“He was born a troublemaker.” And that’s the understatement of this timeline, thought Noel.
“Let’s not wrap it up in clean linen,” said Clovis. “He has impersonated a British officer.”
Noel nodded.
“At the time of capture, he was wearing an American uniform and carrying stolen papers.”
Noel nodded again.
“He murdered a man to get those items. Worse, he tortured and mutilated the poor brute.”
Surprised, Noel opened his mouth.
“You wish to dispute that, Mr. Kedran?”
“Torture and—that’s not his style. I’m not taking up for him, mind you. I’m just surprised.”
“It wasn’t pretty,” said Clovis austerely. Judgment and condemnation rang in his voice. “I’ve fought the Indians for years and I’ve seen what they can do to settlers, but there’s never been an Indian who did handiwork like your brother’s.”
“Odd,” muttered Noel in puzzlement. Leon had killed often enough. And he enjoyed the pain of others. But usually his torture was of the psychological kind. He’d never gone this far before, at least not to Noel’s knowledge. “The last time I saw him he seemed better, less violent and more—more compassionate. I’m shocked.”
“Well you might be,” said Clovis grimly.
His tone caught Noel’s attention. “There’s more?”
“Yes. He attempted to steal the army payroll.”
From the history texts, Noel knew how seldom the Continental Congress managed to pay its troops. Men who had just spent a winter starving to death with inadequate shelter and clothing might see that as the worst offense of all.
“My brother is frequently despicable,” said Noel.
“You don’t excuse him, sir?”
“How could I?”
“And you believe these charges?”
“I would take your word before his.”
The rigid set of Clovis’s shoulders relaxed. “I see you’re a well-spoken gentleman, someone who’s not afraid to face facts, however unpleasant.”
“Running from problems doesn’t solve them,” said Noel with a sigh.
“You’re late in coming. The trial was held last Thursday.”
A cold chill ran through Noel. He looked into Clovis’s eyes and suddenly understood why the man was so gruff and watchful. They had already executed Leon for these charges. He had come too late.
“We tried him before a proper military tribunal as a soldier, though whether he’s ever served we could not say.”
“Court-martialed,” said Noel. He felt numb.
“He was charged as a deserter, a spy, a thief, and a murderer. Guilty on one count would have been enough to seal his fate. He was found guilty on all four. Military justice is swift, Mr. Kedran. A well-spoken gentleman such as yourself, coming to speak for him, might have gained him better representation. He might have even been granted a delay. But the verdict was handed down for execution.”
Noel nodded, unable to meet Clovis’s eyes. Small wonder he had been uneasy in coming here. Something in him must have sensed it all along. Once again he felt a swift flash of resentment, so hot and stabbing it made him nauseous, that he should be chained to this creature who had his face, forced to follow along mopping up and explaining, taking looks of pity or censure. Now that was at an end, but so perhaps was his own time. If the future was destroyed, what became of the past?
He became aware of Clovis’s steadying hand on his arm, of being shoved into a chair.
“There, sir. I told you too fast. I’m sorry to shock you like that.”
Noel rubbed his face, trying to pull himself together. “I’m all right. It’s just that I—never mind.”
“Flesh and blood are flesh and blood, Mr. Kedran, even when some acts are shameful. Some gentlemen are lenient-minded. I take it your father raised you and your half brother together?”
“Not exactly. I met him when we were grown.”
“And until then you had no idea of his existence?”
Noel shook his head. “None.”
“Quite a shock, I’m sure, Mr. Kedran.”
“Yes,” said Noel ruefully, “it was.” He got to his feet. “I’m keeping you from your work. It’s time I left. Thank you for talking to me.”
Clovis stared at him. “But don’t you want to see him?”
“See him? But—”
“He’ll be shot in the morning. He’s refused the minister, but perhaps he’ll see you.”
Noel blinked, trying to make the adjustment. “Yes, I want to see him. I—I thought he was already dead.”
“No, sir. Not just yet.”
Sergeant Clovis stepped to the doorway and bawled, “Andrews! On the double!”
A boy about Robert’s age came running and saluted. “Yes, sir?” he said breathlessly.
“Show this gentleman to the guardhouse. He has leave to see one of the prisoners. My compliments to Sergeant Mumpton and see that he extends full courtesy to Mr. Kedran.”
“Yes, sir!”
The guardhouse was a large square structure located next to the infirmary. Noel could smell the stench of gangrene even from outside, and someone was moaning hideously. Andrews skipped ahead of him, nimble in the mud.
“Tell me,” said Noel. “Has a boy a bit younger than you come to volunteer today? He’s about so tall and has blond hair.”
Andrews laughed. His accent was crisp Massachusetts. “We get as many as a dozen boys a day sometimes. Boys,” he said with contempt as though he were himself a seasoned fifty. “Just cut loose from their mothers’ apron strings, and too green to burn. We send ’em home again just as soon as they come in. Fine lot of good they are, bawling for their mommies in the night.”
Relieved, Noel hid his amusement. “And how long have you been in service, Private?”
“Dunno,” said Andrews, scratching his head. “I started out apprenticed to a printer’s shop. Lots of sedition there, my! I got to running as a courier, then I took up a musket and served a spell with the Boston Regulars. Now I’m here.”
He winked at the sentries and knocked smartly on the door to the guardhouse. “Andrews, sir! Compliments of Sergeant Clovis and could this gentleman see one of the prisoners.”
“Thank you,” said Noel, and with a bow Andrews hurried on. Noel met the single eye of a gruff-looking individual. “Sergeant Mumpton?”
“Aye. And which prisoner is it?”
“Nardek.”
Mumpton slitted his eye and looked Noel over carefully. “If you hadn’t come up with young Andrews there, I’d be thinking you was Nardek himself, escaped and come back to laugh at us.”
Noel tried to let nothing show in his face. “My…brother.”
“Ho! You say that like it tastes bad in your mouth. Hold off a bit. We’ll drag him out and throw a bucket of water over him. There’s nothing like jail to make a man stink.”
In the end, Noel and Leon were placed in a tiny, airless room together. A stub of candle flickered in a tin holder, making a dim glow of light at the center of the darkness. Alone, they stared at each other, sitting face to face, one a reflection of the other. When Leon stirred, Noel could hear the clanking of his chains.
Noel found himself with nothing to say. Disappointment was chief in his mind. How could Leon do such things and sit there as though he hadn’t a care in the world? Noel had expected him to be angry, wild with fear, his cowardice making him spit insults and threats. Instead, he seemed calm and almost amused. He must be planning something, but what?
“There is a story, very old in your literature,” said Leon, “in which a man offers to take the place of another who looks like him, right at the eve of execution. Why am I not surprised to see you here?”
“This is not A Tale of Two Cities,” said Noel curtly. “I am not about to take your place.”
“Is that what it’s called? Where did I hear of it? Not in anyone’s mind.”
“It hasn’t been written yet,” said Noel. “I
t lies in the future.”
“Ah, your precious future. How will you save it this time?”
“I don’t know.”
“I do. You intend to activate your LOC and whisk us out of here.” Leon snapped his fingers. “Hocus-pocus. I wonder where we’ll go next.”
“We’re going home,” said Noel.
“I have no home!” snapped Leon. It was the first sign of what raged beneath his acting. “And I don’t care about yours.”
“It doesn’t matter,” said Noel, watching him.
Leon eased back in his chair, and the violence slid from him like oil. “No, you have never listened to me. You walk around with a goal foremost in your mind and you never forget it. A hammer striking an anvil, over and over…that is you, Noel, following your purpose.”
“You’re back to hating me,” said Noel.
Leon’s eyes flickered. They looked almost red in the candlelight. “Why shouldn’t I?”
“Lately you didn’t seem to quite as much.”
“You waste my time.”
Noel now observed the tension beneath Leon’s insouciance. A corner of Leon’s mouth twitched. Leon began to drum his fingers on his knees.
Noel understood. “You want to leave. You’ve been waiting for me to pull you back into the time stream. For once, you’re eager to go.”
“I don’t fancy being shot,” muttered Leon resentfully. “You ought to be worried about it too. After all, I seem to be kind of important to your plans.”
“You finally figured that out.”
Leon replied to his sarcasm with a smirk, then glowered. “Well?”
“Can’t you get yourself out?”
“I can’t make them…what difference does it make? Turn on the LOC, and let’s go.”
“It’s not that easy,” said Noel.
Leon scowled and leaned forward. His chains clanked loudly. “Don’t play games, brother. We’re running out of time.”
“You are—”
“No!” he shouted, pointing his finger. “You need me.”
It was true, but Noel found it impossible to resist twisting Leon all he could. He said, “What happened to your theory that we aren’t part of each other? You’re just a reflection, a double-skip of the matrix. Your presence won’t fix the distortion—”
“Incorrect!” said the LOC. It hummed to life, flashing blue light around the tiny chamber.
Noel jumped to his feet, staring at his hand in consternation. “I didn’t activate you.”
“Incorrect!” said the LOC. “Theory is incorrect. Distortion is caused by separation of Subjects One and Two.”
“What’s the matter with it?” asked Leon. “Why is it malfunctioning?”
“It’s not malfunctioning,” said Noel grimly. “It’s Qwip.”
“Affirmative,” said his LOC.
Noel felt the urge to take the ring off and hurl it as far from him as he could. “You’ve possessed my LOC. Damn you! Get out of it!”
The guard outside rapped on the door. “Is there a problem?”
“No!” said Noel, pulling his voice under control with difficulty. “Everything is fine.”
“Five more minutes, sir. That’s all.”
“Thank you.”
Leon stood up, making his chains rattle. “Five minutes!” he hissed. “You’ve got to recall us now.”
“I-can’t,” said Noel, frowning at his LOC. “You know what happened the last time Qwip interfered.”
“Blast you, get the thing out of it. They’re going to kill me in a few hours. Initiate recall.”
The LOC flashed. “Recall sequence can commence by voice command. Contact has been established with time portal. Coordinates are set.”
“Do it!” insisted Leon.
Noel held up his hand. “No.”
“You—”
“I said no.” Noel looked at him, meeting stare for stare. Leon’s desperation and urgency stank in the room. His will beat at Noel’s, and they seemed to be locked in that silent combat for an eternity. Then Noel said, “It’s too risky.”
“Fool! There’s no risk for you. I’m the one in danger.” Leon bared his teeth. “You don’t care. You’re glad to be rid of me, even if it costs you a return to your own precious century. With me dead, you can stay here with Sally, and consider yourself noble for what you sacrificed. Well, I won’t be that sacrifice! I won’t! I’ll make you take me. I’ll—”
He sprang at Noel, moving faster in his shackles than Noel expected. His hands closed around Noel’s throat, in spite of Noel’s struggles to throw him off, and they went crashing back over a chair. Noel punched and kicked, but Leon’s hands were like claws, digging into his throat, throttling off his air. Nothing Noel did loosened that hold, and he was choking, choking. The world grew as dark as smoke and he felt himself going down.
There was a shout and a thud. Leon’s hands abruptly slackened, and Noel dragged in a wheezing breath. The guards dragged Leon’s unconscious body off Noel and helped him up.
“Are you all right, sir?”
Noel massaged his aching throat and nodded. “Stupid,” he said. “I was caught by surprise. I didn’t expect—”
“He’s a bad ’un, all right,” said the guard. “You go out, sir, and leave us to put him back under lock and key.”
Noel hesitated, unsure of what to do. Leon, for all his murderous rage, was right. What further chance did they have if they lost it now?
“Go on,” said the guard, but not unkindly. “You’ll just make it harder on yourself if you stay.”
“I—I want to see him again before dawn. Before—” Noel squinted. “Will that be possible?”
“You’ll have to ask the sergeant, sir. I’m sure I couldn’t say. Stand aside now.”
And they dragged Leon away.
Chapter 18
Outside, Noel stood a moment in front of the guardhouse, then strode away. He walked past the fires and clusters of men, ignoring the snatches of conversation that came to him. He walked all the way to the periphery of camp, where the firelight did not reach. Within their enclosure, the cavalry horses neighed and shifted about, made nervous by the unfamiliar smell of him.
“Halt!” said a voice sharply. “Who goes there?”
Noel froze in his tracks. “My name is Kedran. I’m a civilian. Sergeant Clovis gave me permission to be in the camp.”
“You can’t go this way, sir. Please turn back.”
“Of course,” said Noel. “Is there somewhere I can be alone?”
“Alone?” asked the sentry suspiciously.
Noel started to explain, then felt too tired to try. “Never mind.”
“Turn back,” said the sentry.
“I’m going.”
He walked back the way he’d just come. With every step his bottled emotions intensified. Someone jostled into him and hurried on without an apology. Everywhere he turned, there were men. Anyplace private had a guard posted. For all the seeming ease of the camp, strict watch was being kept.
Finally Noel turned and strode out to the parade ground. There in the dark among the stumps, he sat down. He was in plain sight of everyone who wanted to look, but at least he was out of earshot. Maybe here he could be left alone.
“LOC,” he said through gritted teeth. “Activate in strict disguise mode. No light.”
“Acknowledged,” said the LOC in a very hushed voice. The ring grew warm on his finger, pulsing there.
Noel’s eyes narrowed. His mouth was set in a thin, hard line. He drew in a couple of swift breaths. “Qwip,” he said. “I assume you’re still in possession of my computer?’
“Affirmative,” replied his LOC.
At least it was his LOC’s toneless voice, but he knew Qwip was in control.
Noel’s right hand tightened into a fist. “I thought we had a deal,” he said.
“I have no reference for deal.”
“An agreement. Terms. I was to reunite with my duplicate and return to my origin point in order to shut d
own the time distortion. That, we agreed, would close the window to your dimension and stop any future chance of intrusion across dimensional lines. We discussed this in n-space, and agreed to it. Do you remember?’
“Clearly.”
Noel’s jaw set even more rigidly. A little muscle jumped there. “Why have you chosen to violate our agreement?”
“Define violate.”
“You changed the terms we had agreed to. That is violation.”
“I do not understand,” said Qwip flatly.
“I think you understand very well. I think that you have let your curiosity about us lead you from your assigned purpose.”
“I have not forgotten my instructions,” said Qwip.
“Then why have you failed to carry them out?”
“Instructions are…if mission fails, I am to terminate you.”
“As long as you have possession of my LOC,” said Noel grimly, “the mission will fail. Do you want to terminate me?’
“Individual will we have discussed before,” said Qwip. “This concept is alien.”
“Why are you indulging in it, then?”
Qwip did not reply.
Noel’s anger focused to a very cold point. He kept his voice terse and precise. “Individual will is in direct opposition to your instructions. I submit that you are in violation of your instructions. You have failed. You have erred. You must report your failure to your superiors.”
“I have no reference for superiors.”
“Who issued your instructions?”
Qwip did not reply.
“Who issued your instructions?”
Qwip did not reply.
“You will answer,” said Noel coldly. “Who issued your instructions?”
“I—I am not programmed to respond in that area.”
Noel tipped back his head. He’d always suspected Qwip was a computer. A very sophisticated one, fitted with AI, but still a machine. And containing a machine’s literal mindset at its core.
“When you fail, who is informed?”
Qwip did not reply.
Noel’s mind flashed back to their initial conversation while he was between. “You ask who,” Qwip had said. “You should ask what.”
“When you fail,” repeated Noel, “what is informed?”
“I do not wish to answer,” said Qwip.
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