She back screamed. She turned over. Their new memory foam mattress felt as hard as a rock. It would have been softer if they’d slept on the ground.
Where was her bloody pillow? Don’t tell her it slipped behind the bed again? How else was she going to block out this bloody sun? Shivers ran down her spine. Did Johnny open the window, too? She reached for her blanket.
What she pulled around her shoulders wasn’t a blanket. It was an arm.
And it didn’t belong to Johnny.
She shot into a sitting position and threw her eyes open. The bright white bedroom dissolved into thin air, leaving in its wake the grassy knoll between the mud stage and the pond.
It had all been a dream. Stonehenge. The trial and dunke. Waking up in the flat she and Johnny shared…
Part of her wished that she had really woken up there. That the last part of her dream had been real, and the last day at festival had been the dream.
The bigger part of her remembered yesterday. All of yesterday. She remembered learning that Johnny was not the man she’d thought he was. She remembered believing it. But, somehow, she didn’t remember her heart breaking.
Would it have been better if she’d actually woken up in her apartment, with Johnny by her side? Would it have better if she’d not known about his affairs? Or was it better to wake up as she did, chilled to the bone and an outlaw running for her life, but next to someone who’d never hurt her once?
Someone who’d risked his neck for her time and again to save her from her asthma, among other things?
Someone who sent warm waves through her heart just by the mere thought of him?
Vaughn woke and sat. His eyes showed no surprise as he registered their surroundings. He’d had no lying dreams, telling him that he was someplace else, someplace better. He smiled at her. Somehow Sammie knew he thought there was no better place to wake up.
She smiled, too. There really wasn’t.
He pulled his arm away from her lap and blushed bright scarlet. “Sorry, Sam,” he said sheepishly. “It got cooler than I thought it would last night. I didn’t want you to get too cold. I know what that does to your asthma.”
“It’s okay.” She smiled. She knew it was a straight out lie, an excuse concocted for lack of a better reason for why he would have his arm around her. And she didn’t care one bit.
He brushed a strand of hair from her face. “Are you okay? You seem distant.”
She sighed and hugged her knees close to her. “I was just kind of hoping that this was all a dream.”
“Maybe it is,” he said with another dose of unending optimism. It wasn’t annoying now. “Maybe we’ll wake up and find its 2012 again.”
Wouldn’t that be nice? What if this was nothing more than some sort of magically shared dream?
But… If it was a dream... What if they woke up from it and didn’t remember anything? What if they woke up, and Sammie forgot what Johnny had done?
What if they forgot the feelings that had grown between them? Something had changed, and she felt like even Vaughn knew it. And she didn’t want it to change back.
“What do we do now?” she asked.
Would it be so bad to stay here for another day? To have a little more peace before they were thrown back into imminent danger and unending fear?
“T’s last note said that our sanctuary wouldn’t stay safe if we lingered here too long,” Vaughn said.
“We have to go back out into the faire.”
“Are you scared?”
She nodded. She wouldn’t hide it anymore. She was bloody petrified. She was scared of being arrested as soon as she was found. She was scared of Vaughn being put to death as soon as he was recognized.
She laid her head on Vaughn’s shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her. They sat like that for a minute, each lost in their own thoughts.
“You know I would never let anything happen to you,” Vaughn whispered into her hair.
“I know. But what about you? If anything happened to you…”
<>
The morning proved to be harsh on Sammie’s asthma. The dew and pollen of the early morning hours sent her lungs into overdrive. There was no place dry to go to recover. Even the pond seemed to lose its healing magic.
Vaughn decided it was early enough that they could afford some more time in secrecy. He went into the festival to find something to have for breakfast. It was going to be a long day, he said. Who knew when they’d get a chance to eat again? But Sammie suspected that he’d gone out just to find her something to drink before she had to walk again.
Vaughn worked on fulfilling one need. Her pomander fulfilled another. But another very annoying need was creeping up on her.
It would be too risky to try to sneak to the privies. The festival had yet to open for the day, but if there were privy attendants like there were in the modern faire, they would be in there now, preparing it for the day.
Sammie peaked over the grass and out onto the paths. There was nobody in sight. It was now or never. She walked to an edge of the pond furthest away from both of the stages. She kept low, and lifted her skirt.
It was the most uncomfortable way imaginable to relieve oneself. She had to keep her balance, not an easy thing on the slight slope she’d chosen. She had to keep her skirt lifted, and keep her shoes out of the line of fire. It was almost unimaginable that women in history did this with heavier skirts.
At least she wouldn’t have to worry about doing it again anytime soon.
<>
He snuck through the faire slowly. He wouldn’t be going far today. The faire was still empty of the tourists in tents outside, but who knew when he’d see a constable?
Besides, he didn’t want to leave Sammie by herself for too long.
Something had changed between them. He didn’t know how. He didn’t know when. But he didn’t care. He was pretty sure that Sammie knew it, too.
Maybe, just maybe, if they came out of this well and remembered everything… Maybe they’d have a chance together.
The thought of Sammie, and her amazingly warm body, hurried him to the chicken stand near Boleyn Stage. He grabbed a few chicken strips and two tin mugs of water that looked like they’d been left out all night. But it would do. He didn’t want Sammie to go without food.
Or the all-important asthma relieving drink.
<>
Vaughn returned in record time with a plate and two cups. “I didn’t risk going too far,” he said, sitting next to her on their makeshift bed. “So I’m afraid it’s chicken and water again.”
“That’s fine.” Sammie eyed their breakfast greedily. Their feast last night should have kept her satisfied for a week. But just looking at the cold chicken, and the water that looked like it’d seen better days, make her hungry all over again.
They ate quickly. Quietly. There were no stories told, no jokes laughed over. Neither of them knew how long they’d be safe here. Neither of them knew just when their sanctuary would become dangerous. And neither of them wanted to be around when that happened.
When they were done, Vaughn stowed the dishes with the others beneath the stage. He hid their blankets in a mass of tall weeds butting up against the back of the mud stage. Then he took Sammie’s hand and pulled her to her feet.
“Are you ready for this?”
It was the same thing Johnny had asked her before they set off into the faire. Before Sammie had gotten arrested. When Johnny was still Johnny.
Now she wasn’t preparing herself for flirting. She wasn’t preparing herself for fun.
She was preparing for danger.
She tied her mask around her eyes. “Let’s do this.”
<>
Despite her misgivings, she felt safe as she walked back to the path with her hands in Vaughn’s. She felt safe in her new outfit, disguised as a pirate lass with her unmistakable silver eyes shielded by the mask.
The fear the plagued her for what felt like years now was overshadowed by the longing for answers. Th
ere was an unending stream of questions she wanted to know the answers to. Why had they travelled back in time? How had they travelled back in time? Why was it only them? How could they get back to 2012?
Would they ever get back?
The note from T yesterday said that water was the key back to reality. How could water answer any of these questions?
They didn’t know. So they set out to find water.
“It must count,” Vaughn said as they stared into the depths of the huge pond of mud. “I was face down in the center of it when the shockwave hit.” They had long agreed that the shockwave was the root of everything.
Sammie peered into the dark mud. What was there to see? What was there that could have changed? She didn’t know. Her duties during the festival kept her from ever getting to see the mud show. She’d heard it was a bloody riot, though.
Vaughn led her to a mud stained bench nearest the pit. “Sit. I’ll check things out.”
She wanted to protest. She wanted to say that she was fine. But who was she kidding? Her hand was poised on her pomander. Her breathing was fine for the moment. But how long would it last? If they didn’t find anything here… It was a very long walk to the dunking pond. It was a long walk to the other end of the festival.
Vaughn went back to the edge of the mud, looking for… something. What were they supposed to be looking for, anyways? It didn’t seem like the shockwave disrupted anything but time.
Had anything at the dunking pond changed? She didn’t know. All she remembered after coming out of the pond the last time was a sea of angry looking nobles where there should have been tourists.
Vaughn threw his black boots towards her and waded into the center of the mud. He looked around, and then turned to Sammie. “I was here when the shockwave hit.”
“Do you feel anything?”
“No. Nothing.” He left the mud wand walked to the stage. He wiped the mud from his legs with a piece of burlap he pulled from the compartment he stashed their dishes in. Then he sat next to her and put his boots back on. “I don’t know what we’re supposed to look for, but it’s not here.”
“Maybe it’s at the pond.” She tried to sound reassuring, as if she had the same level of confidence he had. But she was beginning to wonder whether or not they’d find their answer at all.
“Are you ready for the long walk?”
She held her pomander to her face. The soft, flowery aroma of lavender soothed her lungs. She almost felt healthy. Almost. She stood. “I’m ready.”
Vaughn smiled. “Then so am I.” He took her hand, and they left the quiet safety of the mud pits.
They saw their first people next to the archery game. They eyed Sammie and Vaughn warily. Some backed away and lowered their gaze. Were Tudor era pirates so ruthlessly mischievous that people were afraid to even look at them?
She laughed. She couldn’t have picked better disguises if she’d tried.
Vaughn stopped dead in his tracks. With a gentle tug, he pulled her off the Dregs road and into the relative safety of the Lover’s Bridge.
What had stopped him? What had freaked him out? She started to ask but he shushed her with a finger to his lips.
And then she saw them.
Peasants scattered as an entire battalion of soldiers marched down the Dregs road. Part split off and searched the grass behind the archery game. Abysmal shrieks sounded from both sides of the privies. More soldiers had gone in there, apparently.
The majority went into the Pits. Some soldiers stabbed the mud with sharp spears. One soldier tore apart the underside of the stage and crawled through the secret compartment. The rest tore up the tall grass behind the stage, and tore up the tall grasses surrounding the pond. Their blankets were found, and the search intensified.
Sammie sank onto the bench. T had been right again. Their sanctuary would have become their doom had she and Vaughn stayed any longer. They literally had just stepped out of danger.
Vaughn sat. He took Sammie’s hand.
“I think we’re going to need a new hiding space,” she said quietly.
“Hopefully we won’t need one.” He draped his arm over her shoulders.
The soldiers reformed. They started to come up the path. “I think we should get to the pond before they run out of places to search and start looking at faces.”
“All right.”
No one stopped them. No one questioned the presence of the so called pirates. No one looked in their faces long enough to recognize them. Even the nobles, who did not tolerate Vaughn’s presence among them earlier, didn’t seek to chide the pirates.
Sammie and Vaughn took their time, meandering slowly through the winding paths. Still... She took hits from her pomander half a dozen times.
“We can stop and rest anytime, you know,” Vaughn whispered to her next to the jousting field.
She shook her head. She didn’t want to stop. Not until they saw the murky green water of the Justice Pond. The water would make her feel better. It wouldn’t just help her asthma, but her peace of mind too.
It was still too early for a dunke. The clearing should be, if things still made sense, relatively empty. They would find safety at the pond, if only for a few minutes.
The clearing ended up being every bit as deserted as she’d hoped. They stopped for only a moment near the pond’s edge and let the cooling magic do its thing on her lungs. Then they walked up to the bottom level of the stage.
Everything was exactly the way it had been when she was dunked the last time. The water was the same murky green it always was. The chair was suspended over the middle of the pond, its resting place when there was no dunking.
The stage was the same. The holding cell. The standards decorating the three levels.
Sammie pulled off her mask and peered deep into the water. There had to be something strange in the murky depths. Broken branches from the shockwave. No, that didn’t make sense. The trees around the clearing were too far away to shed even leaves into the pond.
What else… What could be here? What could be in the water that would lead them back to their own world? Their own time? Answers had to be here. There were none at the pond. There were none at the Pits. They had to be here.
They just had to be.
“Sam.”
Vaughn pointed to the water beneath the chair. Something floated straight towards them. Something with a mind of its own.
It was a ship. A tiny boat made out of birch bark. And for the sail… A piece of parchment.
They’d gotten another one.
Sammie almost rolled her eyes. Was there no better way for them to get answers than these damned cryptic notes? T had proved that he or she could send them anywhere they wanted to, at any time they wanted to. They didn’t have to make her and Vaughn walk the entire length of the festival grounds just to get another one.
The boat hit the stage with a resounding thud. It backed up, and hit the stage again. And again. Was the damned thing impatient to be picked up?
Vaughn laid down on the stage and picked the boat up. He helped Sammie sit next to him. They read the note together.
The four short sentences were written hastily across the ink splattered page. “The time drawest near. Hope layest with the moth. Sammie, thou must seekest thee Jameson Kent. Alone. T.”
Sammie’s heart stopped. She started to gasp. This couldn’t be real. This T couldn’t be serious. “I have to find Jameson?”
Vaughn put his hand on her shoulder. “It’s going to be okay, Sam.”
“How? How is any of this going to be okay?” Her voice cracked beneath a well of sudden tears. “Sending me back into the hands of Jameson freaking Kent isn’t going to help us.” She lost herself to her sobs. Why was this happening to her? To them?
She found herself in Vaughn’s arms again. “I don’t want you to do this, Sammie. But there must be a reason T said it. They’ve been right about everything so far. Without T I wouldn’t have found you in that bedroom, and we’d be in the hands of
the soldiers now. T has kept us safe.”
“So why send me to my death now?” she sobbed into his shoulder.
“You’re not going to die.” Vaughn pulled back so they were eye to eye. “You’re not going to die,” he said again. “T didn’t tell me what I had to do, so I’m going to do this. I’m going to follow you every step of the way. If Jameson puts you someplace, I’ll know, and I’ll get you out. I won’t let him hurt you again.” He leaned his forehead against hers. One of his hands drifted to the back of her neck. “If you don’t trust T, then at least trust me.”
“I do trust you.”
Chapter 19
To find Jameson would mean being arrested immediately.
But what other choice did they have? This T had been their savior since this strange time change occurred. Sammie didn’t know if she trusted T…
But Vaughn still did. Vaughn trusted T, and Sammie trusted Vaughn. So if he thought this insane plan had any hope... She would try to hope, too.
They were silent as they walked down the Dead Road. Sammie fidgeted with her mask, newly re-tied around her eyes. Suddenly it felt too loose, too much like it would fall off just by thinking about it.
She wanted it to disguise her eyes for as long as she could, until…
They stopped where the Dead Road met up with the rest of the festival. Vaughn opened his mouth to say something, than closed it.
What could he say? What could she have said to make this any better? Any less frightening? She couldn’t say goodbye. What if it really was goodbye? What if they separated, and he never found her?
What if Jameson put her to death instead of arresting her?
“What are you going to do?” Vaughn asked, breaking the penetrating silence threatening to suck the very soul from their bodies. His voice cracked. He wasn’t as sure about this plan as he seemed on the stage.
“I don’t know,” Sammie said. It was the truth. There was no pretending that she had some great plan stuck in the back of her head. But if there was anything she was good at, it was improvising. “I don’t think I’ll have to do anything to get arrested after I reveal myself to Jameson. But, if I have to, I could go back to the truth. That he’s not Jameson Kent and that it’s really 2012.”
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