The Time Travel Directorate (5 page)

The rain
was now falling down in unrelenting waves, but instead of the executioner moving towards her, the tall guard from before reappeared next to tumbrel. As he walked towards the scaffolding, he waved the executioner away.

Kanon
watched his movements carefully as he mounted the scaffolding. Walking towards her, he bent down. Staring into her eyes, he winked. Kanon swallowed heavily—she must be hallucinating. He seemed calm, assured—as if this was all a bit of fun, and he wasn’t really going to lop her head off.

Kanon
looked at him expectedly as he studied her. At length, he spoke.

“
Have you gotten your wrists loose?” he asked softly—a strong American accent pervasive.

Kanon
felt her stomach lurch.

“You
’re from headquarters,” she whispered, her body limp with relief.

Who was this
inspector? She had never seen him before. Kanon’s heart fluttered with the possibility of rescue. He lifted her out of the cart as easily as if she were a rag doll. Placing her firmly on the scaffolding, he bent towards her.

“You’ll
know the signal when you see it,” he said casually, “hold your wrists together to maintain the illusion.”

He turned, pulling her toward the guillotine.
The torrent of rain had just begun to dwindle, and the mob looked on in silence at the woman standing before them. Kanon realized her unorthodox exchange with Julius in English might have something to do with their altered state.

“Follow my lead,” he whispered, placing her face down on the plank and moving away to stand next to the executioner.

He neglected to tie her down, but if the executioner noticed he didn’t say anything.
Kanon felt her body vibrate with anxiety, watching as the executioner advanced, shifting the plank forward to await the sharp blade of the guillotine. In the dim silence that followed, Kanon belatedly realized the rain had stopped. She took it as a sign.

Too
quickly she heard Julius bark a command. Was this the moment? Or the signal? In a panic, she wrestled her hands free, gripping the plank as the executioner moved to pull the cord.

Just before he
did, Kanon felt a push so violent, she flew off the plank and tumbled forward off the platform. Landing in a heap, she looked around, realizing she was back in the cart. Dazed, she whipped around, watching as the inspector kicked the executioner on the plank—pulling the cord to release the guillotine blade.

The crowd erupted in screams
as the executioner panicked—trying to scramble off the plank. But he was too slow, the blade sliced off his head with a sickening thud.

The next few moments were a blur. As Julius tri
ed to extricate himself from the balcony, the inspector took the executioner’s head from the basket and tossed it to the crowd. The distraction was ingenious, the mob clamored to snatch it, the distraction blocking Julius’ guards from reaching the scaffolding.

He moved with
purpose, jumping off the platform and running past Kanon—still ensconced in the cart. She began climbing out when he barked at her.

“Stay inside.”

He mounted the horse attached to the cart, bringing the powerful steed to life. Kanon held on as they charged forward through the crowd. Turning, she watched pandemonium erupt behind them. Julius had made his way down from the balcony and was hopping around like a flea, shouting orders and screaming at his guards. Kanon hoped her rescuer had a plan, ideally, a working web with endpoints to get them the hell out of there.

As they
pounded down the Paris streets, Kanon began to worry about the construct of the tumbrel, which after shaking badly from the full gallop of the horse was now beginning to break apart. Before she could alert him, he turned abruptly, maneuvering the cart onto a side street.

The inspector
leapt off his mount and detached the horse from the cart.

“Here, quickly
,” he ordered, lifting her out of the tumbrel and over to the horse.

“What are we
. . . ”

He threw her up onto the
saddle with such force that Kanon’s teeth chattered. Quickly taking up position behind her, he readied the reigns.

“I hear them
,” she said nervously, craning her neck around to look.

“They’ll have to keep up then
,” he snapped, bringing the horse into a gallop.

“Do you have your web?” h
e cried as they as they fled through an undetermined number of roads and passages.

“Yes,
hidden under my skirts,” Kanon shouted back.

She didn’t hear his
muffled response, but she felt like it was sarcastic. For some unexpected reason, she felt herself smiling. She hadn’t been around Americans for quite some time—she forgot how much she missed them.

They were almost to the main road leading to Versailles when he pulled
their steed to a halt. He turned to her in the saddle.

“I think the fall from the horse is enough
,” he said, judging the distance to the ground confidently.

Kanon
was not as assured, looking at the space dubiously.

“
I usually give myself a few more feet.”

“
I have an idea, let’s ask Julius to arrange a better location,” he said sarcastically.

He pulled
his web from the inside of his coat and shook it loose.

“
Well, when you put it like that,” Kanon replied, reaching under her skirts to remove her web. “I’m assuming you have my endpoint programmed.”

“
All taken care of, Inspector Hay.”

“Where
are we going?” she asked.

Wrapping his web around him
, he paused to study her.

“Who are you?”
she asked, wondering at his confidence—surely a mark of a seasoned inspector, one that obviously had been in the field, and not gossiping with the Duchess.

He gave her a half smile before responding.

“My name is Vin Damato. I’m the new guy.” He looked down at her reading pane and pushed the red button, “Ladies first,” he said succinctly, pushing her backward off the horse.

Kanon
instantly moved to cushion her fall, before feeling the familiar pulse of the web, the sensation of falling. When she went to feel the ground, there was only the rushing sound of wind, and when she next opened her eyes, she was no longer in the French countryside.

Kanon pulled the web from her, surveying her surroundings. The mountainous landscape was populated with a lone shack located several yards away. She judged the time to be early evening, as evidenced by the melting sunset.

Standing
, Kanon let out a heavy sigh. There was no angry mob in pursuit, no guillotine. She was safe. Sensing movement behind her, she watched as Vin appeared. He whipped the web off before tucking it firmly into his trousers. She meant to thank him immediately before he gave her a curt once-over.

“
Well, it’s clear to me you’ve been shut up in tea and cakes for too long.”

“Excuse me!”
Kanon flew to her defense, her relief at being rescued overcome by his condescension.

He
smiled at her, as she tried to keep her anger in check.

“I’ll be the one giving orders here,
” she began.

Incredulously, he started chuckling, his entire body shaking with laughter.
If he weren’t so handsome, Kanon would have slapped him immediately.

Blushing, she tried to exert control over the situation.

“What’s more, I have some important information regarding Julius Arnold—you know, the man who just tried to kill me.”

“
Don’t waste your time,” Vin responded, walking past her towards the shack. “I’ve already let them know you’ve been rescued.”

“
Rescued? Is that what you thought this was?” Kanon tried to yell, but she was hungry, exhausted and shivering from the chill of the altitude.

Her voice must have
wavered because he paused, looking back at her before softening his expression.

“You think
we’d leave the boss’s daughter to the tender mercies of Julius Arnold? Of course not.”

He
turned and continued walking into a small courtyard—calling out a greeting to the occupant inside the humble shack.

Kanon
followed quickly, wondering what this place was and why he was so familiar with it.

“So you know about Julius
Arnold?” she asked, trailing behind him. “What is this place?” she added, studying the courtyard in confusion.

“Everyone
knows who Julius Arnold is,” Vin responded, “And this is training camp. I was on strict orders to bring you here. It isn’t safe at headquarters, and you’ve never been through formal instructor training.”

Kanon
felt the impact of his last statement. His perfect grasp of events angered her. It was bad enough she had been left to rot in the French revolution. Now she had to suffer the indignity of being lectured by a new inspector. She felt her temper slip once again.

“
Who gave those orders?” Kanon asked, realizing the answer before the words left her lips.

“
Your father, of course.” Vin gestured towards the door of the structure. “After you,” he said, studying her with open curiosity.

Kanon
felt the adrenaline from her recent escape slip away. After the extravagant court lifestyle of Versailles, she realized those few moments of action were exhilarating. It was like taking a drag of a cigarette after abstaining for years.

If
Vin sensed this, he made no mention of it. He continued to stare—as if she were both intriguing and repulsive to him. Kanon revised her earlier opinion of him. Vin Damato was just another arrogant inspector. They were all like that.

“Come on
,” he said, gesturing inside.

Before she could enter,
a monk appeared in the doorway, his shiny bald head contrasting with the darkness now closing around them.

“Who is he and what is thi
s place?” Kanon demanded, firmly annoyed.

“
You come to complete your training,” the monk responded, looking at her with the laser-like focus of a man many years his junior.

“
I just can’t believe it,” Vin said, looking amused. “How is it that you never completed inspector training?”

“Of course I did,
” Kanon responded, wondering how a shack in the middle of nowhere constituted training.

This struck
Vin as funny—he began laughing uproariously. Kanon felt herself blush as the monk gave her a sidelong glance.

“Ah, I see,” she finally replied, realizing there were some things her father kept from her. “It is clear I was shielded from a few realities, shall we say, of inspector training. That does not mean you can make a joke of me.”

“You shouldn’t even call yourself an
inspector!” Vin cried. “And to think, they sent you into one of the most highly regulated areas!”

Kanon
glared at him.

“Inspector
Damato. Has it occurred to you that I was sent there specifically because of my talents? How did you put it? Tea and cakes? You think it is amusing, but I know how effective female persuasion can be. Maybe one day you’ll understand this.”

“
Perhaps,” Vin responded nonchalantly.

Sobering, he entered
the shack.

“Or maybe not,
” Kanon replied to herself, studying the monk.

They must have made a funny picture
—her in an elaborate 18
th
century gown and him in a simple robe.

“
I’m Inspector Hay,” she finally offered, giving the curtsy she was so accustomed to.

“You call me
teacher,” the monk replied succinctly, gesturing to a pile of garments near the washbasin.

“
Change.”

Frowning,
Kanon walked over to the basin. Dropping her web to the ground, she began divesting herself of her gown and layers of undergarments, grunting with effort as she did. She usually had servants to assist her. Without them, she tore at the laces and buckles, removing the layers of court extravagance that were de rigueur for her life at Versailles.

Washing hastily, she
felt like a trainee in the military.

I
didn’t join the Directorate for this nonsense,
she thought, putting on the loose garments laid out for her. They were obviously for a mid-century Chinese laborer. She felt perfectly ridiculous.

“And so the pendulum swings
,” Kanon voiced to herself, holding her gown in her hands, unsure as to what to do with it.

The voluminous folds and heavy fabric seemed
almost foreign to her, when so recently it had been a comforting part of her daily routine. She balled the gown up with the web. Turning, she entered the shack.

They certainly
appeared comfortable—the monk was busy preparing food while Vin poured himself wine from an elaborately decorated gourd. Sitting herself down, Kanon looked at Vin intently.

“
Please start from the beginning—who you are and how you came to rescue me. I’m owed that much at least.”

Vin
didn’t respond at once. He took his time taking a long drink before wiping his chin and giving her a look of extreme patience.

“A
s I told you, my name is Vin Damato. I joined the Directorate as an analyst.”

“
Analysts can’t be inspectors,” she said, eager to hurt him in some way.

As he colored in embarrassment,
Kanon reveled in her success.

“I’m sorry, I thought you asked me to explain?” he snapped. 

“
I’m sorry,” she said, not meaning any of it. “I didn’t mean to imply that you are somehow incapable, it is clear that I am in your debt. You saved my life, thank you. I just find it interesting that they are allowing analysts to become inspectors.”

Vin
studied her for a few moments, and Kanon felt herself blushing. Even with scrubbing her face clean, she must have looked terrible.

“You find it interesting, well I find you
equally compelling,” Vin responded, filling his cup with more wine.

“O
h?” asked Kanon, realizing he was still angry with her about the analyst comment. She smiled, accepting the challenge. “Go on.”

Vin
fixed her with a stare.

“
You entered the Directorate as an inspector straight out of school, not based on talent—but because of your father. You have no formal inspector training, but despite this, you were sent to hobnob with aristocratic ladies of the Versailles court. As for me? I put myself through school, taking the lowest position at the Directorate as an analyst. And then it was only a matter of luck that I got to travel because of the clusterfuck that is our legislative system. And it was only because your father, the one that shut you away in France for the past five years, begged me to.”

He
finished, downing a glass of wine in one swig.

Kanon
sat in silence, focusing on the gentle clink of the dishes the monk was preparing. It was a nice distraction from his speech—saying things she never thought would be spoken aloud, especially not to her. Her unique status as the Director’s daughter had never been thrown in her face quite so brutally.

Vin
was toying with the wine gourd, not looking particularly bashful after his hurtful statements. She swallowed heavily before responding.

“
If there was training I missed as an inspector, I’m determined to set that right. But you must understand, I’ve been in the field for the past five years.” She felt close to tears, trying to get her emotions under control, she continued, “I need to know any news on what’s to become of Julius Arnold. I want to help,” she finished.

“Not for me to decide,
” Vin replied, although Kanon detected a slight pause.

The monk brought over dishes of rice and vegetables. After relieving the firs
t pangs of hunger, Vin continued, “I can tell you that the investigation is ongoing. We don’t expect Julius to stick around much longer in France. It’s clear the man has an extensive network—he’s built up personas in many locations.”

“I
mpressive research for a new inspector. You must be a natural for it,” Kanon replied, changing tactics.

If he
wasn’t going to give her information due to a sense of duty, perhaps he was susceptible to flattery? Kanon was an expert in this field, having perfected the art of sweet-talking during her time with the Duchess.

Vin
grunted in response, applying himself to the food.

“
Tell me how you became an inspector?” she cooed.

He looked at her blankly,
clearly reluctant to tell her more.

“It was Chief Smiley’s
idea,” he responded shortly.

“Ah, and by virtue
of you being an analyst,” Kanon pieced together, “you aren’t subject to the blanket travel restriction. So then who is going to track down Julius?” she asked, fearing the answer as Vin straightened.

He
looked up from his rice bowl with a smile.

“
Yours truly, Inspector Hay.”

“How is she?” Director Hay asked.

Despite the
intensity of his gaze, Vin maintained his composure. A few short hours had elapsed since Vin’s meeting with Director Hay—however, his training amounted to almost two years spent in the past. It was a startling revelation, one in which Chief Smiley had warned him about.

Seeing
Vin’s dazed state, Chief Smiley decided to interject.

“
Inspector Hay is fine. Vin has been through a lot, sir. I think it’s pertinent to mention our Post Travel Syndrome services.”

“
Yes, yes,” Director Hay echoed, coming to life again after affirming that his daughter was safe.

Chief Smiley
rambled on while Vin studied the changing pictures of Kanon on Director Hay’s photo pane.

She looked so different from those photographs
. In person, Kanon was more refined—ladylike. Vin wondered how long it had been since Director Hay had seen her. His little girl was not so little anymore.