The Time Travel Directorate

by Kim, Penny

  “Don’t!” her escort whispered under his breath.

  Kanon watched helplessly as the guard struck the Duchess, knocking her down and placing her prostrate form in the cart. Kanon whirled around.

  “Who are you?” she asked accusingly.

  The man met her intense stare, his face devoid of emotion. Had he, in fact, spoken? Or was Kanon’s mind playing tricks on her?

  “All will be revealed Countess,” he finally murmured in response, directing her into the tumbrel.

  Kanon obediently climbed inside, moving to console the Duchess as best she could.

  “Not long now,” she whispered, unsure of what else to say.

  The cart groaned forward, which seemed to stir the anxieties of the Duchess. She whimpered loudly as they continued across the Quai du Louvre and into the rue St. Honoré. At this juncture, they turned towards the Palace de la Revolution where the guillotine awaited them. Kanon noted a few people milling around, but once they turned towards the square, they were greeted by a veritable mob.

  Kanon heard whistling sounds, realizing they were throwing things at the cart. She bent down as a rock flew past. It was too much for the Duchess, who suddenly shrieked out at them.

  “Whatever they said about me are lies! My only crime is to shed tears!”

  “Quiet!” Kanon hissed. “Leave the rabble alone.”

  This outbreak proved to be too exciting for the mob, which continued throwing things at the cart as they progressed into the Palace de la Revolution.

  Kanon bent over the Duchess as missiles whizzed past them. Suddenly, the cart halted. Kanon tentatively looked up, the scene before her filling her body with adrenaline.

  The guillotine loomed before them in hideous, raw simplicity—the blade glittering in the sunlight. The air was thick with excitement, as storm clouds loomed ominously to the north, a sharp breeze hinting at a break in the acrid heat.

  Searching the square for any assistance, Kanon narrowed in on a commotion under one balcony facing the square. Situated upon it was a lone figure, enthusiastically throwing items to the mob. Judging from his height and mop of greying hair, Kanon easily identified him as Julius Arnold.

  She recognized a delicate pillow as it cascaded through the air, realizing he had taken the loot from the Duchesses’ carriage and was throwing it into the crowd. It caused a frenzy, the mob ripped and tore their fine fabrics and cushions to pieces.

  When he saw the stalled tumbrel, he straightened. Clapping his hands, he ordered silence. Standing on his balcony, he gave the signal to the wiry executioner standing next to the guillotine.

  Kanon’s mind raced, if Julius was able to bring about her death, what would become of Standard D? The Directorate? Her thoughts were interrupted as the executioner raised the guillotine blade. With the Duchess huddled behind her, Kanon watched as he swiftly pulled a cord, the blade slicing a cabbage on the plank below. The crowd erupted in glee as the executioner picked up the remains, showing it to the crowd.

  The Duchess fainted at the sight—and though her hands were still tied, Kanon did her best to revive her.

  “Duchess, please don’t lose hope!” she cried.

  “Oh!” the Duchess cried, coming to. “I have already felt the pain of a thousand deaths.”

  The words broke whatever spell Kanon was under, stiffening her resolve. She would not go quietly to the guillotine to be butchered! Nor would she retreat into the anxiety consuming the Duchess. Kanon was an inspector, it was high time she acted like one.

  Turning towards the balcony, she fixed her attention on the person waving to the crowd. As the mob grew quiet once again, his slightly accented voice boomed through the square.

  “These women concocted a vile plan to overthrow the King of France!” he began, the roar of the crowd almost drowning out his words.

  When Kanon could hear him again, he was reading off vague pronouncements of their guilt, mostly having to do with criticizing the King at the Duchess’s masquerade ball. As she strained to hear, the Duchess, fully revived, threw herself at Kanon.

  “But this is unjust, Cécile—these charges are without merit!” she cried.

  Kanon whispered assurances, as she turned her attention to freeing her hands from the bindings. The guard had given her several vital inches—she could almost slip her wrists from them.

  “But we have done nothing wrong,” the Duchess cried to herself as Kanon continued fighting her restraints. As she did, Julius was reading the final verdict for their crimes—pronouncing the sentence of death.

  “And now let us begin, with the Duchess du Lac!” he finished to the roar of the crowd.

  The Duchess fell down in terror, and Kanon cried out in anguish. It was all happening too fast. With a wave to the executioner, Julius sat down to watch.

  The tumbrel moved forward, coming to a halt as it reached the scaffolding. They were now directly in front of the guillotine—eye-level with the basket that would soon hold their heads.

  The Duchess started crying as the executioner advanced on the tumbrel, lifting her from the cart. Kanon watched helplessly as he tied her wriggling body onto the plank.

  “My only crime is to shed tears!” the Duchess cried, the familiar refrain cutting through Kanon’s heart.

  Throwing herself to the front of the tumbrel, she cried out in the loudest voice she could muster.

  “Stop!” Kanon cried, directing her outburst to Julius, who looked mildly amused.

  “I demand a trial to witness my denunciation of these charges.”

  Julius smiled, shifting his weight and watching the reaction of the crowd.

  “A trial which you manipulate, Countess de la Motte? How very provincial,” he said, clearing his throat. “Boldness such as yours is characteristic of crime—calm is the manner of innocence.”

  “When I am so unjustly accused how can you expect me to restrain myself? Let someone who has evidence of my collusion step forward,” Kanon cried, her reason holding sway with the mob.

  The Duchess, realizing what was occurring, called to her friend.

  “Cécile, do not wager with these animals!” she cried, as Kanon winced at the words.

  Momentarily transfixed by the exchange, the mob had now turned on the Duchess in vile cries.

  Julius appeared delighted with the turn of events, signaling for the executioner to proceed. He moved the plank forward, situating the Duchess’ head through a round opening. As the crowd roared with anticipation, Kanon frantically shook the cart, screaming at the top of her lungs.

  When the cries of the bloodthirsty mob reached a fever pitch, Julius gave the signal. The executioner swiftly pulled the cord, watching the giant blade fall with the blasé of a cat.

  Kanon shrank down, hearing the reverberating cry of the crowd as the blade made a heaving sound. Staring at the bottom of the wooden cart, she closed her eyes, saying a short and demanding prayer.

  Lifting her head, she watched as the executioner took the lifeless body of the Duchess off the plank. He bent down, collecting her head from the basket before turning to show it to the crowd.

  It was then the clouds opened, the raindrops quickly turning into a veritable downpour. The shower seemed to rile the mob even more. Kanon drew in a smooth breath as she watched the guillotine blade, now streaked with blood, rise once more.

  Pushing against her restraints, she slipped one wrist out, and then the other. This act seemed to melt her fears away, she was no longer afraid.

  “And now!” cried Julius, pointing at the cart with excitement, “Bring the citizens justice by taking the head of Countess . . . ”

  “Julius Arnold!” Kanon’s cried, speaking in English in a loud, clear voice.

  Julius flinched, momentarily stunned.

  Kanon smiled. It would be hard for him to explain to his fellow revolutionaries what this exchange was about.

  Clearing her throat, she continued.

  “You are in violation of the time travel code, 15c subsection 4. Travel to re
stricted areas of historical significance in threat of altering the Standard Deviation of time travel continuums.”

  A wicked grin appeared on Julius’ face as Kanon continued.

  “As an inspector of the Time Travel Directorate, I am authorized to eliminate you immediately.”

  This annoyed him. He leaned across the balcony.

  “And how is that working out for you, Inspector Hay?” Julius shot back, raising his voice above the rolling thunder. “From my vantage point, it is you who will suffer an untimely death. Imagine what fun we will have in this world once each inspector is erased from it.”

  “You are living on borrowed time,” Kanon snapped back. “So enjoy it while it lasts.”

  “We shall see,” Julius said succinctly, calling to the guards in French. “Bring the Countess onto the scaffold.”

  The rain was now falling down in unrelenting waves, but instead of the executioner moving towards her, the tall guard from before reappeared next to tumbrel. As he walked towards the scaffolding, he waved the executioner away.

  Kanon watched his movements carefully as he mounted the scaffolding. Walking towards her, he bent down. Staring into her eyes, he winked. Kanon swallowed heavily—she must be hallucinating. He seemed calm, assured—as if this was all a bit of fun, and he wasn’t really going to lop her head off.

  Kanon looked at him expectedly as he studied her. At length, he spoke.

  “Have you gotten your wrists loose?” he asked softly—a strong American accent pervasive.

  Kanon felt her stomach lurch.

  “You’re from headquarters,” she whispered, her body limp with relief.

  Who was this inspector? She had never seen him before. Kanon’s heart fluttered with the possibility of rescue. He lifted her out of the cart as easily as if she were a rag doll. Placing her firmly on the scaffolding, he bent towards her.

  “You’ll know the signal when you see it,” he said casually, “hold your wrists together to maintain the illusion.”

  He turned, pulling her toward the guillotine. The torrent of rain had just begun to dwindle, and the mob looked on in silence at the woman standing before them. Kanon realized her unorthodox exchange with Julius in English might have something to do with their altered state.

  “Follow my lead,” he whispered, placing her face down on the plank and moving away to stand next to the executioner.

  He neglected to tie her down, but if the executioner noticed he didn’t say anything. Kanon felt her body vibrate with anxiety, watching as the executioner advanced, shifting the plank forward to await the sharp blade of the guillotine. In the dim silence that followed, Kanon belatedly realized the rain had stopped. She took it as a sign.

  Too quickly she heard Julius bark a command. Was this the moment? Or the signal? In a panic, she wrestled her hands free, gripping the plank as the executioner moved to pull the cord.

  Just before he did, Kanon felt a push so violent, she flew off the plank and tumbled forward off the platform. Landing in a heap, she looked around, realizing she was back in the cart. Dazed, she whipped around, watching as the inspector kicked the executioner on the plank—pulling the cord to release the guillotine blade.

  The crowd erupted in screams as the executioner panicked—trying to scramble off the plank. But he was too slow, the blade sliced off his head with a sickening thud.

  The next few moments were a blur. As Julius tried to extricate himself from the balcony, the inspector took the executioner’s head from the basket and tossed it to the crowd. The distraction was ingenious, the mob clamored to snatch it, the distraction blocking Julius’ guards from reaching the scaffolding.

  He moved with purpose, jumping off the platform and running past Kanon—still ensconced in the cart. She began climbing out when he barked at her.

  “Stay inside.”

  He mounted the horse attached to the cart, bringing the powerful steed to life. Kanon held on as they charged forward through the crowd. Turning, she watched pandemonium erupt behind them. Julius had made his way down from the balcony and was hopping around like a flea, shouting orders and screaming at his guards. Kanon hoped her rescuer had a plan, ideally, a working web with endpoints to get them the hell out of there.

  As they pounded down the Paris streets, Kanon began to worry about the construct of the tumbrel, which after shaking badly from the full gallop of the horse was now beginning to break apart. Before she could alert him, he turned abruptly, maneuvering the cart onto a side street.

  The inspector leapt off his mount and detached the horse from the cart.

  “Here, quickly,” he ordered, lifting her out of the tumbrel and over to the horse.

  “What are we . . . ”

  He threw her up onto the saddle with such force that Kanon’s teeth chattered. Quickly taking up position behind her, he readied the reigns.

  “I hear them,” she said nervously, craning her neck around to look.

  “They’ll have to keep up then,” he snapped, bringing the horse into a gallop.

  “Do you have your web?” he cried as they as they fled through an undetermined number of roads and passages.

  “Yes, hidden under my skirts,” Kanon shouted back.

  She didn’t hear his muffled response, but she felt like it was sarcastic. For some unexpected reason, she felt herself smiling. She hadn’t been around Americans for quite some time—she forgot how much she missed them.

  They were almost to the main road leading to Versailles when he pulled their steed to a halt. He turned to her in the saddle.

  “I think the fall from the horse is enough,” he said, judging the distance to the ground confidently.

  Kanon was not as assured, looking at the space dubiously.

  “I usually give myself a few more feet.”

  “I have an idea, let’s ask Julius to arrange a better location,” he said sarcastically.

  He pulled his web from the inside of his coat and shook it loose.

  “Well, when you put it like that,” Kanon replied, reaching under her skirts to remove her web. “I’m assuming you have my endpoint programmed.”

  “All taken care of, Inspector Hay.”

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  Wrapping his web around him, he paused to study her.

  “Who are you?” she asked, wondering at his confidence—surely a mark of a seasoned inspector, one that obviously had been in the field, and not gossiping with the Duchess.

  He gave her a half smile before responding.

  “My name is Vin Damato. I’m the new guy.” He looked down at her reading pane and pushed the red button, “Ladies first,” he said succinctly, pushing her backward off the horse.

  Kanon instantly moved to cushion her fall, before feeling the familiar pulse of the web, the sensation of falling. When she went to feel the ground, there was only the rushing sound of wind, and when she next opened her eyes, she was no longer in the French countryside.

  5

  Kanon pulled the web from her, surveying her surroundings. The mountainous landscape was populated with a lone shack located several yards away. She judged the time to be early evening, as evidenced by the melting sunset.

  Standing, Kanon let out a heavy sigh. There was no angry mob in pursuit, no guillotine. She was safe. Sensing movement behind her, she watched as Vin appeared. He whipped the web off before tucking it firmly into his trousers. She meant to thank him immediately before he gave her a curt once-over.

  “Well, it’s clear to me you’ve been shut up in tea and cakes for too long.”

  “Excuse me!” Kanon flew to her defense, her relief at being rescued overcome by his condescension.

  He smiled at her, as she tried to keep her anger in check.

  “I’ll be the one giving orders here,” she began.

  Incredulously, he started chuckling, his entire body shaking with laughter. If he weren’t so handsome, Kanon would have slapped him immediately.

  Blushing, she tried to exert control
over the situation.

  “What’s more, I have some important information regarding Julius Arnold—you know, the man who just tried to kill me.”

  “Don’t waste your time,” Vin responded, walking past her towards the shack. “I’ve already let them know you’ve been rescued.”

  “Rescued? Is that what you thought this was?” Kanon tried to yell, but she was hungry, exhausted and shivering from the chill of the altitude.

  Her voice must have wavered because he paused, looking back at her before softening his expression.

  “You think we’d leave the boss’s daughter to the tender mercies of Julius Arnold? Of course not.”

  He turned and continued walking into a small courtyard—calling out a greeting to the occupant inside the humble shack.

  Kanon followed quickly, wondering what this place was and why he was so familiar with it.

  “So you know about Julius Arnold?” she asked, trailing behind him. “What is this place?” she added, studying the courtyard in confusion.

  “Everyone knows who Julius Arnold is,” Vin responded, “And this is training camp. I was on strict orders to bring you here. It isn’t safe at headquarters, and you’ve never been through formal instructor training.”

  Kanon felt the impact of his last statement. His perfect grasp of events angered her. It was bad enough she had been left to rot in the French revolution. Now she had to suffer the indignity of being lectured by a new inspector. She felt her temper slip once again.

  “Who gave those orders?” Kanon asked, realizing the answer before the words left her lips.

  “Your father, of course.” Vin gestured towards the door of the structure. “After you,” he said, studying her with open curiosity.

  Kanon felt the adrenaline from her recent escape slip away. After the extravagant court lifestyle of Versailles, she realized those few moments of action were exhilarating. It was like taking a drag of a cigarette after abstaining for years.

  If Vin sensed this, he made no mention of it. He continued to stare—as if she were both intriguing and repulsive to him. Kanon revised her earlier opinion of him. Vin Damato was just another arrogant inspector. They were all like that.