The Master of Time: Roads to Moscow: Book Three

by David Wingrove

  He is a big man, full-bearded with a barrel chest, and his thick and heavy fur makes him look like some warrior of the far north.

  Which, of course, he is. In several of his ‘lives’.

  He addresses us in twenty-sixth-century American, a neutral language, chosen so as not to offend either group of agents.

  ‘Forgive me, Otto. But you will have your say. All this is fresh to our experience, and I wanted to address that. To speak openly of it, if you like. You see, to not be at war, that is strange indeed, and we must face that strangeness. We must learn to give up old habits, old instincts and re-forge our most basic relationships. We must learn to work with rather than against. That – that difficult adoption of new ways of thinking and feeling – is the challenge we face in the days to come. Not the renegades, but our own selves.’

  He pauses, looking from face to face about the table, and as he does, so I wonder why they have chosen me and not Svetov for their Master. For Svetov is the real thing. A leader among men. And me? I am a lone wolf. Not a team player at all. I make to say this, but again he talks over me.

  ‘Forgive me, Otto, I know how anxious you are to have your say, but there are things that must be said before you do. Things that must be laid before this council – this veche – and acknowledged. Let us have no doubt about it. This is a historic moment. We who are gathered here today have taken that all-important first step. That said, a long journey lies ahead of us. We face a long, hard struggle before the peace we seek becomes a living reality. And unless we recognise that, unless we take that into the equation when we formulate our strategies, we will undoubtedly fail.’

  Svetov pauses, slowly nodding his head.

  ‘Hard times lay ahead of us, dear friends. Difficulties unimagined when it was simply Us and Them. No. We must become different people. Kinder, better people. And to achieve that, we need to reconstruct who we are. To cast off old ways, old prejudices. As Otto did …’

  I am on my feet at that, but still Svetov will not let me speak.

  ‘Oh, let us have no doubt about it. Without Otto’s example, we would still be at each other’s throats. Still playing war games. Letting that man and his abominable progeny blind us to the truth—’

  ‘Which is?’ someone calls from the far end of the table.

  ‘That we are brothers, not enemies—’

  ‘And sisters!’ Zarah calls out, laughter following her words.

  ‘And sisters,’ Svetov echoes, smiling broadly. ‘And that’s another thing some of us need to learn. As Russians we have long known the true value of our women and have involved them at every stage—’

  There are dissenting sounds at that, and the same voice from the far end of the table – Zieten, I think it is – calls out once more. ‘You seek to criticise us, Arkadi Svetov?’

  ‘Not at all, no, not at all, dear friend. Just that we must learn not to accept the old ways of doing things …’

  ‘And if those old ways are better ways?’

  I can see, already, what difficulties lie ahead. But Svetov smooths things over.

  ‘Then we will consider keeping them. I only mention the question of our female comrades because their … frustration, let us call it … was very much a contributory factor behind this movement towards the reconciliation of our two parties.’

  I look to Zarah at that, surprised. Is that so? Have they really been working towards this all this time?

  And, strangely, unexpectedly, I feel a twinge of guilt. All of this, after all, is a kind of betrayal. Of Hecht and what we have been brought up to believe.

  Which it is. Only that doesn’t mean we’re wrong. Because there has to be a better way of conducting ourselves in Time. Some kinder, more humane way of resolving our differences.

  And so it begins, as the afternoon draws on and two dozen very different – and very vocal – individuals express two dozen different opinions on each matter. Unprepared, I find myself not speaking, but listening for once; taking it all in, and glimpsing, early on, just how difficult a task this is likely to be. For all their determination, creating a new design for living – one that breaks away from the old patterns of being – is not likely to be easy, for there are sharp divisions on many subjects. One thing alone unites them presently: a desire to hunt down and kill that bastard Reichenau. For they know now. Know that it was he who kept the Great Time War going; he who, like the mischievous half-god Loki, meddled in mankind’s affairs and caused the great rift between the tribes.

  Or not caused. No. That’s taking things too far. Because Rassenkampf was real, back at the start of things. Back when things were raw. No, caused is wrong. Maintained expresses it much better. As a fire is fed.

  Yes, and now they’re out there, our agents and theirs, the older generation mainly, fighting throughout Time to keep things as they were. And no doubt Reichenau is involved once more, recruiting from our ranks. Promising them glory and revenge.

  And that worries me more than anything, for that older generation – my generation – are a lot tougher and more experienced than the young ones coming from Up River. We have no names yet – no idea who it is that’s leading the resistance, or even if there is an organised resistance as such. But one thing is certain. There have been deaths. Ambushes in Time. Yes, and though the platforms have been denied to them, some of them, we know, are still making jumps out there, which suggests – to me, anyway, and to Old Schnorr – that they have somehow obtained some of the jump pendants. Now, whether that’s from Up River, or whether they’ve been given them by Reichenau, we know for certain that they’re trying to cause as much trouble as they can.

  I am about to say something in this regard, when a figure shimmers into being next to Svetov. It is my future self, dressed for the Russia of the early eighteenth century. The table falls silent.

  ‘Forgive me, Arkadi,’ he says, placing his hand on Svetov’s shoulder briefly, ‘but I must borrow myself for a while.’

  ‘Is there news?’ Svetov asks, half turning, looking up into his face.

  My other self hesitates, and I wonder why. Then he shakes his head. ‘I’ll return Otto, ASAP,’ he says, and, looking to me, gives me the slightest nod. And we jump.

  338

  Back to Poltava. In those narrow streets, surrounded by the Swedes and their allies, as the sun begins its long climb up the sky, I strain to hear the sounds of battle, but there are none. It seems we have jumped in several days before the two great armies engage.

  We are not here to alter that. No. We’re here to take one of Reichenau’s men. To capture him and take him back to Four-Oh, there to question him.

  We go to an inn, to which two of our agents – young men from Up River – have traced the man. From what they can make out he is in his room even now, asleep after a long night of debauchery. Personally, I wonder why we’re waiting. Why it needs two of me to take this one. But it seems they wanted to be sure. To receive my orders before going in. And this small incident makes me realise how uncertain our forces currently are. How in need they are of strong leadership, with both Hecht and Yastryeb dead.

  And that’s my task. Lone wolf or not, I must at least act as if I know what I’m doing. As if I had some kind of plan.

  ‘You, Grigor. Is the door locked?’

  He shrugs.

  ‘Okay. Well, the first thing I want you to do is try it. See if we can go in there any other way but jumping.’

  ‘But …’

  ‘No. We keep it simple. We go in there, remove his pendant, and replace it with one of our own. You have it, Otto …’

  And I turn to my other self who, searching his pockets, is surprised to find one of the new jump pendants there.

  I take it from him and hand it to the other. Dimitri.

  ‘It’s like this. You hold the man down, Dimitri, while Grigor removes the pendant. Cut it from him if you must, but don’t let him jump. Then get the new pendant about his neck, so that when he jumps he’s going nowhere but back to the platform at Four
-Oh.’

  ‘Yes, Meister,’ they say, as one, and now that they’ve a task, they seem very different men, full of enthusiasm.

  ‘Good. Then I’ll see you there.’

  And I jump. Back to Four-Oh, stepping from the platform even as the two young men appear in the air, their captive held between them.

  There, I think. Simple.

  Only the captive agent is one we’ve never seen before – even Old Schnorr fails to recognise him – and, perhaps more tellingly, he’s mute. No tongue at all in his head.

  I curse. Is this Reichenau messing with our heads again?

  ‘Question him,’ I say, taking the two men aside. ‘Use chalk and slate to ask him questions, if you have to. He may have no tongue, but I reckon he can spell well enough. And if he proves reluctant, then hand him over to Freisler. He’ll find a way to get him to tell us what he knows.’

  I say that, not thinking properly, not actually knowing whether Freisler has joined us or become a renegade. But my guess is that he has. After all, he has always been loyal to the Meister. And I’m Meister now, so …

  So I simply don’t know. And that’s the truth. Maybe Old Schnorr can draw me up a list of ours and theirs. If that’s at all possible.

  Thinking of Old Schnorr makes me realise – the conference is still going on. Important matters are being discussed, a new order being constructed, piece by piece, and I ought to be there, directing that process, playing peacemaker to the various factions.

  I turn, meaning to summon one of the women, only to find Zarah standing there, waiting for me.

  ‘It’s okay,’ she says. ‘I’ve come to take you back.’ And, taking my arm, we step back onto the platform and, just a second or two later, are back on the grassy slope beneath the farmhouse in Tannenberg, everyone at the two big tables turned to witness us appear from the air.

  As Zarah and I take our seats, they wait, all eyes on us, only the faintest murmur of insects disturbing the ancient silence of the afternoon.

  I sit, then look about me. ‘Okay. So what did I miss?’

  Svetov grins. ‘We’ve been hearing about how things are, Up River. But then you know all about that stuff. Saratov briefed you, didn’t he?’

  ‘He did. And is that all?’

  ‘No,’ Urte, the smallest of us says, leaning forward. ‘We’ve a problem.’

  ‘I wouldn’t call it that,’ Svetov begins, but she interrupts him.

  ‘D’you want this to work, or don’t you?’

  Svetov frowns. He’s clearly not a man who’s used to contradiction. But he swallows it this time. For the sake of making things work.

  ‘A problem?’ I look about me, seeing how every face wears the same look of pained concern. ‘What kind of problem?’

  ‘It’s Freisler,’ Ernst says. ‘He’s gone. There’s simply no sign of him. It’s like he’s fallen off the map.’

  ‘What if he’s dead?’ I ask. ‘What if one of us has killed him, up the line?’

  ‘Maybe we have,’ Svetov says, with the slightest glance at Urte, as if he’s checking whether it’s okay for him to speak. ‘But what concerns me – and others here, I’m sure – is the timing of things. For him to vanish as he did, at the moment we convened this meeting …’

  ‘You think he’s Reichenau’s man?’ I ask. ‘You think he’s been working for him all along?’

  ‘I don’t,’ Svetov says, surprising me. ‘I’d have said there was no more loyal man than Freisler. Only his loyalty was to the volk. He was Hecht’s man, Otto. Never yours.’

  I nod, taking that in, wondering what damage Freisler was doing even as we sat there, prevaricating. And as I did, I realised that they were waiting once again. Waiting for me to come up with a solution, or at least a strategy for dealing with the man.

  ‘What we need right now,’ I begin, ‘more than anything, is information. We need to identify who our opponents are and where they’re based. Because they must be based somewhere. Somewhere they can eat and sleep in safety and, well, someone who’s organising all of that.’

  Zarah raises a hand, fingers splayed.

  ‘Yes, Zarah?’

  ‘All that’s to be discovered. Who they are, where they are. But what is most urgent is for us to protect what we have. Our platforms – Four-Oh and Moscow Central – particularly. Because without those we simply can’t function. And they’ve never been so vulnerable, so accessible to our enemies, whoever they are.’

  And even as she says it, some part of me knows it has already been attended to – or is just about to, which pretty much equates to the same thing in Time.

  ‘As I see it, it’s all very simple,’ I say, thinking aloud. ‘We need to out-think them. To anticipate and use the skills we have. To track them down and eliminate them, one by one. Until the job is done.’

  Yes, and to find Katerina and my girls. Only I don’t say that, even if everyone at that table knows what drives me.

  ‘So what first?’ Svetov asks. ‘Freisler? Should we form a team to track that bastard down?’

  ‘A mixed team,’ I say. ‘Germans and Russians. Good, reliable men who’ve had no exposure to Freisler. Because the last thing we want is to have our agents “turned” against us.’

  Further down the table, across from me, Dankevich laughs and then leans forward. ‘It seems to me that that’s the biggest problem we have. Bigger than Freisler. Bigger than defending the platforms. Knowing who to trust. Get that wrong and …’

  I stare at him a moment, trying to read what’s behind the surface of his eyes, but it’s no good. If there’s one man at that table that I don’t trust, it’s Dankevich. Yet he comes with the endorsement of all the Russian camp. They tell me he’s a man to be relied on, absolutely and to the death.

  Well, we’ll see, eh? In the meantime I resolve to place a man on him, to keep tabs as to what he does and where he goes. Yes. Maybe I’d even delegate that task to Zarah. Put her and Dankevich in a team for some purpose or another – nothing critical, but somewhere he could prove his worth to us.

  My instinct, of course, is to kill him. Now, before he can betray us. Because I have a very bad feeling about Dankevich. I’ve killed him far too often to feel at ease with him covering my back. No. But I could limit any damage. Until we’d proved his loyalty … or lack thereof.

  ‘Okay.’ I say, looking about the table, shutting my mind temporarily to all such doubts, focusing on the task in hand. ‘What’s next on the agenda?’

  339

  We take a break. The first of many. Breaks to go and consult experts. Breaks to set things in motion. Breaks simply because we needed a break, the tension was running so high. But, more than anything, breaks to keep checking to see what effect our actions were having on the Tree of Worlds.

  I’d noticed it earlier, at the platform of Four-Oh. How the operators were mixed now – half men, half women. And how respectfully they stood, heads bowed, whenever I entered that massive room.

  Things were changing, especially now that we shared DNA access to each other’s platforms. Slowly as yet, but with a sense of inexorable progress. A whole new way of doing things. One aspect of which was my first visit to Moscow Central. There, even more than at Four-Oh, I was greeted with an enthusiasm I found hard to comprehend.

  I turned to Svetov. ‘What is this, Arkadi? Why was I chosen?’

  The big man laughed, then placed his hand on my shoulder, his eyes meeting mine, an almost fervent look in them.

  ‘Because you chose Katerina.’

  He is about to say more, to explain it all to me, when Dimitri shimmers out of the air.

  ‘The mute has spoken,’ he says breathlessly, handing the slate to me, on which there is a single word. Or, rather, a name.

  Shafarevich.

  If Freisler disappearing was bad, this is many times worse, for Shafarevich was the Russians’ best agent. And, if what Reichenau’s mute says is true, it’s he whom the renegades have chosen for their ‘Meister’.

  Yes, but in charge of
whom? Just a handful of Russians, or more than that?

  ‘We must ask him for more. For other names and the number of his accomplices. For whom he answers to, and …’

  I stop. Dimitri is shaking his head. ‘We can’t. He’s been taken.’

  ‘Taken?’ Only I can see it, even as I frame the word. Reichenau, there in the cell with him, taking our pendant from his neck and putting his own in its place.

  Reichenau, then … and Shafarevich … and Freisler …

  The thought of those three working together, causing trouble together, chills me. Makes me think, for the first time, that we just might lose this one.

  Only I can’t say that. Can’t even suggest it. Not if we’re to win new converts. Not if we’re to convince the un-persuaded that we can win. Because, right now, it’s all balanced on a knife’s edge, and while we have the massive tactical advantage of the platforms, that may not last. As Zarah said, they’ve never been so vulnerable. And none of those unholy three are idiots. Why, they’ll be working right this moment on some scheme to grab them from us and set themselves up as time lords.

  ‘Otto?’

  ‘Yes, Arkadi?’

  ‘There’s something I need to say. Something I haven’t told you about.’

  ‘Then speak.’

  Only it seems Svetov isn’t going to tell me, not without telling everyone else. And so we return to Tannenberg and that long and crowded table, all of whom fall silent when Svetov and I reappear.

  ‘Comrades,’ Svetov says, remaining standing even as I take my seat. ‘We have spoken many times now about what was wrong with “The Game”. Of our general feeling that the wrong path was taken. That changing the past merely to destroy one’s enemies was not the answer. It is why we are here. To repair what has been done, and to forge a new path. And so we shall. But first we must make sure that there is a path into the future.’