by Perrin Briar
“He’s still a bit sore, that’s all. He’ll come out of it – if you spend more time with him.”
“Time. That’s the problem…”
“Time is only a problem if we let it be.”
“This time it really is a problem. Dad, I’m involved in something right now that’s pretty big and important. It’s going to affect everyone.”
“Is it related to the girl you kidnapped?”
“What? I didn’t kidnap anyone.”
“That’s what everyone’s been saying.”
“I know, but it isn’t true. We kind of just ended up together.”
Goliath smiled.
“That’s how it felt for me with your mother,” he said. “But eventually you grow and you learn to love each other.”
“I don’t know if we have that kind of relationship,” Elian said.
“Coming here after five years to keep her safe? There’s something special there, I think. Don’t worry about your friend. She’ll be all right in your brother’s hands. He has a way with wounds. He treats everyone who gets hurt while lumberjacking.”
They came to an open field. A single tree sat in the middle of it. It was knobbly and bent, contorted in a way no other tree was. If he looked carefully, Elian could make out his mother’s final pose, standing up straight, facing the horizon where the sun rose each day. The forest didn’t begin again for a hundred feet. Goliath put his hand on the tree feeling the bark beneath his fingers. He smiled. Freshly picked flowers lay in front of it.
“You put fresh flowers here?” Elian said.
“Every day.”
“You never thought about moving on?”
“Your mother’s here. And so I am here. She’s still out there somewhere. I can feel her. Your mother is still here. In the grass, in the flowers, in the trees. She’s all around us. I feel the breeze on my face, and it’s like she’s stroking my skin.”
Elian smiled.
“Wherever she is,” he said, “I’m sure she still loves you.”
Goliath smiled, but his lips didn’t quite curl up. He looked pained. He took a deep breath and let it out.
“I’ve got one more thing I want to show you,” he said, “and then you can continue with your adventures.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The tree had a large dent in it from where someone had begun to hack at it but hadn’t finished. It had a stump etched into its bark.
“This was the last tree you ever planned on lumbering,” Goliath said. “The day before you ran away.”
Elian put his hand to the tree. Despite the gaping hole it looked strong and sturdy.
“You never chopped it down yourself?” Elian said, incredulous.
“Never felt right. This was your tree. You had the intention of chopping it down. Didn’t seem right to take away something you might do in the future. Why don’t you do it now? For old times’ sake?”
“I don’t know… I need to get going.”
His father handed him an axe.
“Just this once,” he said. “It won’t take long and I don’t know when I’ll next see you again.”
Elian thought for a moment, and then accepted the axe. He stood with his feet shoulder width apart and swung at the trunk, a thousand hours of muscle memory coming back to him. Chips spat at him and he often missed his mark, but he kept at it, falling into a familiar rhythmical movement, axe back, swing, strike, and repeat. A thin film of sweat covered his forehead and back, but the cool breeze felt good on his skin. He was lost in the act, and by the time the tree fell he had no idea how much time had passed.
“It took you five years, but you finally felled it,” Goliath said with pride.
Elian wiped an arm over his forehead.
“I don’t remember it being such hard work,” he said.
He handed the axe back to his father.
“It’s time I got going,” he said.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The owls hooted and the undergrowth rustled as they made their way back home. Elian yawned, a movement that used his whole face. He was exhausted, but he needed to ride for at least a couple of hours, put some distance between himself and Jera. The farther away from him she was the better.
The lights were on in the house. They blinked through the trees. The horses stood where he’d left them, stamping their hooves, eager to get moving.
“You’d best say goodbye to your brother before you go,” Goliath said.
Elian walked into the house. The bedroom door was open. Elian entered to find Ralph with his hand on Jera’s forehead, checking her temperature. Puca lay on Jera’s stomach, sleeping.
“How’s she doing?” Elian said.
“She’s going to be fine,” Ralph said.
“Thank you,” Elian said. “For all this.”
He rested a hand on his brother’s massive shoulder. Ralph kept his eyes on the unconscious Jera.
“I’m sorry I’m not the brother you deserve,” Elian said. “I didn’t mean to harm you.”
When Ralph looked up, he had tears in his eyes. He looked over at their father, who stood just outside the door.
“Do we have to do this?” Ralph said.
“The decision’s already been made,” his father said.
“What decision?” Elian said.
Uniformed figures marched into the house by the front door. Elian turned to Ralph’s bedroom, but a uniform appeared from behind the door, blocking the entrance. Another uniform stood in the doorway of his father’s bedroom. A ring of constables surrounded Elian. He stalked left to right, unable to find a weakness through the ring of constables.
“You set me up?” he said, looking at his father.
“I’m sorry, son,” Goliath said. “It’s the only way you’re going to learn. And it’s the only way I can keep your Uncle Aled out of trouble. They were going to blame him for your escape, and I couldn’t let him get blamed for that. He’s a good man.”
“This was all lies?” Elian said. “You lied to me?”
“No more than you lied to us, all those years ago. You stole our money and ran away. I’m sorry, Elian. But you have to pay for your mistakes.”
A figure stepped through the doorway. Elian couldn’t make out his features with the ring of constables in the way. An officer gave way. Richard stepped into the ring, face to face with Elian. He had a smirk on his face.
“Face to face again,” Richard said.
“Sir,” Captain Philmore said, handing Richard a bag. “We found these in his saddlebags.”
Richard opened the bag, and the three clock pieces hummed and glowed with unimaginable power.
“I can’t believe we had one of these under our noses the whole time,” Richard said. “It was very imaginative of you to have discovered it.”
Richard handed the bag back to Captain Philmore.
“I have you, the clock pieces, and Jera,” he said. “But in return you learned a valuable lesson I learned a very long time ago. Trust no one. Especially not your family.”
Richard turned and marched back through the ring of constables.
“Bring him,” he said. “And there’s no need to be gentle.”
Part Two
Rescue, sabotage, and sisters
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The make-up around the clown’s mouth and chin had been washed clean with dribbles of alcohol. He juggled one ball, the body of a dead mouse, and the head of a rat.
The man he performed before wore a smart suit and leather driving gloves. The clown juggled between his legs, on one leg, and even one-handed, but the driver didn’t so much as crack a smile. The clown tossed the three objects up into the air. They came down, hitting him on the top of the head one by one, first the mouse, then the rat, and finally the ball.
“Ta-da!” the clown said, holding his arms out wide and swaying unsteadily.
The driver reached into his pocket and extracted a couple of copper coins. He tossed them onto the pavement. The clown ran after
the coins as they rolled down the street. The driver roared with cruel laughter. The coins lodged themselves into a pile of rotting leaves. The clown kneeled in the dirt and scrabbled for the coppers.
A giant carriage, worked in gold in ornate patterns, pulled up alongside the kerb. The carriage door opened. The steps slithered down and made contact with the street.
A tall, powerful figure emerged. He wore a crisp white uniform with a long flowing thick cloak that looked like it could keep winter’s biting fingers at bay with ease. The clown caught the scent of wild roses and heard the crack of silk robes as the man marched past. The clown backed away, and bowed his head, having not seen such opulence since his days performing for the king.
The tall man walked down the cracked path that led through a front garden of brown grass. The house sat between a pile of smoked rubble on one side, and a house that leaned over at a forty-five degree angle on the other. It was located on the north side of town, hidden in the shadowy crevices of what they called Doe Mountain. But there was nothing doe-eyed about this building. The glass in the windows had long-since been broken and replaced with damp wooden planks from the detritus next door. There were holes in the roof from the missing slate tiles that no one had gotten around to fixing. A man lay on the front porch with holes in his outstretched arms. One arm had a dirty footprint on it.
The tall man was about to knock when the door opened. A fat gentleman exited the building wearing a suit that was frayed around the cuffs. The gentleman lowered his hat down over his eyes to avoid seeing, and being seen by, the tall man. The gentleman smoked a cigarette and carried his coat in the crook of a flabby arm as he made his way down the path and stepped into his waiting carriage.
A small weedy man with weasel-like features stood in the doorway. He had a slight paunch and wore a green suit made of a cheap shiny material. His hair was red with ginger curls, divided in the centre. A poor man’s attempt to imitate genteel fashion he saw on a daily basis. He eyed the tall man’s uniform warily.
“I have already made my contribution to the Force this month,” he said.
“I am not here in reference to any business dealings you may have,” the tall man said.
“Oh.”
A broad smile stretched across the weedy man’s face.
“In that case, welcome!” he said. “I am Woolworth, humble purveyor of this fine establishment. What can I do you for, good sir?”
“I sent you a message this morning,” the tall man said, “about certain… preferences.”
“Of course, sir,” Woolworth said. “You must be Lord Ascar! Apologies for my idiocy. I have prepared what you’re looking for. Two of the finest ladies in my establishment await your approval. But there is the subject of payment…”
Gregory produced a bag and handed it to Woolworth. He opened it. It was full of gold pieces. He wiped his forehead with a dirty thumb.
“This is very generous of you, sir,” he said.
“Should the girls please me, and you are able to stick to our agreement, you shall receive another like it.”
“Oh, my.”
“Take me to them.”
Woolworth tucked the bag into his suit, managing somehow to conceal the bulky bag on his lean frame.
“Of course, sir,” he said. “Please, follow me this way.”
He led Gregory up the stairs, cracked and red with peeling paint. An attractive young woman led a not-so-attractive middle-aged man down the corridor to one of a dozen doors. Woolworth led Gregory to the room at the end of the hall. He opened it and gestured for Gregory to enter with a bow.
“If you please,” he said.
The room was large and lit by sunlight streaking through a single window. Before a hastily made bed stood two women, shoulders back, chests pushed out. They were of similar height. One had long blonde hair, the other short earthy brown. They both had high cheekbones and thin body frames. Their skin shone with cleanliness but there was something in their appearance that made them look unkempt and dirty.
“Do they meet my lord’s specification?” Woolworth said, wringing his hands.
Gregory walked around the women, eyeing them up and down, his hands behind his back. Finally he stood before them. The blonde looked him in the eye and smiled, unaccustomed to such young, attractive, and obviously powerful men. The brunette looked up at him, and then away, at the floor.
“Leave us,” Gregory said.
“Of course, sir,” Woolworth said.
He bowed several times as he backed out of the door. Gregory waited until the footsteps moved down the corridor. Then he approached a small sidetable with wine on. The cups were caked in dirt. Gregory turned back to the women.
“What are your names?” he said.
“I’m Gizelle,” the blonde woman said.
“I’m Monica,” the brunette said in her soft voice.
“Tell me, Gizelle and Monica,” Gregory said. “Do you like it here?”
“Oh yes, sir,” Gizelle said. “Very much, sir.”
Gregory turned to Monica.
“Do you?” he said.
“Yes, sir,” Monica said, not looking at him. “Very much.”
“If the opportunity were to come for you to be able to leave here and start over again, somewhere far, far away, would you take it?”
Monica’s ears pricked up, looking at Gregory with curious eyes. Gizelle glared at him, as if trying to stare through him. Her eyes moved to the door and then back to Gregory.
“Of course not, sir,” she said. “This is our home. We are grateful to be living and working here.”
“Opening your legs to anyone who walks through that door doesn’t sound like you’re living the dream to me. You’re worried in case Woolworth sent me, but you need not fear. He doesn’t know my true purpose for coming here.”
“It’ll be for the same purpose as every other man,” Gizelle said, crossing her arms.
“To use us,” Monica said.
“Perhaps,” Gregory said. “But maybe with a few more perks.”
Gregory reached into his pocket and took out a small bag. He handed a gold coin to each of the women. They bit their coins, and their eyes went wide when they realised it was real gold.
“You certainly are in the mood for a wild night,” Gizelle said, tucking the coin into a breast cup.
Monica copied and did likewise. Then Gizelle stepped forward.
“What is my lord’s pleasure?” she said.
“My pleasure shall be in seeing you perform a small duty tomorrow.”
“A duty?” Gizelle said. “What sort of duty?”
“I have a proposition for you both.”
“You don’t need to proposition us, m’lord,” Monica said. “You’ve already got us for the evening.”
“This goes beyond tonight. Can you both do as you’re told?”
“Yes,” Gizelle said. “We’re quite well-versed in taking commands.”
“I will pay you both one hundred gold pieces and take you to a distant land where you may restart your lives anew if you consent to doing a little light acting work.”
“Acting? You’ll find we do that every time we’re with a client, sire.”
“Except with you, o’course,” Monica said.
“Of course,” Gregory said. “Take this evening off. Use the gold piece I gave you to go out and enjoy yourselves.”
“But we’ve got work to do,” Monica said.
“I’ve paid for you both up till tomorrow evening. You are free to do as you please. I’ll be back tomorrow, and I shall expect you to both practice saying two words until that time. You are to sound as elegant and as regal as the beautiful creatures you are.”
“And what words are they, my lord?” Gizelle said.
Gregory smiled.
“Just two little words,” he said. “‘I do’.”
Chapter Thirty
Jera mumbled in her sleep. She turned her head to the side, causing the ice-cold flannel that lay across her forehead t
o slip off. It pressed against her cheek, and then her body jerked back from the sensation. Her eyes shot open. She was somewhere dark, somewhere that moved to and fro like the rules of gravity didn’t exist there. A tiny ornament hanging from the ceiling jingled and rang.
Jera sat up. The movement sent a shaft of pain through her skull. She was in a carriage, a large one, big enough for a full-size bed. A sidedoor opened. Jera flinched back from the light. A figure climbed in. Jera lifted the blanket as if raising her defences.
“You’re awake, I see,” Richard said.
“Richard?” Jera said. “Is it really you?”
“Yes, my dear. You’re safe now.”
“I had the strangest dream. I travelled the world with someone called Elian Stump and went on all these crazy adventures…”
“Those, unfortunately, were not dreams.”
“They really happened? What am I doing here?”
“I’ve rescued you. After all these weeks of chasing Stump, I finally found him – and you.”
Jera frowned with concentration. The last thing she remembered was riding a horse across an open plain at night and then… She reached back to touch her shoulder. Her fingers found the rough surface of bandage cloth. She flinched and breathed in through her teeth, feeling a dull stabbing pain.
“You were shot by an archer as Stump forced you to escape with him out of the Capital,” Richard said. “He took you to his parents’ home where they treated you. His brother did a good enough job, and then he notified us of his brother’s arrival. We set a trap to capture him, and now we’re on our way back to Time.”
“What’ll happen to Elian?”
Richard crossed to a cabinet in the corner. He opened it revealing a collection of bottles. He poured himself a cup of wine.
“He’ll face the king’s justice, of course,” he said. “It might even happen at the same time we get married.”
Jera’s brows knitted together. She began to cry.