by Susan Price
Oh, his hair it shines like gold,
His eyes like crystal stones—
He wouldn’t know her, but she would know him. She would be the beautiful Elf-May again, knowing more than mere mortal women know. She had here what people had always longed for but had never before had—the chance to go back to the best, most exciting part of their lives and live it again.
From the midst of a whirl of feeling, she tried to reason. “But why am I here?”
“I need you to do your old job—a bit of diplomacy and liaising, a lot of translating. Observing, educating. You always were the best.”
Beware of flattery, Andrea thought, especially when it comes from James Windsor. “I broke the terms of my contract. I fraternized with the 16th siders. You wouldn’t have brought Per 21st side if it hadn’t been for me. He wouldn’t have burned down the Elf-House—I mean the office. You wouldn’t have had a lance stuck in you.”
Windsor had been nodding ruefully as she spoke. “All true, yes. You were a sad disappointment to us all. But you’re still the best.” It was easy for him to sound sincere because what he said was the truth. If he had other motives for asking Andrea to work for him again, he didn’t have to think of them at that moment. “We’ve found others who could do the job. Universities are full of brain boxes who pick up languages faster than you can scoff a bar of chocolate, but still can’t get work. We gave them your notes and tapes—I might be able to get those freed to you, by the way. You could finally write that book.” Andrea stared at him without smiling or responding. “Just a thought. What was I saying? Oh, the brain boxes. Trouble with them is they can’t take living over there. After a few days they’re running back to the Tube whining that they want to come home because there are no showers or flush lavatories, and there’s bugs and fleas, the food’s awful, and the people are nasty and rough. Whereas you seemed to thrive on it.”
It sounded plausible, but Andrea was suspicious of the implied compliment. Windsor had never been given to complimenting people. (Per, she was thinking, with another part of her mind. Grab the chance. Meet Per again for the first time.) “You,” she said. “You want. You can—work with Per again? How can you?”
Windsor spread his hands. “Well,” he said. “I nearly died.”
“I heard that you were very ill.”
“And you never even sent me a card. But—when you come that close to death … you change. I know it’s a cliché, but it really is true.”
Windsor sounded so sincere that Andrea didn’t believe a word. And even as she studied his face, and doubted him, something at the back of her mind yammered, I get to meet Per again! I’m going to see Per again!
“And I need work,” Windsor said. “And here is work for me to do. I look at it this way—it might have been Per Sterkarm who rammed a spear through me, but it wasn’t this Per Sterkarm. No point in bearing a grudge against this one. And I’m managing things differently this time. I’ve learned from past mistakes. There’s no reason there should ever be any unpleasantness with these Sterkarms.”
“But—you know what they’re like.” Andrea shook her head. “God knows you know what they’re like. How can you think of trying to do business with them again?”
“I’m shocked, Andrea. I thought you were their friend.”
“They were good to me personally,” she said. “I couldn’t help but like them. But nobody could say they’re easy to deal with.”
“For a pattern of behavior to be changed,” Windsor said, “it needs only one side to change. And I’ve changed. I really think I have. I’m more patient. I’m more relaxed. I don’t mind if things take a little longer, if I don’t win every point. Instead of demanding that they stop raiding, I’m taking a more pragmatic approach. Making it worth twenty times more to them to keep the peace than to raid.”
Andrea spent a few seconds trying to imagine how that could be done, and failed. “How?”
“Money, of course. And gifts. We pay them and bribe them to keep the peace. We’re paying them to end the feuds. In fact, at the moment I’m negotiating a truce between the Sterkarms and the Grannams.”
“The Grannams?” When she’d lived among the Sterkarms, she’d come to think of the Grannams as almost horned, hoofed, and tailed. They’d feuded with the Sterkarms for so long that it had become a given of life, without needing a reason or origin. Scores of murders and maimings had been committed on both sides, for which each family blamed the other. Making peace between them was at least as difficult as bringing peace to Northern Ireland or the Middle East.
“I’m filling their sword hands with gold,” Windsor said. “Loading their sword arms with jeans, and T-shirts, and stout boots, and aspirin. Every time they remember another killing, another raid, I pay them blood money for it—so much that even they have to admit the score is settled. I’m promising them ongoing payments as long as peace lasts.”
“And, of course, what they think is a fortune is chicken feed to you.”
Windsor gave a stately nod, almost a bow. “Admittedly.”
Andrea shook her head. “It’ll never work.”
“It is working.”
“And you,” Andrea said, staring at him. “You can still see Per—even this Per—and be with him—without. I mean, you don’t—go through it all again? It must have been frightening. You don’t—?”
“Suffer flashbacks?” Windsor said. “Post-traumatic stress disorder? You read too many magazines, Andrea.”
“But surely—?”
“It happened,” Windsor said. “It was bad, but it’s over. I lived. What’s that calendar motto—‘If it doesn’t kill you, it makes you stronger’? So I’m stronger, and I get on with the job. Simple as that. Not all of us need lifelong counseling every time we trip on a pavement.”
“And you don’t want revenge? At all? That’s not why you’re doing this?”
“Oh, you barmaids do love your drama. I’m not doing anything. It was the Board’s decision to open the Tube again. It’s business, not revenge.”
“You could have asked for a transfer,” Andrea said. “Or got another job.”
“I thought about it,” Windsor said with apparent frankness. “But I thought it would be more likely to cause me problems than facing up to things. And my experience is valuable to the company—there aren’t many people who have experience of working 16th side with the Sterkarms. Which brings us back to you. We had our differences, I know, but you were very good at your job. You’d mastered the language, you researched their customs, you got on with them—you understood them. We need you. How about it? Can we bring you back on board?”
“I don’t know …” It was all Andrea could do to speak. She felt that she was melting in heat. Another snatch of song returned to her, one that moved to a slow, almost sad tune that rippled like the little river that ran through Bedesdale:
For there’s sweeter rest
On a truelove’s breast
Than any other where.
Per, was all she could think. Per, Per, Per. I’ll see him again, be with him again. Back to all the squalor and hardship of the 16th—but she knew that, she was prepared for it, could face it. It would mean being with Per again. But still, a small voice struggled to be heard: This will be a disaster. Say no. Escape.
“More money, of course,” Windsor said. “And we’ll help you find a place up here, a nice little apartment—or a house. We’ll help you with moving. Can you drive? I could maybe wangle you a company car for when you’re this side. Get yourself a little MPV and you could—”
“Get a what?”
Windsor sighed heavily. “An M-P-V. A multipurpose vehicle. You can drive it here, 21st side, but press a button and you can drive it off road in the 16th, too. Get yourself one of them and take it through. Things have changed over there. We’re not being so purist this time.”
“I don’t know,” Andrea said, trying, despi
te herself, to save herself. “I have to think it over. It would mean giving up my job—”
“As a barmaid?”
“I have to talk it over with my partner.”
Windsor looked surprised and was about to speak, but swallowed whatever jibe he’d been about to make on the unlikelihood of her having a partner. “Take all the time you need,” he said, displaying his new, patient, caring nature. She rose, and he rose with her. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said.
3
21st Side—16th Side: The Elf-Palace
Andrea parked her little blue MPV in the parking lot at the side of Dilsmead Hall and locked it up. She’d taken it on the principle of screwing as much out of FUP as she could, but as driving 16th side was even more nervewracking than 21st side, she was quite happy to leave it here and accept a lift from Windsor. Shouldering her rucksack, she walked to the rear of the Hall, where the Time Tube stood.
The Time Tube—a huge concrete tube, as its nickname implied—was where it had always been, behind Dilsmead Hall, on the lawn, close beside the gravel path. There was the shed that housed the cold-fusion power plant, about which Andrea understood nothing, and there was the long prefab office, raised on stilts, that housed the controls and the many monitoring computers. The building, painted an ugly beige, was grubby and mundane. You would never have suspected it of holding such technology.
A large white van was parked on the gravel nearby. Lettering on its side, to Andrea’s surprise, proclaimed it to be from a catering company. In front of it was parked a big, dirty truck that looked as if it was used for heavier business. Around these vehicles, and the office, stood a crowd of waiting people. Despite her curiosity about them, Andrea passed the gathering by, crunching along the gravel path to get a look at the Tube itself. She wanted to see if it had changed.
It was far more impressive than the shabby office. The vast concrete tube was supported in a cradle of steel girders, all painted a flat blue. A ramp rose from the gravel path to the mouth of the Tube, which was screened by dangling strips of plastic. Vehicles would drive up the ramp and stop on the platform outside the Tube’s mouth. When the green light beside the Tube gave them the signal, they would drive slowly into the Tube as its shrill sound mounted and passed beyond hearing. And somewhere around the middle of the Tube, they passed into another dimension and another time. Half of the Tube punched through into that other dimension and vanished from the 21st. It was said to have “traveled” while the other half “stayed at home.” Utterly miraculous and, at the same time, just technology, like the cell phone in her bag.
She left the path and went onto the lawn, to look at the Tube from the side. Its whole length was “at home,” and she could clearly see the division between the half that remained always in the 21st and the half that “traveled.” The stationary half was gray with 21st-century dirt and stained with rust, while the traveling half was unmarked and white.
The last time she had stood here, there had been a battle going on. Well, all right, a skirmish. Whatever you called it, people had been killed. She remembered the huge, sweating, thundering horses, the crunching and thumping of hooves and feet on the gravel, the frantic, panicky running to and fro, the threatening yells and terrified wails, the hacking, the blood. Bryce, the Head of Security, had been beheaded in that skirmish. With a gulp she turned quickly to look behind her, and was only slightly relieved to find the path empty and no threat nearby. Windsor might claim that he never had flashbacks, but for a few moments, feeling increasingly queasy, she wondered if she had the nerve to go through with this …
Snap out of it, she told herself. Have you come this far—all the misery of parting with Mick and packing and moving and finding a new place—to chicken out now? And unless you go through the Tube, you’ll never see Per again. He just doesn’t do the 21st.
That wasn’t what she’d said to Mick. She’d talked to him about work. How fascinated she was with research, with the past—she’d told him about the Tube, though swearing him to secrecy. “I had to sign a paper saying I wouldn’t tell anyone about it, so if you tell anyone, you’ll drop me in it.” Mick wouldn’t tell anyone if she asked him not to, she was sure of that. “How many people get this chance?” she’d said to him. “I can’t let it slip. I’ve got to go.”
“It’s dangerous,” he’d said.
“So’s crossing the road.” He’d looked glum. “I’ve been there before. I know the risks. I’ll be careful. But I’ve got to go.”
“Well,” he’d said, in the end. “If it makes you happy.”
He always said that. And meant it. A great feeling of love for him rose up in her as she stood outside the Tube’s office, bringing tears to her eyes. Lovely Mick. Few people would see him as a great catch. He was older than her by nearly fifteen years, and he looked it. He was a bit chubby and had great shaggy eyebrows and thinning hair on his head, but he was gentle, loving, protective, and didn’t seem to be aware that she was fat. Most of the time she felt fond of him, but now and again—as now—she was shocked to discover how deeply she adored him. Never did she want to hurt him, but—on the other end of the Tube was Per.
She felt that she needed to brace herself by doing something ordinary and bureaucratic. Walking back along the path, she pushed through the people standing around the office steps and went inside. In a tiny anteroom a receptionist sat at a desk. Behind her was the doorway leading to the room, crowded with more computers, where technicians and scientists controlled the Tube.
“I’m Andrea Mitchell. I’m booked to go through the Tube.”
“Do you have your pass?”
Andrea had forgotten that she would need it, and had to take off her rucksack and search through its pockets until she found the bit of paper. The receptionist studied it, and looked at her computer screen, while Andrea marveled yet again at the mix of breathtaking technology and plodding bureaucratic ineptitude that made up the Time Tube project. It had always been the same. Bryce—when he’d been alive—had frequently raged against the penny-pinching accountancy that wouldn’t pay to repair broken security cameras or train guards, and then had blamed him for failures of security.
“That’s fine,” the receptionist said. “Enjoy your trip.”
There were toilets off this entrance hall, and Andrea went in—after all, it would be five hundred years before she had a chance to go again, and then it would be in nowhere near as much comfort. Afterward she checked her face in the mirror. One of the pockets of her rucksack held a small makeup kit, and she carefully applied just a trace of lipstick and kohl. Dotting a little lipstick on her cheekbones, she rubbed it in to create a slight, becoming flush. For a moment she studied herself, then pulled out the pins and ties that held her hair up. It fell down about her face and onto her shoulders in heavy, light-brown waves.
She grimaced at herself, then gathered her hair up in her hands, holding it on top of her head, trying to decide whether she looked better with it up or down. It looked slightly better up, she thought, but 16th side only unmarried women wore their hair uncovered and loose. As soon as a woman married, she pinned up her hair and covered it with a cap. When she met Per again, her loose hair would be a signal. She put the pins and ties in her pocket.
Wandering outside, she found that things were moving, with people shouting good-byes and hastily clambering into vehicles. Quickly she slipped the weight of the rucksack from her shoulders again and took a cell phone from one of its side pockets. Sixteenth side it wouldn’t be any use to her, but she’d brought it for this moment. Switching it on, she keyed in a text message. “Going thru. Luv U. C U. Andy.” As she sent the message to Mick, she looked up. A large, square MPV, in a metallic racing green, was coming up the drive. She knew immediately that Windsor was behind the wheel.
Windsor saw her and smiled. Good old reliable big fat Andrea: He’d known she would be waiting. Drawing the jeep up alongside her with a spray of gravel, he le
aned over and opened the passenger door. “Get in!”
She did, noticing that two big men were seated silently in the long back. “Hello,” she said to them, and smiled. They looked at her, but neither smiled or spoke.
“Never mind them,” Windsor said. “They’re just muscle.”
Andrea supposed that after his previous experiences with the Sterkarms, you couldn’t blame him for taking bodyguards with him this time. She fastened her seat belt, half expecting some jibe about it needing to be extended before it would fit around her.
Instead, peering at her, he said, “Are you wearing makeup?”
“No!” she said. She felt like asking him why he was dressed in a light-gray suit with an embroidered yellow waistcoat and a lavender tie—but that would show more interest in him than he deserved.
“You’re looking well,” he said, and moved the car slowly forward. She was wearing makeup, he was sure of it—and he didn’t need three guesses to know whose benefit it was for. All to the good: If she was actually making an effort to catch young Sterkarm’s eye, he was all the more likely to notice her, and young Sterkarm was known to have a weakness for big room darkeners like Andrea.
The truck was ahead of them on the ramp, the catering van behind them. Windsor switched the radio on. “Good old Handel.” He liked to know the exact moment when the Tube transferred him from the 21st century, and at that moment the radio would cut out. It gave him some slight feeling of control, and helped him overcome the unease that he felt now whenever he used the Tube. Deliberately he moved his mind from consideration of what might go wrong to the objectives be had to achieve.
Oh God! Andrea thought as the MPV slowly crept forward. We’re going through! We’re going into the Tube. Her heart hammered. How could she have agreed to go back there? As if life wasn’t difficult enough in the 21st century. She wondered whether Windsor would listen to her if she demanded that he stop and let her out.
He’ll have to stop at the top of the ramp, she thought. I’ll get out then. But he didn’t stop. The plastic strips slapped against the windshield as they drove straight through.