Tempus Fugitive (7 page)

He was frantic to get away; he had to get back and find out what had happened to Tamar, get the Athame back and get the hell out of here.  Two young kitchen maids appeared, and made a fuss of him, which was not an altogether unpleasant experience, ‘if only they knew,’ he thought, amusedly.  But he had to focus, look for an open window – how could there not be an open window?  It was like a furnace in here.

 ‘Actually, it’s kind of comfortable,’ he thought. He was getting sleepy; he moved a little closer to the stove, ‘Ah, that’s it.’  He settled down with his nose on his paws and fell asleep. 

* * *

Tamar was wandering through the town. Asking for her cat did not seem like a smart move; neither did asking for her “ceremonial knife”, which, since it had undoubtedly been found by someone in Denny’s discarded clothes, would put her back in the river
tout de suite.

‘Where the hell is he?’ she muttered under her breath. 

She wandered through the streets until a red-faced man stopped her. ‘There you are wench,’ he snapped.  ‘Where have you been?  You’re late.’  And before she could stop him, he had dragged her into a tavern.  ‘Get to work, you lazy slut,’ he growled.  Obviously, he had mistaken her for someone else. Apparently she had inadvertently made herself look exactly like a girl called Sally. This was confirmed when the other barmaid, Lucy, called her by that name.  Since she did not want to draw undue attention to herself, she decided to go along with it, and hope that the real Sally did not suddenly turn up.

She had been balancing trays and schlepping backwards and forwards for six hours, putting up with insults, innuendoes, and inappropriate fondling, before she finally snapped. 

A large bearded man with a face like a boar and breath like a direct line from a sewer grabbed her and pulled her onto his knee, he slurred something at her with a gust of beery breath, and tried to kiss her. She had had enough; with a well-practised move, she stood up, and flipped him over her head. 

‘Pig!  – Keep your filthy hands off me, privy breath,’ she snarled.  The whole tavern was staring at her in silence. 
Uh oh
.

‘Witch!’ shouted a man, pointing at her.  Others took up the cry.

Here we go again.

She was hustled outside. Since it was dark, they lighted torches and marched her toward the town square, others joining the procession, bringing along pitchforks to prod her along with.  The witch pricker was awakened, and hurried along after them in his night-shirt. 

‘Twice in one day,’ she thought, ‘that’s got to be some kind of record.’

 They tore her bodice from her shoulders, and a loud voice was heard over the top of the crowd’s chanting.  ‘STOP!’  The crowd parted and Tamar saw a thin, pale, well-dressed man, ‘Let that woman go,’ he ordered.

‘But she’s a witch,’ protested the fat man, whom she had attacked.

‘Do you dare to defy me?  I said let her go.’ 

Reluctantly they stood away from her.  The man came forward.  ‘Come with me,’ he said, it did not sound like a suggestion. 

‘Thank you sir,’ said Tamar, ‘but …’

‘Come along now,’ reiterated the man.  ‘Do you want to be strung up?’ 

Tamar shrugged; she followed the man.

* * *

The man told her that his name was William Tracey and that he was the Squire in these parts; that is – he owned the land and most of the local people.  He asked Tamar her name – she told him it was Sally – and offered to put her in the kitchens.   

Since she had had enough of drudgery and had things to do, she considered declining, but it would seem ungrateful to a man of this type, not to mention, suspicious.  She would have a certain amount of freedom to search while being under William’s protection, and, as soon as she had found Denny, she could leave.    

He took her to meet the cook. While listening, or rather pretending to listen, to the interminable list of rules and instructions, her attention wandered, and she saw the cat, asleep by the fire.  The cook followed her gaze.  ‘Oh that’s Tinker, he’s a nice pussens – yes he is.’

‘Tinker?’ snorted Tamar, before she could stop herself.  ‘Poor Denny,’ she thought.  ‘What a come down.’

The cook bristled.  ‘What’s wrong with that?’ she demanded.

‘Oh, oh, no, nothing.  It’s just, I think that may be
my
cat, his name is D – Dodge.

 ‘
Your
cat?’ said William, interestedly. ‘So, you are the witch that was ducked earlier today?  And you survived I take it, so they tried to duck you again.  Am I correct?’

‘In a manner of speaking – sir,’ she said. 

‘Witch?’ exclaimed the cook.  ‘Sir I mean no disrespect, but I cannot have a witch in my kitchen sir, the girls …’

‘
Whose
kitchen?’ asked William, mildly enough.

The cook bobbed a curtsey, ‘Sir I …’

 He interrupted her. ‘Mrs. Trott, you know I do not approve of all this superstitious nonsense.  There are no such things as witches; this girl is no more a witch than I am.  I take it, you do not accuse
me
?’ 

‘Oh sir, you will have your little joke.’

‘I assure you, Mrs. Trott, I see nothing amusing in the murder of innocent women, in the name of religious intolerance, for that is what it is as I have tried to tell you.  These so-called witches are merely followers of the ancient religion of this country, although they themselves have forgotten it.  They are Pagans Mrs. Trott, nothing more. No matter what they, or you, believe, they no more have magic powers that that kettle.  Am I making myself clear?’

‘Yes sir.’

William looked at Tamar, ‘I do not believe I have convinced her,’ he said.  ‘Perhaps it would be better if you came with me for now.  There will be gossip no doubt, but nothing can prevent that anyway.  I sense that if I leave you here, you will have a hard time of it.’  He stalked away. Before she followed him, Tamar grabbed Denny, stifling the cook’s protest with the hardest look anyone had ever received.

* * *

Denny was asleep by the fire; William was questioning Tamar, and lecturing her on the folly of believing in witchcraft, which she found amusing at first, but then, increasingly tedious.  She was getting restless; she wished to be off, and the longer Denny was a cat, the harder he would find it to adjust to two-leggedness again. 

He told her that the people believed that their ancient religion was witchcraft because their lives were so dull and oppressed it gave them something to live for, some excitement, some rebellion.  Tamar yawned; she already knew all this, and she hoped he would take the hint and suggest they retire. When he did not, but continued to go on and on about ridiculous superstition, she was tempted to turn Denny back into a man, right there.  That ought to shut him up.  Not that she disliked him, she agreed with most of what he said, and the world would be a better place, if there were more men who believed in tolerance, as he did.  But still … so dull, so oblivious, and so intensely stuck-up.  For all his admirable qualities, he was a typical, upper class twit, only not so stupid. 

Eventually he decided to retire for the night and he showed her upstairs to a guest-room.  She took Denny with her, and turned him back the moment they were alone.  Then she sorted him out some clothes.

‘What’s with the new look?’ he asked.

She explained.  He was not surprised.  

‘I lost the Athame,’ he told her, it was in my clothes.’ 

‘I know, it isn’t now, somebody must have gone through them and picked it up.’

‘You’re kidding!  What are we going to do?’

Tamar hung her head.  ‘I don’t know, I’m sorry, this is all my fault. I don’t know what came over me.  How did you end up here?’

He told her.  She hung her head, again.  ‘You were almost drowned?  I’m so, so…’

‘Sorry, I know.  Look it doesn’t matter now, we have to find the Athame – even if I didn’t want it, which I do, we can’t leave that kind of power in some peasant’s hands; it’ll change history in the worst way.’

‘Tell me about it,’ she agreed.  ‘I can sense when magic is being used, usually, but that means, we won’t know where it is, until after someone has used it.  And we’ll still have to search.’

‘I think we should both be in disguise,’ he said.

*

Tamar decided to leave a note.  The next morning, William was to read, in some bemusement, the following copperplate production:-

Dear Mr. Tracey.

I must apologise for taking my leave of you in so abrupt a manner.  No doubt you will think it strange, but I am as you will now realise, an educated woman and not a kitchen maid and I have, moreover friends and family who await me.  I am sorry for not revealing this to you, there are reasons but it is not my secret to reveal.  Many thanks for your service to me and for looking after my cat also, a small thing you may think, but you may believe me when I say, it meant a great deal to me. 

If there shall ever come a time when my debt can be repaid, you can look to me to honour it, and in this I pledge my word. 

Think not too hardly of me

Your Servant

Sally Evans.

* * *

Tamar and Denny returned to the town under cover of darkness, and began their search.  But they found no sign, anywhere, that anyone had been using magic of any kind.

‘Doesn’t mean anything,’ said Tamar.  ‘I mean, how long was it before you learned to use it?’

‘Not long,’ he replied.  ‘But then, I was in the middle of nowhere with no food, no water, no way home, and being chased by vampires. If I’d been safe and sound at home, I might never have worked it out.  Whoever’s got it, probably just stuck it in a drawer somewhere.’ 

‘They’ll probably try to sell it, in that case. Its solid silver, it’d probably fetch enough to feed a family for a year in these parts.’

‘They’d have to be careful, though, it might look to some people like stolen goods – which I suppose it is.’

‘Good point. So, some kind of Black Market?’

‘Did they have those, in those – I mean these – days?’ asked Denny, surprised. 

‘Of course, smuggling, especially round here, was – is, the main criminal activity. How do you think they got rid of all that stuff, waved a magic wand?’

‘So, are you saying that
my
Athame could end up in the hands of some pirate?’

‘Good idea, let’s go down to the cove.’

‘What idea?  What cove?’  But Tamar was off.

* * *

Denny caught up with her in a rocky inlet.  ‘What are we doing here?’

‘Smugglers,’ she told him, enigmatically as far as he was concerned.  But he was used to her clipped explanations. Usually, though, they were backed up with a certain amount of access to her thoughts, but for some reason she was shutting him out.   

‘What do you mean – smugglers?  Don’t be so cryptic.’

‘These are smugglers caves. See over there?  That’s where they light the signal fires.’  She pointed to a jut in the cliff face, which was still smouldering.  ‘What you said, about pirates – I just think whoever’s got the Athame, will probably try to sell it here, where the smugglers trade.  Who else would want a fine silver knife with a dodgy provenance? Well, who else who could afford it?  Smugglers and pirates, that’s who. So I thought, maybe whoever’s got it might bring it here, to trade.’

Denny was doubtful.  ‘Hmm, bit of a long shot.’

‘Makes sense, trust me, Besides – look, if they don’t come tonight, they probably won’t come at all.  Anyway, this is our only chance to find out.  If nobody comes with it, then we’ll have to try something else.’ 

‘But there’s nobody here.’

‘Wait.’  

* * *

It was almost dawn before anything happened.  Tamar shook Denny awake; she had let him sleep for a while. Since he had lost the Athame, his human weaknesses, such as needing to sleep and eat, had returned – the sleepiness might also have been a residual trait of his “cattiness”. 

He resented this thraldom to his body, missed the freedom of not needing sleep and food to survive. How had he ever survived 25 whole years like that?

In the half-light, he could just make out around five shadowy figures stealthily approaching the cave.

‘Pirates?’ he whispered.

‘Or smugglers, what’s the difference?’  She glanced at his excited face.  ‘You know, you should forget whatever you read about smugglers in story books, these men are brutal thugs, killers, the gangland criminals of their day.  Don’t think that drug-dealers are a modern invention, these guys were up to it a long time before this.’

Denny gulped.  ‘That’s encouraging,’ he said.  ‘So, if one of these guys should get hold of the Athame …?’

‘Badness would ensure, on a massive scale.’

‘Gulp.’

‘Shhh now, I want to listen.’   

Another man had appeared from over a rise, hobbling with a staff and bowed down, he gave the impression of being an elderly man. He had the Athame; Denny could sense it.  He nudged Tamar and nodded, she nodded back. 

They could not hear what the old man replied when one ruffian demanded in a loud voice. ‘What do you want old man?’  But they both saw the glint of the blade, and the ensuing conversation, which took place
sotto voce
, was not hard to imagine. 

After only a few minutes, the big ruffian took his own knife from his belt, stabbed the old man, and took the Athame out of his hand.  Three of them carried the old man’s body to the sea and threw him in.

‘Damn!’ said Tamar.  ‘I didn’t see that coming, I should have prevented it.  He must have insulted them.’ 

‘What could you have done, without, you know, giving away the fact that you’re you know –
special
?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Can’t you just, freeze time again, and get it back?’  Denny was frantic by now, he wanted his prize.  It was so close. 

‘Um, well, no I can’t.  You see, time is already frozen where we left it, I can’t do it again in another time; it won’t work.’

‘Oh hell, I forgot.  So what are we going to do?’

‘Get captured.’

‘What kind of a plan is that?’