viking, grabbed him by the tunic, almost lifting him from the ground. “You think you’re clever, don’t you?” His face was so close that spit flew from his mouth with every word, peppering Dak’s cheeks.
“I . . .” He scrambled for some sort of excuse and came up empty. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The Viking wrenched the axe from Dak’s grip and tossed it into the river. Dak started to protest but thought better of it.
Dak was caught. He struggled to get free of the man’s grasp but it was useless. Without a weapon he had no hope against someone so much stronger and larger.
The Viking grinned in an unpleasant way, the scar across his face causing his features to twist. “I know someone who will be very interested in speaking with you.”
IT STARTED raining when the sun set, and Sera was drenched. Her teeth chattered as she huddled under the shelter of an old empty barn.
“At least the weather put an end to most of the fighting,” Bill suggested, trying to find something to be cheerful about. Sera only grunted in return. She couldn’t stop thinking of her warm bed in her warm house in a time when such a thing as gas heat existed.
“I’d kill for a hot shower right now,” she grumbled.
“A Jacuzzi would be even better,” Riq agreed.
Bill looked between them, confused. “What’s a shower?”
Sera glanced his way, her arms wrapped tightly around her chest to keep as much warmth pressed to her body as possible. It had hardly occurred to her before meeting the Hystorians that there would be a period in time when something as basic as a shower didn’t exist.
“It’s like a bath, but the hot water falls from a showerhead — from a contraption in the wall or ceiling, like a waterfall,” she explained.
Bill still looked confused. “That sounds like a lot of work for your servants to heat that much water. How many buckets does it take?”
Sera opened her mouth and then closed it, looking to Riq for help.
“The water’s already hot and you don’t need buckets,” Riq said. “Most houses in our time have a heater inside, so there’s always hot water when you turn on the tap.”
“Oh.” It was clear Bill didn’t really follow. But he was trying. “What else is there in the future?”
Sera closed her eyes, not even knowing where to begin. Her world was just so different from Bill’s on every conceivable level. But there was one other thing she wished she had even more than a hot shower: a phone to call Dak on to see if he was okay.
She tried to explain that to Bill. “Well, for one thing we have these things called cell phones. It’s a way for you to talk to someone else who might be far away.”
Bill’s eyes grew wide. “How does that work?”
When she was six, Sera had built her own encrypted smartphone so that she and Dak could talk whenever they wanted. She started explaining the basics of the advanced mobile-phone system and digitized sampling, but Riq interrupted her.
“Ignore techno-geek over there. Basically everyone has a phone number — a series of numbers — that you plug into a keypad and, ta-da, you’re talking to that person. I’m more of a language guy than a numbers guy, though, and since the numbers have letters associated with them, that’s how I memorize them. My phone number, for example, just happens to spell out the first ten letters of sesquipedalianist.” He paused before adding, “It means I like big words.”
Bill’s brow was furrowed and he looked like he was just about to ask a question when Sera bolted to her feet.
“That’s it!” she said excitedly. She pressed her palms against her forehead and groaned. “I can’t believe I didn’t see it before. For the love of mincemeat! It was so simple!”
Riq and Bill exchanged glances. “Uh, Sera?” Riq asked. “What are you talking about?”
She knelt, using her finger to draw out a series of numbers in the dirt. It didn’t take long for Riq to figure out what she was doing. When she hesitated, trying to remember what came next, he helped to fill in the gaps.
“It’s the series of numbers from the SQuare,” she said. “We thought it was some sort of bifid cipher but we couldn’t figure out what the key was.” She began to draw vertical lines to separate the numbers into pairs.
Below that she sketched the face of a phone keypad, and that’s when Riq groaned, “Ooh, I get it now. The first number indicates which number on the keypad and the second is the letter’s position. So since A, B, and C are all on the number two button, twenty-one becomes the letter A. How did we miss that before?”
Sera was so elated that she couldn’t help laughing at the look of utter confusion on Bill’s face. “Brint and Mari wanted to ensure that no one from the past could figure out the key to the cipher. What better way to do that than to use a gadget only someone from our time period would know?”
Riq was already matching letters to each pair of numbers so that 32 became E and 62 became N.
As he worked Bill reached over and ran the knuckles of his hand along the edge of Sera’s jaw. Her breath caught and her cheeks b
lazed with heat.
“You’d smudged some dirt,” he said softly.
She didn’t know what to say and settled with, “Oh,” which elicited a smile from him. That only made her neck burn hot as well and she wondered if Bill could see how furiously she was blushing in the dim light. She hoped not.
For his part, Riq seemed oblivious, his forehead scrunched up in concentration as he unraveled the message.
326274827332 744332413373433231 8121523274 7121734374 71322123323382535393
Ensure Siegfried Takes Paris Peacefully
All the blood heating Sera’s cheeks drained as the message swirled through her mind. “If that’s true . . .” She couldn’t even finish the statement. She didn’t want to give it voice, as if that could somehow make it real.
Riq didn’t have such hesitation. He looked at her, his own face betraying fear. “Then we’ve definitely made things worse.”
Dak was beginning to realize just how much trouble he’d gotten himself into. His arms were pinned behind him by the scarred Viking named Gorm, who looked a little too pleased to finally have Dak in his clutches.
Even though he had a good idea where he was being taken, his stomach twisted into knots as they approached the large structure dominating the far end of the camp. While most other Vikings slept out in the open or under simple A-frame tents, apparently Siegfried would do with nothing less than a wooden-framed hut.
Gorm thumped Dak forcefully on the back, shoving him so hard that he stumbled into the hovel. All conversation inside halted, though a few men snickered when Dak tripped and fell to his hands and knees.
Dak grimaced as the dirt floor scraped his palms. He felt the SQuare shift where it was jammed against his back and he froze, hoping it wouldn’t slide free.
If Siegfried or any of the other men saw the SQuare, that would be the end of Dak and maybe even Sera and Riq as well. He couldn’t risk it.
Slowly and carefully he lifted his head and looked around, using the movement to mask how he twisted his body to try and keep the SQuare in place. The structure had been built rapidly, and it showed in the crooked windows and uneven slant of the doorframe.
In the center blazed a fire, its smoke creating a thick layer of sludge along the ceiling as it struggled to find a way free through a hole in the roof. Carved earthen platforms topped with wooden boards and dingy rugs were built against the walls.
But what really drew Dak’s attention were the men crouched around the fire, the flickering light casting shadows under their eyes. In the center of them sat Siegfried on the only stool in the room. Behind his shoulder a massive wooden shield hung from the wall, the SQ symbol emblazoned on it.
He looked over Dak’s head to where Gorm the Time Warden stood in the door. “This doesn’t look like dinner,” he said, raising one eyebrow.
It didn’t escape Dak’s notice that this was the second time in two days someone had discussed eating him. He was really beginning to hate the ninth century.
DAK TRIED to call as little attention to himself as possible, which wasn’t very easy when every eye in the room was focused on him.
“I found him sabotaging one of the ships.” Gorm walked farther into the room until he was towering over Dak. “If it weren’t for this boy, our plan to burn the bridge would have worked and we’d be in the city already.”
This seemed to pique Siegfried’s interest. He leaned forward, causing his stool to groan and crack in protest. For several moments, the Viking chieftain examined Dak until Dak couldn’t take it anymore, and he started to squirm.
“I just tripped.” Dak was dismayed at how scared and high-pitched his voice sounded. He scowled, trying to regain a little control of the situation. “If this guy” — he jerked a finger over his shoulder in the general direction of the Time Warden — “had better control of his boat, everything would have worked out fine.”
Siegfried frowned and sent a questioning glance at Gorm, who quickly responded, “He may have tripped, but he also cut a hole in the hull with an axe.”
Dak let out a long exhale. There really was no explanation he could give for that, but he still tried. “I thought the fire needed ventilation?”
One of the other men around the fire chuckled and quickly covered it by launching into a bout of coughing.
“You look familiar,” Siegfried prodded.
Dak swallowed, the sound so loud he was pretty sure the entire room heard. “I was your standard-bearer yesterday at the wall,” he offered.
Siegfried shook his head. “From somewhere else.” He squinted at Dak, trying to place him.
“He was with the translator in the cathedral,” Gorm offered. “The boy who spoke the Danish tongue as well as Latin and French.”
The grin that spread across Siegfried’s face did nothing to calm Dak’s fears. In fact, it made his blood run icy cold. There was nothing pleasant in the man’s expression, just pure malice.
What Gorm said next only made things worse. “He’s been working to sabotage your efforts. Who knows how many of our men have fallen because of him.”
That was going too far. Dak leapt to his feet. “It’s not true,” he shouted. “If it weren’t for me, more men would have been crushed or burned. I saved them!”
There were a few murmurs around the fire, but no one came to Dak’s defense — even though he recognized some of the men as ones who only the night before had been clapping him on the back in thanks.
Siegfried stood as well and came around the fire until he was towering over Dak. He smelled like old clotted cheese and his hands bunched into meaty fists. “Where are you from, boy?”
Dak opened his mouth to answer, but then realized that he couldn’t — Pennsylvania didn’t even exist yet. It was that slight hesitation that caused Siegfried’s eyes to gleam.
“How old are you?” Siegfried pressed.
Dak answered easily: “Eleven.”
“When were you born?”
The room was silent as Dak ran the calculation through his head in a panic. He’d never been one for numbers, and in the time it took for him to subtract eleven from 885, he’d confirmed Siegfried’s and the Time Warden’s suspicions.
“I-I’m not good with math,” he offered, but even he heard how lame the excuse was.
Siegfried leaned in so close that Dak could smell the sourness of his breath. It was even worse than Vígi’s, if that was possible.
“You and I both know who you really are,” Siegfried growled. The other Vikings in the room strained to listen in but Siegfried kept his voice low enough that only Dak could hear over the popping of the fire.
Panic flared in Dak’s stomach and the adrenaline pumping through his veins screamed at him to run. He was in way over his head. The Viking laid a heavy hand on Dak’s shoulder as if sensing the direction of his thoughts.
“You Hystorians have tried to stop us before but you underestimate our might and dedication to the cause.”
Dak tried to protest and feign ignorance; it was his only option. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Siegfried’s fingers tightened on Dak’s shoulder until he felt as though the Viking might rip his arm from his body. Sweat trailed down Dak’s back and he felt it pooling against the SQuare, causing it to shift.
Not now, he thought fiercely. Of course, that just caused him to sweat even more, which wasn’t helping matters.
“You Hystorians are so easy to outsmart.” Siegfried’s eyes gleamed. “You’re always so obsessed with playing by the rules. That will always be your downfall.”
Dak tried to look brave. “At least we have honor,” he retorted.
This only caused the Viking to tilt his head back with bone-shaking laughter that he cut off abruptly. He grabbed Dak’s chin between his finger and thumb so tightly that Dak’s eyes watered.
“I want you to hand over whatever it is that’s letting you sail through time,” he growled. “Nothing will get in the way of my power.” As if to emphasize his point he shook Dak roughly.
The SQuare slipped a little more so that it was now slowly sliding down his leg in his pants. Dak flexed his leg and squeezed, desperately trying to keep the device from dropping to the ground.
“I don’t know —” Dak started, but he was interrupted when Siegfried began shaking him even more. The SQuare caught behind his knee and he was certain that if anyone looked they’d see the shape of the device outlined against his pant leg.
Dak quickly shifted tactics. “I don’t have it,” he blurted out.
This stopped the shaking. “Get it,” Siegfried barked.
“I can’t,” Dak explained. “It’s inside the city walls.”
Siegfried pushed Dak with a roar. Dak crumpled to the floor, using the motion to yank the SQuare from his pants and shove it back under his waistband. When he looked up all eyes were still on Siegfried except for one pair on the far side of the room. It was Rollo, his expression trained on Dak with interest.
Dak knew right away the Viking had seen the SQuare. He waited for the large man to sound some sort of alarm or bring it to Siegfried’s attention but instead he remained silent, his focus glued on Dak’s every move.
Siegfried crouched, drawing Dak forward by his tunic. “You’ll get me that device and I’ll make yours a quick death. Defy me, and you, as well as your friends, will have the blood eagle just like Ivar the Boneless gave to Ælla of Northumbria.”
Dak frowned, his confusion evident. “Blood eagle?”
Gorm grinned, his teeth gleaming in anticipation. “We’ll slice open your back. Cut your ribs, one by one, and break them open to look like the bloody wings of an eagle. Then we pull out your lungs and watch them flutter. When we get bored with that, we’ll rip out your lungs and pour salt on all the wounds. Don’t worry about missing out — you’ll be alive and screaming through most of it.”