The Time Travel Directorate

by Kim, Penny

  Walking towards them, Kanon swallowed heavily. She must be ready for an opportunity to present itself—just like the night before. There was surely no point in stopping now.

  Thinking this through, she took a seat on the scaffolding, the servants shooting her nervous glances as they began fastening nooses to a giant beam.

  Kanon wondered how quickly word of her presence would spread through town. Looking up at one of the swinging ropes, she hoped she was not staring at her future. Stretching her aching limbs, Kanon remembered why she was so sore. Julius’ body could not be hidden for long. She was living on borrowed time.

  Hopping down from the scaffolding, Kanon watched as the town came to life. Outfitted homogenously in stark, black garments, the occupants seemed drawn toward the gallows. Kanon kept her distance, watching as they discussed the scene before them.

  It had now been several hours since daybreak, and it was becoming clear that Julius’ absence had thrown plans into disarray. It wasn’t long before an angry-looking Inspector Habit appeared from behind the gawking onlookers. He quickly began barking out orders.

  Kanon watched as they tossed a final rope over the high wooden beam. Studying at the blank, transfixed faces of the crowd, Kanon realized why Inspector Habit was in such a foul mood.

  No one from the future had come. There were no journalists, no one to report on their grand event. By eliminating Julius, their gruesome plans went into freefall. Delighting in this realization, she watched with amusement when Inspector Habit finally snapped—kicking the ground in anger.

  “Where are they?” he cried.

  “Your audience is late?” Kanon asked, standing off to one side as she studied him coolly.

  He turned, eyes like thunder. Kanon realized she had made a calculated mistake as he lunged for her.

  “Come on,” he grunted, grabbing her by the arm and walking back towards Julius’ house. “We’ll proceed as planned.”

  “What about . . . ”

  “Shut up!” he cried, his voice cracking in frustration.

  As he pulled her along, Kanon saw a flash of blue from beneath his long, woolen jacket. It was a web. Her eyes locked on it, wondering if there was any chance she could remove it without him noticing. Fixated on the web, she belatedly realized they had walked right past Julius’ house.

  As Habit grumbled to himself, Kanon looked dubiously at the small, windowless structure before them. Two guards stood beside the door, nodding at Inspector Habit as he approached.

  “Where is he? The reporters will be here any moment,” Habit muttered, waving the guards away as he opened the door, pulling Kanon inside. “I’ll execute the plan myself,” he continued, “Julius will be pleased when he gets back. There is the question of you though,” he said, acknowledging Kanon.

  She remembered Habit’s reference to Chief Smiley and shuddered.

  Is this where it all ends?

  “I can help you,” Kanon replied lamely, growing uneasy as she studied her surroundings.

  Guards were poised around a large metal cell—packed to the brim with sorry looking faces. Inspector Habit paid her no mind, pushing her towards the cell.

  “Julius underestimates women—I don’t suffer from the same flaw. I’ll throw you in with the others. One less problem for me to deal with.”

  “I’m not sure Julius would like that,” Kanon cautioned as Inspector Habit turned towards a guard.

  “Open it,” he demanded.

  Kanon saw her moment, pulling away swiftly and grabbing her knife. This time Inspector Habit was too quick for her, leaping backwards as she slashed at the air. The guards flew into attention, surrounding Kanon, as she let the knife slowly fall to her side.

  Inspector Habit smiled evilly.

  “You are outnumbered, Inspector Hay. My advice to you is to accept death gracefully, unlike your old Chief.”

  Kanon stood helplessly as they ripped her knife away, pushing her into the cell before locking it firmly.

  Inspector Habit exchanged a few words with the guards before leaving without a backward glance.

  Kanon made a cursory examination of her newfound prison. While her companions appeared a little thin, they did not exhibit signs of torture—all except one.

  She found him at the back of the cell, laying prostate, a bandage wrapped from his chin over the top of his head. After gently kneeling down next to him, Kanon realized the bandage was the only thing attaching his chin to his face.

  “Chief Smiley,” she whispered, touching his shoulder.

  He jerked in response, emitting out a primal scream. Despite his role in her current situation, Kanon felt herself flood with pity as she watched him wince in pain.

  His eyes fluttered open, fixing Kanon with a glimmer of recognition. Looking around, Kanon located a wooden pail next to the cell door. Dipping the ladle into the liquid, she brought it back to Chief Smiley, holding it to his lips so he could drink.

  So quiet it was almost a whisper, Kanon heard him speak.

  “Thank you, Mademoiselle,” he said, taking several ragged breaths.

  “Where is your web?” Kanon asked, not quite ready to accept a similar fate.

  His eyes began to roll back into his head, as he muttered to himself. Bending down to hear, she slowly made out what he was saying.

  “Standard D . . . It doesn’t make sense . . . They are lying.”

  After a few moments, he stopped, immobile and no longer breathing.

  Kanon moved to the other end of the prison cell. Easing herself down, she collapsed in a heap.

  Even in death, Julius Arnold had put into motion what seemingly could not be reversed. The horrid spectacle Kanon was about to witness would be the death knell for the Directorate. Her father would be fired, may even face charges.

  Kanon could only wait for her fellow inspectors to arrive. Once they did, she would be their number one target. All was lost, there were no more chances—no more dramatic rescues. This was the end.

  16

  Vin was unimpressed with Salem’s drab houses and muddy pastures. But the changing leaves did lend the countryside a dramatic fall landscape. For the second time, he was indebted to Quill, having used his old identity of a farmer located just on the edge of town.

  The one-room farmhouse was vacant, and Vin had just gotten his bearings when the reading pane attached to his web glowed to life.

  It was not good news.

  All inspectors should deploy to restricted area number 39084A to apprehend suspects Julius Arnold and Kanon Hay

  “Dammit,” Vin cried aloud, clicking on the location and seeing his exact moment in time appear.

  He had lost. Inspectors would begin showing up at any moment, and Vin hadn’t the faintest idea where Kanon was or how to get her to safety. Almost anticipating his thoughts, there was a knock on the door.

  “Not now,” Vin muttered, sighing.

  Opening the door, it was only too clear that his plan had been over before it began. A steady stream of inspectors in various stages of disguise entered the farmhouse, pushing past Vin in rapt conversation.

  A tall, large man with the biggest hands Vin had ever seen, slapped him on the shoulder.

  “Vin, I’m Inspector Silk, I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  “Um, thanks,” Vin said, his heart skipping a beat.

  Inspector Silk was famous for his exploits during the crusades. These were the inspectors he read about growing up—legends of the Directorate.

  They certainly acted like celebrities, Vin thought, watching as the inspectors arranged themselves into cliques, sizing up the others and trying to look impressive.

  Vin waited for the alpha male to make himself known, and was not surprised when Inspector Silk raised his voice above the clamor.

  “Let’s begin,” he said, his voice commanding the room.

  The inspectors quickly formed a neat semicircle around him.

  “What are they planning?” Inspector Silk asked.

  A thin woman outfi
tted in a long black dress raised her hand. Vin vaguely recognized her as the inspector in charge of the Italian Renaissance.

  “I spotted gallows on my way in, it’s clear Julius is planning another mass execution in the town square.”

  “We’ll find him presiding, of course,” offered another inspector, who glanced at Vin curiously.

  Vin remembered he was not without his own reputation. It gave him the confidence to speak up.

  “What about the innocent people they are going to murder? We should save them as well,” Vin said loudly.

  Inspectors whipped around to look at him, their expressions not exactly friendly. Inspector Silk turned to address him, as a schoolmaster would a naughty pupil.

  “Vin, our orders are to find Julius Arnold and Inspector Hay, dead or alive.”

  “But there are blameless victims to consider,” Vin insisted.

  “Vin, let’s position you behind the gallows,” Inspector Silk said, slapping down a piece of paper and sketching out a map for them with a bit of charcoal. “This is from Inspector Quill’s old case files, an accurate rendering of the town square. I’d wager the executions will be taking place at this location,” he said, pointing with a thick finger.

  The women in the black dress nodded in agreement.

  “That is where I saw them, about a quarter mile from here.”

  Despite his attempt to convince them, Vin quickly realized he would be on his own. He tried to keep up as they hastily made plans.

  “We can take care of both Julius and Hay at the same time,” the woman continued.

  “We should capture them alive,” Vin said, watching several people flinch as he continued to interrupt.

  “Dead or alive,” Inspector Silk said, not looking up from his map. “As firearms are hard to come by in this location, you can rest assured that capture will be our first prerogative. But if there is any sign of trouble, we must use deadly force. Luckily, we are in a farm house, plenty of sharp implements about for that purpose.”

  This statement incited ill-concealed glee among several Inspectors. Vin felt sick to his stomach. He would like to think the cruelty of Inspector Habit and Julius Arnold as anomalies—but as the inspectors anxiously discussed their plans, Vin wasn’t so sure.

  He watched as Inspector Silk marked up the paper with their locations, placing Vin furthest from the action. The positioning could be strategic, should he need to make a hasty exit. And it appeared one might be likely, as Vin watched the inspectors turn the farmhouse apart looking for any weapons they could use.

  Vin followed suit, locating a hunting knife. It was small but would be perfect at close range, in the event he had to take matters into his own hands.

  Inspector Silk turned to leave the farmhouse, the inspectors following him like well-trained marines. When Vin meant to hang back, Inspector Silk sought him out, slapping him on the back as they walked towards the town square.

  “You’ve made quite a name for yourself young man,” he began.

  “Never read your own press,” Vin responded noncommittally.

  He thought again of Inspector Silk’s blank face when he mentioned the mass executions. There was a time he probably would have felt the same—but not anymore.

  “Vin, we are going to need your help on this one,” Inspector Silk said.

  “I’m at your disposal,” Vin said, glancing at him coolly.

  Inspector Silk smiled to himself as they proceeded to the town square. They weren’t alone. Steady streams of people were heading to the executions. The townspeople were clothed in black garments, their feet covered with the ubiquitous mud. Vin’s own nondescript jacket and pants were caked with the stuff.

  As they arrived at the scaffolding, Vin looked at the number of nooses hanging from the long beam and frowned.

  “If you position yourself off to the left there,” Inspector Silk directed in a low voice.

  Vin nodded, situating himself behind the gallows and surveying the crowd.

  The townsfolk stood in tight clusters, wary of the strangers now surrounding them. Julius picked his locations strategically. Vin could feel an overpowering sense of malaise and discontent in their blank faces.

  They had timed their expedition well. Inspector Silk caught his eye and nodded towards a large cart lumbering heavily towards the heart of the square. Covered with ill-fitting wooden planks, it had narrow openings for the occupants to breathe.

  Vin felt his pulse quicken, wondering if Kanon was inside.

  The cart was pulled into the square by a tired-looking horse. When Vin recognized the man directing the cart, his stomach dropped.

  Vin watched as Inspector Habit maneuvered the horse in front of the gallows. Vin stared at the hanging fabric on his left sleeve, feeling heat flow through his body. Habit’s appearance surely meant Julius Arnold was not far away. Vin could only wonder if any of the other inspectors recognized him.

  He didn’t have a chance to ask, as Inspector Habit spoke with a few of his guards before climbing onto the scaffolding. His back to Vin, he addressed the audience in brash and certain tones.

  “Fellow patrons, journalists, inspectors,” Habit said, his words falling with intent on the crowd.

  Vin looked at Inspector Silk, who blinked back, momentarily stunned. It was no surprise to Vin, he knew their intention all along was to flout time travel regulations. This demonstration would be the culmination of Julius’ grand theory—that Standard D is a myth and the Time Travel Directorate is a dinosaur holding back the dawn of a new age.

  After watching the rippling effects of his words, Inspector Habit began strolling back and forth on the platform. He appeared excited, but Vin detected an undercurrent of nerves. After all, there were several prominent inspectors in the crowd.

  “Today’s event is going to be magnificent,” he continued, “I’m only sorry that our good Magistrate could not make an appearance.”

  It was now the crowd that responded, murmuring with the mention of Julius.

  Inspector Silk moved over to Vin.

  “What’s going on?”

  “You think I know?” Vin asked, incredulous. “They’ve been planning this for years—Julius isn’t going to make this easy.”

  “Then we’ll take him and his compatriots out,” Inspector Silk snapped back.

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Vin said coldly, gesturing to Inspector Habit. “Remember him?”

  Inspector Silk glanced at the tall, reedy form of Inspector Habit.

  “He’s not our concern today.”

  “You can’t compartmentalize this. Did you hear what he said? There are other travelers here. Do you want to murder a fellow inspector in front of them? Think of the story.”

  “I’m not a stranger to the press,” Inspector Silk hissed, glancing at the crowd uneasily.

  Julius’ guards outnumbered them three to one. Even now, more of them appeared near the scaffolding. Apparently, Julius had taken his previous failed attempts to heart.

  “I’m sure there will be more inspectors arriving. Perhaps we should wait until then,” Vin said, hoping to convince Inspector Silk to call off his mission for the time being.

  Clearly annoyed he sought Vin’s advice, Inspector Silk whipped around.

  “No, we stick to the plan. Stay here,” he said, anxiously smoothing his coat as he moved away.

  Vin directed his attention to Inspector Habit, who continued his bizarre and rambling speech.

  “I’d also like to extend a special welcome to our reporters here today,” Inspector Habit said.

  Vin surveyed the audience, watching for any reaction to Habit’s words.

  “What you are about to witness is something the government wants to conceal. They don’t want you to see the unbridled power of time travel. We should be free to fulfill our natural desires in the past. The universe corrects itself,” Habit said, watching as his words hit their targets.

  None of the inspectors moved, horrified at the sheer number of v
iolations they were witnessing.

  “What I will show you today will prove this theory,” Habit continued, reveling in his attention. “Man is cruel.”

  He paused over these words, watching as the crowd strained from behind one another to see.

  “We know this, but we deny it. We subjugate our carnal lusts. But for what purpose? They just reappear more virulent than before, a cancer on our present. Today, I give you a way to bring those desires to good use.”

  Motioning to one of the guards placed near the wagon, Habit gave a signal.

  “Bring one of the prisoners.”

  Vin held himself still as the padlocked door opened, and Kanon Hay was brought onto the scaffolding.

  He wasn’t sure if the other inspectors recognized her, but his heart leapt when he recognized her lithe form—outfitted in a black dress so large, it nearly swallowed her. He watched as she took her place near Inspector Habit.

  As he paused to begin another lecture, Vin noticed a commotion at the back of the crowd.

  Inspector Habit paused, straining to hear what the man was yelling. Vin looked hard at Kanon, trying to catch her attention without also arousing that of Inspector Habit’s.

  “Turn around,” he commanded under his breath—trying to will her into action.

  Instead of turning, Kanon edged way from Inspector Habit, who was seemingly transfixed by the servant who finally made his way to the scaffolding.

  “Well, what is it?” Inspector Habit asked.

  “It is the Magistrate . . . I found, we found . . . ” the man sputtered, trying to catch his breath.

  Vin watched as Kanon shifted slightly, and Inspector Habit grew impatient.

  “Spit it out, man. Did you find him?”

  The man gasped for breath, having run all the way across the square at breakneck speed. Finally, he steadied himself.

  “We found him sir. He’s dead—murdered.”

  As soon as he finished, Kanon flew into action, pushing away from Inspector Habit and leaping off the scaffolding, making a beeline for the padlocked wagon.