The River of No Return (45 page)

S
omeone was stroking her hair, carefully avoiding that throbbing spot, the spot that felt like a crack in her skull. She seemed to be curled up against him, and her ear seemed to be pressed against his chest. His voice was rumbling in the most comforting way as he murmured words she couldn’t quite make out. . . .

Julia’s eyes fluttered open. She was in a coach—in Grandfather’s coach. But it wasn’t moving. Why was she in Grandfather’s coach? This wasn’t Grandfather who was holding her so gently in his arms. Grandfather was dead. She knew that. This was a younger man. He was leaning his head back against the cushions, his eyes closed, and he was simply stroking her hair and murmuring to himself. He should shave, Julia thought. But if he started shaving, then he would stop talking and his voice would stop rumbling so deliciously in her ear. His stubble was darker than his hair. Quite dark. Like his eyebrows. She liked his eyebrows. They were strongly drawn. Somehow she knew the shifting colors of his eyes. And he smelled good. He smelled familiar. Who was he? She searched her memory. Somebody nice. He was somebody very nice.

Pale dawn light filtering in, and she could see trees outside the coach, and a hint of pearly sky . . . why weren’t they moving? Julia let her eyes close again, and she drifted away to the sound of that rumbly, murmuring voice. . . .

* * *

Nick opened his eyes. He could hear hoofbeats growing louder beneath the nonsense he was murmuring to stay awake.

He gently disentangled himself from Julia. She moaned but subsided again into sleep. He kissed her forehead, then picked up a cleaned and reloaded pistol. Not that he could stand a chance against anyone who could stop time. He glanced again at Julia, then opened the coach door and climbed down to defend his little fiefdom: one carriage, six horses, a drugged woman, and a dead man.

He stood blinking in the dawn light. There was a horseman approaching, and well behind him on the road, another. Nick’s six equine charges whinnied their welcome, and the horseman’s mount—a flashy white beast with a pink nose—raised its head and neighed.

Well, shit.

It was that iceberg of an Alderman, Bertrand Penture, sitting astride the white horse like a prince. So it was to be the Guild who found him waiting here by the side of the road, not the Ofan.

Nick thrust his hand into his pocket, searching for the acorn. He might as well throw it away. But instead his fingers closed around it. He would have to play along, invite them to join him at Blackdown, and then hope and pray the Ofan got there quickly enough to help him get Julia away. To another time, probably. A hiding place somewhere up- or downriver. They wouldn’t need much. A hut somewhere, a cow, a nice straw mattress . . .

Penture urged his horse to a trot. As he rode up Nick could see that the animal had, of all the outlandish and affected characteristics, one blue eye and one brown.

Penture looked at the coach, the six horses, and then at the bloodstain on the gravel. “A mishap?”

“Julia’s cousin,” Nick said. “He’s reposing behind the hedgerow.” He jerked his thumb behind him to the coach. “Julia’s in there. Safe. But unconscious.”

“Ah, yes, Julia. How fortunate. But where is your companion—Mr. Jemison, isn’t it? And you appear to have misplaced the coachman.”

At that moment the other rider pulled up next to Penture. He was a tall, dark-skinned man, his face shadowed by his hat. He sat his sluggish horse uncomfortably; clearly he had only just learned to ride.

Then Nick saw him grin, and his world reeled. It was Leo Quonquont.

“Hi, Nick,” Leo said, as if not a day had passed since they last saw each other, in Chile, in 2003. “How are you?”

“You are acquainted?” Penture looked from one to the other. “How?”

“Oh, we were at school together,” Leo said. He doffed his hat—tall, like a beaver, but made of wool—and the three long braids of his scalplock came tumbling down like a banner. It made Nick happy to see them; whatever had happened to Leo, he hadn’t cut his hair. Nick opened his mouth to say something, but it was as if his voice had died in his throat. So he put his hand up, and Leo reached down from the saddle. Nick had to swallow hard when he felt that strong grip.

“Good to see you, Nick,” Leo said.

Nick found his voice. “You too.” He looked up into his friend’s eyes—how was it possible that he was here, now, at this terrible moment, an agent of the Guild?

Leo grinned. “Wondering how to get Julia away from us, Nick?” he asked. “Or have you figured it out? We’re not the Guild. We’re Alva’s Ofan band.”

P
enture dismounted. “What happened here?”

“Why the hell should I trust you even one inch? You shot me, you bastard! You aimed a gun at my head and had a bunch of untrained charlatans control the bullet! And the whole time it turns out you’re a double agent?”

Penture’s nostrils flared. “I told you why I was shooting you, before I pulled the trigger. I wanted you to make up your mind about which side to join.”

“Yes, the side of the Guild. But all the while you were Ofan.”

“I staged that little drama so that you would finally see the Guild for what it is,” Penture said. “I told you to choose sides and you chose the one I wished you to, and in the way that I wished you to choose it. You chose the Ofan, but you decided to pretend that you chose the Guild. That was exactly what I wanted.”

“Oh! Bravo!” Nick clapped.

Penture gave Nick a cold, green stare then went to the coach door and opened it. Nick had to force himself to stand still as Penture leaned in and touched Julia’s head. “She is unconscious?” He turned, his eyebrows raised.

“Eamon knocked her out, but I think she’s okay.”

“Good.” He came back to them. “Her injury is real, Davenant. I believe if you examine the thing that is paining you, you will discover that it is only your pride.”

Nick didn’t realize that his fists were up until Leo put a hand on his shoulder. “Chill out, Nick. Bertrand is the cagiest, most coldhearted, and mysterious dude it’s ever been my pleasure to meet. But he’s Ofan through and through.”

“I am not coldhearted,” Penture said. “But neither am I sentimental. Now, Davenant, explain yourself immediately.”

Leo grinned. “See what I mean? We find you here, guarding Julia like a hero of old, clearly having vanquished the enemy, and he treats you like a criminal. He’s a dickhead, but we need him.”

“You trust him?”

“I do,” Leo said. “And since I know you’re dying to ask, I can assure you that the irony of a Pocumtuk adjudicating between a Frenchman and an Englishman over the respective qualities of their honor is not lost on me.”

Nick surprised himself by chuckling. “You haven’t changed,” he said.

“No,” Leo agreed. “Have you?”

Nick glanced at the carriage, its door still open. He could see one of Julia’s hands, and the shadowy shape of her curled form. He took a deep breath and looked down the road as far as he could, to where it bent in the undergrowth. “I don’t know,” he said.

Penture sighed. “Have we finished with this therapy session? Will you tell us now why we find you alone with too many horses? And why a bloody corpse has been dragged from here . . .” He pointed at the bloody patch on the road. “ . . . and away behind that hedgerow?”

So Nick told them how he had killed Eamon, only to be surprised by Mibbs. How Mibbs had overpowered him, and about how Jemison had then sacrificed himself. He described, in a few terse words, how Mibbs had thrown Nick from him with a roar and scrambled to his feet reaching for Jemison, who had his gun raised, and how in the moment of the gun’s explosion the two of them had disappeared into nothingness, the bullet singing off into the trees. How Nick had dragged Eamon’s corpse off the road and how then, unable to both drive the coach and watch over Julia, he had settled down to wait for the Ofan, or for the Guild, or for Mibbs to return.

“And you are sure it was Mibbs?” Penture asked.

“Absolutely.” Nick cocked his head at Leo. “Ask him if he believes me. He’s met him.”

“Yep,” Leo said. “That sounds like the guy who tried to suck my soul out of my eyeballs in Chile. Grade A asshole.”

“You met him in Chile, too?” Penture bent a frown on Nick. “You didn’t tell us that when you were telling us about Mibbs.”

“No,” Nick said. “Why should I? You were the Alderman of the Guild and Leo was a renegade. Did you think I wanted you on his trail?” Nick fought the urge to look at Leo, to see how he took the news that Nick had protected him.

Penture’s frown deepened. “And you’re sure Jemison is a Natural?”

“I’m fairly certain. He didn’t know about time travel until I told him.” Nick held up a hand. “And before you say anything about that, Penture, I told him because I needed his help to find Julia. And because I’m not abiding by Guild rules anymore.”

“Your choice to tell Jemison was your own, and I’m sure you had good reason. I don’t care about that. I care about Mibbs, and how it came to be that he could drag a Natural away with him into the River of Time. That should be entirely impossible.”

“He can do things we can’t,” Nick said. “Like I told you. Pushing his feelings into other people’s heads. Controlling despair somehow.”

Penture nodded, his green eyes narrowing. “Interesting. Although perhaps Jemison was tricking you. Perhaps he does have the talent.”

“Tricking me like you tricked me, you mean? Pretending to be one thing when you’re another? Manipulating my ignorance and my pride? Maybe,” Nick said. “But I doubt it. I know Jemison well. He is enigmatic, to be sure, but . . .” He let his eyes travel up and down Penture’s body. “He isn’t a liar.”

The Frenchman’s green eyes flickered. “And neither am I, Nick Davenant. You must lay down this petty dislike of me if we are to work together.”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” Leo said. “Calm down, both of you. Mibbs stole a Natural. Mibbs can invade people’s feelings. He’s probably from over the Pale, and he wants Julia so badly that he’s been trailing her all over the world and all up and down the river. That is all extremely scary, in case you hadn’t quite let it sink in. Now what the fuck, I politely ask, are we going to do about it?”

Penture stared at Leo for a moment, and then a gorgeous grin broke across his face. “We are going to run,” he said, “and we are going to hide.”

“Thank God,” Leo said. “Let’s get on with it.”

Penture laughed and turned to Nick. “Come now, Davenant. Forgive me. Trust me. Take my hand.” He held his right hand out and Nick had to revise his casting yet again. Not Cary Grant; George Clooney.

Nick sighed. “Fine.” He shook the Frenchman’s hand with distaste. “But before we beat our craven retreat, what should we do with Eamon?”

Together they traipsed behind the hedgerow and stood over Eamon’s corpse.

“He’s ugly,” Leo said.

“Well, he is dead,” Nick said. “It tends to mar the looks.”

Leo laughed, but Penture held up a hand for silence. His eyes were closed. “The fifteenth century . . . fourteen twenty-eight,” he said, opening his eyes.

“Right,” Leo said. “You bring us there. I’ll take the shoulders, you take the feet.”

Penture bent and lifted Eamon by the ankles.

Leo heaved Eamon up under the shoulders, the head lolling, the ghastly face smudged with blood and dirt. “Hang tight. Back in two seconds.” And before Nick could blink the two men and the corpse had disappeared. More than two seconds passed before they returned, but in well under a minute they were back again, and Leo was holding a whole roast goose: “Breakfast!”

* * *

Julia opened her eyes. She lay in blessed shadow. It was spattered with points of light. Out beyond the shadow was a terrible brightness. Julia closed her eyes again quickly. The air smelled of hay and grain and faintly, underneath it all, she could detect the slightly sour, slightly feathery scent of chickens. In fact, she could hear chickens gossiping not far away. Was she in a barn? She opened her eyes a crack and let them adjust. She was in a barn—but what a barn. It was vast, like a cathedral. Built of massive stones, with chinks like arrow slits here and there in the walls, through which the sun was filtering in, casting rectangles of light on the floor and the opposite wall. The roof was wooden and constructed of massive, ancient beams. The barn must be hundreds of years old. She lay on a pile of hay toward the back of the huge space. Before her, the darkness dissolved into the bright light, as if an entire wall were missing. A few chickens were scratching there in the brightness.

Three figures appeared in the light, sending the chickens squawking away into the shadows. Three men, silhouetted for an instant at the boundary between dark and light. They walked into the shadowy part of the barn, gaining dimension as they came. Should she be afraid? Somehow she wasn’t.

Two of the men stopped a few feet away, but one of them came forward, and when he was close she could see that he was the nice man from the coach. He knelt down next to her. He smiled, and she felt herself smiling back. She loved him. She reached out a hand to touch his cheek, but he grabbed her hand before she could. “Thank God you’re all right.”

It was Nick. Nick Davenant. It all came flooding back in an instant. He was Nick. She let her memories settle like dust. She loved him. He had a mistress. He could manipulate time. So could she. But he didn’t know she could. She had run, and been bashed on the head by Eamon the Horrible, but now here she was in a barn with Nick again, and some strangers. And some chickens.

“Are you all right?” He was peering at her closely and holding her hand so tightly it almost hurt.

She blinked and pulled back her hand. He released it, but she didn’t want that and reached for him again. “Just not so hard,” she said, and her voice was a scratchy remnant of itself. “Oh. I’m thirsty.”

“Water.” Nick spoke urgently, over his shoulder, and one of the men set off at a trot. Nick turned back to her. “Does it hurt? Your head?”

Julia considered the question. Did her head hurt? Yes, she decided. Yes, this feeling that her world might crack into a thousand pieces at any moment was pain. She nodded slowly, and Nick stroked her hand.

“Poor darling,” he said.

The man came back with a ladleful of water from somewhere and held it to Julia’s lips. She looked at him as she drank. He was the most handsome man she had ever seen. “You’re the most handsome man I’ve ever seen,” she said when she had drained the ladle.

He smiled and became even more handsome. “Thank you,” he said in a slight French accent. Julia looked to Nick to ask him if he thought the Frenchman was handsome, but Nick was scowling. Julia began to chuckle, then winced as her head seemed to explode with pain. “You’re jealous,” she whispered. “And I’m sleepy. Are you going to sleep with me?”

She took a scientific interest in watching him blush. Had she ever seen a grown man blush before? It spread up his neck like a rash, then out under his stubble, which was heavier than last time she had seen it, back in the coach. “If you are going to sleep with me, Nick, you should shave first.” She closed her eyes, and let sleep come and waft her away.

* * *

Nick and Leo were out walking across a field toward a line of trees, looking for firewood.

Nick had no idea what to say.

Leo had been alive all these years. An Ofan. But he had never once contacted Nick, never shot him an e-mail. And now it had been ten hours since that goose breakfast, and Nick and Leo hadn’t spoken again. Nick had stayed in the coach with the sleeping Julia, with Leo driving. Penture had ridden alongside, keeping an eye on the two horses now tied behind the coach. It had been more than enough time for Nick to remember that maybe Leo didn’t consider Nick his friend. More than enough time for Nick to remember that he had taken Guild money for nine long years while Leo had managed on his own, making his own way.

As dusk began to fall, Penture, who seemed to know the country like the back of his hand, had led the strange entourage off along a narrow track between several long meadows to an enormous, half-ruined medieval barn. They had lit a fire with the few logs they had found in the barn, and settled Julia in a pile of hay. But then Leo had turned and said to Nick, “Come on. Let’s go scare up some more wood.” And now they were marching silently off into the gloaming.

“How is Meg?”

Leo glanced at him. “She’s okay. She’s seventy-five now. She worked with us in Brazil for about seven years, but then she retired. Lives in an apartment in Salvador. She has a Natural lover, Tabitha, and the two of them are making hay while the sun shines.”

“Is she fat yet?”

Leo grinned. “No. She says she must have hollow legs, because she eats all the time and she’s still just as skinny as the day she first jumped.”

They kept walking. The meadow grasses were lush, and the ground was wet. Their tall boots made squelching sounds as they walked. “It’s funny to see you all dressed up like this,” Nick said. “In this kind of gear.”

“You, too.” Leo looked Nick up and down. “I mean, I know it’s your natural habitat and everything, but when I think of you it’s in that pair of faded jeans you wore practically every day.”

“I can’t tell you how much I miss those jeans. Actually, jeans were the first things I loved about the future.”

“Not me. I hated them. Still do. But then, I had been wrenched away from the most beautiful couture in the world.”

Nick glanced at his friend. “I’m glad to see you kept your scalplock.”

Leo reached back and threaded the three long braids through his fingers. “Yes, well. Some things never change.”

“Everything changes. Or everything could change. I thought that’s what Ofan believe. Or want to believe.”

Leo shrugged. “I guess you saw the ‘end of the world’ pictures. And heard about the Pale.”

“Yes.”

They reached the trees and began gathering whatever wood they could find, wandering away from each other. When they both had an armful they caught each other’s eye and started back again. They could see the path they had made as they came, the grass silvery where they had stepped. Without discussing it, they started a new path and walked back toward the magnificent barn looming up in the middle distance. It was dark against the clear sky, which glowed with that blue-green evening light so specific to an English springtime.

“Why did you leave?”

Leo didn’t answer for a minute. Nick stared ahead at the barn, hearing the silence, which was in fact alive with the evening chatter of birds and insects. “We had to,” Leo finally said. “We had realized. We didn’t
know
anything of course. About the Guild and its money and its policing of the past and the future. But we realized that we just couldn’t stay and be in the Guild. I was convinced there had to be other communities of time travelers. People who were doing it differently from the Guild. It was easy enough to leave the compound. Anyone could just walk away down the road, which is what we did. Early that morning.”