Paul was talking on the bedside phone in a large hotel in Mayfair, not far from the U.S. Embassy in Grosvenor Square. It was early afternoon. He was not ready to go to the embassy and demand a hearing till he made contact with someone he could trust. Right now he was being blocked by a low-ranking official. By the man’s tone, Paul could tell that he was being dismissed as a crank.
Alice, dressed in new pajamas and a hotel robe, had just enjoyed a delightful hot bath and was now gleefully examining shopping bags of clothes that her James had bought for each of them, spreading them over the twin beds. Among other things, he had chosen a grand gown for her. It was finer than any fabric she had ever touched and shot through with glorious color. She glanced at him with love as he spoke, then listened more closely. Alice had accepted that in this kingdom of sorcerers people were able to talk to each other from afar, but the concern in his voice worried her.
To distract Alice and forestall conversation while he considered his next move, Paul switched the TV from the Internet back to normal programming. He had explained television to Alice as a magical window on other people’s lives. Earlier he had flipped channels through a range of programming, offering quick explanations of each. Talk shows were council meetings where people discussed the needs of their townships. Alice soon caught on. Wildlife documentaries showed where game could be hunted. Cartoons were paintings come to life. What a world, she wondered. Was this magic eye showing her to others just as she watched them? She touched the screen and jumped then giggled as static electricity crackled.
“...look I am not a crank,” Paul insisted, not that Alice understood. “Crank” to her was a word for epilepsy, so what he was saying made little sense to her.
“I am CIA undercover...my name isn’t going to mean anything to you, with all due respect!” Paul realized he was letting his frustration show. “Look, I’m sorry...I need to talk to the Embassy’s senior secret service...hello...Hello! Jesus!”
“James!” said Alice, crossing herself, “Blasphemy is a mortal sin.”
Paul sighed and was silent for a moment. He lacked the inclination to play along. “Look. I need some sleep. You do too. Whichever bed you want, I’ll have the other. I’m taking a shower. Don’t leave this room.”
Alice stared at him blankly. Paul turned wearily to the bathroom and shut the door. A few moments later Alice heard the sound of water running. How did they draw water to their chambers so high above the ground, creating pools and waterfalls? she wondered. And how did they provide water that is instantly hot? Alice moved to the bathroom door. She had worked out how to turn the handles that gave entry to doorways. Paul hadn’t locked it. He wanted the fastest access to the room if he heard sounds of trouble. She opened the door an inch and peeked in. Silhouetted through the frosted glass of the shower, she saw water cascading over James’ black hair, his lean muscular body. Alice blushed and smiled and closed the door.
A few minutes later, Paul, wearing his robe, quietly slipped out of the bathroom. He saw Alice, eyes closed, curled up on the farther bed. He put his head at the foot of the nearer bed so that he would sleep with a clear view of the door.
But Alice was not asleep, as he realized when she lay down beside him and hugged his back.
“Alice...what are you doing?”
“I want to lie with you.” She slipped her hand inside his robe and caressed his chest. Paul placed his hand over hers and moved it away.
“That would be wrong.”
Alice hugged him tighter. Her James was so noble. “ ’cos priests say so, while they sin themselves?”
Alice’s proposal was an unexpected development for Paul. In the field, a dispassionate, goal-oriented attitude to relationships was required. Somehow this disturbed girl had penetrated his defenses; against all his training, he wanted to nurture her; yet he was meant to be ready to cut her loose to whatever fate circumstances dictated if her continued presence endangered the mission. On the other hand, it now seemed that she was the mission. And he did care about her. It didn’t help that she was acting out her delusion in a new and provocative way.
“Because it would complicate things,” he sighed.
Alice looked away. There was silence for a moment. Finally: “It is time, James. There may not be another.”
He realized that he was tempted. It was possible, even probable, that he would be dead tomorrow. And the girl, too. Certainly, enough people were determined to bring that about. This could be his last chance for intimacy with someone who loved him. And she was exceptionally desirable. But he blanked that thought out. He knew that he had to close this discussion without confrontation. He couched the truth in oblique terms.
“It’s not that...” he started, about to admit that he was attracted to her. Then changed tack: “You don’t know me. You think you do, but one day you’ll see things differently. Sleep now.”
Alice put it down to his exhaustion. “You’re too tired to think clear. You’ll know your mind better when sleep is done.” She lightly kissed his bruised neck. “My poor love.”
Paul was glad that it was settled. For now.
“Sure. Now go back to bed.”
“This is where I wish to couch.”
She clung to him tightly. Paul was too tired to argue further. “Be my guest.” They both fell deeply asleep within seconds.
A few hours later, Alice moaned in her sleep. Paul was instantly alert.
“Alice, what is it?” But she did not wake. Her body twitched, then he realized that one of her legs was hooked around his thigh and pressed against him. The moan became little gasps. Paul knew that he ought to disentangle himself, resume propriety, put distance back into the relationship, but somehow he could not. If he woke her, then the issue would come to the fore again. Perhaps she would soon sink back into deeper unconsciousness, then he could move to the other bed. At least that was how he rationalized his decision to let her go on rubbing against him, gently, rhythmically, while he watched little sparks of pleasure flicker across her face. He felt involuntary arousal, and struggled to remain motionless.
He knew that he had crossed the line.
CHAPTER 31
“ ‘I am but mad north-north-west.’ ”
Jane and Elizabeth sat together, talking earnestly like any two girls of the same age, divisions of rank dissolved by the apparent supernatural occurrence. Jane had asked her about her relationship with her half-sister Queen Mary, fifteen years her senior.
“When I was a girl she taught me cards and riding, how to play the lute. She was a kind sister. It galls me to the quick that she believes me a traitor, yet they will not let me see her till I confess to what I have not done, and sign away my birthright.”
“You will see her,” insisted Jane. “Demand it over and over. When you do, my advice is this: Keep any dissenting beliefs secret in your heart until the time is right. Be the grateful child she remembers. Survive to be Queen.”
Elizabeth’s eyes lowered. “I do not wish to be Queen.”
Jane knew that the person to whom she was speaking had a backbone of titanium. But at this point the Princess Elizabeth was frightened. And so young. She needed to be persuaded to embrace her destiny. “Mary is ailing,” said Jane. “She will not bear a living child. You will be Queen in a matter of years. You will reign for over four decades. You will be one of the greatest monarchs England will ever have known.”
Elizabeth looked at her astonished. “How can you know these things?”
Suddenly Jane shivered, then gasped.
“What troubles you?” asked Elizabeth.
“I don’t...” Jane’s breathing quickened.
“Are you ill?” asked Elizabeth.
“I…haven’t been feeling myself lately...” An ironic laugh was all she could summon before sinking to her knees.
“Guards!” Elizabeth cried out.
Outside the door, Córdo
ba and Sir Giles had been waiting, disturbed that the Princess’ initial protests had given way to quiet conversation that neither could hear. Now she was demanding that they give medicine to this sick girl. It would seem that the Princess was in no way cowed by her encounter with the demoniac. Quite to the contrary. The guards looked to Sir Giles for orders. Exasperated, he waved them in.
Jane recognized that she was experiencing the unmistakable sensations of arousal. Although technically a virgin, Jane was no stranger to self-pleasure. It enabled her to maintain her independence. How could anyone know the ways of her own body better than she? Relationships led to pain. She did not need anyone for sex. She had told that to the shrinks. But they scoured her sexuality repeatedly, probably more out of prurient interest than for therapy.
Sex had been the last thing on Jane’s mind while she was instructing the Princess Elizabeth on her future role as Queen. Jane had been exuberant, convinced that she had discovered her own destiny through securing that of Elizabeth. Then suddenly the air was being sucked out of her lungs, and her brain was folding in on itself. All signs indicated that she was about to lose consciousness and depart through the portal. But the familiar pain of transition had turned into inexplicable waves of erotic pleasure. As the guards dragged her out, and her mind spun like a giddy carousel, she heard herself gabbling unintelligibly. Jane could read six languages and it was none of those.
The guards became frightened. Once out of the Princess’ cell, they dropped the witch to the flagstones and stepped back.
Córdoba stared at the writhing, moaning girl with contempt and no small degree of apprehension. The course of madness could not easily be predicted. They had made a mistake. One best reduced to ashes.
Then Elizabeth stepped out from the doorway. “Take her to a physician, that she may be healed,” she said in a surprisingly strong voice. She locked eyes with Sir Giles and gave him a look of mortal enmity. “And from you, sir, I again request…nay, I demand an audience with my sister the Queen that I may address the charges against me. I demand it without delay. Arrange it, Sirrah.” Without waiting for a response she turned and went back into her quarters.
“Lock the door!” snapped Sir Giles at the dumbstruck guards.
Córdoba saw that Sir Giles’ plan had failed. The Princess would stand firm. He was losing faith in this strutting English knight and his boastful promises. His use of the witch was an extravagant idea, and those rarely work. He should never have consented to it. Córdoba stepped forward and looked down at the wench, who was now caressing her nether regions. As an Inquisitor, he had much experience with the disgusting practices of the possessed. He knelt down to observe more closely.
“Is it plague, sire?” one of the frightened guards asked.
“Not plague...possession and madness,” pronounced Córdoba.
Jane giggled. “ ‘I am but mad north-north-west: When the wind is southerly I know a hawk from a handsaw,’ ” she quoted. “Whoa! Shakespeare hasn’t even been born yet...” She squealed with laughter, then another wave of pleasure swept over her.
Jane looked up at Córdoba but saw only Suit, her captor. Arrogant bastard! I’ll bring you down a peg or two. She seized the Inquisitor’s ankle. Before he could ward her off, she had grabbed his clothing and started pulling herself up his body. As he staggered back, she locked her legs around his thigh. “Oh! Oo! I’ll hump your leg like a dog!”
Sir Giles could not help being amused at his Spanish confederate’s discomfiture. “It seems the little bawd has taken a fancy to you.”
Córdoba had never in his life permitted a woman to touch him in this manner. Rage at his defilement welled. He punched the side of her head with all his might and she fell senseless to the ground.
CHAPTER 32
A Small Island of Trust
Suddenly Paul felt Alice convulse and jerk upright, wide awake. After a moment’s disorientation, the girl became aware that she was lying on top of Paul. Her expression changed to shock. Paul realized that she was Jane again.
“Oh, my God!” she whispered, then rolled off the bed onto the floor. She sprang up, angry, confused, backing towards the bathroom. “How could you do that to me?”
“Do what?”
“You were raping me.”
“You’ve got it all wrong,” said Paul, getting up on the other side of the bed, his arousal evident.
“Then what’s that?”
Paul did not want to go there. He struggled to be reasonable. “Jane, you are still wearing pajamas, I did not touch you.” That produced a mocking double take from Jane but he continued. “It wasn’t you. It was Alice. You became Alice again, and she needed to be close to me.”
“So Alice made you do it.”
“You could say that. I probably should have moved away. But I was afraid to disturb her. Alice is so vulnerable.”
“Fuck Alice!” yelled Jane as she ran into the bathroom and locked the door.
Oh, shit, thought Paul, crossing to the bathroom door. He pressed his ear closer and heard a sniff from inside. Improbably, Jane was weeping.
“Look. I’m sorry, Jane, I’m sorry. You were a virgin yesterday, you’re still a virgin today. It was a misunderstanding. That’s all.”
In truth, whatever contact they might have had was at the moment unimportant to Jane. There were larger issues. Normally she remembered fragments of her visits to Alice. This time nothing. Not a single image. Which frightened her. Why had the pattern changed? And it was now after dark. How long had she been gone?
“Where are we?”
“Hotel in the West End. We lost them in the underground. I’ll take you to the U.S. Embassy first thing in the morning. We’ll tell them everything we know. You’ll be protected. You’ll be safe.”
“Safe?” she asked, with a derisive snigger.
“Yes, absolutely.”
There was another silence. She blew her nose. Then he heard her voice again, fighting back a sob.
“Do you know what it’s like to be me?”
Paul said nothing. She needed to talk. He needed to learn. A stream of angst poured out of her. “You know, to be smart, really smart. But without warning you’re wrenched out of your life, then bingo! You’re back. You just remember a few tiny pieces…and everyone’s staring at you like you’re the village idiot. Or a liar. Then you try and explain...‘Oh, sorry, I just had a past life experience. Or something. I’m fine now, really…’ and they say ‘Of course, dear,’ while looking at whoever brought you, as if to say—how could you bring this thing into my house? But then you say—no really, I’m fine, and you try to explain the multiverse to them and their eyes glaze and they can’t get away quickly enough, so they don’t catch what you’ve got.”
So that’s how she rationalizes Alice, thought Paul.
“And you can see that scarcely-veiled distaste in their faces…You have a mental defect. Your brain, your core, your very soul is poorly manufactured. You are defective and will one day be a burden…” The sob finally broke through.
Paul waited for her to cry it out. She needed the release. The tears died away. “I don’t look at you as a burden, Jane,” he offered.
“How do you look at me then?”
“Like you’re Alice’s twin sister, and I’m going to try to protect you like I’m trying to protect her.”
“You could be James’ identical twin, you know.”
“Yeah, so I’ve been told.”
There was another silence. “I don’t know what’s real anymore,” Jane stated, calmer now. “Are we all just figments of our own imaginations? Unravel that paradox. Am I real? Are you?”
That was too big a question for Paul at this particular moment. Despite a few hours’ sleep, he was still bone weary. He sighed. “We’re real, and the people who want to kill us are very real,” Paul answered. “Powerful people. We’re in a world of shit right now,
Jane. So if I’m to stop them, I need my forty winks. You can stay there if you like, I’ll leave a pillow and some blankets at the door, or you can come out and take the other bed. Your choice.”
“Whatever…” was the reply. He heard the shower start. Good, it will help her sleep. Paul lay back, putting a pillow under his head. He was asleep immediately, only to jolt half-awake as the bathroom door opened. Jane, in her robe, walked past him to the other bed.
“Fed up with being a virgin anyway,” she said. She curled up facing him, a sad wry smile on her face. They stared at each other for a moment from their separate beds.
“Jane, I’d be grateful if you refrained from removing any of my body parts while I’m sleeping.”
She liked his sense of humor. Humor could be such a peephole into the soul. In fact, now she liked everything about him. Especially those eyes. “Very well. I declare you a scissor-free zone.”
Paul laughed spontaneously. She had wit, goofy though it was. And wit was endearing. His laughter released a laugh from her. They looked at each other in silence for a moment. Paul felt that they had achieved some common ground at last, a small island of trust. “Goodnight,” he said and rolled away to face the door. If he could maintain her in this mood, when she told her story at the U.S. Embassy in the morning, she might be believed. Within minutes, they were both sound asleep.
CHAPTER 33
Quite Contrary
Guards dumped Alice on the floor of James’ cell like a sack of grain. The impact stirred her from unconsciousness. James could see that she bore the marks of beating. He lunged forward, but his ankle was chained to the wall. He fell short of Alice, just inches from his hand. Then he decided to wait till the guards were gone before trying to rouse her, in case she was still possessed.
“Alice?” asked James tentatively after the door clanged shut. He prayed it was Alice, not the snarling loon of the morning.
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