The Time Portal 3: The Princess

by Joe Corso

  Lucky thought for a moment. This could be simple or this could be tricky.

  “Jack, can you intercept or monitor his emails or his cell phone? It might alert us as to when his people will try to snatch me. If I know that, then maybe I can prepare a little surprise of my own.”

  Jack laughed.

  “We’re ahead of you on that score. We have a lock on his email traffic and Harvey is already working on the cell phone. We’re positioning the satellite as we speak. Should have his cell monitored within the next thirty to forty minutes. I’ll call you when it’s all set up.”

  “Thanks Jack.”

  Ten centuries earlier at this very moment, a young Queen was deep in prayer asking for a miracle for her seriously ill sister, Princess Krystina. She prayed for the wizard and his magical powers, the one who had visited her castle before, and in her prayers, she implored him to return.

  Lucky didn’t even have a chance to put the phone down before it rang again.

  “Yes, Lucky here.”

  “Mr. Campo, this is Mr. Clark from Sotheby’s. I’m so glad I caught you. I tried calling you a number of times but there was no answer.”

  “Yes, well . . . I’ve been away . . . on vacation. Just walked in the door as a matter of fact and didn’t get a chance to listen to my voice messages.”

  “Well, it’s rather important. We have a customer who lost out on the bidding for the exquisite chalice set you brought to us and I wondered if another might be available. I told my customer I would call him back and inform him of the availability. Do you think you might be able to locate another set? I’ve already negotiated a ridiculously high price for it – a price that I’m sure you will appreciate.”

  Well, now, Lucky thought. The numerous items that he had brought back from twelfth century England had all sold and sold well. The chalices had been a hit, commanding premium prices. He hadn’t planned on another trip to King Robert’s castle just now, but he had to admit that he had been thinking of going back there for quite a while now. Of all the time periods to which he traveled, Lucky had a soft spot for twelfth century England. He couldn’t explain it exactly, but he felt at peace there, or for lack of a better word, “happy.” Lucky was happy being there so the more he thought about it, the more he convinced himself that a trip back was warranted. It would be refreshing to get away to a safe place, a place where no one on earth could find him.

  Lucky called out for Mickey who was in another room of the safe house unpacking his suitcase.

  “Are you up for a trip to King Robert’s time?”

  Lucky had his answer before he finished the question.

  Chapter Seven

  The Koros castle was perched high atop a mountain in the country of Romania. Located in southeastern, central Europe, Romania sits north of the Balkan Peninsula on the lower Danube (both within and outside of the Carpathian arch) and borders the Black Sea. Almost all of the Danube Delta is within its territory. It shares its borders with Hungary and Serbia to the west, the Ukraine and the Republic of Moldova to the northeast, and Bulgaria to the south.

  Vlad’s castle was built from the ruins left from his ancestor, Vlad the Impaler’s, original castle when rival factions in league with Hungary ousted him in 1442. Koros now ran his empire from this room, where he had been born, overlooking Sighisoara, his favorite room, the room where he had spent most of his childhood, the room he now called . . . Command Center.

  The room, spotless with an almost antiseptic quality, held the most sophisticated state-of-the-art electronics. The room was aglow with numerous twinkling colored lights. Chrome desks and technicians’ chairs lined the room, perched neatly on a white marble floor. The computers rivaled those of the State Department. The room was enclosed with five-inch thick glass windows, windows that extended completely around the oval operations center, almost completing a circle, but not quite. The view from his throne was breath taking. He looked down at the mountain range, thousands of trees and lights glistening throughout the city. It reminded Koros of the office he had once occupied on the one hundred tenth floor of the Twin Towers. He had moved his offices to Budapest one month prior to the infamous day of 911, paying credence to speculation as to what was about to happen. Up here, he was isolated from the world and he loved it.

  Koros had made his fortune as a young man of only twenty-five years old. Now at the age of fifty-two, he was an imposing figure with graying hair and a muscular build. He resembled Cary Grant but in a much harder way. Where Grant was charming, Koros was threatening. When Koros eyed someone, it was in a menacing, evil manner, as if challenging the person to defy him. He was the schoolyard bully and reveled in the fear he invoked. His favorite quote was from Machiavelli:

  “It is better to be feared than to be loved.”

  Vanity had kept Koros in shape. Daily, he worked out with a man who lived in the castle and who traveled with him whenever, wherever. Often on a whim, the billionaire would jet off to one of his many residences that he maintained around the globe – Italy, Switzerland, Austria, the United States. Money provided convenience and Koros took full advantage of what his money could provide for him.

  On this particular day, Koros was studying some printouts that his right hand computer guy had brought to him. He looked up.

  “Serge, could this be possible . . . this report I mean? Could a person actually travel through time? It sounds impossible . . . but then again, why would it be in the agency’s computer bank if it wasn’t? I want your expert opinion, Serge. What do you think?”

  Koros, as a rule, didn’t ask for opinions. Of course there were exceptions, such as when he was thinking of investing substantial sums of money, sometimes well into the billions, to purchase a company. When that happened, he solicited the opinions of highly qualified men to whom he paid quite lucrative salaries. But that was just about the only time. No, he had a mind of his own and did as he pleased for the most part.

  Serge didn’t hesitate.

  “Mr. Koros, the files I gave you were downloaded directly from the company’s computer. To question their legitimacy, well, I’d stake my reputation on the fact that these documents are real, that they speak the truth, as far-fetched as it may seem. If it says that this man can travel in time, then he can do so. I don’t pretend to understand how he does it, but I have no doubt that he can do it. That is my opinion and I stand by it.”

  “Thank you, Serge. That is all for now.”

  Koros tilted his head slightly, squinted his eyes and spoke again.

  “Wait one minute please,” he added. “If you can find out where he is right now, that would be very helpful to me.”

  “I’ll get right on it, Mr. Koros.”

  Serge turned and left the room.

  Koros went to his desk, sat down in his chair and pressed a button on the console. A clear loud voice responded.

  “Yes, Mr. Koros.”

  “Karl, come to my office immediately. I have an assignment for you.”

  Chapter Eight

  Jack Kinsey was in his office waiting for Lucky and Mickey. After showing ID’s, the two men were waved through the large gates. They headed straight to the building that housed the executive offices and parked in an official parking spot directly in front of the entrance. Instead of going right to Kinsey’s office, they opened the trunk of their car, took out their backpacks and opened them for a last minute check of the items they needed. They turned and headed for the field.

  Normally, Lucky and Mickey wore body armor whenever they were in their Delta uniforms, but today they decided that where they were going, bullets would most likely not be fired toward them. Heck, bullets were not even invented yet, so how could they? But not wanting to feel naked, they carried their holstered Hershel 5.7 automatics along with two extra clips tucked inside their shirt pockets.

  The two men walked along a cement path, lined with bushes and flowers leading to the field. There were nurses pushing patients in wheelchairs, people hobbling along on crutches, and vis
itors strolling leisurely, enjoying the varieties of flowers and plants prevalent throughout the grounds. The men took their time and sat down for a while on a bench facing the shimmering portal. They waited until no one was around. When the coast was clear, they sprang up and ran toward the opening. Mickey grasped Lucky’s belt and followed him into the portal. Once inside, they were invisible to anyone who looked in their direction. Acting quickly, they slipped into their twelfth century tunics, not an easy task given the tight space and constriction of the portal. It was almost like being sandwiched between two mattresses while trying to change clothes. Patiently and quietly, Lucky and Mickey watched the activity around them, and waited for the right moment to slip out of the portal, into another world. Within seconds they were standing there, in the twelfth century, just two men who fit in quite well with the rest of the locals. They were just two travelers showing interest in goods being sold in the tents that lined up against the walls of the keep.

  Lucky spotted him – an animated Jacob showing a customer a large pewter pot. Jacob glanced up, did a double take of Lucky and Mickey, and just as he was about to deliver his best sales pitch to the customer before him, he stopped, laid down the cup, excused himself faintly, and left the man standing there as he made a beehive to his buddy. It was as if royalty had entered. Standing before the two men, Jacob turned and motioned for his son to tend to the customer.

  “Your presence is warming,” Jacob said as he bowed his head, giving a slight nod of reverence to Lucky and Mickey.

  “What is your need?” Jacob asked. “Ask, and if I don’t possess it, I shall make it,” Jacob anxiously stated. “I have a beautiful jeweled dagger for you to see. Shall I retrieve it for you?” Jacob was talking so fast that Lucky could hardly manage a word. “Yes, I shall retrieve it because you must see it.”

  Jacob was firing question after question.

  Lucky smiled.

  “Good to you see my friend. I trust that you have been quite well, both you and yours.”

  Jacob nodded, a bit embarrassed that in his excitement he had lost his manners somewhat.

  “I need a jeweled goblet set,” Mickey blurted out. “Do you possess one of those Jacob?”

  Jacob nodded his head again, indicating yes.

  “Ever since our first encounter, sire, when you secured my crafted-by-these-fingers, jeweled dagger and goblet set, I have made another and I have held it here. You please me, sire, by returning, and it pleases me to offer it to your eyes.”

  Lucky smiled, tilted his head down and gave a slight nod back.

  “Sire, please afford me one moment,” Jacob said. He then walked over to his son and whispered something to him. The son escorted his customer away from the wares and goods.

  Jacob walked over to the curtains of his merchant tent, closed them, and headed toward a table at the back of his stall. Once there, he reached underneath it, pulled out a box and carried it over to Lucky and Mickey. Jacob then nodded for Lucky to open it. Lucky opened the top of the box and carefully began to unravel the top object, little by little, ever so slowly, as though the object might shatter in his hands at any moment. Inch by inch, a smile began to consume his face. The tray was breathtakingly beautiful.

  “A fine piece, sire,” Jacob said, “made from the gold bar you deposited on your last visit.”

  The base of the tray was polished gold while the sides of the tray glistened with the reflecting light of emeralds, rubies, and sapphires embedded in gold leaves. Next, Lucky unwrapped the goblet, something surely fit for the noblest of Kings. Jacob had never disappointed Lucky with the many treasures he supplied him. All of Lucky’s wealth, his close ties with Sotheby’s, the financial security he had provided for Sam, his former girlfriend – all of it was attributed to Jacob and his exquisitely crafted collectibles, so cherished that any one of his objects could single-handedly set off a bidding war around the globe.

  Jacob pointed to them with pride and said, “I never display these items for fear of thieves.”

  The bedazzling artisanship and beauty not only impressed Lucky, but equally amazed him more and more each time he returned to collect one of the beauties.

  After seconds of speechless gazing, Lucky spoke, calling upon his self-taught Middle English as best he could recall.

  “This set has more beauty than its predecessors. I will buy these and I will be most pleased if you would kindly wrap the dagger that hangs behind you on the wall.”

  Jacob’s face lit up. He began to scurry about, trying to maintain his composure while silently wanting to reach up and hug Lucky. To do so, would not be civilized. Decorum had to be maintained and so it was that Jacob said nothing as he carefully assembled special cloths from his merchant wares and began to gingerly and precisely roll the goblets and tray, one by one, placing each into its own container.

  Lucky reached inside his pants underneath the tunic and counted out sixty pence of silver from the pouch full of silver coins he had kept from the last time he visited this time period. Lucky looked around, ensuring that no other eyes could witness this transaction and slid the silver coins into Jacob’s hand.

  “May I request, Sire Lucky, that you afford me a short time until the sun’s shadow on the dial reaches sext to clothe and protect the items in a way that allows me pride?” Jacob asked.

  “Most certainly yes,” Lucky replied. “Your attention to their protection is greatly acknowledged,” he said. He and Mickey then turned, exited through the tent opening, and started walking toward the castle. The walk was refreshing and would eat up some time before their return to Jacob’s store. On the way, Mickey and Lucky chatted about old times, the chances that life would land them in another time and had a few laughs along the way. As they approached the castle guardhouse, they saw a figure in the distance. As he neared them, running quickly, they made him out to be a man-at-arms. Shortly before reaching them, he dropped to his knees in front of Lucky, bowed his head, raised it back up and lifted his arms toward the heavens and said, “It is divine- a blessing from the gods, a miracle. You are here.”

  “Arise, dear man-at-arms,” Lucky said as he touched the man gently on his shoulder. “What is the miracle of which you speak?”

  “The Queen, sir.”

  “What of the Queen?” Lucky asked. “Is the Queen with good health?”

  “The Queen,” the man answered, “she prays to you each day and each night, in the old tongue, for the sire to gift us with his presence. There is sadness. Grave illness exists.”

  “Who is of ill health man-at-arms? Is it the King?” Lucky pursued.

  The man, his heart pounding and hardly able to speak from excitement of the vision before him, simply answered, “The Queen is in great need of your miracles. Please accompany me. We must make haste lest she might die.”

  Lucky, thinking that the Queen may be approaching death, began to sprint behind the knight while Mickey lagged behind Lucky a few paces. Soon, Lucky was racing alongside the man, step for step, racing through doors and running past castle guards who simply nudged one another with murmured gasps of, “The wizard is here.”

  The three men rushed past knight after knight and guardsman after guardsman, each of whom stepped back or aside, with surprised faces and visible joy. The knight, Lucky and Mickey ran and ran until they arrived at a large door. Two men were stationed outside, one on each side.

  The man-at-arms banged loudly on the door. A voice from the room responded.

  “Who is it that knocks so loud and with so much alarm? Do you not know that the Princess is ill?”

  “It is Sir Alfred, Your Highness. He stands with me.”

  “He stands with you? Who? What is this man for whom you make noise at the risk of my dear blood sister?” the Queen answered, clearly annoyed.

  “I have your wizard. Your wizard, dear Queen, stands here with me, at this time.”

  There was silence. The three men stood patiently outside the door.

  Lucky thought for a moment and said, “Quee
n, it is I, Lucky.”

  “Lucky,” she screamed.

  The man-at-arms stood alarmed as he had never heard the voice of the noble one hit so high a volume before.

  At that moment, the door flung open and there the Queen stood in the doorway, her gaunt frame, shocking to Lucky, tears cascading from her tired, puffy eyes, down her face falling from her chin, where they landed in a slow drip, drip procession on her dress. Her eyes were sunken and red, her cheeks were hollow. Lucky could see her heartache. He felt it as well. The Queen stood there, as if in disbelief until, realizing that it was true, she reached toward Lucky and grasped his arm, touching him as if to see if he was a dream, whether he really existed at this moment in time.

  Suddenly, sad eyes turned to happiness as a smile began to consume her face and her head tilted as she said, “It is he, our wizard. The gods have delivered you.”

  “Who is the one of ill health, dear Queen?” Lucky asked.

  “Princess Krystina, my sister, has taken ill for many days now. No medicine man, no learned man, can drive the demons from her body.”

  “Take me to her immediately.”

  Lucky said it more forcefully, a little stronger, perhaps, than he meant.

  Gently, she clasped his hand and with Mickey in tow, guided him down the hallway, through another door, and over to the bed where many men, doctors they appeared to be, were surrounding the Queen’s sister, each one holding a book. One was reciting words over and over while another held a cloth to her head and yet another was applying something that looked to be a black ointment of some sort, with an especially strong smell. The odor caused Lucky to grimace and cover his mouth. Mickey almost heaved a few times and looked as though he was going to vomit. Slowly he backed away, trying to distance himself from the smell and the activities surrounding the Princess.

  At that moment, one man looked to Lucky and the Queen and said, “We will extract the poison from her again, dear Queen, with hopes that the demons will depart,” and raised a sharp instrument of some sort, turned over her wrist and was just about to cut her when Lucky yelled, “No! Halt!”