Timeline (45 page)

“Chris.”

A man’s voice, in his earpiece. An unfamiliar voice that he didn’t recognize. Chris looked around, but saw only running soldiers, flaming arrows whizzing through the air, a burning courtyard.

“Chris.” The voice was soft. “Over here.”

Through the flames he saw a dark figure standing motionless as a statue, staring at him across the courtyard. This dark figure ignored the fighting that swirled around him. He stared fixedly at Chris. It was Robert de Kere.

“Chris. Do you know what I want?” de Kere said.

Chris didn’t answer him. Nervously, he hefted the sword in his hand, feeling the weight. De Kere just watched him. He chuckled softly. “Are you going to fight me, Chris?”

And then de Kere started walking toward him.

Chris took a breath, not certain whether to stay or run. And suddenly a door behind the great hall burst open and a knight came out, in full armor except for his helmet, bellowing, “For God and the Archpriest Arnaut!” He recognized the handsome knight, Raimondo. Dozens of soldiers in green and black were pouring out into the courtyard, engaging Oliver’s troops in a pitched battle.

De Kere was still stalking him, but now he paused, uncertain about this new development. Suddenly Arnaut grabbed Chris by the throat, holding his sword high. Arnaut pulled him close, shouting, “Oliver! Where is Oliver!”

Chris pointed to the far door.

“Show me!”

He went with Arnaut across the courtyard, through the door. Following stairs spiraling downward, they came to a series of underground chambers. They were large and gloomy, with high curved ceilings.

Arnaut pushed ahead, panting, red-faced with fury. Chris hurried to keep up with him. They passed through a second chamber, empty like the first. But now Chris heard voices up ahead. One of them sounded like the Professor’s.

00:36:02

On the control room monitors, the computer-generated undulating field had begun to show spikes. Biting her lip, Kramer watched the spikes grow in higher and wider. She drummed her fingers on the table. Finally, she said, “Okay. Let’s fill the tanks at least. Let’s see how they do.”

“Good,” Gordon said, looking relieved. He picked up the radio, began to give orders to the technicians down in the transit room.

On the video monitors, Stern watched as heavy hoses were dragged over to the first of the empty shield tanks. Men climbed up ladders and adjusted the nozzles. “I think this is best,” Gordon said. “At least we’ll—”

Stern jumped to his feet. “No,” he said. “Don’t do it.”

“What?”

“Don’t fill the tanks.”

Kramer stared at him. “Why? What can—”

“Don’t do it!” Stern said. He was shouting in the small control room. On the screen, technicians were holding water nozzles above the fill aperture. “Tell them to stop! No water whatever in the tank! Not a drop!”

Gordon gave an order on the radio. The technicians looked up in surprise, but they stopped their work, lowered the hoses back to the floor.

“David,” Gordon said gently. “I think we have to—”

“No,” Stern said. “We don’t fill the tanks.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’ll screw up the glue.”

“The glue?”

“Yes,” he said. “I know how to strengthen the tanks.”

Kramer said, “You do? How?”

Gordon turned to the technicians. “How much time?”

“Thirty-five minutes.”

He turned back to Stern. “There’s just thirty-five minutes, David. There isn’t time to do anything now.”

“Yes there is,” Stern said. “There’s still enough time. If we go like hell.”

00:33:09

Kate came into the central courtyard of La Roque, to the place where she had last seen Chris. But Chris was gone.

“Chris?”

She heard no answer in her earpiece.

And he had the ceramic, she thought.

All around her in the courtyard lay burning bodies. She ran from one to the next, looking to see if one of them was Chris.

She saw Raimondo, who gave her a little nod and a wave — and then he shuddered. For a moment she thought it was the heat waves from the flames, but then she saw Raimondo turn, bleeding from his side. There was a man standing behind him, hacking repeatedly with his sword, cutting Raimondo at the arm, shoulder, torso, leg. Every cut was deep enough to wound, but not to kill. Raimondo staggered backward, bleeding freely. The man advanced, still hacking. Raimondo fell to his knees. The man stood over Raimondo, cutting again and again. Raimondo fell backward, and now the man was slashing Raimondo’s face, cutting diagonally across lips and nose, sending bits of flesh flying. The attacker’s face was hidden by flames, but she heard him say, “Bastard, bastard, bastard,” with each blow. She realized he was speaking English. And then she knew who the man was.

The attacker was de Kere.

:

Chris followed Arnaut deeper into the dungeon. They heard voices echoing somewhere up ahead. Arnaut moved more cautiously now, staying closer to the walls. At last they could see into the next chamber, which was dominated by a large pit in the ground. Above the pit, a heavy metal cage hung from a chain. The Professor was standing inside the bars, his face expressionless as the cage was lowered by two soldiers who turned a winch crank. Marek had been pushed against the far wall, his hands tied. Two soldiers stood near him.

Lord Oliver stood at the edge of the pit, smiling as the cage descended. He drank from a gold cup, wiped his chin. “I made you my promise, Magister,” he said, “and I will keep it.” To the soldiers at the winch he said, “Slower, slower.”

Staring at Oliver, Arnaut growled like an angry dog, and drew his sword. He turned back to Chris and whispered, “I shall take Oliver. You may have the others.”

Chris thought: The others? There were four soldiers in the room. But he had no time to protest, for with a scream of fury, Arnaut was running forward, shouting, “Oliverrrrr!”

Lord Oliver turned, still holding his goblet. With a sneer of disdain, he said, “So. The pig approaches.” He threw his cup aside and drew his sword. In a moment the battle was joined.

Chris was now running toward the soldiers at the winch, not quite sure what he would do; the soldiers beside Marek had raised their swords. Oliver and Arnaut fought bitterly, swords clanging, cursing each other between blows.

Everything was happening fast now. Marek tripped one of the soldiers near him, and stabbed him with a knife so small Chris couldn’t see it. The other soldier turned back to face Marek, and Marek kicked him hard, so that he staggered back against the winch, knocking the men away.

Unattended, the winch began to clank down more rapidly. There was a ratchet mechanism of some kind, so it turned noisily, but it was clearly moving faster than before. Chris saw the Professor’s cage descend below ground level, disappearing into the pit.

By then Chris had reached the first of the soldiers, whose back was to him. The man started to turn and Chris swung, badly wounding him. He swung again; the man fell.

Now there were only two soldiers. Marek, his wrists still tied, was backing away from one, ducking the hissing blade. The second soldier stood by the winch. He had his sword out and was ready to fight. Chris swung; the man parried easily. Then Marek, backing in a circle, banged against the soldier, who turned momentarily. Marek shouted, “Now!” and Chris stabbed with the sword. The man collapsed.

The winch was still turning. Chris grabbed it, then jumped away as the fourth soldier’s sword came down with a clang. The cage sank lower. Chris backed away. Marek was holding his bound wrists out to Chris; but Chris was not sure he could control the sword. Marek was shouting, “Do it!” so Chris swung; the rope snapped; and then the fourth soldier was on him. The soldier fought with the fury of a man trapped; Chris was cut on the forearm as he backed away. He realized he was in trouble, when suddenly his attacker looked down in horror, the bloody point of a sword protruding from his abdomen. The soldier toppled, and Chris saw Marek holding the blade.

Chris ran for the winch. He grabbed the crank and managed to stop the descent. Now he could see that the cage was deep in the oily water; the Professor’s head was barely above the surface. Another turn of the crank and he would have been submerged.

Marek came over, and together they began to crank the cage back up. Chris said, “How much time is left?”

Marek looked at his counter. “Twenty-six minutes.”

Meanwhile, Arnaut and Oliver fought on; they were now in a dark corner of the dungeon, and Chris could see the sparks from their clashing swords.

The cage rose dripping into the air. The Professor smiled at Chris. “I thought you’d be in time,” he said.

The black bars of the cage were slippery in Chris’s hands as he swung the cage overhead, away from the pit. Slime and black water dripped onto the dirt floor of the dungeon, leaving little pools. Chris went back to the winch; he and Marek cranked the cage down, lowering it to the floor. The Professor was soaked, but he seemed relieved to be on solid ground again. Chris went back to open the cage, but he saw that it was locked. There was a heavy iron padlock the size of a man’s fist.

“Where’s the key?” Chris said, turning to Marek.

“I don’t know,” Marek said. “I was on the ground when they put him in, I didn’t see what happened.”

“Professor?”

Johnston shook his head. “I’m not sure. I was looking there.” He nodded toward the pit.

Marek clanged his sword against the lock. Sparks flew, but the padlock was solid; the sword only scratched it. “That’s never going to work,” Chris said. “We need the damn key, André.”

André turned and looked around the dungeon. Chris said, “How much time is left?”

“Twenty-five minutes.”

Shaking his head, Chris went to the nearest dead soldier, and began searching the body.

00:21:52

In the control room, Stern watched as the technicians dipped the pale rubber membrane into a bucket of adhesive, and then placed it, still dripping, inside the mouth of the glass shield. Then they attached a compressed-air hose and the rubber began to expand. For a moment, it was possible to see that it was a weather balloon, but then it expanded still further, the rubber spreading and thinning, becoming translucent, assuming the curving shape of the glass shield until it had reached every corner of the container. Then the technicians capped it, clicked a stopwatch, and waited while the adhesive hardened.

Stern said, “How much time?”

“Twenty-one minutes to go.” Gordon pointed to the balloons. “It’s homely, but it works.”

Stern shook his head. “It was staring me in the face, for the last hour.”

“What was?”

“Blowouts,” he said. “I kept thinking, what are we trying to avoid here? And the answer is, blowouts. Just like a car, when the tires blow out. I kept thinking of car blowouts. And it seemed odd, because blowouts are so rare now. New cars hardly ever have them. Because the new tires have an inner membrane that’s self-sealing.” He sighed. “I kept wondering why this rare thing was on my mind, and then I realized that was the whole point: there was a way to make a membrane here, too.”

“This is not self-sealing,” Kramer said.

“No,” Gordon said, “but it’ll add thickness to the glass and spread the stress.”

“Right,” Stern said.

The technicians had put balloons in all the tanks, and capped them. Now they were waiting for the glue to harden. Gordon glanced at his watch. “Three more minutes.”

“And then how long for each tank?”

“Six minutes. But we can do two tanks at a time.”

Kramer sighed. “Eighteen minutes. Cutting it close.”

“We’ll make it,” Gordon said. “We can always pump the water faster.”

“Won’t that stress the tanks more?”

“Yes. But we can do it, if we have to.”

Kramer looked back at the monitor, where the field was undulating. But the peaks were clearer now. She said, “Why are the field bucks changing?”

“They’re not,” Gordon said without looking back.

“Yes,” she said. “They are. The spikes are getting smaller.”

“Smaller?”

Gordon came over to look. He frowned as he stared at the screen. There were four peaks, then three, then two. Then four again, briefly. “Remember, what you’re seeing is really a probability function,” he said. “Field amplitudes reflect the probability that the event will take place.”

“In English?”

Gordon stared at the screen. “Something must have gone wrong back there. And whatever it is, it’s changed the probability that they will return.”

00:15:02

Chris was sweating. He grunted as he flopped the soldier’s inert body onto its back, and resumed his search. He’d spent frantic minutes going through the maroon-and-gray uniforms of two of the dead soldiers, trying to find the key. The surcoats were long, and underneath that, the soldiers wore quilted shirts; all in all, a lot of cloth. Not that the key could be easily concealed; Chris knew that the cage padlock would require a key several inches long, and made of iron.

But Chris didn’t find it. Not on the first soldier, and not on the second. Swearing, he got to his feet.

Across the dungeon, Arnaut was still fighting with Oliver; the clang of their swords continued ceaselessly, a steady metallic rhythm. Marek was walking along the walls, holding a torch, searching the dark corners of the dungeon. But he didn’t seem to be having success, either.

Chris could almost hear the clock ticking in his head. He looked around, wondering where a key could be hidden. Unfortunately, he realized, it could be almost anywhere: hanging on a wall, or tucked into the base of a torch holder. He went over to the winch and looked around the mechanism. And there he found it — a large iron key, at the foot of the winch. “Got it!”

Marek looked up, glanced at his wrist counter as Chris hurried over to the cage to insert the key. The key went right in, but it wouldn’t turn. At first he thought the mechanism was stuck, but after thirty agonizing seconds of effort, he was forced to conclude that this was not the key, after all. Feeling helpless and angry, he flung the key to the ground. He turned to the Professor, locked behind the bars.