Odette Speex: Time Traitors Book 1 (16 page)

“What did he look like?”

“I didn’t see his face. That was odd enough. He was careful to keep his hat down. He was young though. His build was slight but strong. I’ve rarely seen anyone climb a tree faster.”

Sir Brandon’s comfortable face belied the impressive intellect behind it. As he sat smoking and staring into the fire, Ethan wasn’t fooled into believing his thoughts had drifted off.

“And you lost him.” It wasn’t an accusation, just a statement of fact.

“Yes. At the inn.” Ethan shook his head. “He must have gotten out before the search. Still, he had to be familiar with the inn… the area. But no one recognized my description, limited as it was.”

“And the two women… do you think they know anything?”

“I can’t imagine why they would hide knowledge of a boy breaking into the inn. But something is definitely strange there.”

And it had gotten stranger still as Ethan later watched Odette take London by storm. He was as astounded as everyone else by her dancing, but mostly by her strength and agility. Without him realizing it, an idea began to form in his mind. It lay dormant for a while, struggling against cultural norms and preconceived notions. Even now he could hardly credit it.

That night, however, Sir Brandon had merely pursed his lips and leaned forward to tap his pipe lightly against the stone hearth. “It’s probably nothing. Nevertheless, keep an eye on them. If indeed they come to London.” He leaned back again. “And this other matter. How goes it?”

“Educated men exchanging ideas… nothing more.” Ethan tried to keep the distaste out of his voice, but his employer wasn’t fooled and cocked an eyebrow at him. “They’re honest Englishmen,” Ethan voiced his frustration. “I don’t like spying on good men exercising their rights.”

“Good God, man, don’t you think I know it!” Sir Brandon expostulated. “But the King is worried. And better men than you or I have been fooled by ‘honest Englishmen.’ ”

So he had spent the last few weeks listening to edifying conversations that interested him not at all. He discovered the approximate arrival date for Benjamin Franklin—late July. Only to find that that gentleman had already communicated the information in a dispatch to the King’s Council.

His shadowing of Odette had yielded only very little more. He caught glimpses of the boy. Or, so he thought. It was hard to tell. It was always at night on heavily crowded streets in or around the Covent Garden area.

But now the idea he was beginning to believe was suddenly uncertain again. There had been a boy tonight. He had seen him. A boy that was strong enough to jump onto a moving carriage and dislodge a grown man… a boy who could melt out of sight without a trace. A boy Miss Mills felt obliged to protect.

Was it the same boy?

Ethan finally arrived at the location of the incident. The carriage had been removed and traffic was flowing without hindrance. Unlike Odette, Ethan was sure the gunshot had sounded before the blast. The explosion had been a diversion. He was certain. It was strong enough to startle the horses and rock the carriage. But that was all. He stopped suddenly and lifted his head as if sniffing the air.

It had rocked the coach, knocking the occupants to the floor! Out of gunshot range?

He was excited now. He was on to something. Ethan walked around looking at the ground. He found it. In a narrow alleyway several yards from where the carriage had finally came to rest, pieces of parchment with residue of wax. They smelled of gunpowder. The remnants of a squib, it was unmistakable. But the materials used to build this one were different than the ones he and his fellow soldiers had used to light canons. The parchment was red and the wax had a strange foreign scent.

He stood with his back to the alleyway. The street was now crowded with nighttime revelers who barely spared him a glance. He looked down at the parchment in his hand and felt the space between his shoulder blades constrict. Two opposing forces were at work here tonight. And he had no idea who they were.

Chapter 19

Night deepened and
the cool air moved in around her. She sat alone in the garden. Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and she could see the outlines of trees and benches, pots and birdbaths. Upon arriving home, Odette had stripped the bloodstained dress from her body and thrown it away from her. A pot of tea later, she was still angry. She was also very frightened.

She had no doubt that the bullet was meant for her. The midnight blue cloak had been a gift. Like all the others, it was left in her dressing room. She couldn’t remember if there was a card. It wouldn’t have mattered anyway, she paid them little heed.

She shook her head in disbelief.

Why? Except for the Wrights, no one could possibly know I’m not exactly what I appeared to be. Drake? He isn’t here yet
.

Since Odell had planned to accompany her, he had never once given her the exact date of their arrival. But he had been clear on one thing—Drake had moved in the highest circles, recruiting from the aristocracy. Although his true mission had been carried out in secret, his handsome visage still decorated the salons and ballrooms of the
ton
. She was sure to see him or, at least, hear of him. He wouldn’t have known her. Odell was adamant that Drake had never met her in the prime timeline, never even knew she existed.

Odette put her head in her hands. It didn’t matter anyway. Fancy could die, and it would be her fault—all her stupid fault.

She looked up again and sucked in her breath. Another shape had materialized in the darkness. He stood only a few feet in front of her. He wore the same black pajamas. She couldn’t see his face, and so was startled when he spoke.

“This is a peaceful place.” It was a boy’s voice just transitioning into manhood. His English was almost perfect, but she detected a very slight accent, an over-rounding of the vowels. It fit with the almond eyes and dark skin. He was Asian. Odette knew that at this time in history there were very few in London.

Her heart pounded hard against her chest. She stood and found him to be almost her height. “Who are you?”

“My name is Wu.”

“You saved my life.”

She felt rather than saw his gaze sharpen. “Our paths are intertwined. It is important that you live. I am not sure why.”

“Other than I value my life, does there have to be a reason?” she huffed with some asperity. Her nerves were stretched to breaking, and he had scared her.

She could see his features more clearly now and the rueful smile on his face. He ducked his head sheepishly, and she was suddenly reminded of Odell.

“The wounded girl—how is she?” he asked.

“Alive. For now.”

“Odette?” The candlelight from the doorway barely penetrated the darkness. It cast its light back onto Cara’s face as she held it out from her. “Who is that with you?”

“You had better come in,” Odette told him and walked toward the cottage.

Ever the proper hostess, Cara greeted Wu with herculean composure. “Ah, the boy from the coach. We’re very grateful for your intervention.”

Cara was wrapped in an elaborately embroidered silk dressing gown. She had wound a wide ribbon around her head. It pulled the hair back from her face and left her curls to cascade down her back. She had just finished her nightly routine, the application of a mysterious facial concoction that Odette was determined one day to steal. She was sure it would make her very wealthy.

Odette picked up another candlestick, and they turned to walk the few short steps to their tiny sitting room. With the additional light, Odette noticed a slight reddening of Wu’s complexion. She smiled to herself, reassured to observe that even this extraordinary boy was not immune to Cara.

The “cottage” was actually a collection of four separate rooms. It was built like a box with two rooms on top and two on the bottom. On the first floor were the sitting room and what passed for a dining room and kitchen. Just off the second story landing were two bedrooms bisected by a shared dressing room. The furniture was old and a bit shabby but clean. All the rooms were very small.

The sitting room was crowded with only a sofa, a low table, two chairs, and a writing desk pushed up against the window. A low fire burned in the grate where Cara had hung a kettle. She removed it now with a heavy mitt and poured the hot water into a china pot to brew the tea. She then sat down on the sofa and patted the cushion next to her, indicating that Wu should join her there. He nodded awkwardly, but his movements were graceful and fluid as he took a seat beside her.

“I believe an explanation is in order, ah… is it Mister Wu?” Cara smiled charmingly.

He cleared his throat. “Just Wu.”

Odette scrutinized him now in the light and thought he couldn’t be more than sixteen or seventeen. He was a good-looking boy with a strong jaw and intelligent eyes. A light dusting of dark hair on his head led her to believe that he typically kept it shaven. The black pajamas were well made but worn and dirty. He was very thin, and Odette could see his collarbones poking out from beneath the heavy cloth of his black jacket. His poise and self-contained demeanor couldn’t hide the fact that he must be very hungry.

“Before we go into all that, perhaps we could have some tea.” She walked over to the writing table where they had left a tray with the cheese, bread, and fruit that had served as their dinner.

“Yes, of course! Where are my manners?” Cara poured the hot liquid into cups.

Wu ate slowly but eventually polished off the entire tray. When finished he said, “I have been too busy to eat. That was very good. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Odette replied. “But now you really must tell us what happened tonight. Where are you from? Why did you help us?”

He rested his hands on his knees and closed his eyes. He opened them again almost at once and spoke succinctly, “I came to London with Master Yuan. He is a Buddhist monk. I have studied with him for many years. I was chosen very young to be a percept.”

“A percept?” Odette asked.

“We belong to a very unusual Buddhist sect. Our members live cloistered from the rest of the world. Our monastery is hidden high in the mountains. It is so that we can see more clearly. Our vision is not clouded by all this.” He waved his hand around as if to indicate the bustling metropolis of London. “A percept is one who is most closely connected to the cosmos. We feel or sense the world, the trees growing, the air shifting, the water flowing—all things.”

“How?” Cara asked, interested and skeptical at the same time.

Wu shook his head. “It is not easy to explain. Long years of training, but also one must have a natural ability as well. Master Yuan chose me because of that ability. He is the greatest percept our people have ever known. But he is very old.”

“Where is Master Yuan?” Odette asked.

He shook his head again. “I do not know. He has disappeared.” Wu was very still, and Odette could almost feel his struggle to center himself. He looked at her. “Master Yuan, and even I a little, has felt the world shift and twist. He told me that this has happened before, but now we must intervene. That is why we are here. We left our monastery many months ago, traveling under a false pretext.”

“What do you mean?” Cara leaned forward to refill his teacup.

“Master Yuan is a special envoy of the Chinese emperor. He is here to discuss the emperor’s displeasure with British smuggling of opium into China.”

Odette nodded knowingly. “Yes, I remember.”

He looked at her questioningly. “You remember?”

“Yes… I… ah,” she replied haltingly, “remember people speaking of it.”

He smiled and continued, “This concerns the emperor, but my master’s concern is greater. He feels the very fabric of time has been ruptured and only here, in London, can it be repaired.”

Odette’s mouth fell open. It was left to Cara to ask, “How does he know this?”

“It is as I have said,” Wu repeated patiently. “We feel it. My master can find the source of the rupture, but now he is gone. I have searched for him. But instead my path has brought me to you,” he addressed Odette. “And I know why.”

He looked at her calmly, and the silence stretched between them. Wu reached out and took her hand. She was enveloped in a sudden tranquility. Finally he said, “You do not belong here.” She felt a chill up her spine and unexpected tears filled her eyes. It was as if she had been released from bondage, and someone had finally given her a true name.

Cara broke the spell. “Well, if truth be told, neither of us belongs here.”

Wu released Odette and looked knowingly at Cara. “
You
belong here. But I explain it poorly. My master could make you understand. He is very wise.”

Odette stood and walked over to the fireplace. She was shaken by his words and puzzled by her reaction. Her mind raced.

A secret sect of Buddhist monks searching for the source of a time rupture! Here, in London
.

If this story could have gotten any more fantastical, she didn’t know how.

“It was when he left for a meeting with the Hindu mystic that my master disappeared.”

Odette threw her hands in the air. “Oh, good grief! You’ve
got
to be kidding me!” she exclaimed. “A Hindu mystic? And the baby Jesus? Surely he’s somewhere in the mix.” Wu looked at her startled, and she calmed herself.

“Now you know how I felt.” Cara nodded smugly. “Personally, Odette, I find it easier to believe there’s some supernatural element to all this than that scientific mumbo-jumbo Odell was spouting.”

Odette took a deep breath and pressed her fingers to her temples. “Okay. Well, then. Who is this mystic? Maybe we can start there.”

“I do not know,” he answered. “Master Yuan would not take me with him. He asked me to wait at our lodgings. Then he did not return. I was unsure whether to trust the authorities. So I scouted the places we had been together. I was never allowed in any of the meetings. But tonight I saw a man who I recognized. One I had seen leaving a house my master visited. I followed him and that is when I saw them.”

“Who?” the two women asked simultaneously.

“The assassins who attacked your coach.”

Odette barely breathed. “Assassins?”

Wu nodded grimly. “We train our bodies as well as our minds. Our methods are different, but I recognize one who is trained to kill.”

Cara walked over to Odette and put an arm around her.

“There were two,” he continued. “I saw the first fire a gun. That’s when I threw the blast stick.”

“You? You caused the explosion!” Odette exclaimed. “Are you always armed?”

He nodded. “Yes. Always. But not with your… uh… typical weapons.”

“I believe you. But why? Why cause an accident?”

“There were two. I recognized the formation. They came from different directions. The first shot was to be one of many. If the horses had not broken away and thrown you to the floor, your coachman would have opened the door to find you all dead. It would have been that quick.”

“And if you had not dislodged that man from the window…” Cara whispered.

They were silent, contemplating the unimaginable when Odette remembered. “Who were you following? Who did you recognize?”

“You know him. It was the man who walked you home tonight.”

*

Dawn was still several hours away when Odette exited the narrow alleyway and emerged onto Exeter Street. The dark lane was quiet and appeared deserted, yet Odette would have felt more secure in the relative safety of her boy’s clothing. Instead she wore a plain gray dress that any servant might don and had pulled over her head a rough woolen shawl.

Sleep had eluded her. After the revelations of the evening, her mind refused to rest. It ticked off her various mistakes and the many indulgences she had allowed herself. She had waited too long and thus been revealed to an unknown enemy. But she wasn’t the one paying the price. Not yet anyway.

She had finally thrown off the bedclothes and walked over to the window to look down into the peaceful garden. She wondered how many people were awake at this time. It would be few in comparison to the bustle and rush of mid-morning traffic, and the busy concentration of a workday afternoon. There was something sterile and pitiless about the dark morning hours. Maybe it was the transition from night into day. Transitions were dangerous—when one was always most vulnerable. She had once read that more people died in the few hours before sunrise than any other time of day.

It was this thought that had propelled her out into the gloom of predawn and turned her steps toward the doctor’s surgery on York Street. She stuck close to the shadows. Odette knew that a lone woman would attract the attention of either the night watchman, or worse, the inebriated “gentlemen” who wandered the streets in search of female companionship.

Only a few feet from her destination, she felt the hairs rise on the back of her neck.

“Do not be alarmed.” With cat-like grace, Wu fell into step beside her.

With her hand at her throat she said angrily, “Pistons and Coal Fire! Could you stop scaring the life out of me?”

“I am sorry,” he replied in his even, calm way that somehow infuriated her more. “But there was no easy way to let you know I had followed. It is rather,” he paused, searching for words, “an unsettling time of day, or would you say night?”

She pulled the shawl closer around her face. “That’s just it. It’s neither. Fancy may be in trouble.”

He nodded as if understanding her perfectly.

At the doctor’s door, Wu’s firm knock brought a light through the crack at its hinges and a woman’s voice, “Yes. Who is it?”

“It’s Odette Swanpoole, Mrs. Tannen. May I come in?”

The door opened to the haggard face of the doctor’s wife. “I was thinking of sending for you,” she said.

Odette stood motionless, dread making her bones weak. “Yes?” she whispered.

“Fancy is facing a crisis. It is good that you are here.”

“The doctor?” Odette asked, alarmed.

“My husband’s been called out.”

Mrs. Tannen’s exhaustion was evident in her unquestioning acceptance of Wu’s presence. She led them back into the exam room where Dr. Tannen had operated. Fancy lay on the table. She had been sponged clean and covered with a linen sheet and wool blanket. Her complexion was so pale it appeared one with the white pillow cover. Odette watched as shivers wracked her body. Her fevered mutterings eerily rose and fell like the chanting of monks.