Touchstone (Meridian Series)

by John Schettler

  At that moment the landscape about them was bathed in the bright yellow light of a rising sun. Brilliant shades of ochre and orange chased long shadows from the trees, and the sky took on a wonderful shade of azure blue. Sea birds wheeled above them, calling through the light morning mist.

  “Dawn,” said Robert. “That’s a good sign. We were supposed to arrive just a few minutes before sunrise on the 14th. “

  “So it seems,” said Maeve.

  They stood in silence, taking in their surroundings. They were standing in the lee of a sandy dune, and Maeve saw that a thin track led away in both directions, just a few yards off. “The road to Alexandria?” she looked to the professor for confirmation and he nodded his agreement.

  Maeve waited, looking this way and that, while the professor watched her with a half amused expression on his face. He looked like an English barrister who had caught a serving wench pilfering something in the streets.

  “Well?” he asked, eyebrows raising in a smug expression.

  “Well what?”

  “Do we just stand here and wait for Kelly to pull us out, or does my lady give her leave for a bit of a stroll?” He pointed toward the sound of the ocean. “That would be north, I suppose. So, if we head east we should come up on the outskirts of Rosetta in no time at all.” He made a grand gesture, infusing the movement with all the politeness he could muster, but it was clear that he was enjoying Maeve’s discomfiture. “Unless of course you wish to insist we stay put. In that case we can just stand here for another forty-eight hours until the final retraction scheme kicks in.”

  “Oh, don’t be silly,” Maeve flashed him a look that made it evident she was on to his little game. “Very well,” she took a deep breath and looked past Nordhausen’s grin to the east. At that moment she seemed to pale with fright, and pointed down the winding road with an unsteady hand.

  The professor looked to see the source of her anxiety. A group of horsemen were riding hard, the dull thump of the horse’s hooves on the earth now apparent. “Oh my,” he said. “Unexpected company.”

  “What do we do?” Maeve gave him a wide eyed look.

  Nordhausen scratched the side of his ear, still feeling the twinge where Maeve had pinched him a moment ago, a year ago…

  “Well we certainly can’t outrun them—not with you in those skirts and all. Besides. They look French. I say we stand where we are. Running would only arouse undue suspicion.”

  “Damn,” Maeve cursed. “I’m… I’m not ready yet, Robert. What if—“

  “Nonsense,” Robert cut in. “You say you can manage a bit of French, eh? Just stick to your story. We’re Americans… Off that damned ship—what was it?”

  “The Perla,” said Maeve.

  “Right. Well stick to your story and everything should be fine.”

  “Oh, they don’t look friendly…” The riders were coming too fast, with an urgency that seemed out of place. One man, a heavy set figure in the lead, was pointing at them now. The morning breeze lifted his long gray cape behind him as he rode. Then Maeve heard him shout, and point directly at them.

  “Voila!” The riders wheeled and reined in hard. There were two French cavalrymen in dark blue uniforms, and the man in gray, who gave them both an odd, expectant look. “Bonjour, Monsieur…Madame.” He nodded his head in a polite bow.

  One of the soldiers spoke to the man in gray, his voice stern and demanding. Maeve listened, mentally translating as best she could. ‘These are the people you seek?’

  “Certainement! Mercí, Capitain.” The man in gray smiled broadly, the early morning light highlighting the rouge of his full cheeks, his dark eyes glinting with excitement. “Mercí.” He was nodding his thanks to the two French soldiers, and speaking to them now, in a lowered tone of voice.

  “Très bien.” The soldiers steadied their mounts, and one gave Robert and Maeve a long stare, somewhat suspicious from the look in his eye. “Américain, e?”

  Maeve realized he was speaking to them, but the nature of the question took her by surprise. How could this man know they were Americans? A gentle nudge by Nordhausen prompted her to speak.

  “Pardonnez-moi, mon Capitan.” She was quick to gather her wits, and effected a polite curtsy, as she knew she should. “Excusez mon français. Je ne parle qu’un petit peu de français. Est-ce qu’il y a quelqu’un qui parle anglais? Does anyone speak English?”

  “I believe I can assist in that regard.” The man in gray gave her a gracious bow, introducing himself. “May I present myself as someone you should both know quite well—if I make my point clear enough.” He gave the two soldiers a sideward glance as he spoke, and his manner made it obvious that he was trying to convey some urgency. “Call me LeGrand. And do act like you’ve known me for some time. These gentlemen are quite busy, I’m afraid, and I should dearly love to send them on their way without further incident.”

  Robert and Maeve just stared at him for a moment, not knowing what to say. Nordhausen’s eyes narrowed beneath the curls of his white wig and he was about to ask how this man could have possibly known they were Americans. Something in LeGrand’s manner spoke of caution, however, and so instead he opted for discretion.

  “Why of course, monsieur LeGrand,” he began, eying his concern at Maeve.

  “Docteur, LeGrand,” Maeve corrected him. She had quickly surmised that something was very odd about all this, but her instinct for caution needed no encouragement. It occurred to her that this man must be one of the Savants who accompanied the French on their mission to Egypt. In that case, it was more than likely that he would be a professional, or at least highly degreed.

  “You are too kind, Madame,” said the heavy man in gray. “How auspicious that I have found the two of you. You see, these men have been quite on edge of late. The Turkish fleet is anchored not ten leagues away in Aboukir Bay. Word is that they’ve swarmed ashore by the thousands. Most inconvenient for our work here, wouldn’t you say? In fact, this very road is growing ever more dangerous for travelers. Won’t you be so kind and accompany me to town? I have sent for a carriage, which should arrive at any moment.” He winked at the French Captain as he spoke. “Why, there it is now!”

  LeGrand pointed at a distant silhouette on the road to the east, backlit by the blazoning sun. He spoke quickly to the soldiers in French, and they regarded the carriage with a look approaching disdain.

  “Monsieur Fauche, the good Captain here, is somewhat bothered by civilian doings these days. It has been an arduous campaign this past year, you understand. He has had his hands quite full, and needs no bother from the likes of scholars and hangers on, or so he describes the men of letters these days.”

  “Of course,” said Maeve, her wits about her now. “Please thank the Captain for his gracious escort. You say the Turks have landed nearby?” She feigned surprise, casting a fearful glance over her shoulder toward the sea. “A lady cannot be too careful under such circumstances, yes? Please tell the Captain how comforting it is to have the protection of his guard.” She offered a smile, and the Captain met her glance with a pleased expression as Le Grand conveyed her thanks. The Frenchman tipped his cap with a gentlemanly nod of the head, sitting a bit taller in the saddle now.

  “Bonjour, Madame,” he said with a smile, then nodded to Nordhausen in farewell as he pulled his mount about and gestured at his compatriot. The two men rode off, heading west on the road to Alexandria.

  “A patrol,” LeGrand explained. “Wanted to know what I was doing out here, in fact. How lucky for me to happen upon the two of you as I did.”

  “Oh?” Nordhausen’s suspicions needed an answer now. “And just what were you doing out here at the break of dawn, Doctor, if you do not mind my asking?”

  “Why, I was waiting for you, of course.” LeGrand smiled at them, gesturing warmly at the approaching coach. “I believe the lady dropped something a moment ago, and I thought to return it.”

  Nordhausen looked at Maeve, and they were both bewildered again, but LeGrand
let out a hearty laugh and reached into a pouch that was sewn into the lining of his riding cape. “Madame,” he said warmly as he held out an object.

  It was all Maeve could do to stop her jaw from gaping open, for LeGrand was holding her beaded purse.

  15

  The carriage arrived in a flourish of dust, a small covered gig drawn by a single horse. LeGrand gestured magnanimously, though his eyes were wells of apology. “Forgive me, but it is simply impossible to find a decent carriage in Egypt these days. I managed to hitch this together in the bazaar. The French have confiscated most of the good riding stock, but I found a plough horse and got him for a good price.”

  Robert and Maeve were still taken aback, Maeve staring from the beaded purse, to Robert, to LeGrand in bewilderment.

  “Oh, do hop on,” said their host. “The driver knows the way, and when we reach town I’m sure you’ll have a lot of questions. I’ll meet you there soon. Good Day!” He rode ahead, and Robert shrugged his shoulders.

  “Ladies first,” he said. “We may as well ride. It will be quite warm soon, and who knows how far the town is.”

  They climbed into the carriage and the driver, a surly looking peasant in a soiled white tunic, goaded the horse with a thin stick to get it moving. They sat on a plain wood seat, and the carriage cover was little more than a stretch of canvas draped over a trellis of thin cedar.

  “What do you make of this?” Maeve was still gawking at the beaded purse, her mind trying to grasp how it could have come into LeGrand’s hands.

  “That’s the same purse you took through the Arch?”

  “Exactly the same. I had it on my shoulder… but now that you mention it, I can’t recall having it with me when we manifested here. I think it must have slipped off my shoulder when we first arrived—in that house—wherever that was.”

  “Very strange…” Nordhausen eyed the purse with a furrowed brow, considering. “Perhaps it shifted to this milieu separately?”

  “And LeGrand just happens across it by chance and makes a miracle guess that it must certainly belong to a hapless American couple who would be arriving soon along that very same road.” The tone of her sarcasm quickly dispatched any rational argument the professor had thought to make.

  “Yes… a bit sticky, isn’t it? Did you hear that French Captain call us Americans?”

  “He did.”

  “I thought the same, but I’ll be damned… What’s going on here?”

  “Well,” said Maeve, “at the very least I’d say our cover is blown.”

  “Could it be our dress? Are you sure this clothing is appropriate?”

  “The costume is fine. No, I had the sense that LeGrand expected us. He said as much when he gave me this.” She held up the purse

  “Perhaps he was only being coy. I mean, suppose the purse did shift separately, and he happened upon it by chance. He spies us on the road and makes the natural assumption that we dropped it—that you dropped it. Why, if I found such a thing I would certainly assume it to be the possession of a lady. And you’re the only one who matches that description in these parts right now.” He resurrected his first argument, but Maeve just shook her head.

  “This is simply too much of a coincidence to have happened by chance, ” she said. “His actions were very telling; very deliberate. He was making subtle implications from the first word out of his mouth. I think he meant exactly what he said, Robert. He expected us here. He was riding out with this carriage to find us and, if that’s the case, then he’s—“

  “Not from this milieu?” Nordhausen finished her thought. “Well, it wouldn’t surprise me one bit. I go off to Jordan to recover my Ammonite, and look who I run into—an Arab on a courier mission to the twelfth century! It’s clear now that these people are operating throughout the continuum, whoever they are. But how would this LeGrand fellow know we would be here?”

  “You forget that if he is another time traveler, they have hundreds of years to research what we do… what we’ve done… what we’re going to do. It’s maddening, but how else to explain this?”

  “I think we had best get some answers from LeGrand.”

  The way was not far, and they soon found themselves at the outskirts of a dry and dusty looking town. There were a few small farms, brown fields watered by narrow irrigation channels, with clusters of date trees lining the way ahead. The buildings seemed adobe mud for the most part, though farther on they began to encounter a few more substantial stone structures. It was to one of these, a single story inn at the edge of town, that the driver took them. Nordhausen was pleased to see that LeGrand was already waiting for them, his horse tied to a rickety hitching post.

  Dismounted he turned out to be a fairly short man, broad in the shoulders, yet with a sturdiness that tended more to brawn than to excess weight. Gray-brown tresses of hair dangled freely from beneath a floppy headpiece, framing his round face and high, ruddy cheeks. As the carriage pulled up he smiled broadly, his eyes alight with a mischievous glint that seemed ignited by his wit. “Greetings, my American friends. I trust your ride was enjoyable. Lovely morning, though I’m afraid it will get very hot this afternoon. Then we’ll have the flies, the French soldiers, and all the rest. But for now, may I offer you a quiet place to shelter from the sun? Perhaps a cup of tea?”

  “You are too kind,” said Maeve. “We have a hundred questions, Doctor LeGrand, not the least of which is this purse.”

  “Ah, yes, the purse. I thought that would tickle your imagination. Let me see… How did I come by it, and how in blazes would I know it was yours, let alone that you would be here, this very morning, on the road to Alexandria?”

  “Precisely,” said Nordhausen, somewhat annoyed with the man’s flippant manner.

  “Well, the lady left it behind. You really should be more careful, I suppose. But, seeing as though you are still relatively new to this business, I can understand.”

  “Left it behind?” Nordhausen pressed him. “What do you mean? You found it on the road, yes?” He put forward his hypotheses, hoping that LeGrand would confirm his guess and relieve them of their worst fears.

  “On the road? Not exactly,” said LeGrand. “If you must know, I found it a year ago, in Alexandria. You see, I had the pleasure of riding in the van with Napoleon’s guard when he entered the city that day. Imagine my surprise when someone took a pot shot at the man from a window overlooking the alley.”

  Nordhausen gaped at the remark, looking at Maeve in amazement.

  “Yes,” LeGrand pressed on. “No one was hurt, thank goodness. The soldiers were very efficient. They searched every house on the street and found a recently discharged musket. But the assailant—the assailants I should say, had vanished. Witnesses claim they saw a man and a woman at the window when the shot was fired. It was very strange… until I found the purse, of course.”

  “I don’t understand,” said Maeve.

  “Well it was clearly European in style, beaded in the fashion of 19th century France. By the way, your costuming is very good, my lady. The professor’s wig is a tad small for his face, but I think it lends him an air of credibility, wouldn’t you say?”

  Nordhausen resisted the instinct to straighten his wig, folded his arms, and glared at the man. “See here… speak plainly now. Just who are you and how do you know us? How did you know we would be here on this road?”

  “Well the purse, of course. It was all written down. Really, Miss Lindford, you should be a bit more cautious. Using a ball point pen to make notations is one thing, but taking the note with you through the Arch is quite another. Tisk, tisk.”

  That last remark swept away any notion that this man might be a local. Maeve looked at Robert and the two of them quickly recalibrated their thinking to the proposition that LeGrand was indeed a fellow traveler in time.

  “Oh, it was all in your notes,” LeGrand continued. “You penned the target date you were trying to reconnoiter, the premise of your entry, details about the Perla, the missing Americans lost
at sea, your idea in assuming their identity—quite clever, really. But then again, I should expect nothing less from the redoubtable Maeve Lindford.” There was a special fire in his eyes as he said that, and Maeve was warmed enough to return a half smile.

  “You wrote all that down and brought it with you?” Now it was Nordhausen’s turn to raise eyebrows over abuse of protocol. “I distinctly remember you chiding me: No PDAs, cell phones, wrist watches, Parker Pens and all. Then you go and slip a note like that into your purse?” Maeve merely squinted in his direction, her thoughts and attention focused entirely on LeGrand for the moment, her mind running down a hundred corridors.

  “We had quite a start at first,” LeGrand continued, leading them into the outer court of the inn. “We couldn’t figure out why you would want to get involved in the assassination plot against Napoleon.” He lowered his voice, checking to see if any locals overheard him, but the innkeeper was not at his desk and the courtyard was empty.

  “Assassination plot?” Nordhausen was aghast. “Why, we had no such idea, I can assure you.”

  “Oh? Then what, pray tell, were you doing there?”

  “If you must know, it was a simple error. We never had any intention of manifesting on those coordinates. It was all a mistake.”

  “Indeed? How enlightening,” LeGrand smiled. “Here we thought it was all carefully planned—one of your master strokes, if I may. You’re telling me it was an error? How quaint! We never did have good data on that incident. If your manifestation was by chance or accident, then there must be a ripe little Pushpoint out there somewhere that we have yet to find.” He clasped his hands together heartily. “But then again, that’s what makes this business so interesting, eh professor?”