Timekeepers

by Dave Weaver

  “Or what?” Jack demanded.

  “Or… I will kill Stewart’s daughter myself when I return.”

  “Then you’ll return without the Truth Serum. You don’t know how or where to get it without my help. That’s the only reason I’m here now. And…” Jack forced himself to say this, “what makes you think I care for that slutty EG-lover anyway?”

  The Governor General was silent. He seemed to be studying Jack closely. Finally he allowed himself a smug smile.

  “You’re not as stupid as I thought. I may have a position for you in my administration when we get back.” He paused again. “Alright, I have been having dreams.”

  “Dreams about Drucillus?”

  “Dreams that have shown me the truth, that have told me to come here and claim my destiny; to take the Truth Serum again and use it to triumph over New Rome. It’s been waiting all this time for me to reclaim it.” He stared past Jack up at the Temple of the Gods dwarfing the surrounding buildings as the pristine white walls gleamed in the sun. “And after all, it’s mine!”

  At that precise moment of madness everything clicked into place.

  Jack had presumed his was the only consciousness Chrono could invade via dreams but why would it not attempt to influence others as well? If it could reach out to him across the chasm of space-time then Borg would have been easy; it had already infested his security systems without his knowledge. Night after night it could have implanted this mania in the little dictator’s unhinged mind with the sole purpose of bringing him here. But why, what was the software’s ultimate plan?

  He still didn’t really get it.

  They’d reached a large square of impressive looking two and three-storey buildings with other roads like theirs leading off like spokes from a hub. One large and very long building in particular Jack knew to be the forum, a meeting place for the populace, normally crowded with noisy street vendors and shrewd-eyed tradesmen. On any other day mothers would be tugging their younger children around the shop-fronts lining the roads while their men hung around the open doors of taverns, drunkenly arguing about nothing in particular. But apart from a few old men perched forlornly on benches in the middle of the square the place was deserted.

  As the two interlopers passed a group of old women chatting, one turned her head to follow their invisible progress. Had she heard their breathing or maybe their footsteps on the road’s dusty surface? Jack knew there would be imprints.

  “I take it they’re all at the games?” Borg whispered in a normal voice once they were alone again. He seemed to have already forgotten his wild claims of just a few moments ago; the erratic behaviour of a true lunatic, Jack thought.

  He nodded. “They’ll be back soon enough though. Chrono’s timed the jump to coincide with their end. They’ll be bringing me along the main avenue shortly, right up to the Temple’s steps then inside. We have to take our chance and follow quickly; we’ll never get those doors open again by ourselves.

  “You certainly have a strange relationship with that software. I think I’m going to have it debugged properly once our work here is done. I can’t have it making up its own mind the way it seems to have done about you. If it attempts to resist me I’ll just have to junk it.” He laughed unexpectedly before catching himself. “There’s only room for one genius in my new order, Jack. As I said before, perhaps you’d like to become a part of it. You seem a resourceful fellow, think about it. Stewart and his cronies are yesterday’s men.”

  The irony of Borg’s careless attitude to Chrono was not lost on Jack. ‘You clueless idiot!’ he thought.

  After more deserted streets they turned into a wide avenue. At the end, another broad square was dominated by the statue of Drucillus last seen through the bars of Jack’s prison window. On its far side was the Temple itself; wide steps stretching skywards to those two vast doors. He remembered Marcus and the others ‘escorting’ him up them, towards his fateful interview with the man himself. They were sparsely dotted with Roman guards. A large golden chariot was parked up before them, its team of two enormous white stallions steaming and snorting in the heat.

  Jack stealthily led the way. In a short while they’d be undetected observers as that scene played itself out again. He stared up the Temple’s massive columns advancing in perfect lines as they held aloft the magnificent friezes of triumphant Imperial victories. Lost in awe, he felt an impatient tug on his arm. Borg was pointing at something approaching on the wide causeway stretching back to the distant amphitheatre. A dust-cloud, speckled with red and gleaming silver, gradually took on solid form. In its centre a blue jacketed figure was being marched brusquely along by a small group of soldiers. At a respectful distance behind, a melee followed, their chattering voices breaking the soporific silence.

  As the strange procession approached, Borg indicated that they should step back away from the road into the shadows of the buildings ringing the square. Jack managed to squeeze himself into a tiny doorway as the first soldier strode heavily past.

  From its safety he stared out at himself; tired, battered and bloody, jacket hanging half off his shoulders. The other Jack’s legs were gashed from his fall on the steep slope outside the prison, his cheek bruised by the attentions of Marcus’ friend Dracus. He saw Marcus himself, walking closely next to his counterpart as if he were his personal bodyguard. It was good to see the granite-faced soldier again. So much so that Jack felt illogically safer, as if he finally had an ally against Borg.

  That was stupid of course. Borg not only had a fully-charged pulse-gun but also a number of micro-grenades given to him by Taros. He had them stuffed in the pockets of his silly green uniform, almost risking a disaster in the Transference Capsule before Michael realised and hastily re-programmed them into the jump. The little general was leaving nothing to chance. As long as Borg didn’t fall over and blow himself up he was protected against almost anything.

  The group of soldiers clattered past then swung around to climb the steps as the following crowd came to a standstill. The building’s guards began to advance towards them. Most turned and melted back into the side streets. A few game stragglers were encouraged none too gently to follow them.

  Jack saw Borg’s head duck out of a nearby alleyway, nodding for him to follow. The two crept around the side of the square tight up against the wall. Borg took the first of the Temple’s steps then pointed in an agitated manner. Jack followed his arm; the two massive doors were already being swung shut. It took two guards on each door to achieve this though, and the process wasn’t quick. Jack and Borg darted past them as the two slabs of finely carved wood smashed together. Thirty careful steps took them up to a second pair. Jack could hear muffled voices beyond, one of them undoubtedly his own. It sounded hollow and very scared. The other, of course, belonged to Drucillus. As the words ‘civilising this vile country’ escaped through the door crack, Jack gave an involuntary wince at the coming assault by Drucillus and the sight of his own blood spurting onto the mosaic image in the Temple’s floor. If they squirmed through the door that Borg was attempting to prise open at that precise moment, hopefully no-one would notice. Borg gave him a slight nod.

  Events were moving along rapidly in the great hall. He could hear his own whimpered words replying to Drucillus’ questions. “Are you a god or a demon? I have to know…”

  There came an abrupt yelp of pain that he recognised only too well. Jack and Borg both heaved against the door. For a brief moment the heavy wooden panelling refused to budge then almost too easily it swung inwards as the two almost stumbled into the Great Hall.

  The scene before him had been plucked straight from the depths of his memory, but from a different angle. Drucillus now had his back to him, gripping the short sword tipped with Jack’s blood. His other self grimaced in pain as the wound turned the sleeve of his blue school jacket a dark maroon. He could see the Temple guards stepping back into the shadows, pretending to stare straight ahead as they observed the bizarre proceedings. Drucillus snapped out
his demand for his ‘Truth Serum’ and the Centurion marched quickly away to fetch the old man in the crimson toga.

  Jack glanced at Borg. His companion was staring straight at Drucillus as if entranced, unaware of Jack’s presence until Jack whispered.

  “Still think you’re him?”

  Borg shook his head then nodded it, apparently without realising he’d done either. He seemed nonplussed, Jack thought, and even scared of the forceful Roman pacing the floor directly in front of him, as if the reality of the man was somehow more than he’d bargained for.

  Jack switched his attention to the frightened schoolboy just a few paces away. He wanted to tell him that everything would be all right, that he’d survive this day. But everything was very far from all right. He was still trapped inside Borg’s insane plans and would be responsible for Portia’s death if he screwed up. And he’d never be able to forgive himself.

  The soldiers were back with the apothecary, white straggly hair hanging limply down the arched back. He offered the goblet’s disgusting gunge as the other Jack hesitated, probably at the smell, then cautiously began to drink. Then the questions and answers began. After Drucillus’ final explosion of frustrated rage, the Governor turned away and walked to the far end of the hall. Jack saw him stand silently, head bowed as his plans for domination seemed scattered to the winds. Eventually he raised his head and said something to the Centurion waiting by his side. The man turned to address one of the soldiers.

  “Decurion Cornelius Julaeo.”

  A man he’d not noticed before stepped forward into a square of light from one of the high windows, executing a crisp salute. “Sir…?” It was his friend and saviour, Marcus.

  “Make arrangements for the boy to be taken to the local woods. Make sure the job is done properly.” Marcus began to turn away. “Marcus! You yourself will stay here, understood?”

  “Sir!” Then, “Permission to make sure the prisoner is secured, Sir?”

  “Get on with it then!”

  Marcus pushed the boy’s arms up as if to search his body, patting his waist and school jacket. As his arms reached beneath it Jack was sure he glimpsed something small and shiny quickly placed inside the shirt. In the gloom of the Temple no one had noticed. Marcus looked into the other Jack’s face for a long moment then backed away.

  “Four man squad!” Marcus pointed. “You, you…” Four guards were chosen and hurried to the other Jack’s side, their clanging armour breaking the hollow silence. “Take him to the woods, make it quick!” Marcus’ face remained expressionless as he motioned for the giant doors to be swung open. The death-squad saluted, turned on their heels and marched the boy briskly out of the hall.

  His attention distracted, Jack remembered the apothecary and realised that the old man had quietly slipped away. As he cast his eyes around the shadowy edges of the hall he felt an acute feeling of panic. Had they left it too late and missed their cue? Then he caught a glimpse of crimson on the far side. He was moving at a sprightly pace for his age, back towards the antechamber from where he’d emerged with the Centurion. Borg saw him in the same instant and could restrain himself no longer. Before Jack could stop him he ran across the tableau of Jack and the Gods as the medicine man disappeared inside the antechamber.

  “Johnson, hurry! We’re going to lose him!”

  The effect of Borg’s panicky shout was instantaneous. Heads whipped around to find the source as the guards looked at each other then around the hall. Someone shouted out for the one open door to be shut and there was a crash as it slammed back into place. Two guards positioned themselves in front of it.

  “What is going on in here?” demanded Drucillus.

  “Trespassers, Sir!” snapped out Marcus. “I’ll start a search immediately.”

  Now they were trapped.

  Chapter 23

  Meanwhile, Borg had hesitated in his chase after the disappearing apothecary. The little man looked over at Jack for a brief moment then continued his dash across the floor as the cracking noise of boots on marble turned every head in his immediate direction.

  Drucillus was the first to react as he began to pad after the phantom sounds, his sandals slapping in time to his invisible quarry’s footsteps as he ordered the rest of the guards to follow.

  Jack saw Marcus race after them. He let them all rush into the antechamber first, aware that the sound of his own footsteps would be lost in the clatter as he carefully stepped after them.

  The room he found himself in was a long, sparsely-decorated hall. Each wall featured a door-less passageway leading into unknowable darkness. Although he had to be careful, at the same time he had to get to Borg’s side as quickly as possible. When Borg used his thought-code to de-cloak and take the Serum, Jack must be at his side to protect him from the guards; Portia’s life depended on it.

  He gingerly followed the last guard into one of the passageways and found himself in a grim torch-lit tunnel. A halo of light winked at its far end. The room he entered next was quite large, well lit. Raised reliefs of brightly painted nymphs and satyrs pranced around its walls while finely-wrought carvings of exotic birds and flowers, lacquered in gold leaf, clung to its high ceiling. Everywhere was the musky smell of incense. A twist of yellow smoke wound out of a large bronze dish on a golden altar. Above it, and around most of the walls, hung heavy tapestries of the Gods disporting themselves amongst the colonnades of some fantastic city.

  Some of the guards stopped to gawp at the finery in what Jack realised must be Drucillus’ private quarters. Perhaps this was where he communed with the immortals with the help of the wispy-haired one. He obviously believed the old druid had the power to help him. The altar, the burning incense, now starting to tickle Jack’s nostrils, the flattering images of the deities pictured as if they were old friends awaiting Drucillus at some heavenly country club: the whole place was an incredible ego trip.

  Standing on the altar next to the dish was a round glass jar, like a goldfish bowl with a glass stopper in its top. Inside was what appeared to be the sludge-like liquid they’d come to steal. Truth serum or zombie-maker, the drug apparently also allowed Drucillus to commune with the Gods. Jack didn’t care, as long as they got it back to the Centre. Despite Borg’s cruel intentions for its use in his Empire-toppling plans, the first thing was to make sure Portia and the rest of the Timekeepers were safe.

  Marcus was exhorting his men to search the room. There was a sudden movement from behind the altar. Jack saw a booted foot stick out for an instant and realised that it was Borg’s hiding place. Marcus had seen it too. Borg must have uncloaked to pour the serum into the container, thinking he had enough time before the soldiers crashed in. Either he’d badly miscalculated or something had gone wrong. Now he was getting slowly to his feet.

  He stared over the heads of the soldiers at a still-cloaked Jack. “Is this it, Johnson?”

  Jack kept quiet and gave an exaggerated nod, not wanting to give himself away.

  Marcus’ reaction was immediate. “Johnson…? Are you in here, Master Jack Johnson? Where are you boy?” He sounded relieved, then worried. “How did you escape, why have you come back?”

  Jack’s first reaction was to remain silent and motionless. He pressed himself up against the curved wall then began to slide behind one of the hanging tapestries. The last thing he needed was to be captured a second time by Drucillus after the incredible luck of his first escape. He didn’t want a second chance to die here.

  Marcus’ voice came again and this time there was no mistaking the bafflement and, Jack realised, disappointment. “Why are you helping this thief? Let me see you!”

  Something strange happened. Jack found himself unable to remain silent, to disappoint this man who for no good reason had befriended him and helped him escape. Marcus would never be able to comprehend the reality of what happening but he deserved more than this! And besides, Jack had to protect Borg, and the Serum.

  He stepped out and began to worm his way between the soldiers, pac
ked increasingly tightly around the altar as they moved forward to get a good look at the spider-like figure of Borg. Drucillus was standing next to Marcus at their forefront, apparently struck dumb by what he was seeing and hearing. The Governor of Britain craned his head around the room at Marcus’ command to the invisible Jack.

  “Is the boy in here again? Why…What is meaning of this? I told you to have the child killed, Centurion!”

  The Centurion, standing in the middle of his troops, looked bemused.

  Borg must have finally noticed the swathe which the invisible Jack was cutting through the ranks. As he jostled past the soldiers turned to look down around their waists then aggressively at each other.

  “No need to push, friend!”

  “It’s you what’s doing the pushing, friend!”

  With a bit of luck a fight would break out before he even reached the altar.

  “Where the hell have you been?” Borg demanded. “For the God’s sake de-cloak and help me with this infernal container!”

  The spell of disbelief broke as a spear gashed the tapestry behind his head. Jack ducked down below eye level but Borg immediately panicked. Jack saw him pull a micro-grenade out of his pocket. His warning of ‘Don’t be an idiot!’ was too late. There was a huge bang then a blast of air as jagged flames leapt across the top of the altar. Borg was flung against the wall and the torn tapestry fell on top of him.

  His muted voice came from beneath its thick folds. “Get this damn thing off me, Johnson!”

  Jack ignored him. He had to de-cloak quickly while the confusion lasted in the smoke-filled chamber. Under the billowing grey blanket they’d still have a chance to take the Serum and jump back without anyone seeing them. He’d have liked to speak to Marcus to thank him for the knife but the Serum, and Portia, came first.

  Jack shut his eyes to concentrate on the image he’d prepared for his de-cloaking thought-code. It was difficult to focus with the pandemonium going on around him. Some of the soldiers must have been killed in the blast, mainly the ones at the back of the hall. Marcus had been near the altar so hopefully he was all right.