by Ken Johns
“How are you?” Sandra put her arm around Mila’s shoulders.
“Not now.” Mila dropped her voice as low as she could. “Nod if you can still hear me.”
They both nodded.
“I think I know how to save Jess.”
“Jess’s dead,” said John. Sandra reached out and touched her forehead.
“I’m not sick.” Mila swatted the hand away. “Hear me out.”
Her parents exchanged concerned looks, and Sandra said, “Okay. Let’s hear it.”
“Don’t treat me like I’m seven. Are you going to be open-minded or what?”
“Your sister is dead,” John said. He sounded pissed. “We’re all trying to come to grips with that. You’re talking about saving her. Do you know how crazy that sounds?”
“I’m not talking about resurrection or magic. I’m talking about time travel. Remember? The reason we’re in this shit?” Mila let that sink in.
Sandra frowned.
John stared straight ahead while they walked up the hill toward the castle. Finally, he said, “I’m listening.”
“Bob sent us back six hundred seventy-seven years. He punched in the exact date. We all saw him dial it in on the MCV, right? I say we punch in a date two days sooner. If I’m right, that will put us here before Chad gets captured.” The words began to tumble out more quickly, like a clamp had been released from her heart. When she said it out loud it sounded good—possible, even. A smile snuck onto her face. “We find him and warn him before he gets nabbed. Then we meet ourselves as we arrive and get him to send us back immediately, before anything happens to Jess.”
Sandra continued to look worried. Mila started to wonder if she’d even followed the logic. To John she said, “Well?”
“We don’t have the MCV. We don’t know where it is or how it works.” John’s concerned look told her he wasn’t buying into it. His list of excuses was his attempt to convince her he’d listened but nothing more.
“Look, we have to try.” Mila couldn’t abandon her idea. For the first time since the night before, she could breathe. “The MCV was in a chest in the carriage when Jess was taken. That’s why I wanted to get into the castle. To search for the MCV.”
“Great.” John shook his head. “Now the baron has it. He’ll probably wreck it, trying to figure out what it is.”
“John…” Sandra waited until he looked at her.
“What?”
“If there’s even a chance, we’re trying it.” Sandra had her stern face on.
“Not you too.” John said. “Am I the only one who thinks we should be focused on finding the guide? Jess is dead. I can’t… won’t let that happen to you.”
“I’m not going home without my baby.” Sandra held his gaze, and it was over.
Mila smiled. Sandra always had the last word. Now that her parents were on board, she just had to find the MCV, figure out how to work it, and get everyone back to the meadow. Mila rolled her eyes again. What could possibly go wrong?
Chapter Forty-Four
April 29, 1341
As Mila followed her parents into the keep, Lady Evelyn and Raymond disappeared up the circular staircase—ostensibly so Raymond could prepare for the tournament, but Mila wasn’t so sure. She and her family were led along the short passage into the great hall. A force of six archers stood along the back of the room. They each wore chain mail, and they held their bows with an arrow knocked, ready to draw. Clearly being armed in front of the baron was not going to be an advantage. Lady Evelyn had simply been putting John at ease and telling him what he wanted to hear. If shit went bad, it wouldn’t be long before somebody got off a deadly shot. They were going to have to “trust” Lady Evelyn. Mila sighed. Basically, they were already dead.
A man dressed in fur and silk strode into the room. He glanced at the captain then pointed at the two knights and gestured toward the archers. The knights retreated to the back of the hall. He stopped and stood with his hands on his hips, looking up into John’s face. “I am Baron Reginald Fitzdumay, constable of Sussbury Castle.”
“John McLeod. Lady Evelyn said you wanted to speak with me.”
The baron walked over to the fireplace and sat. “Join me.” He pointed to a chair near him. “Please.”
John nodded toward the fireplace. They all moved up together. John pointed to a spot near the fire for Sandra and Mila to stand then pulled his chair around and sat between them and the archers. Mila checked the sightlines. It wasn’t going to make a hell of a lot of difference, but it was something.
“I was very curious to meet you. I believe you killed fifteen of my men trying to rescue the witch.” The baron pulled on his chin. “What was she to you?”
“She was my daughter.” John’s voice trailed away.
“Oh. I see.” The baron eyed him. “Where did you learn to fight?”
“A long way from here.”
“Will I not know its name?”
“Have you heard of the Americas?”
The baron leaned in. “You speak of a place of which I have not heard, yet you speak passable English. How can that be?”
“The place I came from was colonized by people from here… a long time ago.”
“Colonized… I know not this word.”
“Explored?”
“Explored… I know not.”
“Invaded? Conquered?” offered Mila. Sandra elbowed her.
“Conquered. ‘Conquered’ I understand.” The baron raised an eyebrow at Mila.
“Chad, the man you captured,” John said. “Is he still in your dungeon?”
“Ah yes, the man who claimed he had a chest of silver.” The baron returned his gaze to John. “He was killed while trying to escape with the witch.”
Shit. With the guide dead, John’s plan to seek information was over. Now Mila’s plan was all they had.
Lady Evelyn entered the great hall. Four wolfhounds followed in her wake. She sat next to her brother, and the dogs sat in a pile at her feet.
The baron waited until she was seated. “My sister tells me you are trying to return to your homeland.”
“That’s true,” John said.
Mila kept her eyes glued to Lady Evelyn. What was she after? Lady Evelyn kept her focus on the dog whose chin she was scratching. She seemed content to let Reginald make small talk.
“There is the issue of the men who have died since your arrival in my lands. Henri tells me the count stands at seventeen,” said Reginald. “How do you propose to settle that debt?”
John didn’t answer right away, so Mila jumped in. “I think that debt has already been settled.”
The baron turned to her. “What is your name?”
“This is my daughter, Mila.” John stared at her, trying to catch her attention, but she ignored him, locking eyes with Reginald.
“I see,” he said. “And what were you saying about the debt?”
“Chad’s chest of silver.” Mila crossed her arms over her chest. “You already have it.”
“Indeed?” the baron said excitedly. “Henri, has it been recovered? Why have I not been told?”
“We did not find it, my lord,” said Henri.
“The chest. About this big.” Mila held her hands four feet apart, demonstrating for Henri. “It was in the carriage when you took my sister.”
Henri looked shocked.
“Your daughter is very bold.” Reginald smiled. “Well, Henri? Is there any truth to this?”
“My lord. There was no chest in the carriage.” Henri bowed his head slightly and closed his eyes as though that would be the end of it.
Mila took a step toward him. “You’re lying!”
Henri put his hand on the hilt of his sword.
John sprang to his feet and placed himself between Mila and Henri.
The six archers pulled their bows to full draw.
“Mila.” Lady Evelyn spoke quietly, without looking up from the dogs. “Henri is a knight. He has sworn fealty to my brother and keeps that vo
w with a passion matched by no man. He is incapable of duplicity and knows not what a ‘bluff’ is. If he says there was no chest in the carriage, then there was no chest in the carriage.” She raised her head finally. “Quite simply.”
“If that is the case,” Mila said, glaring at Henri, refusing to let him off so quickly, “then I am mistaken.”
Reginald gestured to his men. They lowered their bows, but Henri continued to face John, his hand still on the hilt of his sheathed sword. John had killed a lot of Henri’s men in the last two days.
“Henri, why do you hesitate to do the Lord’s work?” said the bishop.
He stood leaning against one side of the arched doorway to the great hall. Mila hadn’t seen him come in and wondered how long he’d been there. He pushed himself away from the wall and walked toward the fireplace.
Reginald swung his gaze toward the bishop. “Hold your tongue, Edward, or I’ll have it handed to you.”
“My lord baron, how can you put a price on the life of a man?” As the bishop neared the fireplace, the dogs started growling. He stopped. “We have lost seventeen good men. Their wives and children yet mourn. How will they survive without their men? How ever will they pay for the funerals? Our community has been destroyed by these heretics. I cannot believe you are bartering over a chest of coins. I think of the story of Judas, and I weep for us all.”
“Spare me your hypocrisy. You will not even pray for a man that cannot pay.”
“My lord baron, please. I am but the messenger. It is God’s will that I impart with every word I speak.”
“Is it really?” said Reginald. “Well, do not worry, you will get your cut.”
“My lord, surely you know the church does not take a cut. The people give of their own free will to ensure their place in heaven.” The bishop steepled his fingers and raised his eyes to the ceiling.
“Fine. I will give willingly to ensure my place in God’s good graces,” Reginald said, dismissing him with a wave, but apparently the bishop had more to say.
“I only wish it was that simple.” The bishop let his gaze drift to Mila.
“What are you looking at?” Mila tore her glare away from Henri and aimed it at the bishop.
“My lord baron, I was unaware prisoners could address members of the court so freely.” The bishop let his eyes travel down and back up Mila’s body. “Least of all women.”
“These are not Reginald’s prisoners. They are his guests,” said Lady Evelyn.
“Indeed? My lord baron, I must protest.” The bishop took a step toward the baron but stopped when the dogs growled. “If these people are allowed to live, the heresy in our village will only continue to grow. It must be stamped out.” The bishop faced Henri. “Captain, you hold in your power the ability to execute them here and now, and yet you hesitate. God’s justice must be both swift and mighty. Why do you not strike, sir?”
“Edward!” Reginald got to his feet.
The bishop addressed the knights and archers at the end of the room. “If any man here has the courage to see God’s justice done, he will be well rewarded in this life and the next.”
Mila checked the archers for any kind of reaction. If any one of them responded to the bishop’s desperate plea, she and her family were done.
“Captain, remove Edward.” Reginald pointed at the door. “At once!”
“Yes, my lord.” Henri bowed, and took the bishop by the arm.
“This is not over,” the bishop yelled toward John as Henri forced him from the room. “You will not escape God’s justice.”
John smirked. “Neither will you.”
Reginald waited until the bishop was out of the hall and said, “As to the debt… If you have nothing else to offer, I’m afraid Edward will have his way after all.”
He signaled to his men, and the archers once again drew their bows and aimed.
Lady Evelyn was still petting the goddamned dogs. Mila could have screamed. She showed no further interest in her or her family.
“Hang on a minute there, Reginald,” said John. “What about that chest of silver?”
Reginald raised a hand to the archers without taking his eyes off John. “Do you know where it is?”
“No, but—”
“Then we have nothing more to discuss.”
“Wait.” Mila uncrossed her arms. “I do.”
“Continue.” Reginald kept his palm toward his men.
“Since the honest captain swears the chest was not in the carriage,” Mila said, drenching every word in sarcasm, “there is only one place it can be. Give us a day to collect it.”
“Well, John, what say you?” Reginald kept his eyes on Mila while he spoke. “Am I wasting my time?”
John surprised even Mila when he said, “It is always foolish to underestimate my daughter. If she says we can bring you the chest, then we can bring you the chest.”
“Very well, then, one day. But since we have just met, there is a small issue of faith. Your daughter will retrieve the chest, but you and your lady will remain as my guests, awaiting her return.”
“That is unacceptable,” said John.
“That is beyond negotiation.” Reginald smiled.
“Do I have your word we will be released when she returns with the chest?”
Reginald said nothing. The silence grew uncomfortable.
“Of course,” said Lady Evelyn. “A knight’s word is his very honor. Do not question my brother’s honor, John. If he were to break his word, his men and his God would lose faith in him.”
Mila stared at Lady Evelyn. She had finally found her voice. What was that about? She appeared to be speaking for the baron, and she had smoothed over the awkward silence. Reginald didn’t seem to have much of a relationship with his God. But judging by the way his men responded to command, his relationship with them seemed pretty strong.
“Fine,” said John. To Mila he said softly, “Margaret will be waiting at the Hanging Cock inn. She can help you. Are you sure you’re up for this?”
“Seriously?” Mila said. “You just backed me in front of the baron.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry.” John put his hands on her shoulders. “Be careful.”
Mila studied Reginald. She had something to ask, though she wasn’t sure if she would be pushing her luck. “I need two horses: one for myself and one for the chest.”
Reginald nodded to Henri. “Arrange it.” To Mila he said, “Will that be all?”
“Yes, thank you.”
Sandra grabbed Mila in a big hug and kissed her cheek. “We’re so proud of you. We love you.”
“I know.” Mila extricated herself from Sandra’s slobbery grasp. “This isn’t the time.”
Chapter Forty-Five
April 29, 1341
Mila stood by the well in the inner bailey as one of the guards led two saddled horses out of the stable. He held out the reins. She took one set, letting him keep the other.
“Hello, beauty.” She reached up and stroked its head like she’d seen people do in the movies and on TV. The horse was enormous. It studied her with one huge eye, stepped away, and snuffled. She was so totally out of her league.
How was she going to find the silver and get back to the castle if she couldn’t even get on the horse? She could walk them into town and ask Margaret to show her how to ride. But she only had one day to find the chest. She needed a faster solution. She searched the inner bailey for inspiration, and her gaze fell on the guard holding the other horse.
He was a young man, about her age. He seemed to be watching her with an indifferent expression, no doubt wondering why she was taking so long to mount the horse. Play the princess. She glanced down and regretted that she was decked out in chain mail, but she would have to make do with what she had. She stood up straight to accentuate her chest, but with no bra, the weight of the chain mail totally flattened her. Crap. She smiled at him instead. “What’s your name, soldier?”
“Beg your pardon?” said the guard.
She was doing her best Mae West, and the guy probably couldn’t understand a word she was saying. Channeling an English aristocratic vibe instead, she said, “Would you be so kind as to hold the horse for me?” She toyed with the idea of batting her eyelashes but decided that would be a bit over the top.
“Yes, madam.” The guard stepped forward and took the reins. He maneuvered the horse next to her until the stirrup was lined up in front of her.
She placed her left foot into the stirrup and lifted her left hand. He immediately put his own hand under hers and guided her hand to the pommel. The horse stood like a statue.
She smiled and caught his eyes. “I’m sorry, it’s been so long.”
“Other hand on the cantle, madam.”
What the hell is a cantle? Thankfully he pointed at the back of the saddle before she had to ask. She reached up and gripped it with her right hand. That felt good, almost natural. She pulled with both hands and stepped up, swinging her right leg over the back of the horse. Her leg smacked into the cantle. She had to lift it much higher than she had expected to clear the back of the saddle and sit down. She found the other stirrup and slid her foot in.
The guard slipped the reins over the horse’s head and handed them to her. He reached up and tied the pack horse’s reins to her saddle. “Will there be anything else, madam?”
“How do I turn him again?” She smiled.
“You just pull gently on one side or the other.” The guard squinted up at her. “Are you sure you want to do this, madam? It is dangerous for a woman.”
Mila had to get going before this little guard man decided to get all protective and macho. She pulled on the left rein. The horse moved its head to the left and the movement of the big animal gave her a bit of a start. She squeezed her knees to steady herself and suddenly the horse started walking. The packhorse started to follow as soon as its reins tightened. She was moving. Awesome. Now what?
She gently pulled on the left rein until the horse’s head lined up with the gatehouse. It walked in that direction. So far, so good, but the gatehouse door was closed.