“Your Majesty?” said Clarendon in concern. “Is Your Majesty well?”
“I am Leon Nardek, a dear friend of your exile,” commanded Leon to him. “I am your favorite at court. You have not seen me in many years, and you are delighted at my return to England.”
“Your Majesty?” said Clarendon again. He dared touch the king’s sleeve. “Is something wrong?”
The animation surged back into the king’s face. He blinked, and his dark eyes smiled warmly into Leon’s. Ignoring Clarendon completely, he held out his hand to Leon and said, “Why, Leon, our dearest old friend. What a wonderful surprise. How charming to find you here. When did you return to England?”
Shaking the king’s hand, while those around him nearly swooned with envy at this tremendous favor, Leon grinned. “Only yesterday, Your Majesty. I’ve been away a long time.”
“Far too long,” said the king. “Why did you not write to us? We have wondered about you so very often.”
“Your Majesty honors me,” said Leon modestly, while inside he gloated at the confounded expression on Clarendon’s face.
“Honor nothing!” said the king with spirit. He took Leon’s arm. “We are agog to hear all your news. We must catch up on what has transpired since last we saw each other. Wine, Clarendon! We would toast to old times with our friend.”
“Uh, certainly, Your Majesty,” said Clarendon. Still looking astonished, he snapped his fingers at a servant. “I beg Your Majesty will indulge me by touring the main rooms while we wait for refreshments?”
“Hmm?” said the king. “Must we?”
The wounded look on Clarendon’s plump face made the king’s impatience soften. He dropped Leon’s arm and nodded to his lord chancellor. “Yes, of course we must. We are letting ourselves forget the obligations of a guest. Very well, a tour, sir.”
Clarendon bowed. “Your Majesty is most gracious.”
He led them off into the grand salons, but almost immediately the king had turned back to Leon to ask him yet another question.
The astonished court followed like sheep, murmuring among themselves. Leon reveled in the king’s eager questions, feeding suggestions into the king’s mind as needed, making himself right at home.
In fact, he rather liked this house. He had examined it thoroughly during the afternoon before Noel arrived and started causing trouble. And although his LOC said the house was destined to be torn down within a few years, Leon had no intention of letting that happen. He felt the palace suited him, and now, feeling reckless and successful after having disposed of his twin, he tossed his initial plan of gaining a place at court. Joining the ranks of fawning courtiers was not for him. Why should he wait? The sooner he got rid of Clarendon, the sooner he could move in.
Therefore, he kept the king so charmed with his chatter that Charles barely looked at the splendid treasures on display. Down in the muddy depths of the king’s mind, Leon unearthed a faint hint of displeasure that Clarendon should have spent such a large fortune on this new house while the king was still having to beg Parliament for money to cover his own debts. Leon probed that tiny spot, making it sore.
It would be very easy to unseat Clarendon in the king’s affections. The lord chancellor was unpopular with the people. This new house that he was showing off had made him even more disliked. After all, he had taken the stone meant to repair the old and crumbling St. Paul’s Cathedral and used it to build this palace. While the king suffered from a cloying loyalty to this fat old man who had stood beside him for so many years, Leon knew how to get around that.
Lord chancellor…he rather liked the title. It would be a good place to start. He could run Charles and, through him, the country. After all, Charles was already proving to be a lot of fun. Several of the ladies present this evening had sparked some truly licentious trains of thought in the king’s mind, and Leon reveled in these dark tastes of voyeurism. It was almost like old times, sharing Noel’s experiences through his twin’s emotions.
But the thought of Noel darkened Leon’s pleasure. He frowned to himself, impatient at his own memories. Noel was gone. He didn’t want to think about his twin. He was rid of him forever, and he liked it that way. From now on, he would eat, drink, and be merry on his own, for himself. The king and his bawdy court would provide ample opportunities.
Charles was a lazy man who liked his pleasures. He would rather hand over generous sums of money and high titles than endure unpleasantness. Leon knew just what to do with those attributes.
He smiled to himself. As long as Charles remained useful, Leon would let him think he was still king.
And this time, he thought, as he found himself seated at the magnificent banquet table in the place of honor at the king’s side, there would be no Noel to interfere or to change history or to yank him away from what he created here.
Touching his wine goblet to the king’s in a mutual salute, Leon tipped back his head and drank deep.
Chapter 13
A dim room…essence of mold and damp…furtive whispers of sound like dry leaves…Leon’s sneering face floating tethered to the farthest reaches of the subconscious…
Noel awakened slowly, aware that he’d been semiconscious for some time, but unable until now to break through to full awareness.
He was lying on a narrow cot, very hard and uncomfortable, in a windowless room lit only by a candle burning on a small, homely table. The room contained a chair and a small chest for clothing. It smelled musty and unused.
Blinking, he rubbed his face with his left hand and slowly pieced things back together. The right side of his chest hurt, the painful throb of its beating subdued beneath the medication in his bloodstream. That, he knew, was courtesy of the emergency programming in his LOC, which automatically sensed any sudden or significant drop in his vital signs and could administer an injection to his wrist.
The same information was supposed to be relayed back to the Institute, which was supposed to perform emergency recall in case a traveler was injured.
Noel gingerly probed his bandages and winced. The knife had apparently gone in where his heart would have been, had he a heart on the right side as Leon did. For once he was grateful Leon did not always think with all cylinders.
No recall…he forced down an involuntary spiral of panic. This wasn’t like the last time, when he’d been trapped in medieval Greece, terribly injured, and couldn’t get back. Then his LOC had been sabotaged; this time was different.
At least he hoped it was different. If he kept letting himself be paralyzed by memories of what had happened before, he’d never get his confidence back.
The fact that he was still here meant several things. One, he wasn’t injured seriously enough to alarm the LOC’s sensors. Two, he wasn’t with Leon, and they had to reenter the time stream together for this to work. Three, the alteration in history that he’d inadvertently caused had not been corrected. It was possible that right now no Institute existed to return to.
He tried to swallow, but his mouth was so dry his tongue kept sticking. That damned play…how important could it be?
“LOC,” he whispered, keeping his ears attuned to the low murmurs outside his door. “Activate.”
The LOC flashed to life. “Acknowledged.”
“Shush!” he said. “Lower response volume. Generate a damping field as protection. Freeze the hinges of the door so no one can come in until I’m finished talking to you.”
“Working…,” said the LOC much more quietly. Its blue light flashed briefly, creating odd shadows in the corner of the room. “Protection established. Security systems operational.”
“Good.” Weakness washed through Noel without warning, leaving him dizzy and sapped. He fought against the temptation to close his eyes and slip back into darkness. “Run…run prognostics,” he said weakly. “What is my condition?”
The LOC hummed busily. “Vital signs are—”
“Stop,” he said. “Don’t give me anything technical. How much blood have I lost?”
“Three pints, seven ounces.”
“What?” he said in startlement. “Impossible. I wouldn’t be able to—”
“Blood is being replaced in cardiovascular system at a rapid rate,” said the LOC. “Cell division is seven times normal rate; tissue is being repaired at—”
“Stop,” said Noel. He frowned in growing puzzlement, not certain he liked what he was hearing. “Let me get this straight. You’re saying that I’m already healing?”
“Affirmative.”
“But that’s impossible. I can’t heal that fast unless I’m between dimensions, traveling through the time stream itself.”
“Affirmative.”
“But I’m…” His voice trailed off as an awful suspicion occurred to him. “Have I traveled while I was unconscious?”
“Negative.”
“I’m still in 1666?”
“September first, 1666. London, England. Eighteen hundred hours—”
“Stop.” Noel tilted his head back and rested a moment, trying to sort it out. The bout of dizzy weakness had passed, but he still didn’t feel as though he could jump out of bed and dance the minuet. “Explain why I’m healing so fast.”
The LOC flashed a moment in silence. “I am not programmed to respond in that area.”
“Why? Lack of data?”
“There is no recorded information on this phenomenon.”
“Speculate then. Does it have something to do with my metabolic rate being abnormally high during this travel?”
“Probability is ninety-one percent.”
“And we don’t know why my metabolism has been affected this way.”
“I am not programmed to respond to rhetorical questions.”
“No one asked you to respond,” snapped Noel. “That’s why it’s called rhetorical.”
The LOC said nothing, and he glared at it until the hammering of his heart and a sudden shortness of breath made him force himself to calm down. Getting mad at the computer accomplished nothing. He had to conserve his energy.
“LOC,” he said, “at present rate of healing, how long until I’m back on my feet?”
“Precise—”
“No, approximate estimation is fine.”
“Approximate estimation is one hour, forty-five minutes.”
Noel couldn’t contain his astonishment. His mouth fell open. “You’re kidding.”
“I am not programmed to—”
“Yeah, yeah, I know that.” He turned the idea over in his mind and found it unbelievable. “In less than two hours, I’ll be as good as new?”
“Negative,” said the LOC. “Original question was—”
“How long until I’m back on my feet. All right. You’re literal, and I’m not. So I can still perform in the play if I have to.”
“Affirmative.”
Noel touched his bandages again and flinched. The wound was just as sore as ever. If the LOC didn’t have a knot in its optic fibers, then at this rapid rate of healing he should be able to feel himself getting better. He started to query the LOC further, but changed his mind. He could chase the computer around all night and not get better answers.
Plenty of things had gone wrong with this trip. Starting with how he’d gotten here. As long as he lived he wouldn’t forget being sucked by the distortion into the vortex. Then he’d landed on the wrong date. The spare LOC that he was supposed to give Leon had detached itself in the time stream and gone to Leon on its own. That was pretty damned weird, all by itself. Then his body was all messed up, running at too fast a rate, burning too much fuel, exhausting itself, healing itself. And Leon…Leon wasn’t a piece of him anymore. Leon, now that he looked back on his encounter with his twin, had seemed more vibrant, more alive than ever. It was almost as though Leon were the original and Noel had become…
“The copy?” he said aloud.
Horrified, he struggled to sit up, felt a fresh onset of dizziness, fought it off, and balanced himself on the edge of the cot. The floor tried to rush at him, but then it backed off. He sat motionless until everything looked normal again and wiped the clammy sweat from his face.
“LOC, could it have happened?” he asked softly, almost too frightened to utter the words. The concept itself was terrifying. “Could we have reversed in the time stream?”
“Unknown.”
“Not reversed,” he corrected himself. “Because then I’d be right handed and he’d be left handed. But…I guess I’m looking for a word like…inverted. Yes, inverted. Our roles somehow switched. Is it possible?”
“Unknown.”
His mouth twisted. “Great. You’re a big help.”
The LOC flashed steadily, oblivious to his sarcasm.
Noel chewed on his theory. It was farfetched, sure, but then so was everything. And it made sense. In fact, it was the only theory that could be stretched to explain everything that had happened so far. It also explained why he couldn’t seem to accomplish what should have been a simple mission.
“The copy,” he muttered again, staring at his hands, which were resting on his knees. They looked the same. He saw no changes. No external changes, but would he know?
His thoughts skittered away from that one.
“LOC,” he said. “What happened after I passed out?”
“Summarization,” replied the LOC. “Jack, Will, and Darcy rushed to your assistance. They carried you from the garden and brought you here. Your wound was cleaned and bandaged. Some attempts to rouse you were unsuccessful due to my protection intervention.”
“Thanks.”
“You are welcome.”
“Then what?”
“They left to discuss what had happened and to decide how to keep the matter quiet. They are in great emotional turmoil, worried that they will lose their employment.”
“It’s a big deal for them,” said Noel absently, “performing for the king and all. Did they say they were going to cancel?”
“Unknown.”
“Okay. I’m not critical to the plot line. As long as they perform Julius Caesar—”
“Discussion included a change of—”
“Change the play?” said Noel in alarm. “No way! To what?”
“Unknown.”
“Damn.” Noel ran his fingers through his hair. “I can’t let that happen. It will make things worse. And I don’t have much time left to fool with these actors. I’ve got to link with Leon and return to the time stream at precisely the same time he does.”
The LOC flashed in silence, waiting for instructions.
Noel sighed, wondering how he was going to straighten everything out. “How much time remains on this mission?”
“Thirteen hours, twenty-two minutes, forty-eight seconds.”
“Then our deadline is about dawn. No, a little past. Till early morning, then.”
“Affirmative.”
Noel didn’t want to think about what could happen when and if he ran out of time. He shook his head and punched his knee with one fist. He wasn’t going to stay here the rest of his life. He wasn’t going to let Leon trap him here.
“Can you tell me where Leon is now?”
“Negative.”
“He’s left?”
“Unknown.”
“Oh.” Noel swallowed, trying to stay calm. “You’re not sensing him.”
“Affirmative.”
“Why not? You didn’t pick up on him yesterday, either, at least not until he utilized his LOC. Is that the problem now? Are you able to only register LOC activity?”
“Affirmative.”
“Why? You could register him independently before.”
The LOC flashed faster, almost with agitation. “Parameters have changed,” it said at last.
“What does that mean?”
“Parameters have changed.”
“Explain change.”
“Alteration of existing circumstances from what was before.”
“Oh, that’s very good,” said Noel in disgust. “Cancel dam
ping field. Unfreeze the hinges on the door. Turn yourself off.”
With a final flash of blue light, the LOC complied.
Noel sat there in the wavering candlelight and considered his options. He didn’t have many.
The first thing he had to do was keep the actors on track. That meant he had to convince them his wound wasn’t as bad as they thought. Well, medical science was pretty primitive in this century. Maybe he could bluff his way through it.
Maybe.
He’d better make it work because he had to get to the second and far more important item on his list. And that was to capture Leon.
Noel shook his head. It wasn’t going to be easy.
When Noel opened the door, Darcy and Hal jumped and whirled around to stare at him as though he were a ghost.
“Hi there,” said Noel.
Their eyes widened. Hal’s face turned white. He eased away. “G-got to tell Jack,” he mumbled, and vanished.
Darcy stood rooted, staring at Noel as though he were completely dumbfounded.
Noel had peered at his reflection briefly. He knew his dark hair was standing on end, his breeches were torn at one knee, and the bandages tied clumsily across his chest and shoulder were black with dried blood.
“Got any food?” asked Noel. “I’m starved. How long until curtain?”
Darcy opened his mouth, but said nothing. He lifted one visibly trembling hand and touched his fingertip to Noel’s bare arm. At contact, he flinched back.
Noel grinned. “Still solid. Come on, Darcy, pull yourself together. I’m not a ghost.”
“You…” Darcy’s voice came out as a squeak. He stopped, cleared his throat, and tried again. “You were dying.”
Noel shook his head. “Flesh wound. Looked worse than it was. You know how they bleed. But—”
“Confound it. I’ve been on a battlefield before!” cried Darcy angrily. “The man put the damned knife through your lung. Men don’t survive that kind of injury, and if they do, it’s by the grace of God and after a long convalescence.”
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