by Alex Archer
“That’s...” Annja squinted to make out the three silhouettes on the building’s mansard rooftop. The one defending himself against the other two had a familiar form, and his hair was pulled back in a clasp at the base of his neck. “Roux?”
Garin didn’t respond. He squinted and rested his hands on his hips; he was enjoying the show.
“Those are your men?”
“He’s got the box and the key, Annja.”
“Call them off.” She stepped around Garin, but stopped when he held an arm out. It caught her off guard and she wheezed out a breath.
“Give them a minute. They’re not going to hurt the old man, and you know it.”
“They will if you let them.”
This time Garin gripped her by the wrist as she tried to step into the square.
“Annja,” he said tightly, “we are not enemies this time.”
He winced as her boot crunched into his shin, and he let go of her. “You know as well as I what the old man has in mind to do.”
Yes, but it wasn’t going to happen. Time travel was a fantasy. No one would ever convince her that a little box with gears and a magical key could perform such a wonder.
“He won’t win,” he said, staring again at the rooftop. “This time I get to walk away with the prize.”
“It doesn’t belong to either one of you. It is a historical artifact. That’s it,” she said, ready to move. “It belongs in a museum.”
Garin held his arms out to his sides as if she were making more out of this than was necessary. “I agree.”
Annja quirked a brow. Rarely were she and Garin Braden on the same side when it came to such matters. But that didn’t mean she had to stand aside and watch Roux get shoved around—
On the other hand... She glanced toward the building just as Roux seemed to knock down one man and then the other. The old Frenchman stood proud, the victor, and looked down over the square. When his gaze landed on the two of them, Roux shook his head and waved them off dismissively.
“Told you.” Garin chuckled and glanced at her. “He’s on his way.”
And she seriously had had enough of these two schemers. Time to seize the artifact and put this whole quest to bed. But there was one piece of the puzzle still missing.
She swept her gaze around the square in search of the arrogant Evan Merrick.
* * *
FROM WHERE HE stood inside the dark bistro that edged the market square, Evan had all the players in his sights. Behind him, the shop owner lay on the floor, his hands and mouth bound. Evan wasn’t a killer. But he’d needed a quiet place, close to the action, to observe. Fortunately for him, the owner had been working late on his accounts in the back room, and he’d spied the light on as he’d cased the neighborhood.
So Annja Creed was with Garin Braden now? That woman jumped from one side to the other with a dexterity that made him wish he’d been just a bit nicer to her. At the very least, having her with him would have made the poison incident unnecessary. He still felt the burn in his esophagus and wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to look at tea the same way again.
Garin was standing next to Annja and looked imposing; more weapons were probably hiding under that expensive jacket. He knew that Garin Braden was a force with whom regular folks should not mess. If he couldn’t handle a situation with his guile or those fists, he could easily employ someone to get the job done, and do it in just as imposing a manner as he. Although, given what Evan had just witnessed on the rooftop, he should reassess his opinion of Roux, whom he’d initially pinned as an old man with a bottomless wallet and a penchant for shiny baubles and placing bets. He’d tried to take Roux out with his gambling and keep him distracted that way, but he’d proven more than capable of ditching two or three goons on his own.
As well, Evan suspected Roux knew more about the music box than he was letting on. He’d shifted through time—the notebook with the picture of him labeled a thief was evidence of that.
Evan swallowed. He was by no means a fighter. He was smart, but not so skilled that he thought he stood a chance against either Roux or Garin, let alone both of them.
Annja Creed offered a formidable challenge, as well.
But he did hold the key.
He hoped that would buy him the strength he’d need to win this match.
* * *
ROUX JOINED THEM, and the two men went head-to-head, exchanging harsh words that started in English, then switched to a few French oaths, a splash of German and then a surprising Latin curse.
Annja stood aside, allowing them to get out their frustrations.
Garin didn’t make a move on Roux and vice versa, but both maintained an aggressive stance, shoulders back and chests puffed up. They’d been going at each other for centuries. Would their rivalry ever end?
Still, she knew they cared for one another more than they would ever admit.
They eventually settled their ire and stepped back from their posturing when Annja brought up the thought that someone could be observing them.
And when that someone revealed himself, stepping out of a closed shop farther along the street, Annja felt the tension ratchet up again. Garin and Roux were standing beside one another, reluctant allies. Roux had a brown paper bag tucked under his arm. In it, the music box and notebook, she was sure. Garin appeared as if he had no weapon, but of course, the Glock was tucked at the back of his waistband, under his leather jacket.
She stepped in front of them, and Evan crossed the market square, slowing his stride and shoving his hands into his sweatshirt pocket.
“He’s got the cross,” Roux muttered.
“What?” Garin growled.
“There was an incident when I arrived at the airport. Couldn’t be helped.”
Garin muttered another curse.
Annja assumed Evan must still think he was in the game; he certainly wouldn’t have shown up here unless he still had a piece on the board. The cross could be in a pocket, stuffed down his shirt or even shoved in a sock. Garin and Roux would tear him apart to find it.
She waggled the fingers of her right hand, sensing the sword was close. Her partner in battle, one that never let her down. If she needed to summon the sword, the hilt would find her fingers within milliseconds. Like a thought, it was always there, ever ready. Not a fancy sword, but a solid battle sword that was as much her servant as she was to it.
Not yet, she cautioned herself. But perhaps soon.
Chapter 31
Milan, 1500
He’d designed it to work only when placed at a specific latitude and longitude. A gift for his friend René d’Anjou, who, sadly, had since passed on. So was it worthless now? A mere fantastical notion he’d managed to construct yet never test? At the very least, it had gone beyond the sketch stage.
Leonardo sat beneath the willow tree in the courtyard near Melzi’s estate on Lake Como. In his hands was the music box on which he’d carved the intricate knot details with such care.
He traced over a particular ribbon that wound beneath the bronze gear that turned only when the box had been activated by placing the key within the lock. Why the tritone of musical notes had been banned was beyond him. He did not believe a man could call forth the devil in such a manner.
This device had ceased to hold anything more than sentimental value.
“To shift time?” he said to himself. “Preposterous.”
He set the box aside. He was never regretful of the time he spent on his many ventures, successful or not. Always he learned something in the process. And that was what he enjoyed most: learning. Would man ever be able to traverse through time to the past or perhaps even the future? It was a question that was difficult to fathom. And for what purpose was another unknown.
Surely the purpose must always be to advance knowledge. Since by c
ontinually sharing knowledge, the vast secrets of life, why, the very universe, could be revealed.
He tilted his head back and closed his eyes. A rare moment of silence on this bright evening beneath the stars. Should man truly master time travel someday, he hoped someone would journey back and introduce themselves to him.
* * *
EVAN MERRICK HELD the Lorraine cross out in one hand. Garin stood not ten feet away from him, while Roux flanked him another twenty feet to the left.
Annja stood before their adversary, unsure how to approach this one. Well, she didn’t believe in time travel, so why not let the guy insert the key in the device? Everyone would step back in anticipated awe and then—nothing! Ha!
“You brought me a cross instead of flowers,” she said. “Aw, now, that’s original.”
“Anything for you, Creed.”
“Hand it over, Merrick,” Garin said. He pulled out the Glock and aimed the gun in warning.
“How about a partnership? Just the four of us?” Evan said, wavering too quickly.
Roux shook his head. The brown paper bag crunched in his grasp.
“It’s obvious the lot of you know more about this thing and how to use it than I do,” Evan continued. “And I’m pretty sure Roux has used it before.”
Roux cast Annja a glance that told her he had no idea what the man was talking about.
“You know, Roux,” she scoffed jokingly, “when you traveled through time using the device to meet Leonardo da Vinci? That’s why he was able to sketch your likeness in the notebook Merrick has all but memorized.”
Roux bowed his head, smirked and glanced to Garin.
“Seriously?” Garin said. “You’ve already used the device, old man?”
“Not you, too,” Roux said angrily. “I won’t play along with this ridiculous ploy. I have never traveled through time. How absurd!”
“Then how was a Renaissance artist able to sketch your likeness?” Evan persisted.
“A coincidence! Besides, that’s not the point,” Roux said huffily. “The point is you will hand over that cross now, or the man standing on the other side of Annja will put a bullet in you.”
“I like that.” Garin nodded and stretched out his arm to better aim at the body in question.
“You’re not going to shoot me,” Evan spat. “There are tourists over there.”
“Only two, and they’re casting moon eyes at one another,” Garin said. “Another minute or so and they’ll be eager to get to their hotel room. As well, it’s dark here. And I’ve a silencer.”
“If you shoot me, I’ll drop the cross. It’ll break and then it’ll ruin whatever reason you have for pursuing this. And if you’re here, at the site where Joan of Arc was burned, because you think you can somehow save her, I don’t think the implications of changing history will go over so well.”
“You can’t change history,” Annja insisted. “It’s not possible, no matter if you can travel back in time or not. Whatever has happened, has happened. That’s it.”
Garin stared at Annja. That brow of his arched either in question or he was impressed with what she’d said.
“As a fan of Joan of Arc—” Garin adressed Evan “—I know something you might have an interest in looking at. That is, if you’d entertain a fair trade.”
Annja was curious. What angle was Garin working now?
“And you just happen to have a Joan artifact in your pocket?” Evan smirked. “A desperate man will say anything to serve his needs.”
“I’ve never been desperate in my life.” Garin switched the safety off on his gun and renewed his interest in Evan.
“It’s Joan’s sword,” Roux stated matter-of-factly.
Annja craned her neck toward the older man. “Really?”
He winked at Annja. “Go with this one, will you?”
“Take one for the team,” Garin added.
The team? she mouthed.
Since when had Garin and Roux ever really been a team? And they only seemed to include her whenever it would serve their interests. And when it didn’t? She was left out in the cold, With nothing. Nada.
She should say something about this, bring it to their attention, maybe even redraw the boundaries of their relationship, such as it was.
“Right,” she said sharply. “Joan’s sword. You want to hold it? You give us the cross.”
Against all that felt right, Annja knew the deal had to be done.
She was interested in the music box.
Just a little.
No.
She really wanted to get the Lorraine cross back to the museum in Poland, from where it had been stolen, and then make sure the music box was placed with the proper authorities. As well, the notebook had to be turned in for possible authentication. And as soon as Evan or one of them tested the nonsensical time-travel device and found it worthless, they’d hand it over easily.
“Joan of Arc’s sword?” Evan challenged. “The sword she used in battle?”
“That’s right.” Garin answered.
Annoyed now, Annja couldn’t catch Roux’s gaze, but she shot him daggers anyway.
“Who’s got it?” Evan asked.
“She does,” Garin quickly said. “You hand me the cross—”
“Hand me the cross,” Roux interrupted.
Garin and Roux locked gazes. Two bulls had just clashed horns in the ring. The younger one growled. Yeah, well, it couldn’t have gone any other way.
“And I hand you the sword,” Annja finished.
“I don’t see a sword.” Evan gripped the cross more tightly as he looked Annja up and down. She stood ready for action, fingers flexing, feet slightly parted and feeling her weight in the bend of her knees.
“I’ve got it,” she reassured.
“You’re lying. Only in movies or on TV shows can they whip out a sword from among the folds of a duster coat. You don’t have on anything that would conceal a weapon.”
“Yeah, and time travel is real, too.”
“Annja, just show him,” Garin said.
“You’re going to owe me one,” she said.
“Yes, yes. In our tally of favors and demerits, I’m sure my side is the most heavily loaded.”
On a huge sigh, Annja called the sword from the otherwhere. The sword responded instantly. The hilt fit perfectly into her palm, with a sureness that she had come to admire. A claim that always lifted her, made her thrust up her chin and put her feet at a ready, fighting stance. This was her sword. And she rarely handed it over to another. She could do it. Someone else could hold the sword while she willed it to remain there, only until she wished it to return to the otherwhere. She didn’t know how it worked, only that it did.
And that it was breathtaking.
“What?” Evan lowered his hand, the cross suddenly forgotten. “That’s a...broadsword!”
“Carried by Joan of Arc into battle,” Annja said as she swept the blade before her, noting its shine in the dim light. It wasn’t an ornately decorated sword; rather, it had been designed to take a beating and to give as good as it got.
Evan held out his hand with the artifact. Both Roux and Garin stepped forward, but since Roux was closer, he was able to grasp the Lorraine cross. Garin countered the old man, stepping up close to him and staring him down, but Roux would not be so easily intimidated.
“Boys,” Annja cautioned. “We’ll fight over it later. Yes?”
Again the throaty growl from Garin as he stepped back.
“Give it,” Evan said.
Annja presented the sword to him. A jolt of regret buzzed through her nervous system as the exchange was made. She had to focus to ensure it remained in the here and now. And later? She’d show Roux and Garin no mercy. If they thought to use her in their underhande
d dealings with a stolen artifact, they’d regret it dearly.
Evan examined the hilt. It was worn smooth from all its many uses through history before it had found its way into Annja’s hands. Then his gaze ran along the blade, and he slid his fingertips over the flat of it. Annja thought she felt that touch down her spine. It wasn’t comforting. She curled her fingers into fists and fought to hold back a burst of protest.
“This was really Joan’s? Have you had it authenticated?”
“It’s real,” Roux confirmed. He moved into the bright light reflecting the Joan of Arc statue, which enabled him to examine the cross.
Garin remained where he was, guarding Evan. Annja assumed it was in case the man decided to turn and run with the sword.
“Yeah?” Evan suddenly slashed the blade near her, forcing her to jump back a few feet.
She put up her palms in warning. “Watch it. That thing will take somebody’s head off.”
“And I’m skilled with a broadsword,” Evan said, sounding almost giddy. “Took a few reenactment classes in college. So you won’t mind if I borrow it a bit? After all, we did just make a fair trade.”
He slashed at the air again and again.
Annja winced. She could dissolve the sword from his grip right now. But she did not. They needed time to look at the music box. For Roux to do whatever he needed to with it, before Evan tried to stop them.
She averted her gaze. Roux had placed the cross, like a key, into the mechanism at the side of the music box. He seemed to be trying to figure out how to turn the key, or if it turned at all. Garin had joined him, hands on his hips, the gun tucked away for now. Roux kept his back to the man, making it clear he wanted no interference.
If both Garin and Roux suddenly vanished, she wasn’t sure what she’d do. Run, scream, maybe wish they had taken her with them. But...nothing happened.
Evan was standing at the storefront where he’d been hiding earlier. He was still now, obviously waiting to see if anything would happen, as well. He stabbed the sword, tip first, into the cobbled ground.
Annja had had enough of him. She called the sword back. It disappeared from Evan’s grasp. The man yelped. It came to fruition in her hand.