by Dana Fredsti
“Engländer! Hände hoch! Sie sind unser Gefangener!”
Harcourt switched to German. “No need for that, my good man. I am a citizen of the Crown, and no enemy of your Kaiser or the German Empire.”
“I will not tell you again!” the German said angrily. “Put your hands up or we shoot!”
He immediately obeyed.
Bloody Huns.
* * *
“I assure you, this is a dreadful mistake,” Harcourt fumed, his temper warring with his fear. “I demand that you take me to your commanding officer at once.”
The soldiers escorting him through the trading post paid no attention to his alternating pleas and demands. They led him beyond the rough Arabian-style tents, out into the open desert. He began to fear the worst. What if he couldn’t talk his way out of this? He scrabbled for inspiration.
Shaking off their arms, he turned to face them.
“I’m telling you, it is imperative I speak to your superiors!” he snapped. “This is in regards to—” he lowered his voice and infused his words with great significance, “Operation Broken Hourglass.”
His guards remained stone-faced—but they did not shoot him. One leaned over and whispered something to the other, a big, bull-faced trooper with a stern glare. The man listened and gave a curt nod, his cold gaze never leaving Harcourt.
“Continue.”
The professor summoned all the bluster he could as he launched into a new harangue.
“Do you seriously expect me to believe that you have not realized what is occurring?” he said in flawless German. “Are you ignorant of what has happened in Operation Broken Hourglass? Surely it must be obvious, even to a lowly pair of whale-blubber sacks like you two cabbage-eating clodhoppers, that this ridiculous English accent is merely part of my disguise—and that no one, except for a special espionage agent-at-large on a crucial mission for the German Foreign Office would be caught in a native watercraft off the septentrional coast of Africa, meandering about dressed as an upper-crust English gentleman?”
He paused, and delivered the coup de grace.
“Do I have to explain to you yet again what a colossal cock-up you are making, by not taking me to your superior this very instant?” The pair regarded him with an entirely newfound respect, snapping to attention with a crisp salute.
“Jawohl!”
* * *
The two German soldiers escorted Harcourt back to the shade of the trading post’s caravanserai and then out to the military encampment that lay beyond, where row after row of drab mustard-colored tents stood surrounded by mechanical vehicles, all arranged in a great square configuration, a sort of wagon-fort.
The Victorian carefully suppressed his interest in the profusion of horseless carriages and motorized bi-cycles driving about and, most of all, the host of fearsome metal war machines of tremendous size.
The unlikely trio reached their destination without further delay. All the while Harcourt silently rehearsed convincing lines to deliver to their commander. He wished he knew more about where—or rather, when—these Teutons came from. Was von Bismarck, that damnable Prussian Junker, still their chancellor? He’d need to be quite careful what he said.
Upon arriving at the command tent, they were stopped short by the pair of sentries standing guard outside.
“Come back with your prisoner later,” one said firmly. “The field marshal left strict orders not to be disturbed.”
Harcourt geared up for another performance.
“Prisoner?” he said. “Don’t be ridiculous. I have vital intelligence that I must deliver to him.”
“Who are you?” the sentry demanded. “We have no such orders.”
“You tell your commander that Professor Winston Harcourt—or rather, Professor Zee, the Foreign Office’s number one master spy—is here to see him.”
“Out of the question,” the man replied.
“I am not leaving until your superior officer sees me.”
“His orders were crystal clear. The debriefing with Doktor-Coronel Mehta takes precedence over all other matters.”
“And I say that my—” Abruptly he stopped. “Pardon, with whom did you say he is meeting?”
“Herr Doktor-Coronel János Mehta.”
Harcourt paled. The head sentry raised an eyebrow.
“What did you say your name was again?”
The professor turned to his escorts. “Well, the commander’s orders are quite clear,” he said. “We’ll simply have to return when his Mehta—that is, when his meeting has ended. Come along now.”
Both sentries raised their rifles.
“I said, give me your name again.”
“That’s really not important,” Harcourt blustered. “I’ll be happy to talk to your commander at his leisure, and in the meantime I’ll just—” He began to edge away.
“Halt!” All four soldiers trained their rifles on his heart. Harcourt froze and raised his hands. The lead sentry stepped up to him, stared the professor hard in the eye and turned to the other soldiers.
“Directly to the pit with this one. Get him out of here.”
The bull-faced soldier shoved him on his way. They headed out toward the open desert again, where nothing awaited him. A vast expanse of nothing.
39
At the Hikaptah, New Memphis
Eight days after the Event
Géroux played the role of host almost as well as he had the part of their interrogator, though to Amber it was remarkable—and disturbing—how easily he slipped back and forth between the two.
The lieutenant sent for food for his guests, then he and Sergeant-Major Durand sat down with them. It arrived a short time later—scrambled duck eggs, strips of dried tilapia, and flatbreads. The servants offered beer, bringing tea when Leila politely demurred. The four dug in eagerly—it had been far too long since they had eaten.
Amber took the lead in conversation, while Leila sat listening quietly and Cam translated for Kha-Hotep as best he could. She began by explaining, as best she could, what they understood of the Event, and Dr. Meta’s part in it. Her greatest concern was trying to impart the urgency of their mission, but the Frenchman Géroux insisted on posing tangential questions that continually sidetracked her.
“So,” he said, interrupting her for at least the twentieth time, rubbing his temples as if her words gave him a headache. “You are saying all of time is—was, will be—like a stained-glass window, and we are living in a world cobbled together from its broken pieces?”
“That’s essentially it, yes.”
“Incredible. So, you say England has been destroyed in this… événement?”
“Well, from what we saw, there’s at least part of one city left, but London is pretty much gone.”
“Were it not for the things we ourselves have seen…” Géroux’s expression sharpened. “What of France?”
“We don’t know.”
“What of the Hapsburgs?” he pressed. “The Papal States? The Ottomans?”
Amber opened her mouth, but could only shrug her shoulders and shake her head.
“There’s so much we don’t know,” she finally replied. “We do know that most of the biggest shards are from older times, a lot of them prehistoric. Dr. Meta suspected that the closer to the event, the smaller and fewer the shards tend to be.”
Géroux leaned back, and cradled his chin in his hand thoughtfully. “All this is taxing for the human mind to comprehend, but incredible as your story may be, it explains much.”
“Lieutenant,” Amber said, “please don’t think I’m a spy, but what are the French doing in Egypt?”
Géroux laughed harshly. “We came to this country on a most noble quest—to liberate Egypt from their oppressors, the warrior slave-kings of the Mameluke Turks. We lost hundreds of men during those first grueling weeks in the infernal heat, meeting disaster at every step. There were many suicides…” He stared off into the distance, eyes haunted.
“At last we came within sight
of the great pyramids, already turning golden in the morning sun,” he continued. “There we faced off against the forces of the Emir Murad Bey—twelve thousand armored riders, with another twenty thousand Albanian Janissaries, Bedouin Arabs, and Egyptian militia from Cairo. A glittering line, sparkling like jewels, stretched in a great sweeping arc some nine miles long, from the bank of the Nile across into the desert, outflanking and outnumbering us. Even General Bonaparte was struck by the sight.”
He paused again, staring off into the distance before giving a slight shake of his head and continuing.
“Our victory was glorious, but there was little chance to enjoy the fruits of our triumph—a soldier’s life is spent on the march. The general decided to pursue the Emir into Upper Egypt, and the honor fell to our division. We lit out by night and set up our bivouac at dawn. I was sound asleep when the lightning storm struck, and the resulting commotion woke me. Whole portions of camp had turned to wilderness. Tents, horses, campfires… all gone as if they had never been. Fully half of our squadron had vanished, along with the rest of our division—more than five and a half thousand men had evaporated with the morning dew.”
Amber nodded sympathetically.
“Eyewitnesses spoke of sheet lightning, or something wilder still. Veteran troopers who had withstood cavalry charges and artillery bombardment without flinching were filled with superstitious dread. The most anxious voiced their fear that we would be the next to vanish.
“I found myself in command. Though I had no answers for the troops, I decided we would first push forward to the village of Mit Rahina, which lay only a few miles further. That would be our best chance of restocking our supplies and attempting to locate those who had been lost.”
He shrugged.
“The rest, you know. Mit Rahina was gone, but ancient Memphis had returned—or at least, this motley patchwork. Such a most improbable realm, forgotten by the ages, unchanged by the march of history. The natives greeted us as gods, which has proved quite advantageous.” The lieutenant smiled, prompting some chuckles from his men. “We dispatched a messenger back to headquarters, but he returned two days later to tell us that even the city of Cairo had vanished.”
“What?” Leila suddenly spoke up. “What did he say?” she asked Amber, then she faced Géroux. “Did you say—disparu?”
The lieutenant gave her a grim nod. He replied, and Amber translated.
“Forgive me, Mademoiselle,” he said. “Yes, I’m afraid. Utterly gone. Nothing remained but howling wilderness, as if a city had never stood there at all.”
Leila looked as though she was going to faint. Amber grabbed her hand to steady her. Then she spoke up again.
“There’s something more you need to know, Lieutenant. The reason we’re trying to get back to our ship is that we have to reach the South Pole, to find Dr. Meta’s laboratory. We have to reverse whatever caused the Event, to fix the damage. The fracturing of the timeline is still occurring.” She paused to frame her words carefully. “If we don’t, it will destroy the world.”
“How do you know this?”
“Dr. Meta—the scientist—told us.”
“Did he say how soon that will occur?”
“Soon,” she said. “Weeks, maybe even days.”
There was a pregnant pause as Durand and Géroux exchanged serious looks. The awkward silence only increased Amber’s sense of urgency—there was too much riding on her ability to convince the French.
Finally the lieutenant spoke. “I believe you,” he said, and Amber exhaled in relief, realizing she’d been holding her breath waiting for Géroux’s answer. “Naturally,” he continued, “we will do everything in our power to aid you on your mission, in every way that we can. Let me propose this. You and your comrades stay here with us tonight. Eat, rest, regain your strength, and in the morning we shall rise with the sun and send you off with food, supplies, and a protective guard of my best men. Bien?”
“Tres bien!” Amber responded. “Thank you so much! That would be amazing!”
“Superb.” The lieutenant stood up and clapped his hands. “Then it is settled. First thing tomorrow, we set off—but for now, there is someone I need you to meet.”
* * *
Géroux and Durand took their group out of the great hall and through one of the temple complex’s side passageways, finally stopping at an open doorway guarded by a pair of sentries. It opened out onto a secluded garden courtyard.
“This fellow is the only trace of Murad Bey’s band we’ve yet found,” Géroux said to Cam. “One of our patrols found him wandering alone in the desert. I’m hoping you can help us get some answers from him.” He added, “Unfortunately, we lost all of our interpreters during your—during the Event.”
A man in a rich black robe with gold embroidery, and a turban of black and gold silk, rested on the ledge of a raised pool beneath a tall statue of the green-skinned god Ptah, serenely watching dragonflies buzzing along the pool’s surface. When he looked up at his visitors, Cam saw he was a handsome older Arab, his immaculately trimmed beard streaked with silver, a collection of soft lines around his eyes.
The man rose to greet them, wordlessly saluting them with a slight bow, one hand over his heart. The lieutenant doffed his hat and returned the bow, then turned back to Cam and gestured him to approach.
“If you can, give this Egyptian worthy my regards.”
Cam gave a polite bow.
“Sayidi al muhtarm, hadha al-malazim al-faransiu yamtadu tahayaatuh lakum.” Sir, this French lieutenant extends his greetings.
The Arab blinked at him for a moment, and then let out a long and hearty laugh, responding in the same language.
“Glory to God! I feared I should end my life in this place, never again to hear a word of Arabic. God is merciful to his servants! How is it you speak it? You must be Circassian.”
“No, sir,” Cam replied. “I am a Celt, from a distant island to the west, but the two ladies and I speak your language. Noble sir, this gentleman is the Lieutenant Géroux of France. He bids me ask you who you are, and what your business is here.”
The man bowed again.
“Tell your master my name is Ahmad ibn Fadlan ibn Al-Abbas ibn Rashid ibn Hamad. I am emissary of Caliph Muqtadir of Baghdad, the City of Peace, may God strengthen him. I and my companions were en route to the Egyptian capital city of Al-Fustat, where I am expected at the court of the Emir Takin al-Khazari, may God increase his well-being.
“Through strange mysteries to which only God knows the answer,” he continued, “days ago I became separated from the rest of my caravan and was wandering in the desert when these strange men from the kingdom of the Franks found me.”
Cam relayed the information to the French.
“Al-Fustat?” Géroux asked. “Where is that?”
“Excuse me, sir,” Leila said shyly in halting French. “I know Al-Fustat. It’s a district in the Old City of Cairo, but it hasn’t been any place important since the Middle Ages.”
“Ah well, so much for any chance of us ransoming him to the Turks,” Durand joked. “At least that means he’s not in league with Murad Bey. Assuming he’s telling the truth, of course.”
Géroux smiled. “As of this afternoon, Murad Bey has fallen off my list of concerns. This has been quite a banner day for reassessing priorities.”
The lieutenant turned to Amber.
“Gracious Mademoiselle, would you please offer the honorable envoy my apologies for our previous lack of interpreters, and explain the special circumstances in which we find ourselves? Also, kindly let him know he is not a prisoner, but my honored guest, and that we shall all feast tonight.”
Cam did not envy Amber having to make another explanation. As she spoke to the Arab emissary, Géroux took advantage of the distraction to pull him aside for a private chat.
“We need to talk as men, you and I,” Géroux said. “I know your female companion is frightened, and fears the end of the world, but after all that has occurred, I think
we know better than to dread such things, do we not?”
Cam frowned. “What do you mean?”
“My good man, I mean no offense. The matter is simply this—what can a mere girl know about the sciences? She is no savant. You wish to regain your ship, I say bravo! By all means, let us go and fetch it. But all this nonsense about trips to the southern pole, and returning the world to what it was?” Géroux shook his head. “Let us be frank. That is sheer lunacy.”
Cam’s frown deepened. “It is no madness,” he insisted. “The lord druid told us so himself.”
“Hear me out,” the lieutenant said, holding up a hand. “Let us say you are correct. We shall go with you and ensure the success of your mission, and all will be made well. C’est bien. But merely for sake of argument, let us suppose we do all this, the world remains as it is, and we return here in your fabulous airship.”
He discreetly glanced around to make sure they were not being overheard by the others, and lowered his voice.
“You, my friend, have shown your mettle,” Géroux said. “You would be a welcome addition to our colony, a man of honor and great courage. And your ability to speak the language of the natives will perfect our efforts to direct day-to-day operations here, and teach them to speak proper French. Your Nubian also seems most intelligent. He would make a fine overseer. And I trust I do not have to point out our obvious lacking.”
“Sir?”
“The women, of course! We have no white women here. Surely you would not condemn our fledgling colony to devolve into a petty-state of mulattoes and quadroons? All our French blood spent within but a few generations? These women of the tropics are pleasing, to be sure, supple and agile as fish, but delightsome as they are, we need wives, not concubines.”
Cam struggled to keep up with the flow of unfamiliar words and unpleasant ideas.
“Here is all I propose,” the lieutenant continued. “At least let the women stay with the colony for safekeeping, while we go to find your ship and complete your mission. They will be perfectly safe—on that I give you my word of honor as a military officer of the French Republic.”