Touchstone (Meridian Series)

by John Schettler

  “Only too well, I suppose,” said Nordhausen. “Look, I must get after her, you understand. Please forgive me.” He extended an arm in a quick, apologetic gesture, and set off after Maeve, one hand straightening his wig as he went.

  By the time he caught up with her, she was out through the courtyard and exiting the gate to the inn. The sun had climbed high during their conversation, and the mid-day heat was beginning to radiate from the dry landforms about them. A saving breeze was still blowing in off the ocean to the north, but it was going to be very uncomfortable out in the open sun. Maeve had already opened her parasol and was slowing her gait somewhat to let Robert catch up.

  “Really,” he said, somewhat out of breath. “Was it necessary to make a scene like that?”

  “It was.”

  “But I don’t understand—the man was only trying to help us. He had quarters arranged, tea, and no doubt there would have been some breakfast in the bargain as well. He knows exactly where the discovery site is, and now we’ll just have to bungle about on our own because of your stubborn—“

  “Leave it, Robert. Either you weren’t listening in there or you have a severe case of time lag. The man is dangerous, don’t you understand?” She kept walking, heading east, in the general direction of the town center. Robert was pulled along with her.

  “Dangerous? What are you talking about?”

  “Don’t you get it? The man is an agent.”

  “But he’s merely observing,” Robert explained. “He’s standing a watch on the milieu—“

  “And executing instructions he receives by courier. It’s the same scenario Paul stumbled into at Castle Massiaf. You were just about to explain it to him, yes?”

  “Well, of course!” Robert did not see the danger that was obviously so apparent to Maeve.

  “You were going to tell him about the scroll, the hieroglyphics, everything. In fact, I’ll bet you couldn’t wait to translate the message Rasil was carrying. Didn’t you hear? They were trying to change the outcome of Hattin—by arranging the death of Reginald. I don’t know what Paul did when he was there but, whatever it was, it foiled their plan.”

  “Well, you’re acting like he’s our enemy.”

  “Robert…” Maeve stopped suddenly, turning to confront him. “Anyone who intends to alter the history we know is our enemy. Get that into your head! We’re here to find out if this stone you prize so highly is damaged or not. You know why, yes? Well, I should know why as well—but I don’t. The Meridian has been altered, and something that was once roosting happily in my head is gone. I wasn’t in a Nexus, like you were, when the transformation occurred, and I’ve lost something—the Rosetta stone, for one thing, and god only knows what else!” Her face reddened as she concluded, her eyes burning with controlled anger.

  A look of recognition came over Robert’s face. His eyes softened, losing the frustration that was in them as he chased after her. “Very well,” he said at last. “I understand your concerns now. I can see that this is going to be very difficult—for all of us. Still, we might have learned something more from LeGrand, if you weren’t so headstrong.”

  “I’ve learned quite enough,” said Maeve. “He’s an agent; probably involved in all sorts of mischief. He may be here to preserve Napoleon’s life from the assassins, or to tamper with the outcome of his battles—who knows? But I’ll tell you one thing: he’s a liar, and that makes him my enemy, no matter what his pleasantries and feigned hospitality might say to the contrary.”

  “A liar? About what?”

  “Weren’t you listening? He said Graves discovered Paul’s DVD in the memorial site. Now we both know that the site was tampered with, and the DVD was taken—possibly as an attempt against Kelly’s life. But Kelly’s not gone…” Her lips tightened as she struggled to complete her thought. “He’s still here, or at least I hope he is. He recovered when you and Paul determined to do something about the tampering, and published the backup DVD to the Internet. If that stands, then Graves must have found the DVD by some other means, and LeGrand is lying.”

  “Well, he’s been here in Egypt for over a year, Maeve. The tampering just occurred. How would he know about it when he was stuck in Palestine with Napoleon’s army?”

  “Oh, don’t be silly. Use your head, man! The tampering occurred in the year 2010, Robert. Remember, he would be privy to any transformation of the Meridian between our lifetime and his. He said it himself—it’s all history to him. He should have known that the site was tampered with, and the DVD was found by other means—yet he feigned ignorance of the whole matter.”

  Nordhausen scratched his head. “Good heavens. Now I am confused.”

  “Think of it this way,” Maeve explained, “the fact that Kelly remained substantial after the tampering means that something was done to preserve the DVD record—and it was found. LeGrand told us the story he thought we would believe. He’s a liar.”

  “I see,” said Robert. “This is becoming more complicated than I imagined. This temporal logic is confounding. How do we know that the whole matter isn’t undone by some other operation—something that prevents the tampering with Kelly’s memorial site, just as we prevented Palma?”

  “We don’t know,” said Maeve. “But the facts, as they stand now, reveal LeGrand to be… insincere, to say the least, and devious, to say more. I’ll tell you something else that you might have missed: LeGrand said the perfect time for an operation against the stone would be somewhere on the road between here and Cairo.”

  “Well… That seems logical enough.”

  “Oh, it would be,” Maeve said quickly. “Only the stone was not transported to Cairo by road. All that talk about the French commandeering the good riding stock was bogus. Do you realize how heavy that thing is? Really, Robert, you should have researched this mission if you were so damn set on it. They moved the stone by river. They barged it up the Nile to Cairo, and so LeGrand was just trying to put us off the scent with his clever little scenario about a roadside ambush.”

  Nordhausen scratched his head, amazed that Maeve had been so perceptive. “Well,” he said at last. “I suppose I understand your hostility toward the man now.”

  “Right,” Maeve agreed quickly. “We must act as though he were a potential contagion to the Meridian, Robert. He is not our friend. He was sent to intercept us—with foreknowledge of our exact arrival time and location. This Order he speaks of is aware of our operation here, as they are doubtless aware of our intention to prevent their tampering. Again—everything we do is history to them—at least the outcome of our actions. In that case, we become obstacles to their plans as well—Founders and Prime Movers all.”

  “You mean to say you think they would conspire against us?”

  “Why not? LeGrand has revealed that we have already overturned their assassination plot against Reginald. Lord… we’ve said entirely too much to that man. Telling him that the incident in Wadi Rumm was mere happenstance was not good. Translating the message you read on Rasil’s scroll, as you were about to do, would have been worse. Remember what Paul said about security. We’ve been very sloppy this time—myself included. I was thoughtless in taking that note back in my purse. If you must know, I simply forgot it was there, but that’s no excuse. I practically stripped myself naked the first time I went through the Arch. I was careless, and I put them on to us.”

  Nordhausen nodded. “All is forgiven,” he said, then grew very quiet. After a moment he looked at her with a searching expression. “Maeve, can you possibly forgive me for… for what I did in using the Arch? I was on to something—taken up with the hunt, as it were. I wanted to have a look at artifacts, yes, I’ll admit it: I choose London because I have always loved that time. And when I met Wilde and all I…”

  “Say no more,” said Maeve. “Alright, I’ll let you off the hook on the condition that you behave yourself for the rest of this mission.” She smiled, and the mood between them lightened.

  “We had better get into town and find some
new accommodations,” said Robert. “I suppose it may appear somewhat scandalous to some—a strapping man like me alone with a woman in this savage land.”

  “Remember,” Maeve corrected him quickly, “I’m your sister.”

  ~

  They walked on, the town growing around them as they made their way past parched fields, once lush plantations in the flood season. The smell of sea salt and brine was in the air, and Nordhausen steered them in the direction of the fort. Before long, however, they were very tired, and surprisingly hungry.

  “I simply must get out of this sun and have something to eat,” said Maeve, and Robert concurred.

  The activity of traders, farmers and herders was more apparent as they moved into the heart of the settlement. People were hustling along the thin, stone-laid roads, intent on a thousand matters know only to themselves. As Nordhausen looked at them he felt a strange inner twinge of something akin to fear. What if one of these people was musing on something that would end up triggering any of the great events of history waiting to play out?

  LeGrand was correct when he said it was the common man, and the triviality of his simple desires, that you really had to look out for. It occurred to him that the greatest part of all human experience was entirely unknown—stuck away in a man’s head as his inner thoughts moved from one tiny necessity to the next. Only the smallest fraction was ever expressed, in conversation with other men, and even less of that was ever written down to be known by future generations.

  Yes, he thought, most of human experience was silent, private, confined in the heads of simple men and women, and never revealed. Just as he kept this very muse to himself, so the greatest measure of human thought was entirely unknown—a mystery he could never imagine. What was Maeve thinking at this very moment?

  He looked at her, struggling along in that layered costume, parasol held up bravely against the tireless sun. A bit of the mystery was suddenly revealed to him when she took a deep breath and licked her lips.

  “Smell that?” There was a palpable aroma of cooking meat on the air, and Robert could see that they were approaching a souk near the center of town.

  “Delightful,” he said. “Are you as famished as I am?”

  “Yes,” she said, fidgeting about in her purse. “Ah,” she smiled. “At least they had the good manners to leave the contents intact.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I scrounged up some old French francs at a dealer’s shop in Berkeley before we left. It’s all here—even the three gold pieces I added, just in case the notes would not be accepted. Why, they’ve even left my note in the purse.”

  “With all the details of our mission?”

  “Yes. I’ll say one thing for them: they’re tidy. Looks like someone in Outcomes insisted that the purse had to be left exactly as it was, and returned to the proper owner for disposition, as LeGrand called it.”

  “I don’t know if I like the sound of that,” said Nordhausen. “But let’s see about something to eat!”

  Maeve was only too happy to accommodate him. They made their way into a wide open square where many street vendors offered the produce from nearby plantations. Sellers were calling out to catch the attention of passers by, and people crowded about carts and stands, where baskets of melons, dates, and other fruit were offered. But their attention was led by their noses to a man offering slivers of seasoned meat on long wood skewers. He was grilling them over a brazier of charcoal, and the aroma was compelling.

  Maeve handed Robert a note, and he angled in to bargain with the man for their lunch. The vendor eyed him suspiciously at first. He accepted the note cautiously, squinting at it in the bright sunlight, and finally smelling it before he flashed them a gritty smile and handed over two skewers of meat. Robert accepted them with a nod, handing them to Maeve, then he waited, eyeing the vendor like he was up to no good.

  “Come on, Robert,” said Maeve.

  “Why, the beggar hasn’t given me my change yet,” Robert protested. “That was a five frank note, am I right?”

  Maeve gave him an incredulous look. “Leave it,” she said, pulling him away. “I’m famished. Let’s get out of this sun and find another inn.”

  Robert allowed himself to be pulled along, looking over his shoulder at the vendor as they went. There was no mystery as to what was going on in that man’s head just now—spoken or not. The man had a sly smile on his face, obviously pleased that he had been able to garner such a hefty price for his wares, and all without the slightest bit of haggling.

  They finished the food, finding it a spicy, though satisfying meal. People were understandably curious to see these strangers in their midst, and the more they lingered in the souk, the more attention they got. It was making Maeve somewhat nervous, and she pulled Robert along, heading for a group of buildings at one end of the square. Her eye fixed on one that had the look of a caravanserai, and she hastened toward it, glad to be out away from the lingering stares of these earthy, brown skinned locals.

  In time they found an inn that looked acceptable, and went in to see about a room. The keeper did not want to accept paper currency, however, and Maeve was forced to pay one of the three gold coins to secure accommodations. Robert seemed irritated as the negotiation was concluded, largely by sign language, as the man did not speak any European language.

  “See what I mean?” He nodded his head at the man. “We got taken again. These people are bandits. Five francs for lunch and an ounce of gold for a single night on a dusty hovel like this.”

  “It’s not the price I’m concerned about,” said Maeve. “It’s just that I was hoping to use the notes instead of coinage.”

  “Well the lout would have probably taken us for the entire wad in that case.” He looked at the man, clearly displeased. “Too much,” he breathed. Then to Maeve he said: “What’s the difference? Gold, notes, he’s a robber either way.”

  “The difference is that notes deteriorate quickly, and so I don’t leave detritus in the Meridian very long. A gold coin is another matter. It will hang around for centuries, and it doesn’t belong here any more than we do.”

  “May I be of some assistance?”

  They were both startled to hear English spoken, though the voice was heavily accented. Robert turned to see a tall Arabic man, dressed in white robes with a lavender hem. He wore a dark headpiece banded by three red stripes, and his eyes were bright and animated, between heavy brows and high cheek bones. His moustache and beard were thick and dark, lending him an air of dignity, and at his throat he wore a three leaf broach of finely worked brass.

  “You are English, yes?” the man said. “It is quite unusual to hear English spoken here these days. Are you traders?”

  “Not English, Americans,” Nordhausen corrected quickly. “Off the Perla…” He was struggling to remember their cover story, still somewhat flustered that this man would speak their language.

  “Ah, yes, she was here but three days ago. A brief visit. I do not think the news of the Pasha’s fleet sat well with her. She left very quickly. But how is it you were not with her?”

  “We intended to make a visit here,” said Nordhausen. “Tourists, of a sort, you see.” He hoped no further explanation would be needed, looking askance at Maeve for support. Then he decided to rush the net, and volleyed a question of his own.

  “How do you come to speak English? That is somewhat unusual for—“

  “For an Arab?” The man smiled, taking no offense. “Yes, it is quite unusual. The English are fighting the French, you see, and the Turks have decided the French are a nuisance. Since the Turks are in bed with the English these days, an Arab who wishes to curry favor with the Turks would be wise to learn a bit of English. I lived in Spain once, and learned many languages: Spanish, Portuguese, English, and even French. They are very similar, though English does have its peculiarities.”

  “I see,” said Nordhausen. “Then you are a man of letters?”

  “I was fortunate enough to attend the
university in Cordoba—a very beautiful place, Cordoba.” His eyes seemed to reach for some distant memory, resolving to a narrow eyed smile. “Then you are not with the savants?”

  “Not directly,” said Robert. “We were in Toulon, visiting relatives, and heard of the expedition. Being somewhat of a student of history, I was fascinated by the enterprise. Unfortunately, we could not book passage with the French fleet, but we were lucky enough to catch the Perla there before she left.” The innkeeper was completely forgotten now, and they both were fixated on the strange figure before them.

  “Forgive me,” said Robert. “I am…” He suddenly realized that he should not give out his real name, but could not remember anything about the cover he was supposed to assume! “Mr. Underhill,” he blurted out at last, grasping at a straw from Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings. Maeve’s eyes widened at the name and he blushed red, realizing the stupidity of the remark. Yet it was the only thing that came to mind, and so he stuck with it, in spite of Maeve’s withering regard.

  “My amiable sister,” he smiled sheepishly as he gestured in her direction.

  “Ah, a great pleasure,” said the man. “I am Khalid al Haram. I trade along the caravan routes, and have worked this coast for twenty years. Most of the trade is moving by ship these days, and so a man finds his English useful. The French are masters of the land, but on the sea, it is the British fleet that holds sway, and answers to little else but the wind. They fought the French here earlier, and caught their fleet at anchor. The little general is marooned! He thought to make his way through Palestine and Syria, but the Turks stopped him at Acre, and so he returned here to Egypt to sulk. Now the British fleet is back again, and with the Turkish ships as well. They landed at Aboukir Bay.”

  “Yes,” said Nordhausen. “We saw them. It was quite a sight. In fact, we just came in from the road west of town, and were looking for quarters here.”

  “You are right about this man,” Khalid, waved disdainfully at the innkeeper. “He is greedy at heart. The French have paid him a hundred times with notes, and he has never raised a stir with them. If you like I will chide him, and demand the return of your gold. It is unseemly that guests should be treated in this manner.”