Chronosphere

by Adam Witcher

  Anton was amazed, but his biggest kick came from watching Ana react to the scene. Of course this was all new for him, too, but for her, this was clearly a surreal experience. For several moments, the android simply stood in place and stared at all the bright colors and sniffed the air.

  “Enjoy it, Ana, but remember, we’ve got a job to do, and we don’t have a lot of time before the royal procession comes back.”

  She pulled her gazed back to Anton and nodded.

  “You’ll have plenty of time to inspect everything,” he said. “This is going to be our home soon enough.”

  He motioned toward a less crowded part of the street, and she followed. A few of the haughtier looking pedestrians gave them dirty looks as they passed. They moved until Anton spotted an alleyway, and he pulled her into it.

  “Look, we need a spectacle. It doesn’t have to be anything complicated, just enough to get the king’s attention. It needs to look like magic.”

  “I am not programmed for ‘magic’.”

  He thought for a moment.

  “We have technology that these people could never dream of. You are technology that these people could never dream of. But I don’t want to give anything too drastic away…”

  They stood in silence while people walked by. A few glanced into the alley curiously.

  “Maybe if we could get some things from an alchemist or an apothecary… No, no, we don’t have any money.”

  Anton paced back and forth while Ana watched him. When he was walking toward the back of the alley, he spotted a pile of discarded vegetable crates. He began laughing to himself.

  “What is funny, Anton?”

  “It’s the oldest trick in the book,” he said, picking up one of the crates. “I saw old footage of it when I was a kid. But I’m willing to bet these people have never seen it.”

  “What is the trick?” Ana asked. “Perhaps I have data on it.”

  He grinned.

  ***

  They crouched behind the crates and watched the bioscan hologram from Ana’s hand. It was more difficult to distinguish the procession among the crowded city than it was to find the settlement near the forest, but it wasn’t long before a well-organized cluster of dots became visible.

  “Grab a crate,” Anton said. “Just follow my lead.”

  They carried the crates over their heads as they made their way through the streets back toward the main entrance. They received more strange and hateful looks, but nobody questioned them. Anton was glad of that. He had little doubt that they looked like thieves. Luckily, nobody seemed concerned about the loss of a few crates.

  The crates were useless to anyone else. They’d made sure of that when they busted through the ends of both, leaving only four wooden sides on each. They were long but shallow, which made them ideal for their stunt.

  Stopping beside a blacksmith’s shop on the main road, Anton laid out his crate on the ground and instructed Ana to put hers beside it so that it appeared as one long, continuous crate with openings at both ends. Ana stuck her hand in and they both peeked at the bioscanner. Watching the dots move, he guessed he had about two minutes before the procession headed through the gates.

  The blacksmith, a greasy, dark-skinned man, stepped out from his shop with a broadsword in hand. He half-heartedly set it on the anvil as if preparing to work, but he clearly had come out to see what these two paupers and their boxes were doing next to his place of business.

  The sound of hooves echoed against the city walls, and crowds formed along the sides of the road. The atmosphere became much more subdued. The merchant class inside the city walls certainly had a sense of decorum that the peasants outside the walls lacked. Anton approached the blacksmith.

  “Could you do me a favor, friend? I just need to borrow that sword for about two minutes, maybe a couple of old rags to go with it.”

  “Why should I do a thing like that? You’ll run off with it, tramp.” The man’s voice was deep and throaty.

  “I have something amazing to show you, to show all of these people.”

  “Sounds like a ruse. Not interested.”

  Anton tried not to show his nervousness.

  “I’m a magician from the far east,” he said, maintaining a fake smile. “I can do things beyond your imagination. If you lend me your sword, I can bring a great deal of attention to your business. I’ll not go more than ten feet away from you, and I’ll return the thing the instant I’m done.”

  The man sighed.

  “The royal family is about to come through,” he said. “Ask me again when they’re gone.”

  “Ah, but don’t you see? If you lend me the sword when the family is here, they will see me perform my great feat with it. Wouldn’t you like them to see your beautiful weaponry in action?”

  The man stared him down.

  “Look,” Anton pushed. “If I try to steal it, you can run me down easily. You’re a head taller than me and you know this city better than a foreigner like me ever could.”

  “Fine,” the man said. “You have five minutes.”

  The hoofbeats grew louder. Most of the crowd quieted down. Some of them smoothed out the kinks and wrinkles in their robes. Two young ladies across the street fixed each other’s hair. The blacksmith handed over the broadsword, which Anton carried awkwardly over to the crates. It was much heavier than he’d expected. Ana slid into the connected crates, and the blacksmith tossed over a couple of oily rags.

  Anton cleared his throat, took a deep breath.

  “People of Jagari, may I have your attention!” He called out with as much confidence as he could muster. “I’ve come from distant lands to perform an impossible feat. An act that will defy your greatest imaginations!”

  A few confused heads turned toward him, many ignored him. The quiet leading to the royal procession’s approach left a silence that he filled, along with the approaching horses. His confidence fumbled as the procession drew near, the six knights leading the king.

  “Now,” he cried, “before your very eyes, I will cut this woman in two! Then, I will put her back together completely unharmed. Is such a thing possible?” He took the two rags and attached them to the inner gaps between the crates. Luckily, they were splintered and caught the fabric easily.

  The crowd continued to watch the procession as the first brown horse crossed in front of Anton. He noticed only a few annoyed glances in their direction.

  Shit! Half the crowd can't even see us.

  As the third horse passed in front of him, Anton cried, “You’ll never experience magic like this again! Don’t miss your once-in-a-lifetime chance!”

  He was met by a chorus of angry shushing.

  As the fifth horse passed him, Anton lifted the sword over the crates

  “Don’t do it!” a woman screamed, “You’ll kill her!”

  This got the attention of the knights, who halted the procession, as well as the king, who was about ten feet away from the magic act. Now was his moment. He had to be quick.

  “Behold!”

  Before he swung, he caught eyes with Ana and nodded. She scooted the two crates back together while still inside of them. He heard a metallic sliding noise. With a dramatic bellow, he swung the broadsword down, aiming for the crease between the two crates.

  The crowd gasped. The broadsword slid right through the crates, thrusting them apart. The two rags drifted down to cover Ana’s exposed circuitry.

  “Murderer!” someone cried.

  The king leaned over his horse, looking both horrified and mystified. The rest of the procession craned their necks to see what was happening. He saw the queen and the princess behind him, but the Draconians were too far back to see him. Perfect.

  The king did and said nothing as his guards leaped from their horses and drew their swords.

  “You are under arrest for murder,” one said.

  “How stupid can you be, peasant? Right in front of the king and his guards?” said another.

  Anton dropped the swor
d and put his hands up. He looked to Ana, who was kicking her legs. This caught the attention of one of the guards, who gasped. Nobody seemed to wonder why there wasn’t blood pouring out of her.

  “I am fine,” Ana said, smiling.

  The guards pointed their swords toward Anton’s throat.

  “What kind of sorcery is this?” the first guard yelled. “Explain yourself!”

  The king’s mouth hung wide open. His horrified expression had turned to exhilaration. The princess smiled lightly, curious. The queen looked unamused.

  “Please, allow me to demonstrate,” Anton said.

  “Don’t you dare pick up that sword!”

  Anton put his hands up. He gestured to the blacksmith, whose face had gone red. The man quickly ran over, picked up his sword, and returned to his anvil.

  “May I move, just a little?” Anton said.

  The guards weren’t sure how to react.

  “Go on, then.” The faint voice of the king turned more than a few heads.

  No one moved for a moment.

  “Fix her up, if you can,” the king challenged.

  Anton smiled. He pushed the two crates back together, then ran his fingers along the crease. The quiet sounds of metal pieces shifting back into place reverberated from within. He made a show of it, acting out a spell and ritual. Silence hung over the crowd. Hundreds of eyes were watching him. Luckily, he hid his nervousness well. A lifetime of pretending all was well in front of the Draconians helped.

  He nodded to Ana. She pulled herself from the box, falling into a heap on the ground before standing up. She gestured to her unsliced midsection.

  “That isn’t possible!” one of the guards said.

  “That’s what I just said,” Anton replied.

  “Miss.” The knight lifted his visor and offered her his hand. “You’re really alright? This man sliced you straight in half.”

  “I am perfectly whole,” she said.

  “God,” the guard said, turning back toward his horse. “There is something terribly wrong with you two.”

  “False alarm,” another said to the king as the knights climbed back atop their mounts. “Let’s continue.”

  The king couldn’t take his eyes off Ana. They rode on past Anton. As the queen and princess passed, they both stared. Soon, the black-armored guards, followed by the Draconian royalty. Anton felt his stomach turn. They hadn’t seen the display, but they likely knew he was a part of the delay. They glared daggers at him.

  “Anton, I don’t understand, did the plan work?” Ana asked.

  “I… I… thought it would, but…” words left him.

  As soon as the royal procession had passed, the crowd gathered around them and cheered. A few tossed coins into one crate that was turned over on its side.

  “Amazing, sir, how did you do that?”

  “Are you a wizard?”

  “Is she a witch?”

  Voices surrounded Anton with admiring questions, but it all was a blur. Was the king not impressed? The voices around him subsided as a horse approached. One of the king’s knights summoned Anton.

  “You there, peasant,” he said.

  The crowd began to disperse.

  “The king seeks your presence tomorrow afternoon at 15:00. Come to the royal court. And bring her.”

  He tossed Anton a sheet of paper with a gaudy seal on it.

  “This will be your writ of passage.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Anton said, overjoyed.

  The man nodded and turned away. Then he turned back.

  “Oh, and one more thing,” he said, tossing a handful of bright golden coins to Anton. “Make yourselves look presentable.”

  Chapter Four

  King Gareth, Queen Orpha, and Princess Petra sat at the long dining table while servants set out dishes and glassware for the feast. The king was already two full goblets into the spiced wine, and his pudgy cheeks were rosy. The queen looked exasperated. Petra only half-listened to their conversation, instead letting her eyes wander to the elaborate tapestries that adorned the walls of the seldom-used chamber. It was a rare thing for the royal family to host honored guests, and all three members were used to taking their meals in their own private chambers.

  The tapestries depicted historic moments in Jagari’s history as well as myths and legends that were based more on fantasy than reality. One artfully portrayed a knight in golden armor thrusting his sword through the neck of a dragon. Supposedly, this was Jagar, the city’s founder, but Petra wasn’t convinced he was real, much less the dragon. Others were less ostentatious, depicting coronation ceremonies or likenesses of royalty from years past. Petra had forgotten how much she enjoyed looking at these. Her parents, however, took no notice.

  “Petra, listen to your mother when she’s talking,” her father grunted as a servant poured a fresh cup of wine into his goblet.

  “Hmm?”

  “You must pay attention, child, this is important!” the queen commanded, slapping her hand to the table.

  “I’m not a child, mother. I’m not even a teenager anymore.”

  Her mother glared daggers at her.

  “Sorry, sorry. I’m listening.”

  “I shouldn’t have to tell you two this,” the queen hissed, “but please be on your best behavior. Both of you.” She eyed her husband’s cup of wine.

  “Of course, darling.” King Gareth took another gulp.

  “Let’s make that the last cup for a while.”

  “But this is a time for celebration, my love!” the king exclaimed, sloshing the wine in his hand as he gestured to his daughter. “Ah, what a special moment! I’ve been looking forward to your betrothal for years, Petra. You’ll make a beautiful bride.”

  “But I wouldn’t have made a beautiful bride for Sir Clive? Or Hectus?” Petra shuddered at the latter name, but her point still stood.

  “Don’t you dare mention those names tonight!” Orpha snapped. “You know why things didn’t work with those men. Why make this harder than necessary?”

  “I was speaking to my father, not to you.”

  A servant placed a tray of fruit on the table, and Petra grabbed an apple. She twirled it for a moment, gazing at it absently before taking a bite.

  “And that makes a difference?” Orpha said.

  “He’s treating this like it’s some grand romantic moment,” she said with a full mouth. “At least you see it for what it is. A business transaction. God forbid I actually develop feelings for a man before you cart me off to his household.”

  “You’ve completely forgotten your manners,” the queen shot back weakly before leaning back into her chair. “Sir Clive is a good man,” she added softly. “But you need a husband that’s more than good.”

  Petra put her apple down and leaned forward. She opened her eyes wide, challenging her mother. The king said nothing, choosing instead to hide behind his goblet.

  “Right,” the Princess said. “I need a man with a big, thick, powerful…”

  “Petra!” Her mother slapped another hand onto the table, then raised it to her mouth. “Not here, not now. Not in front of…”

  The queen shifted her eyes toward the nearest servant, Gregor, a silver-haired man who had been in the family since before Petra’s birth. Ever professional, the old servant either was not paying attention or was a stone-faced eavesdropper.

  Petra took another bite of the apple, keeping her eyes set on her mother’s. She swallowed, then mouthed the word that would have ended her sentence: coin purse.

  “The family, mocked by my own daughter,” the queen said to nobody in particular. “I swear, you always get this way after your fencing lessons. Belligerent. Rude. I have half a mind to throw out that instructor. I’ve never cared for him, anyway.”

  Petra felt her cheeks flush.

  “I’m… sorry, mother. I know you’re doing what you have to, it’s just…”

  “Just what?”

  “That- that Matteo. He gives me the creeps. Father, you shook ha
nds with him. Didn’t something seem off to you? About the whole family, really.”

  The king set down his goblet.

  “House Dracos comes from the far east, darling.” He wiped the wine from his lips and beard. “They do strange things over there. I’ve heard they eat horses but ride cows. Build their houses with mud. Strange stuff. Maybe this is their way of being friendly. You know, your uncle and I once rode east once on a hunting expedition. Ended up going all the way to a cluster of villages outside the kingdom, probably around the outskirts of the Dracos Kingdom. Your uncle Thomas, always the scholarly one, saw an inscription on the town’s oldest building. He said it was this very old language. Gavadian, I think- or something like that,” he slurred. “Thomas became obsessed with translating it. We spent all day going from village to village, trying to find a book that explains old Gavadian. Finally, we found one and took it back to the inscription. Your uncle translated it.”

  There was a brief silence.

  “...And?” Petra asked.

  “It said Hey idiot, we made you learn some useless Gavadian!”

  The king burst with laughter. The rest of the hall remained silent.

  “Father, what does that have to do with anything?”

  “That was their idea of a joke, you see! These people are different from us.”

  “You’re basing your opinion of an entire region of people on a terrible old joke?” The queen said.

  The king started to reply but stopped himself.

  “Yes, perhaps I’ve had enough wine.”

  “Let’s stop all this speculating,” the queen said, forcing a smile. “They’ll be here shortly. We’ll get to know them over the feast. Oh, and wipe your face, Gareth. That red mouth makes you look like a cannibal.”

  ***

  The Draconians were given three adjacent bedchambers in a hallway near the royal dining hall. The bedchambers were, according to King Gareth, originally the quarters for triplet princes one hundred years prior. Matteo was only half-listening when the king told him of the tragic fate that befell those princes, something about a lover’s squabble and mistaken identities. Now the chambers were spartan, though the simplistic beds and wardrobes did hold a certain elegance. Painted portraits of former royalty were the only decorations, and Matteo suspected their placement as a misguided attempt to instill a regal wonder in guests. He wasn’t impressed.