Sunder (31 page)

“I know Annis bragged to Garrick that she would send the Dane prisoner after me,” she said through bared teeth. “I know Annis told me personally that she intends to see me dead. I know the town will be basically empty of men tomorrow. I know Thorstein has a set of jailer’s keys he has no business with, and I know he is staying home from the hunt tomorrow for no good reason.”

At her last sentence, Selwyn’s annoyed expression froze. “He’s not going?”

“No.” She shook her head slowly. “He said he wasn’t, and when Sigbert asked him why not, he caught an attitude.”

Selwyn leaned against the table next to him, the one Cædda had only two nights ago laid her out on. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, the bristle of his beard making a scratching sound.

“He’s a sweet boy. It’s true he was embarrassed at the rejection, but he is not a murderer. He still loves you; that’s obvious. I don’t know why he’s staying home from the hunt, but I know you’re wrong.”

“What if I’m not?” Her chin quivered uncontrollably and she could barely get her words out. “I didn’t see it coming when I– when I came here. I can’t– I can’t deal with this again.” She sank to her knees, her hands moving in tandem up to her crumpling face as the sobs spilled forth. Her throat would not work well enough to explain all that she wanted to, how afraid she was, how the thought of dying—even of natural causes—terrified her to the point of hyperventilating. Bent over as she sobbed on her knees, she could see nothing of Selwyn but his feet, and they did not move one inch.

She looked up at him pleadingly, her vision blurred by tears. “Please help me, Daniel. Please.”

Though he did not bend to comfort her, his face was softened by pity, those icy blue eyes taking on a warmer hue in the flickering candlelight. He clenched his teeth briefly before stepping away from the table, reaching behind him as he did so. He produced a short, thick blade—its edge so sharp Isabella could see its lethality even in the flickering candle light.

“Here. I can’t have you walking around town with a bow and quiver, Isabella. If it comes to it,” he held out the hilt to her, “just give the bastard a good poke in the carotid artery. Don’t fiddle about trying to get his heart. Bleed him like a pig and let his own heartbeat do the work.”

Isabella’s hand shook as she reached out and took the knife. She clutched it to her chest, knowing full well she was going to have to use it.

“Don’t show him you have it until absolutely necessary,” Selwyn warned. “And if it comes about, don’t you dare say you got it from me.”

“I should have just gone to Thetford,” she whispered to herself, lowering herself to the ground to take the pressure off her throbbing knees.

“You’d be dead already if you had,” Selwyn said quietly. “Coming from where we do, it’s a rough adjustment—living here.” He put a hesitant hand on her shoulder, his calluses scratching against the fabric of her dress. “It’s true what they say about life in the dark ages, you know: nasty, brutish, and short. You and I once took it for granted we would die as old people in our beds, but we have no such assurance now. I’ll help you how I can, Isabella; but I can’t guarantee that either of us will live even to see tomorrow. Life is worth fighting for, young lady. But don’t feel it is something you’re owed.” He turned away from her and reseated himself on his stool, the joints in the wood as well as his bones creaking in the effort of it.

She wiped her face, feeling both ashamed for her suspicions about Thorstein and a violent conviction that they were true. She didn’t know what to expect for tomorrow when she was left alone in a walled city with people who meant to kill her—if Annis would even wait that long to strike.

“Can you think of a safe place for Saoirse and her baby to sleep tonight?” she mumbled out, rising awkwardly to her feet. “I’m afraid the Dane will come while we’re sleeping.”

“Send her to my house,” Selwyn reached for his heavy book again, blowing some dust off the cover. “Her reputation is already tainted, so it won’t do any harm. But if you intend to keep your newly minted good name, you had best find somewhere else to sleep.”

She nodded and opened the door to the armory, sighing when she saw the snow had started up again. “Thank you, Selwyn,” she said sincerely.

His only response was that same wrist flick he had given her that day in the fairy circle, and it filled her with a somber fear. She had been so sure she was doing the right thing when she came back to Shaftesbury, and now as she headed toward the kitchen with an agonizing limp, she wondered now if she had not misinterpreted what God wanted for her. Had she listened to her own mind instead of His?

Father, please help me hear you,
she silently implored.
Please let me be wrong about Thorstein. I have been wrong about so many things. I beg you for me to be wrong about him.

20

There was no more pleading, no more crying. Shannan’s heavy exhale and drooping shoulders told Alfredo that the drug had reached her brain. The exact name of the chemical concoction he had injected her with eluded him, but it was universally known as “Tell-All.” Of course the substance was meant to be restricted only to military and intelligence agencies, but Alfredo was owed favors by a great many powerful men; he kept a small contingent of the fool-proof drug just in case he should need it.

“You’re a bad person,” Shannan raised her eyes lazily, settling them on Alfredo’s face with a detached finality. “I always knew you had the potential to go either way. But I thought if I was nice to you, if
someone
bothered to help you, then the good in you would win.” She paused, blinked, seemingly trying to choose her words before hissing out, “I hate you.”

Possibly the first truly honest thing she’s ever said in her life.
When injected with Tell-All, there was no possibility of choosing your words. The parts of your brain that allowed for tact were the same ones that controlled lies. If she had said those words to him when he was nineteen, they would have wounded him beyond reason. But now as he looked at this sad little girl cuffed to a chair, completely at his mercy, he felt nothing.

Because the drug was so powerful, it was important to ask simple, direct questions. To ask something broad or imprecise meant you would have to listen to absolutely every thought in your subject’s head, and he was pressed for time.

“Where did you find Isabella?”

Shannan’s mouth twitched back and forth, her lips pressed in a thin white line, and Alfredo was torn between admiration and irritation as he watched her try to fight the truth. She knew she had been drugged, but she couldn’t possible know how futile it was to fight the effects.

“Shaftesbury, England.”

Alfredo smiled. No one, not spies or con artists or even people with psychological identity disorders could overcome a dose of Tell-All.

“On what date did you encounter her?”

It was the last question he would ever have to ask. Just one little answer, and all this would be over.

She opened her mouth, and as her lips began to move, a loud buzz echoed through the cell, overwhelming Shannan’s voice. Her brief response—those words Alfredo so desperately needed to hear—was completely drowned out by a loud, all-consuming buzz, the one announcing the cell door had opened.

His face contorting, Alfredo stepped back from Shannan and swung around, growling in rage. “I told you not to come back in here until I called you. Get out!”

He was not prepared for what he saw in the glaring light of the cell. He had been so focused on Shannan, so sure he had total privacy. But while he had been bent over her, a cadre of masked security guards— ten at least—had entered the cell.

“Councilman Jaramillo, I’m going to ask you to step away from the woman, Sir,” said the man nearest to Alfredo. He, as well as the rest of the guards, stood still as death, clad in black from head to toe, with their weapons pointed directly at Alfredo’s head.

“What the hell is going on here?” he croaked out, the shock of a rifle in his face having winded him.

“Get away from her, Alfredo.”

Another voice, this one not muffled by a mask, rang out from behind the cluster of guards. It was a voice he recognized, and Alfredo shuddered—his head feeling light.

“Gabriel…whatever you think is going on, I assure you—” But his sentence faded away as the solid mass of guards parted to reveal Gabriel striding slowly toward him. The younger man’s face was drawn in anger, in indignation, and—most worrying—triumph.

“At 0213 you entered Launch Station 3 and entered your override code with the intent of illegal time travel,” Gabriel recited. “The cameras you thought you turned off recorded your every move, and those sensors you thought you disabled logged your DNA.”

The victorious look on Gabriel’s face lingered a moment longer, long enough for Alfredo to feel his mouth drop open, releasing a gasp of shock.
You can’t do this!

“Alfredo Jaramillo, you are hereby relieved of your position as director and CEO of Jaramillo-Diaz for gross abuse of authority pending a full-council review of your actions—”

“Wait a minute!” he screamed at Gabriel.

“You are also under arrest,” he raised his voice and came to a halt directly in front of Alfredo’s face. “…for assault, for false imprisonment, and for attempting to pervert the timeline.”

Those last three words chilled Alfredo from the inside out. How many times had he used that phrase to travelers? His eyes locked with Gabriel’s and he felt they were reflecting on the same idea: every last man or woman who had been charged with attempting to pervert the timeline was sentenced to death, and every one of those sentences had been handed down by Alfredo himself.

“Gabriel,” Alfredo whispered to his one-time protégé. “She will destroy everything you have ever loved. I am begging you, let this go. Please don’t be my Judas.”

His hurt mixed with anger as Gabriel gave a disgusted snort, shaking his head violently.

“
You
betrayed
us
, Alfredo. Over and over again. Whoever this is,” he jerked his head at Shannan, who was staring off into space. “She isn’t your concern any longer.” He gave one forceful blink, then slid his eyes over his shoulder. “Lock him in a cell, Comandante, with four guards posted outside.”

A flurry of hands pawed at Alfredo, clamping down on his arms, shoving him forward, pushing him out into the hall. As he struggled against them, Alfredo turned his neck as far as it would go, trying to look back into the cell. He only got a glimpse, one fleeting look, of Gabriel Ruiz standing alone in the cell with Shannan—the girl who knew everything about him, the one who could bring this whole world crashing down. The girl he had just injected with infallible truth serum.

***

Over the years, Gabriel had become well-acquainted with the flaws in Alfredo’s personality. He was arrogant of course, self-righteous, more than a little hypocritical. But as he looked at the tawny-haired girl in the chair, specifically the mottled purpling finger-shaped bruises around her neck, he was ashamed he had never seen a capacity for violence in his leader.
Former leader.

“Miss?” He maintained his position at the far end of the room, not wanting to frighten her out of her daze. “My name is Gabriel Ruiz, and I am acting president of Jaramillo-Diaz Travel and Compliance. I am going to remove the ties around your wrists.”

He spoke softly and in English to help put her at ease. Seated as she was, the inmate smock that was obviously several sizes too small barely covered her essentials, and she sat in an awkward, embarrassed pose. As he slowly approached her, he could see that she was shaking slightly and had goose bumps all over her legs and arms. His immediate instinct was to comfort her, to assure her everything would be all right, perhaps wrap his arms around her, warming the trembles away. But Alfredo’s warning, self-serving though it was, gave him pause. She was certainly young, and her freckles gave the impression of innocence, but it would remain to be seen whether she was dangerous.

Gabriel pulled a Leatherman out of his pocket and snapped out the cutting tool. Kneeling down in front of the girl, he reached over to cut the flex-cuffs from around her wrist. Her shaking increased and she turned her face away from him.

“It’s all right. You’re safe with me; I’m just going to remove your restraints. Are you in pain?”

“No, I’m just embarrassed because of this outfit and you’re so handsome.”

Her forthright answer caused his brow to lower in confusion. Such blunt honesty generally did not accompany embarrassment.
Had Alfredo…? No, surely he wouldn’t
.

Placing the Leatherman on the girl’s lap, Gabriel reached out with his right hand and gently, tenderly, turned the girl’s face back towards him, displaying the small puncture wound in her neck and a thin trickle of blood half dried onto her skin.
Damnit
.

“Alfredo gave you an injection?”

“Yes. I think it was truth serum.” Her voice took on a resigned tone.

He sighed, casting his eyes downward in utter annoyance at his gullibility.
He gave her Tell-All.
It was the only explanation. Alfredo wasn’t keeping this girl sequestered out of some danger she posed; it was because she had information he wanted. So many lies…

“What is your name?” he asked softly as he picked up the Leatherman from her legs, cutting the flex cuffs from both her wrists.

“Shannan Fitzroy.”

He nodded, careful to maintain eye contact, rather than letting his gaze drift down to her bare legs. “From what year have you come?”

“2073.”

He nodded, folding the Leatherman back into his pocket. So she was really a front-jumper. That much at least had been the truth. The full effects of Tell-All generally lasted about an hour, but it was not the drug in her veins that pressed Gabriel for time. In all likelihood, he had less than twenty minutes before the rest of the council arrived at the depot gates, and he needed incontrovertible evidence of the need to permanently remove Alfredo from office before then.

The video and sensor readings would only be enough for a temporary suspension of presidential duties for Alfredo. To relieve him all together, to concur with Gabriel’s unusual step of sealing the depot and locking the council president in a cell, the council members must be convinced Alfredo’s continued leadership posed a danger to the Agency itself. In order to prove that, Gabriel needed to scour this girl’s knowledge about Alfredo; what did she know that scared Alfredo so badly?

“Why did you come to 2114?”

“Because Alfredo changed the timeline. I had to use Isabella’s retrieval device instead of my own; otherwise I wouldn’t exist outside of time anymore and then I would be just as screwed as everyone else, living in the wrong timeline with no way to fix—”

“Wait– stop!” Gabriel shouted at her, holding up his hand in front of her face as if he were a traffic cop. Whatever damning information he had been expecting, the confusing spill of information that had just come out of the girl’s mouth superseded any of his expectations. His mind screamed that what she said must be wrong. But she had been injected with Tell-All, so what she said could not be anything but true.

“Shannan, answer my question with a simple yes or no. Do you know for certain that Alfredo has done something to permanently alter the true timeline?”

“Yes.”

Absolute clarity descended upon Gabriel, and small pieces of information congealed in his mind, bringing forth a picture of the events that roused him from sleep.
A woman in her early twenties in dark ages clothing…

“Did you acquire this knowledge by encountering Isabella Jaramillo at some point in the past?”

“Yes.”

The bruises around her neck, the secretive way in which she had been locked in the cell, Alfredo’s hysteria at having been interrupted from his interrogation;
this is a personal matter…

“Did Alfredo inject you with truth serum to find out where and when you encountered Isabella?”

“Yes.”

“Did you come here with the intention of correcting the timeline alteration?”

She will destroy everything you have ever loved.

“Yes I did.”

She said the words so calmly, as if admitting to being late for a meeting or going a tad over the speed limit. Was it the drug that flattened her affect, or did the young girl really not understand the magnitude of what she had just said to him—the implications of what she had come here to do?

Through most of his adult life, he had recited the seven rules of the Agency to guest travelers, requiring verbal confirmation of understanding and a signature from each traveler he escorted over the years.  When he recited the seventh rule to his travelers, he always made sure they understood how seriously he took it:
At all costs, the timeline must be preserved.
Instead of just asking them if they understood, Gabriel went one step further.
Before you sign,
he would say to them,
make sure you understand the full implication of the phrase ‘at all costs.’
Sometimes, those who disobeyed—those who had been charged with attempting to pervert the timeline—had lost their lives. The words Shannan had so casually tossed out branded the timeline he had killed to protect as a lie.

“All right, now listen very carefully, Shannan.” Swallowing hard, Gabriel rubbed his eyes with hands, trying to wipe the faces of those he sentenced to death from his memory. “I want you to tell me exactly what happened from the moment you departed from 2073 until I walked into the cell. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Gabriel,” she smiled at him as she spoke. “I understand.”

Forty-two minutes later, the door to Gabriel’s office flew open with a bang, the top-most hinge splintering out of the wood from the force of the kick. Gabriel did not flinch at the noise. He remained slumped in his desk chair, holding a picture of Reyna in his hands.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Councilman Carlo DiMarco’s bald pate gleamed with sweat, and even across the room, Gabriel could smell every exhaled waft of uncleansed morning breath from his portly colleague.