Guardians of Time

by Sarah Woodbury

  “C-4 doesn’t start fires,” Callum said, “and the castle is only stone now. It doesn’t have anything inside it that could burn.”

  “Who just spoke?” Tate said.

  Math grimaced, silently apologizing to Callum.

  “Lord Mathonwy ap Rhys, sir,” Callum said.

  Tate grunted, taking Math’s presence in stride and not asking for clarification, which showed how far he’d come in his acceptance of the time traveling and everything associated with it.

  “It looks like the bomb was PE-4, what the Americans call C-4, wouldn’t you say?” Tate said.

  “I agree, sir,” Callum said. “That would be why there’s no fire.”

  “What can you see from your side?” Tate said.

  “The dust is starting to settle, what hasn’t already blown away in the storm,” Callum said. “We would like to offer our assistance in retrieving any bodies.”

  “One moment—” Tate left the line open as he spoke to someone else. Math had a hard time understanding conversations over phones. Although Tate had spoken clearly enough when talking to Callum directly, Math couldn’t understand a word of the side conversation.

  Callum frowned at Math. “Did he say four bodies have been found?”

  Tate returned, having overheard Callum’s question. “Yes. Four. We’re combing through the rubble now for survivors.”

  “What about body parts?” Callum said.

  “Not yet—and that would be unlikely unless someone was right on top of the bomb,” Tate said.

  “As in standing over a toilet, sir, checking it for a bomb?” Callum said.

  Tate grunted his assent, his only acknowledgement that Callum had been right, and Tate should have listened to him an hour ago. “Such a person might have been vaporized, but even that is unlikely if the bomb was located in the toilet shaft on the outer wall of the castle. The wall of the castle collapsed, as you saw, but much of the bomb’s energy was expended into the air.”

  “Have you identified the bodies?” Callum said.

  “One moment.” Tate gave some grunting breaths, implying that he was walking briskly or climbing stairs.

  Math breathed shallowly, listening hard. It was several hundred heartbeats before Tate’s voice returned to the line.

  “We found two men in security gear and two men in Caernarfon Castle uniforms,” Tate said.

  “Are you there now?” Callum said.

  “I’m standing over them.”

  “Can you send me images of their faces?” Callum said.

  Mark reappeared at Callum’s right shoulder. “You don’t need to do that. I’ll go to Tate. I was part of the deal.”

  Callum spun around to look at his friend. “Mark—

  “I said I’d go.” Mark’s face was set into grim lines. “You need me to stay here with MI-5. I can testify that Lee was in Cardiff. Tate needs eyewitnesses, and you all need to go home.”

  Callum didn’t speak, simply gazed at his friend.

  Then Tate’s voice came out of the phone. “Mark is right, Callum.”

  Callum appeared to shake himself. “Was anybody else injured?”

  “The floors above and below the bomb were destroyed or partially collapsed, but not pulverized,” Tate said. “So far, we have a woman with a broken leg, and a man with what might be a concussion. Nobody else was in that tower. The tourists were interested in saving places in the courtyard to watch the prince’s speech.”

  “Good job the bomb went off early,” Mark said.

  “One of the handcuffed men was found with a trigger in his hand,” Tate said. “We presume him to be Lee, though we’re still working on facial recognition. His face is badly damaged by flying stone and shrapnel.”

  “That’s why I’m on my way to identify him for you,” Mark said.

  “I should come too,” Callum said.

  Tate cleared his throat. “I cannot believe I’m about to say this, but while I accept Mark’s assistance and I realize that I am contradicting myself, you don’t want to come in, Callum.”

  Callum glanced at the others and then said, “Why not?”

  “Because you will be asked questions you cannot answer, or have answers to questions people do not want to hear. They’re going to want to know what you were doing here, why you gave me advance warning about the toilet and, quite frankly, why I didn’t follow up on your warning right away. It will imply that I had reason not to trust you.”

  “But the bomb was in the toilet,” Callum said.

  Tate paused before saying, “They are going to wonder, given that Lee was on the bus in Cardiff and has reappeared here just as you did, if you didn’t bring him. They will wonder about your advance knowledge of the bomb and if you had a hand in it.”

  “What about Mark?” Callum said.

  “He isn’t the former director of the Project,” Tate said. “He’s been in Iceland this last year.”

  Mark’s expression turned rueful, and he spoke to Callum in an undertone, “He’s protecting himself.”

  Callum grimaced. “One moment, sir.”

  He turned the phone off speaker and pressed it against his thigh, looking at Mark as he did so. “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  Callum shook his head, but he held out his free hand to Mark anyway. “Good luck.”

  “I will keep the home fires burning.” Mark shook hands with Math too, nodded once, and set off across the square towards the castle, his shoulders hunched against the blowing snow.

  Callum turned the speaker back on. “Mark is on his way.” Then he motioned that Math should start walking away from the castle square with him, which he did at a rapid clip, heading east towards the Tesco and plowing through six inches of new snow in some areas of the walkway where nobody had passed since the snow had started.

  As they walked, Callum continued to talk to Tate. “Have you found any other bombs, sir? I find it hard to believe Lee would have planted only one.”

  “No, we haven’t, and while even one bomb is unacceptable, I’m sure you are mistaken about there being more. Lee set the bomb off too early, dying in the process,” Tate said. “The explosion was meant to go off during the prince’s speech. With security focused on the east tower, terrorists could have abducted or even killed the prince in the chaos.”

  “That’s quite an assumption,” Math said in an undertone as he took long strides at Callum’s side. “He sounds like he’s already preparing his speech to his superiors.” Math too had come a long way in a single day.

  Callum chose not to express his disbelief. “Please ring me if you learn anything more that might pertain to King David and King Llywelyn.”

  “I will do that,” Tate said. “Goodbye, Callum.” He disconnected the call.

  Callum instantly began to press more buttons, reaching Cassie immediately.

  “Where are you?” she said.

  “On our way to you,” Callum said.

  “What’s going on?”

  Callum skirted an unattended barrier, since the security guard appeared to have abandoned his post. “I think it’s time we went home too.”

  Chapter Twenty-four

  David

  David landed on his feet with a thud and rolled. The black abyss had come and gone, and even if he’d been screaming inside the whole time, he forced himself to stay alert to whatever situation they were falling into.

  He came up from a full summersault into a runner’s crouch in the grass, and as he caught his breath, the blades in the tuft directly in front of his nose came into focus. A drop of rain plopped onto it, and David shot a glance at the sky. It was raining instead of snowing, and low hanging clouds surrounded him.

  He knew instantly where he was: the castle of Dinas Bran sat silhouetted against the sky to the southeast, meaning they had arrived approximately halfway up the mountain. The road from the village to the castle ran just to the northeast of their position, switching back and forth across the face of the mountain until finally climbin
g to the southern facing gatehouse. The gateway was new since Math had rebuilt the castle, moved from its original position on the eastern slope.

  A moan came from behind him, and he spun around. A few feet away, his father and Abraham were getting to their feet, but beyond them, Darren lay in a heap in the grass, his coat shredded and his entire back covered in blood.

  Abraham saw him in the same instant, and since he was closer, he crouched beside Darren before David could reach him. David’s back was sore where he thought stones had hit him before they’d vanished, but it was nothing like what had become of Darren.

  “Nobody has a knife, do they, to cut off his clothes?” Abraham said.

  David knelt in the grass, wanting to touch Darren, but knowing that might not be a good idea. “No. I left everything in the van.”

  Abraham began to peel from his skin the remains of Darren’s coat and shirt, both of which had been shredded by debris the bomb had thrown at them. David watched in silence for a few seconds and then moved to Darren’s other side to help, giving thanks that the explosion hadn’t been caused by a pipe bomb or one laced with gasoline, or else all their clothes might have caught fire too.

  David gently peeled away the cloth. Darren’s skin was shredded, and David’s face twisted in sympathy at the pain Darren had to be feeling.

  Abraham’s brow was heavily furrowed. He glanced at David and said in an undertone, “It looks bad, but it could be worse.”

  “I’ve been in war,” David said. “I have seen worse.”

  Darren groaned, “My shoulder.”

  “It’s dislocated. If we don’t fix his shoulder, the muscles will swell, and we’ll be worse off than we are now.” He studied David for a second. “I need you to hold him.”

  David didn’t ask why Abraham needed help. Darren was six inches taller than Abraham and heavily muscled. The trick to popping a shoulder back in place was easy once you knew it, but Darren was in no condition to help in any way.

  “Come on, Darren. Easy does it.” As gently as he could, and with his father’s help, David grasped Darren around the torso and raised him to his feet. Darren’s flayed skin had to be screaming with every movement, but maybe not more than his shoulder.

  “You ready?” Abraham had both of Darren’s arms bent at a forty-five degree angle in front of him. Slowly, he moved the arms to the sides as if he were opening doors to a great hall and they were the doors. Darren seemed to be more awake now—and with all the pain he was feeling, how could he not be?—and realized what Abraham was attempting. Abraham raised both of Darren’s arms together, and by the time he got to the point where Darren’s hands were above his head, the dislocated shoulder slipped into place.

  David hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath. Darren bent his head and sagged, as much as his shoulder would let him, in relief.

  “My lord!” The call echoed from above them, and David turned his head at the shout. Even from this distance, he thought he recognized Justin’s figure riding out of the gate, followed by six of David’s men.

  “Your mother is going to be very worried,” Dad said, speaking for the first time.

  “I know.” David looked up at the sky, though there was nothing to see but clouds and rain. Somewhere above the ground was the hole in the universe they’d just come through, and on the other side of it was the rest of David’s family.

  David lowered Darren back to the ground.

  “Rachel,” Darren said. “How is it that I am here, and Rachel is there?”

  “Son, I don’t know when, but I can tell you that she will be coming just as soon as she can,” Dad said. “My wife will see to it.”

  Darren pressed his lips together and gave a sharp exhale through his nose.

  “I shouldn’t complain, since I would have been far worse off had I remained in Avalon. In fact, I’d be dead.” Darren raised his head slightly to look at both Abraham and David at the same time. “Thank you.”

  “We need to get you to the castle.” Abraham glanced at David. “Infection is the greatest worry—not for his shoulder, but for his back. I have nothing out here that will help me care for him.”

  David could see that. Many of Darren’s wounds were deep, like he’d been flayed with a multi-thonged whip that had cut into the muscles of his back, some even down to his rib bones.

  “None of you would have been there at all except for me,” David said.

  Abraham held up one finger. “Not true. I had a ticket to the event. If you hadn’t come, Lee would have set bombs throughout the whole castle. I could have died—the Prince of Wales would have died—if not for you.” He canted his head. “The Prince of England, I mean.”

  Dad brushed at David’s back. “Your coat is shredded too.”

  David’s eyes had returned to the company that was coming to get them. The horses had slowed as they’d left the road, but there was no mistaking the urgency in Justin’s tone and posture. “But not my skin.”

  Abraham smoothed his beard with one hand. “We really are in the Middle Ages.”

  Dad patted the smaller man’s shoulder. “You are taking this very well. You should have heard Callum when he first arrived. All he could say was my God!”

  “I confess I find that hard to believe,” Abraham said.

  Justin pulled up, breathing hard. “My lord. Lady Bronwen begs you to come to the castle. The queen—” Justin stopped, his expression stricken as he took in Darren’s wounded body. Then his eyes returned to David’s face.

  “What’s wrong?” David said.

  “The baby is coming.”

  One of the guardsmen dismounted and gestured for David to take his horse. David glanced at Darren. “What about—”

  But his father had taken charge of Darren. “You heard the doctor. Nothing more can be done for him out here. We’ll get him to the castle, and then Abraham can help him when he’s done helping Lili.”

  David shot a look at Abraham, who nodded. David mounted quickly, but when Abraham didn’t mount a second horse, which another guardsman had vacated, David bent to him. “What’s wrong?”

  Abraham moved to David’s stirrup and looked up at him. “I’ve never ridden a horse in my life.”

  “Come with me then.” David held out his arm to Abraham while removing his own foot from the stirrup so Abraham could mount behind him. “I’m surprised, you being a Welshophile and all.” It was a little joke, made reflexively and with a very small part of David’s brain.

  Abraham, for his part, didn’t answer because he was too busy scrambling onto the horse behind David. Once settled, Abraham directed his next question at Justin. He spoke slowly because of their divergent versions of English. “Has something gone wrong?”

  David repeated the question to make the words clearer to Justin. It probably wasn’t necessary, since thing and wrong were ancient words that could be comprehensible to Justin, even with Abraham’s modern accent.

  “The baby is turned the wrong way around and comes too early—”

  David didn’t wait for more of an explanation. “Yah!” He spurred the horse towards the castle.

  “What do we have for supplies?” Abraham had his hands clutched tightly around David’s waist, holding on for dear life.

  “The castle has an infirmary,” David said, suppressing his impatience with his speed. Uphill and carrying two, the horse couldn’t move as fast as if he’d been carrying only David. “It isn’t as complete as the one down in Llangollen, but the village lies twelve hundred feet below the castle in the river valley. Rachel arranged for an infirmary to be stocked inside the castle because, in an emergency, the village was too far to bring a patient.”

  “Anesthetic?”

  “Poppy juice and alcohol,” David said.

  “How far along is your wife?” Abraham said.

  “Seven months,” David said.

  David didn’t have to turn around to know what expression Abraham’s face held. But while Abraham might not be a warrior, he was a good doctor
, which meant keeping a clear head at all times was a way of life. David had already seen Abraham handle one crisis. He trusted that if anyone could handle this too, it was Abraham.

  The longest ten minutes of David’s life later, they surged up the ramp and through the gatehouse of the castle into the outer bailey. David swung his right leg over the horse’s head, dropped to the ground, and then helped Abraham down.

  Gwenllian was right beside him as he turned around. “She’s in the infirmary.”

  All three took off in that direction at a run.

  “How long has she been laboring?” Abraham said, showing his wisdom in using the medieval phrase rather than in labor which would have made no sense to Gwenllian, even with her American English.

  “Almost from the moment David left,” Gwenllian said.

  David found that he couldn’t breathe around the fear in his throat. Lili had been suffering all night long, and he hadn’t been here to help her. He’d thought that appearing on the wrong side of the motorway had cured him of whatever complacency he’d felt about time traveling, but it hadn’t been true. When he’d grasped Dad’s and Abraham’s arms, he’d known with utter certainty that he would live through the blast that was coming. What had happened to Darren, however, showed how terrifyingly erroneous that assumption had been. With Abraham’s help, Darren should live, but the close shave showed David he had no reason to think that Lili would be equally favored.

  Abraham jogged calmly beside him and entered the infirmary with a firm stride. Aaron and Catriona stood talking, deep in conversation with Bronwen, who had Rachel’s stethoscope around her neck. All three looked over as Abraham entered. Birth in the Middle Ages was an obsessively female endeavor. All the midwives and ladies had been horrified by David’s attendance at Arthur’s birth, but he’d overridden them then, and he was well past the point of caring about medieval sensibilities now.

  Thus, without more than a thank God you’re here, Bronwen directed David to the side room where Lili sat on a stool. She held her head in her hands. Branwen, her maid, a no-nonsense woman if there ever was one, folded spare linens a few feet away.