Keeper of the Black Stones (50 page)

We strolled back into the tent together to find that Doc had gone on some unknown errand, leaving the rest of us to our own devices. Tatiana walked toward the back of the tent without saying goodnight, parted the curtain that acted as a temporary partition, and disappeared. I plopped down on my bed and looked over at Paul.

He held a picture up, grinning. “So far so good,” he quipped.

“What are you talking about?” I asked, taking off my shirt and throwing
it in the corner of the tent. Someone had set up camp beds for us–or this era's version of them–and I was ready to lay down. Today had been long and extremely stressful.

Paul, who was still wide awake, handed me the picture, which featured the two of us in Little League. “Our picture is still intact,” he said, smiling as if this was the greatest news in the world.

“So?”

“So ….
Back to the Future
. You know, the movie? If things start to go bad, we'll fade out of the picture. Then we'll
know
we're in trouble.”

“Oh my God, are you serious?” I groaned. Unfortunately, I already knew the answer to that question. Of course he was. Put Paul in the scariest, most dangerous situation in the world, and he would still somehow find a way to joke about it.

He nodded, confirming my fears. “I'm not saying the movie was without its flaws. I mean obviously we don't need a Delorian to go back in time, but the disappearing image in the photo makes complete sense.”

I shrugged, too tired to argue with him. For all I knew, he was right. It made almost as much sense as half of the other stuff we'd talked about tonight.

The shrug evidently wasn't good enough for him, though, since he continued talking about it while we washed up with our two buckets of hot water and soap made from lard. Doc's maid–or whatever she was–had also given us fresh pants and shirts. It was the first time I'd felt clean in days, and it was glorious. I sighed happily, and Paul took that as a sign that I'd been listening after all.

“Oh come on,” he said as I dunked my head under water for one last rinse. “You honestly didn't think about it? Jumping back in time, all that? I've been dying to say, ‘Doc, this is heavy,' since we found him!”

“I'm actually impressed that you suppressed that urge for as long as you did,” Reis replied dryly from his own bed. His eyes were closed, but I suspected that his mind was still moving feverishly, keeping him from sleep.

Paul smiled as though Reis had given him a compliment. “Thanks, Reis.”

“Any time,” he replied.

That brought a much-needed smile to my face, and I chuckled as I jumped into bed. The mattress was lumpy, stuffed with straw and who knew what else, but it was clean and safe. For the moment.

Tomorrow, of course, would be a whole different story. Tomorrow…

I put the thought away as too much. For tonight, I would be content with safe darkness and the comforting sound of my best friend's snoring. After a moment of listening, I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

38

I
t was warm and humid inside the tent, and stank of unwashed bodies, dirt, and crushed grass. Dresden detested being outdoors, and the state of the tent was making the experience even worse than usual. In addition, he was having to physically restrain himself at the Bishop's news.

The assassins had failed in their attempt on Richard Evans' life, and–worse–let him escape with his confederates.

Dresden paced angrily around the tent, listening to the Bishop's impossible tail of how Evans had been shot by an arrow–at a distance of less than 50 paces–then risen and walked away. According to one of the assassins, who had escaped the scene, Evans' men had shown up in the nick of time, distracting the mercenaries and essentially saving the old man's life. The assassin's description of these men–and their weapons, which emitted loud blasts and bouts of fire–left little doubt about their identities.

“Tatiana, that boy, and their associates,” he growled, his lips turning down in a snarl. Damn them. He'd known when they escaped that they would be trouble, but he'd never considered that they might get to Evans in time to save him. Now they had ruined more than one plan. With Evans dead, his men would have refused to fight for Henry, and Henry would have lost a vital source of intelligence. That, coupled with Stanley's new alliance, would have guaranteed Richard–and Dresden himself–a victory.

With Evans dead, he would also have had a clear road to the next step in his new plan: recapturing Jason and forcing the boy to either reveal the stone's secrets or take him through the stones to his next destination.

Now…

With a roar, he turned and threw a chair at the Bishop and his news. “Get out, you useless pile of horse dung!” he shouted, his anger reaching the surface. “I do not need you for my victory!”

The Bishop ducked the chair, terrified, and ran out of the tent. Sloan, who was just entering, stepped to the side and looked curiously after the church man. Dresden growled at his presence. The boy was always showing up at the most inopportune times, and it was starting to annoy him.

“People would serve you more faithfully, Father, if you shouted less and listened more,” the boy observed mildly. “And we now hold fewer chips than we did. You know this. My scouts tell me that Stanley is already restless. The Earl's army is ready, and far more loyal than ours. Victory is anything but guaranteed.”

“Quiet!” Dresden roared. “Gather the maps, right the chairs, and keep your mouth shut!”

Sloan's eyes blazed with anger, but he did as he was told. Perhaps the boy was learning his place, Dresden thought. He was right, though; Henry's army had been here longer, and was better armed than Richard's. Evans had no doubt been in contact with Stanley, seeking to turn him. The boy must have told his grandfather that William Stanley had escaped, by now. They would think that Stanley was free to make his own decision in regard to the battle.

Dresden had planned for that, though, and had already made his move. Stanley's army was vital, after all, to his own success.

“Did you find what I sent you for?” he asked suddenly, choosing to ignore his son's observations.

Sloan took a deep breath and paused for a moment before responding. “Sir Keeler of Spring Meadows has,” he replied.

Dresden nodded his head, pleased at the news. This was what he had hoped for. “Then send for him.”

Sloan left the tent and returned a moment later, followed by an aging knight.

“My Lord,” Keeler said, bowing respectfully.

Dresden waved a hand magnanimously, accepted the man's bow as his due, and then gestured to the front of the tent. “I assume you brought me what I requested, sir knight,” he said curtly. This was no time for gentle conversation, and he'd never cared for this particular man anyhow.

Sir Keeler paused for a brief moment, as though he disliked the question or answer, but then nodded. “Yes, my Lord.”

“Show me!” Dresden demanded.

Keeler bowed once again before turning his back and whistling loudly. Within seconds, two guards appeared just outside the tent's entrance, holding a bound and gagged man under the arms. The man sagged in their hands, thin and dirty. They hadn't been gentle when they took him, Dresden saw, and the man looked worse now than he had several days earlier.

Dresden smiled, nodding, and turned to his son. “Sloan, make certain that Sir Keeler is well taken care of. Guards, leave this man with me, please.”

The other men turned to go, leaving the prisoner in a crumpled heap on the floor, and Dresden stepped forward, a smile curving his lips. He couldn't help it. An hour earlier, all had seemed lost. Now he had a bargaining chip again, and it was a good one.

“Why Sir William Stanley,” he drawled, reaching out with a toe to roll the man onto his back. “How very kind of you to join me again.”

39

I
awoke suddenly, to the sound of booming thunder in the distance. My mind stumbled at the thought, still hazy with sleep, and I frowned. Not thunder, that was wrong. It was something else, if only I could remember…

I shot up to a sitting position.
Not
thunder. Canon fire. Because we were in Bosworth, on the morning of the battle, going up against one of the most hateful people I'd ever met. Fighting for the fate of the world.

I gulped at the thought and turned, glancing around the tent. Paul and Reis were already awake, as were Tatiana and Katherine, and sun was shining through the entrance of the tent. It was here, then, the dawn. And that meant the moment of truth had finally arrived.

Before I could think any farther, Doc strode quickly into the room, his eyes flying around the small space. He shouted orders over his shoulder for Trigva to station two dozen soldiers around his tent, then pulled the curtains shut with a snap.

“My men have just captured two of Dresden's spies outside,” he muttered. “Dresden is sending men after you, or me, or both of us.” He moved toward my bed and pulled me out of it, shoving me toward a pile of clothes in the corner. “Get dressed, we must be prepared for anything.”

“What?” I gasped. I had just woken up, and was still trying to fit the current version of reality into my head. This new information was more than I could process at the moment.

“After you? Why?” Paul asked, joining Doc at the table, where he'd set up camp.

“We're his ticket back,” Doc answered. “Without Jason or me, he can't get out of this time period.”

“Well…” I cut in, thinking back to what Dresden had told Tatiana and me. “He
could
. He just wouldn't know where he was going. Or when the trip was going to take place.”

Doc nodded, his eyes gleaming. “Well he'll need to go quickly, either way. If he loses the battle–which we hope he will–he'll need to get out of Dodge before any of Henry's men kill him. After all, without Richard, he has no political protection here.”

Paul whistled quietly. “That's heavy, Doc.”

I snorted at his joke, though he looked dead serious, and continued with the train of thought. “Beyond that, if he could wipe Doc out of the picture, Henry would be at a disadvantage, and Richard would win the battle.” I paused, watching Doc closely. “There are a number of reasons for Dresden to be after both of us.”

“So you have to be even
more
careful, then,” Tatiana concluded, stepping out of nowhere to join the group. She was wearing the same clothes from yesterday, but had taken a bath somewhere and looked better than the last time I'd seen her. I gave her a half-hearted smile of welcome, and turned back to Doc.

“So what do we do? What's the plan?”

Doc became all business at that, and nodded firmly. He took out his pocket watch and glanced at it, then looked at us. “Well people, within a couple of hours, this place is going to turn into a beehive of activity. This is probably the last time we'll be able to speak freely until after the battle. Things are going to get … intense.”

We nodded, waiting for him to continue. I just hoped that he'd decide to let me take part–I had more information at my fingertips than he did, and better access to the stones. I didn't know how they would help me, but I knew that they
would
. And I didn't want to have to go behind Doc's back to do what I needed to do.

“The three of you will be staying with Reis here in the camp. Don't move. After the battle, I'll send for you…” Doc paused and shook his head. “If things go wrong and the battle does not go our way, you will have to count on Reis to take you to the stone.”

I frowned at this, and opened my mouth to argue, but stopped at Tatiana's hand on my arm. Looking up, I caught her eye and saw her shake her head slightly, warning me against speaking. My mouth closed of its own accord and I nodded. Doc wasn't going to give his permission, no matter how much I argued with him. Better to save my breath and plan around that particular hiccup.