by Kit Morgan
Mitzi shook her head. “Wish I did.”
He drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair. “Most puzzling.”
“You can say that again,” she agreed without thinking.
To her surprise, the couple got up and sat on either side of her. “You’ve come a long way,” Andel said. “We spoke last night, and decided to allow you to stay for as long as you like. We have no idea why you’re here, but we have an idea how you came to be here.”
“Really?” she laughed. “’Cause I’d sure like to know.” Uh-oh. She didn’t want to appear like she was cracking up.
Andel nodded to himself and looked at his wife, who nodded back. “Mitzi, we know a couple. A Scotsman and his wife …”
Alarms went off in her head. “What? Wait, a Scotsman?”
“Yes. They are …” He glanced at his wife again. “… able to travel through time.”
Mitzi’s eyes rounded to saucers as a chill went up her spine. Oh, no – could it be? She took a deep breath as she put things together. “Their names wouldn’t happen to be Dallan and Shona, would they?”
“Yes,” the couple said, shocked.
Mitzi covered her mouth. This was the breaking point – was this real, or a hoax? “They came into Java King …” She knew she needed to explain that. “… where I worked at my other job. It’s a café. They said they were in town on business.”
“What kind of business,” Andel asked.
“I don’t know. Albert and I tried to guess …”
“Is Albert your betrothed?” Maddie asked.
“No, no, we just work together at the café. I don’t have a betrothed.”
“Ah, I see,” Andel said.
“I don’t,” Maddie said sharply. “None of this tells us why this young woman is here.”
“But now we know who’s responsible, who we can ask.” He turned back to Mitzi. “How long before you came here did you see them?”
“Earlier that day. And several times before that.”
Maddie sighed and turned to Andel. “Scouting?”
“Perhaps.”
“What do you mean, scouting?” Mitzi asked. “Are you saying they were casing the place?!” Good grief, had they kidnapped her? They seemed like such a nice couple …
“I do not know what you mean by ‘casing’,” Maddie said. “But rest assured, if you were brought here by Dallan and Shona, it would be for your own safety.”
Mitzi blinked in confusion. “My safety?!”
Andel stood. “There’s no need to get upset …”
“Isn’t there?” Mitzi said, her voice going up an octave. She cleared her throat and took a few deep breaths. “Look, I can almost believe I’m in the 19th century. But why would anyone want to bring me here on purpose? And how would it be for my safety? What’s that all about?”
“Please, calm down,” Maddie urged. “The MacDonalds are good people. They wouldn’t bring you here to harm you.”
“Really?” Mitzi said defiantly. “Then why would they bring me here?”
Maddie looked at Andel and sighed. “We don’t know.”
Asger noticed the cluster of guards gathered outside the throne room and quickened his pace. Either his parents had tossed everyone out, or Hal had tripled the guard. He hoped it was the former and not the latter. Increased guards meant trouble was either brewing or had already boiled over.
“Your Highness,” one of the guards said as he saw him approaching.
“What’s going on in there?” he asked before he reached them.
“Her Majesty is interrogating the prisoner,” another guard said.
“What prisoner?” Asger looked at each of them in turn. “Well?”
“The young lady, Your Highness,” the first guard said.
Asger froze, his back rigid as every nerve came alive. “She’s in there?” He stepped toward the doors.
“Yes, Your Highness,” the head guard said with alarm. “But Her Majesty does not wish to be disturbed.”
Asger stared at him, jaw tight. They couldn’t keep him from entering – he was the crown prince, after all – but he did respect his parents. Still, he couldn’t quell the growing sensation in his gut that he must go to Mitzi. Like a moth to a flame, she drew him and the mere thought that she was on the other side of those doors was almost too much. “I believe I should be involved in this.”
“Can it not wait, Your Highness?”
“No.” Asger marched to the doors, opened one and stepped inside.
Mitzi was seated on the steps of the dais, between his parents. His mother held her in her arms and as he got closer, he saw why. The woman was crying. Pain struck his chest, and he fought to keep from doubling over. “What’s this?” he groaned as he straightened and continued his approach, but the closer he got, the more intense it became. Ach du lieber, what was happening?
He finally stopped about ten feet away, watching her weep on his mother’s shoulder. The sight tore his heart out, and not just that – he had the sudden sensation of loneliness, heartache, a longing he couldn’t begin to describe and wasn’t even sure was his. Was it … hers?
Mitzi raised her head and wiped her nose with his father’s handkerchief. Then she looked at him … oh! It was like being hit by lightning. Her expression changed from sorrow to pain and her hand went to her chest, just as his had a moment ago. They continued to stare at each other as a sharp pain ripped through his torso like a hot knife slicing him in two. It was all he could do to stand. What was happening to him, to her?
“Father? Mother?” he finally croaked.
His mother looked agonized, as if she could feel the pain too. Did she? But she only shook her head and nodded toward the doors behind him.
“No! I can’t go!” He took two steps forward, his eyes locked on Mitzi’s, and collapsed to his knees.
“Asger!” Father cried and was at his side in three long bounds.
“Father …,” he hissed, his arms around his belly.
His father knelt by him. “You’re ill.”
“I … I was fine a minute ago …”
Father glanced at Mitzi and back. “She is ill too. I’ll send for the physician immediately!” He stood and ran for the doors.
Asger was vaguely aware of the doors opening, his father’s hurried command, a commotion in the hall. But what stood out was Mitzi’s pain-filled eyes. Everything he felt in that moment was reflected in those brilliant blue orbs. He felt his heart break, just before blackness overtook him.
Halden Kolbeck was an honest, forthright man. He was good at his job, was good with a sword and a pistol, and was very good at getting information out of prisoners. But this one was proving to be … difficult.
“I swear, I’m not a spy!” the young man tied to a chair for interrogation cried. He was gangly, hardly a scrap of meat on him, but what he lacked in fat or muscle he made up for with his tongue. “I want to speak to the embassy!”
Hal arched an eyebrow. Perhaps they should have fed him first. He’d probably spout less gibberish if they got some food into him.
“I’m not an action hero or a terminator, you gotta believe me! I’m just an ordinary nerd!”
Hal exchanged a look with Lieutenant Wilks. “How long has he been doing this?”
“Since we captured him, sir.”
“Hm.” Hal watched the young man struggle against his bonds and walked over. “You must be parched.”
“Parched … oh, you mean thirsty?” He nodded vigorously. “Yeah, I could kill for a large latte … er, not literally! It’s just an expression!”
Hal looked at Wilks, who could only shrug. “Get the man some water.”
“Yes, sir.” Wilks went to a bucket hanging on the wall, grabbed a ladle off a nearby nail, dipped it in the water and brought it to the prisoner who drank greedily.
“Not so fast, you’ll make yourself sick,” Hal warned as he circled the prisoner.
“Sorry,” the young man said between slurps.
Hal studie
d him. He looked like he hadn’t done a hard day’s work in his life. Was he a nobleman’s son? “Now, do you want to tell me what you were doing wandering around in the Queen’s Wood half-naked?”
“I want to speak with the American Embassy,” the young man replied, wide eyed, then broke into song. “My country ‘tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing. Land where my fathers died, land of the pilgrims’ pride … rats, I can’t remember all the lyrics!” He looked at them as if they were going to shoot him. “Um … oh, yeah! From every mountainside, let freedom ring!” He smiled, breathing hard.
“Well,” Hal said, “I think it’s safe to say he’s an American.”
“And I have the right to speak with my embassy! This is a violation of the Geneva Convention! I have my rights!” the man was sounding increasingly panicked.
Hal sighed. “Let him wear himself out,” he told Wilks in German. Good, the prisoner didn’t seem to understand him. “Then untie him, put him in a cell and feed him. After that, send for the royal physician. Looks like Prince Asger isn’t the only one to find someone speaking gibberish in the forest.”
“Or two spies,” Wilks replied, also in German.
Hal shook his head. “Why would Americans be spying on us? Americans who can’t speak our language?” Though maybe they knew Dutch – that was widely spoken here as well. Almost everyone in Dalrovia was bilingual, trapped between Germany and the Netherlands as they were. “Dus wat vind je van ons land?” he asked the prisoner. So what do you think of our country?
“What?” the prisoner replied – in English. “The wind in Iceland?”
Wilks rolled his eyes. “Do you think they know each other, this man and the woman the prince found?” he asked, switching back to German.
“I have no idea, but I intend to find out.” He nodded at the man in the chair. “Keep a close eye on him. For all we know this is some kind of elaborate charade. Who knows what this man and the women Prince Asger brought back to the castle could be planning?”
“He certainly doesn’t look like an assassin?” Wilks said as their skinny captive slumped in frustration.
“A man doesn’t have to be strong to wield a blade or pour poison in a cup, Lieutenant.”
Wilks nodded. “Yes, sir.”
Hal wagged a finger at him. “Don’t let him slip through your fingers.”
“I won’t, Captain,” Wilks said and saluted.
Hal turned on his boot heel and headed for the stairs leading up from the dungeon. The man wasn’t doing what enemies did when caught. They would use some tactic to throw him and whoever else was questioning them off the scent. This one only whined and begged to contact the American consulate. It didn’t make much sense. But then, nothing had the past few days.
He’d figure it out, though, one way or another. That was his job.
Chapter Eleven
Albert Golden kept demanding to speak with the embassy until the big officer giving him the stink eye turned and left the dungeon. And he was in a dungeon, wasn’t he? It sure looked like one, right out of an old horror movie. He half-expected Basil Rathbone to enter at any moment and demand they throw him on the rack, and he gulped every time the men in the room moved toward him. But now they seemed to be avoiding him.
He didn’t know what to do now – nothing in all those spy movies he’d watched over the years was paying off. He didn’t even have a rank and serial number to rattle off. Worse, when they weren’t asking him what he was doing there, they talked among themselves in what sounded like German. Oh, God, were they neo-Nazis. And here he was, half-Jewish! It wouldn’t matter that Dad had married a WASP and never visited synagogue except for funerals – he’d still be the untermensch to these guys!
His attempts to avoid being questioned wouldn’t last much longer. He was getting tired, and these guys were probably getting frustrated. Please, let them not be fascists!
The bigger question, though, was where was he? He’d been across the street from the Empire Casino when he saw a guy holding a purse run out of the building, down the sidewalk and into the side alley. Then Mitzi burst out the doors in hot pursuit. He didn’t know why he chased after them, other than he wanted to make sure she caught the guy. She wanted to be a cop so badly, and he was her friend – of course he wanted to help.
But when he reached the alley, he didn’t see any sign of her or the guy she was chasing, so went into the adjoining alley behind the casino. And that’s where things got weird – the back alley was full of white light and music blared from some unseen source. It wasn’t part of the music crawl, he was sure. And who were those two figures he caught out the corner of his eye? Then he saw Mitzi and forgot about everything else. He called her name, but the music was so loud he doubted she heard him …
Suddenly the concrete disappeared and he was walking on grass and dirt. He felt foliage brush against his legs. He lost all sense of direction and didn’t know where the alley walls were, where anything was. He thought he heard Mitzi scream, ran toward the sound and tripped over something, falling on his face and hitting something on the way down besides. When he came to, he wasn’t in Las Vegas anymore. He was in the middle of a forest, and he’d broken his glasses.
Half-blind and with a big lump on his forehead, he staggered to his feet and tried looking for Mitzi. Instead, he found a hunched little man with a horse-drawn cart covered in pots, pans, tin cups and other utensils. The guy looked like a picture he’d seen of his peddler great-grandfather in Poland, before he emigrated to America. The man offered him food, water … and promptly clobbered him with a big ladle. Great-Grandpa wouldn’t have done that.
When Albert came to this time, he was missing his polo shirt, shoes, socks and wallet. The man did leave him with a big floppy hat – perhaps he thought it was a fair exchange. It didn’t do him any good when the Civil War re-enactors showed up, a dozen men armed with antique pistols, bows and swords. They made short work of him, lashing his wrists behind his back and dumping him on the back of a horse, which did nothing for his allergies. He sneezed almost the entire way back to the castle.
Civil War … yikes, maybe these guys were Klansmen or some other sort of homegrown white supremacists! The Klan didn’t like Jews either, did they?
Regardless, he was definitely no longer in Vegas. He was tied to a chair in a stone-walled dungeon (albeit a clean, dry one) and wondering what fate awaited him. And he still hadn’t found Mitzi. Where could she be? If he landed in those woods, she must have as well. But did he dare try to talk sense to these … guys? White supremacists weren’t exactly known for responding well to logic.
Okay … focus on what he did know. He was nowhere near Las Vegas – the Southwest had no forests like this, and neither did the Sierra Nevada Mountains. Yosemite? Colorado? Hard to say from in here. There hadn’t been any threats against him – why would there be? He was just a barista – so he must’ve been nabbed at random. His captors spoke German or something close to it, and didn’t have any modern weaponry, not even a Glock.
It didn’t add up to anything.
Albert sighed. This all left aside the big question: would Adolf and his Klan buddies believe him if he told them that less than twenty-four hours ago he chased his friend Mitzi down an alley, through a white light and into their forest? Shoot, he didn’t believe it – why would they? He could only hope they didn’t kill him.
“Asger? Asger, can you hear me?”
Mitzi sat slumped in a chair, feeling horribly ill, exhausted, empty, lost … ugh. And it had all hit within seconds. Was she sick? Had she been shot by the man she was chasing down the alley into the white light? Was she in a coma? To heck with all this time-travel nonsense – being in a coma in the hospital made more sense. She was dreaming, yes …
“Asger!” his father repeated.
She opened her eyes. Nope, not a dream. Asger was lying on a couch with his father kneeling beside it, his son’s hand in his. He gently patted Asger’s face. “Asger?”
The man’
s eyes blinked open. “Father?”
Andel sighed in relief. “Thank the Lord.”
“Asger, are you all right?” Maddie said behind the couch. “What happened?”
“I don’t know. I felt fine when I came in …” His eyes drifted to where Mitzi sat, and he waved tiredly.
Mitzi waved back. Had he been shot too? Were they both in comas? She frowned. No, that theory didn’t hold up.
He struggled to a sitting position. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah. No.” She wasn’t in as much pain, though. But it still didn’t explain what happened, or why he looked like he felt what she did. She sat and stared at him, waiting. Did he know? He’d been looking at her the same way she was looking at him, right before he passed out.
Asger put his hand on his father’s shoulder and levered himself to a standing position. “Can I help?”
She shrugged. Actually, it seemed to help just that he was here.
He grabbed a chair and dragged it over, sat and stared at her. “That hurt.”
She swallowed hard. “It did. What was that?”
“You don’t know?”
“Nope. You got some weird Dalrovian fairy magic, maybe?”
“They’re sick, Andel, both of them,” Maddie said. “Oh, where is Dag?”
“Dog?” Mitzi said.
“Dag von Linne, the royal physician,” said Asger, not taking his eyes off hers.
She looked into them, noticed how blue they were, the dark inquisitive eyebrows, the high cheekbones. He was handsome, that was for sure. She touched her belly, then her ribs. The pain she’d felt earlier was gone. But what was different now compared to a few minutes ago?
He continued to gaze into her eyes and she into his. He held her with that look – it felt weird, but nice. Very nice, now that she thought of it.
“Do you … still hurt?”
She shook her head, then blinked, breaking the spell. “Wait a minute, how did you know I was in pain?”
He took a deep breath. “The look on your face.”