Time's Demon

by D. B. Jackson

  “Quite the contrary,” Larr said. “I have every intention of doing so. And I’d like to work out an arrangement that would be fair and suitable to the two of you and to me.”

  “What sort of arrangement?”

  “Well, let’s begin with the obvious. You’re welcome aboard this ship for as long as you care to stay. We’ll feed you, we’ll pay you a share of all our profits, and we’ll keep you safe from the Sheraighs and the autarchy.”

  Mara tucked her chin, and motioned for the captain to continue.

  “I’ll begin immediately to try to find a chronofor, and I’ll pay for it with resources of my own. It will be yours and Tobias’s to use, but, at least initially, I’ll expect you to use it in service to the Dove. When we all decide, by mutual agreement, that your use of the device has brought me profit equal to one half of the purchase price, I’ll take those two apertures as payment for the balance. You’ll then be free to leave at a time of your choosing, and the chronofor will be yours to take with you.”

  Mara hesitated. “Why do it that way? Why not take the apertures now?”

  “Two reasons. First, using them to trade for a chronofor could raise questions. I assume Tobias took them from Hayncalde Castle.”

  She frowned, knowing she should have considered this.

  “Second, I don’t know when we’ll find a Bound device, or what might happen between its acquisition and your fulfillment of this agreement. If you’re forced to leave us, or we’re separated for some reason, you might need those apertures for a trade of your own. You should hold on to them.”

  If Mara needed further proof of the captain’s goodwill, here it was. This, too, would never have crossed her mind.

  “I’ll need to speak with Tobias, of course, but this strikes me as an equitable arrangement.” She faltered, then said, “We need – I need – a sextant as well.”

  Larr’s eyes widened. Apparently she understood how rare it was for a Traveler to have two talents. “You are full of surprises, Missus Lijar.”

  “The Two have blessed me.”

  “Apparently. I’ll search for a sextant as well. It can be part of the same arrangement.”

  “Yes, all right.”

  The captain reached for the bronze figure again. “Speak with Tobias,” she said. “Let me know what he says.”

  Mara stood, crossed back to the door.

  “Does he know you’re here?” Larr asked before Mara could leave.

  She paused with her fingers on the handle. “No. He’s been distracted since the incident with the slavers. He thought he’d lost her, and now he’s afraid.”

  “Of?”

  “Everything.”

  CHAPTER 12

  12th Day of Sipar’s Waking, Year 618

  In the moments after Tache’s death and Droë’s disappearance, masters and mistresses, novitiates, and guards swarmed from the keeps, no doubt drawn by Lenna’s screams and the boy’s final cry. As they converged on Cresten, Lenna, and the corpse, word of the calamity spread, distorted by rumor and the first whiff of blame.

  “What is this?” Albon demanded, pushing through the throng. “Who was that screaming bef–” He halted at the sight of the boy’s desiccated corpse. “Blood and bone.” He eyed Lenna, who sobbed still.

  Several of her friends tried to comfort her, including Vahn. Cresten stood alone.

  “What’s happened here, Mister Padkar?”

  “It was… It was a Tirribin, master.”

  “A Tirribin? You’re certain?” Before Cresten could answer, he looked down at Tache again. “Of course you are.” He rounded on the nearest guards. “I want these grounds searched. If you find the creature, kill it. From a distance. Arrows. If you have to draw your sword, it’s too late.”

  In the dim light of moon-glow and torchfire, Cresten saw the lead guard falter momentarily.

  “Yes, sir,” he said. He and his comrades fanned out across the lower courtyard and toward the gate.

  “Had you seen the demon before?” Albon asked, facing Cresten again.

  “Yes.”

  “So you knew what it was, and you treated with it anyway, disregarding the danger.”

  Cresten darted a glance at Lenna. Albon followed his gaze, his expression darkening.

  “We’ll speak of this tomorrow. All of us, Miss Doen.”

  She nodded, too overwrought to speak.

  “Take her to the keep,” Albon said to the other girls. “The rest of you, back to your beds. There’s nothing to be done here.”

  “What about the time demon?” one of the girls asked.

  The weapons master looked a question Cresten’s way. Cresten opened his hands, glanced in the direction Droë had gone.

  “It’s gone, and in any case, you’ll be safer in the keeps. Now off with you.”

  Lenna’s friends led her to the Windward Keep. The other novitiates retreated as well, in pairs and small groups. Albon signaled to two more soldiers, gesturing subtly at the body. The men lifted Tache and carried him toward the middle courtyard and the infirmary. A few of the masters and mistresses lingered, but they spoke among themselves in low, solemn tones. Before long the weapons master and Cresten stood alone.

  “Was this revenge, Padkar? Did you finally get Tache back for the beatings he gave you?”

  Cresten gaped, unable at first to muster an answer. “N- no!” he said. “It wasn’t– That’s not what happened! Tache and I were friends. It took time, but we wound up that way. This wasn’t–” He’d intended to say it wasn’t his fault, but his sense that he was to blame silenced him for an instant. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

  “What did happen? Can you tell me now? It’s just the two of us.” Cresten stared in the direction the guards had taken Tache’s corpse. He wanted to tell Albon everything. Of all the masters and mistresses in the palace, no one had treated him better. But when he opened his mouth to speak, a sob escaped him. Before he knew it, he was weeping as he hadn’t since leaving his home. Losing Lenna, watching Tache die, sensing already that blame for the tragedy would fall on him, fearing that he deserved such a fate – it was too much.

  Albon sighed and laid a meaty hand on his shoulder. “It’s all right, lad,” he said. “It’s all right.”

  Meaningless words. It was far, far from all right. Overwhelmed as he was, Cresten understood this. Still, he accepted the man’s comfort and, when he had cried himself out, allowed Albon to walk him back to the Leeward Keep. Neither of them spoke, not even to say goodnight.

  Cresten climbed the stairs to the chamber he shared with the other boys his age. He heard voices as he approached; he was sure every person in the palace was awake. When he entered the room, conversations ceased. Everyone stared at him. He took a full breath, as if preparing to dive into deep waters, and walked to his bed.

  Conversations resumed, now in whispers. After a few spirecounts, Vahn crossed to his bed.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yes. Thanks.”

  “Good.” He lingered, and Cresten thought he would ask him about events in the courtyard. After another fivecount, though, he said, “Well, I wanted to make sure.” He walked away without waiting for Cresten’s reply.

  Cresten tugged off his clothes, climbed into bed, and bundled himself in his blankets. The other boys continued to talk, and several times he heard one or another speak his name. He tried to ignore them. It didn’t matter what they said, he told himself. The chancellor, and the masters and mistresses, would decide his fate. He wouldn’t have to wait long for their judgment.

  He slept poorly, chased from dream to dream by the goldenhaired Tirribin, and by Tache’s withered form. He was awake before dawn.

  A palace herald came to the boys’ dorm with the first daylight bell.

  “Cresten Padkar, Chancellor Samorij has instructed me to escort you to his chamber.”

  Cresten had already dressed. He stood and followed the herald out of the keep, across the courtyard, and into the chancellor’s t
ower. He felt like a condemned man.

  The herald did not bother to knock, but opened the door and waved Cresten inside. The chancellor stood by his desk, his hands behind his back, his expression more severe than Cresten would have thought possible on such an amiable man. Albon stood near the window, with Qemman Denmys, the master of Time Walking, and a dour woman wearing a uniform of purple and black. Cresten thought her the captain of the guard. Two chairs had been set before the desk. The chancellor indicated one of them now. Cresten sat.

  “We will wait for Miss Doen,” the chancellor said, in a voice like slag.

  No one uttered a word. For several moments that felt much longer, the only sounds in the chamber were the coos of messenger doves and the rustle of their feathers.

  At the click of the door handle, Cresten started, then twisted to peer back.

  Lenna swayed on the threshold, her eyes flitting from one of them to the next. She appeared drawn, her eyes puffy and red.

  “Come in, Miss Doen,” the chancellor said, his tone more gentle than it had been.

  Fear prickled the back of Cresten’s neck.

  The chancellor pointed to the chair beside Cresten. Lenna stepped to it, sparing Cresten the most cursory of glances, and sat, her eyes fixed on the floor.

  “Does either of you have any notion of how long it’s been since last a novitiate died on these grounds?”

  Cresten had no idea. Lenna shook her head.

  “I didn’t either,” the chancellor said. “Not until I went back through the records last night. This was the first in nearly half a century. The last was a boy who contracted Herjean pox. The palace healer wasn’t able to attend to the lad in time. Over the years, Belvora have taken a toll, and once, when the palace was still new, an Arrokad took a girl from the Windward Keep. She was never heard from again, and the chancellor at the time never ascertained the truth of her fate.

  “As far as I can tell, until last night, no novitiate had ever been killed by a Tirribin.” He paused, his gaze shifting from one of them to the other. “Can one of you explain to me precisely what happened to Mister Tache?”

  Neither of them answered.

  “I gather that last night was not the first time this particular Tirribin has been in the palace. Is this true?”

  Cresten resisted the urge to look at Albon. A part of him was angry with the man for betraying a confidence. A greater part knew Albon would deny that he owed Cresten any allegiance in this matter. Tache was dead. All other considerations paled next to that.

  The silence stretched on.

  “It is true,” Lenna said, in a voice so soft Chancellor Samorij leaned forward to hear her better. “I spoke with her several times.”

  “Tirribin are dangerous creatures, Miss Doen. Why would you do this?”

  She glanced up at him. “They’re not dangerous to me. At least Droë isn’t.”

  “Droë is its name?”

  “Her name,” Lenna said, a bit of steel in her tone. “And she would never hurt me. Tirribin are fascinated by time, and they possess knowledge and wisdom that any Walker would find valuable. Our conversations… they’ve taught me a great deal. And so you know, she wouldn’t hurt Cresten, either. The first night we spoke to her–”

  The chancellor turned a flinty eye on Cresten. “You saw it – her – too, Mister Padkar?”

  “Yes, Lord Chancellor. And I believe Lenna’s right. Droë wouldn’t hurt either of us. She gave her word that first night.”

  “That means nothing to anyone except the two of you. Clearly the creature presents a mortal danger to every other person in this palace.”

  “No, she doesn’t!” Lenna said. “She attacked Tache because he offended her, and because he threatened me.”

  Samorij scowled. “Is the Tirribin your guardian?”

  “She’s my friend.”

  “Do you consider her a friend as well, Mister Padkar?”

  Cresten took too long to answer.

  The chancellor straightened. “I see.”

  Lenna sent a glare Cresten’s way.

  He hated the Tirribin. He feared her, and he blamed her for the deterioration of his friendship with Lenna. But he would have said anything to make Lenna care for him again, and, as it happened, he couldn’t fault the time demon for attacking Tache. The boy had brought that on himself.

  “I don’t think Droë would consider me a friend, Lord Chancellor. I’m not a Walker, and so to her I’m just another human. Still, I agree with Lenna: Droë wouldn’t have hurt Tache if he hadn’t provoked her.”

  “You don’t think,” the chancellor repeated, a sneer in his voice. “‘She’s my friend,’ you say. Do you have any idea how naïve you both sound? How foolish? A boy is dead! Killed by your friend, Miss Doen. By this demon who you, Mister Padkar, describe as some benign creature who is not to be feared. You have both been breathtakingly reckless.”

  The chancellor crossed to the window and gripped the sill. He remained there for some time, his back to them, his breathing low and harsh. Neither the masters nor the woman in uniform said a word.

  “What will you do with her?” Lenna asked after some time.

  The chancellor stirred, roused by her question. “Your thoughts should be for yourself and for Mister Padkar, not for the Tirribin.”

  “Can’t I spare a thought for all of us?”

  Bold words. More bold by far than anything Cresten would have dared say. His esteem for Lenna rose ever more.

  The chancellor stepped back to his desk.

  “If I could have the creature killed, I would, and I assure you that our guards will be more vigilant than they have been.” His glance at the woman in purple drew a curt nod. “The fact is, your Tirribin is one of the Ancients. Killing them is…” He opened his hands. “Even if we managed it, there would be a price. Any act that risks war with one of the septs has to be considered with utmost care.” A bitter smile flickered across his features. “I expect your ‘friend’ is safe.”

  “And us?” Lenna asked.

  The chancellor spared Cresten a glance before addressing her. “A more difficult matter. A boy has died, and in time parents will hear of the tragedy. They will worry about their own children. They’ll demand to know what happened, and what we’ve done to prevent a recurrence. Men and women in distant courts will learn of it as well, and my judgment will be questioned.” He eyed Lenna. “Yes, that matters,” he said, perhaps anticipating her next query. “This palace serves a vital function between the oceans. The royals who summon you and your fellow novitiates to be their Walkers, Spanners, and Crossers must have confidence in me, and in the masters and mistresses who train you. It would be easy to assume that we are an enclave unto ourselves, but we’re not. We are part of a vast network whose influence on events throughout Islevale should not be underestimated. The consequences of any damage to our reputation will span kingdoms and seas.”

  Cresten heard in the chancellor’s words portents of his own doom. They might punish Lenna in some way, but there were limits to what they could do to her. She was a Walker. Their only Walker.

  He was far less valuable to them. He excelled at his studies, but as a Spanner he was mediocre at best. Only his father’s missive to the chancellor held him here – the vague promise of familial history, worth nothing under the circumstances. He wondered if they would send him from the palace empty-handed, or with a few coins on which to live, or with which to return home. He shuddered at the thought. No matter what happened, he would never go back to Qesle.

  Cresten decided then that he also would not simply await his fate. If he was expendable, and if the chancellor had made up his mind to send him away, he could at least make himself a hero to Lenna.

  “This was my fault, chancellor,” he said, meeting the man’s glower. “Lenna’s conversations with the Tirribin were harmless. She’s a Walker. She should be speaking with Droë. Nothing would have happened if I hadn’t brought Tache to the lower courtyard.”

  “You brought him t
here?”

  He resisted the impulse to lower his gaze. “Yes, Lord Chancellor.”

  “Why?”

  Cresten lifted a shoulder. “Tache wanted to meet the Tirribin. He thought he could learn something of value from her.”

  The man frowned. “You’re speaking in circles, Mister Padkar. You say that no harm would have come from Miss Doen’s encounters with the Tirribin, but clearly Mister Tache learned of them.”

  “I told him about Droë, sir. I was–” He chanced a look at Lenna. She regarded him with contempt. “The Tirribin said things to Lenna and me one night that… that ruined our friendship. I was upset. I wasn’t thinking, and so I mentioned to Tache that Lenna had spoken with a time demon. After that, he barely talked to me about anything else. He wanted to meet Droë, and he insisted that I take him to see her at the first opportunity. Once Tache made up his mind about something… well, I didn’t have a lot of choice. The point is, this was my doing, and his. Lenna did nothing wrong.”

  “I’m not certain I agree with that, Mister Padkar, but I appreciate your candor.”

  Cresten glanced at Lenna again. She watched him still, but her expression had softened.

  “Miss Doen, do you have anything to add?”

  She shifted in her chair. “This wasn’t Cresten’s fault either. Tache was… no one could control him. No one could tell him what to do. I definitely couldn’t, and I shouldn’t be surprised that Cresten couldn’t either. He insulted Droë; it was like he was trying to provoke her. That’s why he died.”

  She said this in a low voice, eyes on the floor in front of her. When she finished, she regarded him sidelong again. Her mouth twitched in what might have been an attempt at a smile.

  “Your defense of each other is heartwarming,” the chancellor said, sounding unmoved, “but the fact remains that both of you have acted irresponsibly. We can’t simply ignore your behavior, and we can’t be seen to condone it.”

  He nodded to the woman in uniform. She opened the door to the chamber.

  “Please wait in the antechamber. We’ll speak with you again shortly.”

  Cresten and Lenna shared a glance, stood in unison, and crossed the chamber to the door. Cresten sensed Albon studying him as he passed, but kept his eyes fixed on Lenna’s back. Once they were in the antechamber, the captain of the guard shut the door again. Lenna stepped to a window. Cresten remained where he was, unsure of what else he ought to do.