Susan Squires - [Da Vinci Time Travel] (24 page)

The man’s hand hovered over the button. “Some guy’s living up there in a half-finished unit.” The construction worker shook his head. “He don’t let anyone in.”

“I’ll convince him.”

The guy shrugged and punched in 8. Gawain was glad the building echoed with noise. “Suit yourself. I’m warning you, though. He’s a piece of work. Won’t even let us finish up so he can have some creature comforts.” The guy got off on 2.

The elevator doors slid shut and Gawain took deep breaths as the car ascended. He unwrapped the oilcloth and took a sword in each hand. The leather on the hilts molded to his hands. The blades gleamed wickedly. They were heavy, and the weight felt good. These weapons he knew. He shook off the feeling of wrongness. This was not a time for dithering. By the time the elevator glided to a stop he was ready. The doors opened on a vast, concrete-floored space. It was almost dark except for the cone of light from a lamp next to a couch sitting on a rug in the center of the room. He couldn’t see Mordred anywhere. That made his spine tingle. Lights were blinking on all over the city, visible in a panorama through the massive windows. The arched towers of the Marriott gleamed to one side. At least Diana was safe.

“Mordred!” he called. His voice reverberated off the concrete and glass. The place smelled like a basement because of the concrete and drywall dust from a corner partitioned but unfinished, probably for a bathroom. He held up his swords so they were clearly visible.

“Merlin’s brat. I remembered you.” Mordred walked
out of the shadows to Gawain’s right. He had a very large and ugly gun hanging casually in his left hand. “I’m not sure how you found me, but I’m glad you’re here. Saves me the trouble of tracking you down.”

The familiar face was even harsher than Gawain remembered it. Mordred was like a lean wolf, his face angular with light and shadow from the single lamp. He raised the gun.

Gawain raised one sword and pretended to examine the blade. “I needn’t have brought two then. I knew you were afraid of meeting me blade to blade. Still, I had hopes.”

“Afraid? Of a child? Hardly.”

“I’m not a child anymore. And I’m a better swordsman than you ever were.” Actually, he had never seen Mordred fight. He always got others to do it for him.

“But you have no magic. Your father was disappointed in you even then.”

“No,” Gawain agreed. He wasn’t going to tell Mordred about his small gifts. He turned the sword so the light took it. “Fine workmanship.” With a slow grin he tossed one sword to Mordred, who caught it easily in his right hand. Gawain saw him heft the weight of it, and saw the satisfaction in his eyes. He had him.

“You are in need of a lesson in swordsmanship. And I am just the man to give it to you.” Mordred tossed the gun onto the couch. “Too bad you won’t profit by the lesson for very long. Have you ever fought an Adapter?” He sank into his knees a little, balanced on the balls of his feet in his brown suede boots, the leather of his vest hanging open over his blue work shirt. He shifted the sword to his left hand. Gawain was right-handed. Fighting with his left gave Mordred a bit of an advantage. Not enough to signify. What did he mean about fighting an Adapter?

Gawain smiled. This would be a bloody battle before
the end. No shields. Just the swords as both offense and defense. Mordred didn’t know him except as a child. He wouldn’t be afraid of Gawain’s reputed strength, or his prowess.

Mordred lunged. The first clang of metal on metal rang out in the big space. The blades slid along each other in an arc and Mordred stepped in, bringing his blade up and under Gawain’s, hoping to get in under his guard. Gawain flipped his hand upside down and swept the blade away with his own. Mordred was bold. But he was also careless.

The clang of blows cascaded over glass and metal and concrete, faster and faster. Gawain used every technique he had. But Mordred fed them back to him just as quickly. Mordred was using Gawain’s own style against him.
Adapter.
Gawain had a sinking feeling in his stomach.

“You’re better than I thought,” Mordred said, trying not to gasp for breath.

“I could say the same.” Gawain grimaced as a blow very nearly sliced his sword arm. He parried at the last moment and Mordred pressed forward with renewed intensity. Gawain now tried to pace himself, realizing it had been long since he had wielded the heavy weapon through an entire battle. Sweat rolled into his eyes and he wiped at it with his free hand.

But wait, Mordred had his own weakness. Best to remind him of it. “How is your wound?” Gawain asked through gritted teeth.

Mordred sliced at his sword and spun to the side.

“That scratch? It isn’t even on my sword arm.” But Mordred was panting now. Back and forth across the floor, first one advantage and then another, the two adversaries danced.

Behind him, Gawain heard the elevator doors open.
He swung to the side to see who it could be. One of Mordred’s new allies?

It was Diana. He recognized the big black purse with the book in it slung over her shoulder. “No!” he yelled. “Get out of here.” He jerked his attention back to Mordred to parry another blow.

She shook her head. She was looking frightened, almost dazed. “I have to be here.”

Mordred bared his teeth in something that might have been a grin. “First you, brat, and then the girl. How convenient.”

“Diana, get out. Do you understand?”

Blows rained now, back and forth. Mordred was trying to press the advantage of Diana distracting Gawain. Gawain maneuvered Mordred around so Gawain could glance over Mordred’s shoulder to check on her.

So he saw the doorway to the stairs open quietly behind her. He registered her gasp as she turned and swung the big purse with that heavy book in it at the man just coming through the doorway. She caught him full in the face. A gun clattered to the floor, and he reeled backward, lost his balance, and stumbled back into the stairwell.

Damn it!
Gawain threw caution to the wind, swept Mordred’s sword to the left as he lunged inside and brought the hilt of his own sword up to catch Mordred a blow to the temple. The man dropped like a stone. Gawain stood over Mordred and kicked his sword away.

“Are you all right?” Gawain called to Diana, glancing over his shoulder. She was stumbling over to pick up the gun. Good. Now if only she wasn’t afraid to shoot it. He tore his gaze away from her and back to Mordred, who seemed dazed by the blow. “Don’t look, Diana.” He raised his sword, point down. It hovered over Mordred’s throat.

“Gawain?” The voice was so . . . distant, so tentative, he had to turn his head and look.

At first he wasn’t sure what he was seeing. It was as if there were a mist in front of her. No. She
was
the mist. She . . . she was transparent, and fading. . . .

“Gawain?” The voice was fainter.

In a flash it all came to him. This was what had been niggling at his brain. He threw the sword away as though it burned his flesh with acid. It clattered to the cement floor and he kicked it away to join its fellow.

Diana wavered into solidity and sank to the floor.

He dashed over to Diana and helped her to the couch. She felt corporeal enough.

He slid her scarf from his neck and, twisting it, went to kneel beside Mordred. He turned him over roughly as the man groaned, and tied his hands securely behind his back. Mordred’s temple was bleeding, and his head lolled. Gawain gathered up the swords and laid them by the couch, well out of Mordred’s reach, and went to check on their other intruder. The man was heaped on the landing one floor down, limbs at odd angles. His head was balding, with tattoos snaking up his neck. Looked like a pretty hard character. Gawain didn’t check to see whether he was alive. He was just relieved that the brute wouldn’t be chasing after them anytime soon.

“What happened?” Diana asked, her eyes big, as Gawain came back to the couch. “I felt . . . I felt like everything was fading away.”

“I think
you
were fading away.” He knelt in front of her and reached to take her head between his hands. His hands were shaking. For the first time he realized how close he’d come to losing her. He’d almost killed her, in a way.

“Why?” she asked, searching his face.

Now. Now he had to tell her in the worst possible way the very thing he’d wanted to keep from her. He couldn’t avoid the hurt he’d cause. Not now. She had to know.

“Mordred is your father.”

Diana blinked at Gawain as though he were speaking Swahili or Russian or something. Had he said . . . that Mordred was her
father
?

“When exactly did you bring him here in the time machine?” Gawain asked. “You said that soldiers were about to kill him.” Gawain nodded at her, prompting her to think. “What happened/?”

“Uh. We . . . you and your father and I were up on a hill among some standing stones People were fleeing from the town down below.” It all came back to her: the smell of smoke, the machine glinting over her head, the man with kaleidoscope eyes. “And Mordred came up to ask your father to support his claim to the kingdom because only he could hold things together and keep the Saxons from overrunning it. We heard soldiers coming up the hill. Your father said Mordred was done for. The soldiers streamed into the clearing, They were going to kill him. So I . . . took him back with me.”

Gawain let his head fall back. He sucked in a breath. “Why didn’t I realize it before? I thought you met him later.” He turned his piercing gaze on her. “Mordred didn’t die in the standing stones in the version of history I know. Those were
his
men coming up the hill. They were
after my father. My father said Mordred was done for because he knew Mondred would die of the infection in that wound Arthur gave him, though it would take some weeks. And in the meantime, he sired you off a woman in the town.” Gawain ran a shaky hand through his hair. “If I had killed him . . .”

“I would never have existed.” Her voice wasn’t as strong as she would have liked. “But then why didn’t I fade when I first brought him here?”

Gawain frowned. “Maybe the possibility still existed that he would get that woman with child as long as he was alive. Only if he was dead would you definitely never exist.”

Her gaze gravitated to the man who lay, quiescent, on the floor. She felt her face crumple. “I’m
his
daughter?” Gawain brought her in against his chest and made soft shushing sounds. His arms were strong. He smelled of Gawain, only wet with rain. This felt right. “I don’t want to be his daughter,” she sniffed.

“You get your ‘quirks’ from him. He has strong magic in his blood to be an Adapter. He passed that magic to you. That is a gift.”

“Maybe I’ll go mad and start telling thugs to murder innocent people and put their heads up on pikes.” The thought that she, who had wanted all her life to know her parents, now had found that Mordred was her father seemed a cruel joke.

Gawain held her away from him and looked at her seriously. She thought, even in the dim light, that his eyes were blue. “You got who you are from my father who loved you and your parents here who loved you. You aren’t like him.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she accused. “How could you keep this from me?” Anger alternated with hurt in closing her throat around her words. Did he not trust her
with the knowledge? Did she think she would betray him to her father?

Gawain swallowed. She could practically see him thinking about what he’d done and why and how he could say it. “At first I thought you’d gone back to save him because he was your father. When I discovered you didn’t know . . . well, you’d either feel bad that I’d killed your biological father or horrible that he was your father. I . . . I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“That’s not protection. That’s lying. Sins of omission.”

Hurt flashed through his eyes, and shame. In that moment he wasn’t a knight-errant but an incredibly vulnerable man. He swallowed and looked away, toward Mordred. “If we can’t kill him, what will we do with him?” His voice was rough.

“We can send him back to fulfill his destiny,” she said, a little firmness coming back into her voice. That was the only answer. She should never have fooled with time.

Gawain nodded. “That way he sires you and dies of his wounds as history intended. It’s not as sure as killing him, but it will have to do.” He made an apologetic face. “It will mean sacrificing the machine.”

“Maybe. But if it isn’t used to go someplace else, it will bounce back here. Mordred doesn’t know the sequence to use it, and we’ll keep it that way.” She looked up at Gawain. “But if it’s lost, it’s lost. We can’t let him raise an army here. He probably has already changed the future by ordering all these killings. He might tear our entire society apart.”

“Very well.” Gawain’s tone was firm and strong again, just like he was. “Then let’s get him out of here before more of his followers show up.”

Gawain got up and pulled her to her feet. After checking to see that it was loaded, he handed her the gun that Mordred had tossed on the couch. Then Gawain glanced
over to the stairwell. “It’ll look like that guy just fell down the stairs,” he murmured. Mordred began to stir and groan again. Diana tightened her grip on the handle of the gun. Could she shoot her own father? Gawain strode over to retrieve the gun she’d knocked from the intruder’s hand. As he came back toward Mordred his steps slowed.

“How did you know that guy was coming through the door? You hit him with your bag almost before he appeared. Did you hear his footsteps on the stairs? I didn’t.”

“No. What I heard was that he was about to yell at you to distract you. I got a few seconds’ notice.” It was her turn to act apologetic.

“Pretty neat trick. And you say your quirks are useless.” He gave a rueful smile and rolled Mordred over with the toe of his boot. Mordred’s eyes blinked open, but he looked pretty groggy. “Up, Mordred. Time to meet your destiny.”

Diana got out as Gawain opened the back of the Range Rover in the Exploratorium parking lot. They had waited behind the trees at the entrance to the lot until they saw Clancy begin his rounds. Gawain untied Mordred. They’d anchored him with some rope to an iron ring in the back section of the SUV meant to secure cargo. Mordred stumbled out, still a little loopy from the blow Gawain had given him on the temple. Probably had a dandy concussion. Gawain eased the hatch shut so as not to alert Clancy and threw the rope over his shoulder.