TW02 The Timekeeper Conspiracy NEW (5 page)

"I won't let you down, Adrian."

"It's not just me, Doc. You know what's riding on this."

"Yes, I know," said the one called Doc. "I know only too well." He had sounded frightened.

She had no idea what any of it meant. Sooner or later, she knew, they would have to make their purpose clear. She would bide her time and wait.

A week and two days had passed when she received yet another visitor. This one was a lady. The door to her room opened and the man called Doc entered, along with the lady and two other men. The lady hid her face behind a fan. Milady was certain that now she would find out the reason for her abduction, the purpose behind all this intrigue. She stood up, giving her jailors a haughty look.

"Well," she said. "It appears that at last I will—"

The words caught in her throat as the lady dropped her fan, revealing her face. It was the Countess's own face. Milady stared at her living reflection, struck speechless at the sight.

"You see," said the woman, in Milady's own voice, "I told you that we would only keep you for a week or so."

Milady backed away from the woman who was her twin in every way. She had her face, she had her voice, she had her manner....

"Who—
who are you?"
she whispered.

Her double laughed and it was her own laugh, exactly. Then she spoke in a completely different voice. A voice Milady had come to know only too well. "Why, Milady, don't you recognize me?"

"Taylor!
In God's name, how is this possible? How—"

"Why don't you ask Him when you see Him?" Taylor said. He pointed a slim tubelike instrument at her. A bright, pencil-thin light stabbed out from it as Taylor quickly flicked his wrist.

Milady's head, severed by the laser, fell upon the floor and rolled grotesquely into a corner of the room.

The man called Doc turned his head away and made a whimpering sound.

"Jesus, Taylor!" He leaned against the door jamb for support.

"Weak stomach, Doc?"

"You didn't have to kill her," Doc said, his voice quivering.

"Oh, I did, indeed. We're playing for high stakes, my friend. It wouldn't do to have
two
Milady de Winters running around now, would it? Besides, I did her a favor. I spared her from the headsman's axe."

"By beheading her yourself," said Doc. "You didn't tell me you were going to kill her."

"She would have done the same to me, Doc, or to you or any one of us. This was one very nasty lady. Besides, if you want to salve your conscience, think of all the lives that will be saved when we bring the time wars to a halt."

"I agree that the time wars should be stopped," said Doc, "but I can't believe that your end justifies your means."

"You went into this with your eyes wide open, Doc," said Taylor. "It's a bit late for second thoughts now, don't you think?"

"Yes, I'm afraid it is." He took a deep breath, refusing to look at the headless body on the floor.

"Well, I've done all that you asked. You don't need me anymore. Am I free to go, or am I going to end up like her?"

"Why, Doc," said Taylor, gently placing his hand alongside the man's cheek, "what makes you say a thing like that?" His voice was a perfect mimicry of de Winter's voice. Doc jerked away.

"Let him go," said Taylor.

The man was led away.

"You think he's going to be a problem?" said one of the others.

"I doubt it," Taylor said. "We've got his chronoplate. What harm can he do? Still, I don't suppose that it would hurt to keep an eye on him." He walked up to the mirror in the room and examined his reflection. He smiled de Winter's smile. "He did a hell of a good job, wouldn't you say? Amazing what just a little cosmetic surgery can do. Damn, look at me. I'm beautiful."

The other man cleared his throat uneasily.

Taylor grinned. "Sort of gets to you, doesn't it? What do you think, Jimmy? You think Richelieu will know the difference?"

Taylor threw back his head and gave a startlingly feminine laugh. Jimmy left the room.

Their instructions were to proceed to the tavern in Meung, and from there to make their way to Paris.

Somewhere along the way, they would be contacted by an agent code-named "Mongoose."

"Are they all named after animals?" Finn had asked Darrow.

"Yes, why do you ask?"

"Oh, I was just wondering if there was an agent Jackass or an agent Baboon, you know. Just curious."

Darrow had not appreciated Finn's sense of humor.

"What is it you've got against these people, anyway?" Lucas asked him as they rode their horses at a walk on the road to Meung.

"They're sly," said Finn. "I don't like people who are sly. They're always sneaking around like weasels—wonder if there's an agent Weasel?—and they're totally untrustworthy. I prefer to work with people I can depend on. I wouldn't turn my back on a TIA agent for one second."

"You don't really think
we
have anything to worry about, do you?" Lucas said.

"Who knows, kid? Who knows what this mission
really
is? They say it's the Timekeepers, but it could be the Daughters of the American Revolution for all I know. They don't even tell each other everything."

They conversed in French, a language they spoke as easily as English, thanks to their implant programming. Anyone seeing them upon the road would have taken them for nothing more than what they appeared to be, cavaliers, soldiers of fortune, comrades in arms. Finn's normally red hair was now an auburn shade, Lucas's was a chestnut brown. Both men wore their hair down to their shoulders, in the style of gallants of the time. Lucas wore a waxed moustache, Finn wore a moustache and a goatee, a style that would one day be known as a Van Dyke. Both men wore high boots and leather baldricks, both carried daggers and rapiers. Their apparel did not lend an air of wealth or fashion to them. Both their cloaks were brown and well worn. Finn's doublet was yellow, cut from inexpensive cloth; Lucas's was brown. Neither man wore lace anywhere about his person; both wore simple sashes of green silk and white shirts that were in need of laundering. Their hats were plumed, but the feathers had seen better days.

"I hate this cloak-and-dagger stuff," said Finn, then chuckled at the thought that both of them actually had real cloaks and daggers. "I don't like the idea of not even knowing what our contact is supposed to look like. I'm not even sure what we're supposed to do."

"My impression was that we were to act as a sort of back-up team to the TIA boys," Lucas said.

"Look, it might not be so bad. They might not even need us. This mission could turn into a Minus Time vacation."

"You wouldn't want to place a little bet on that, would you?" said Finn.

"Actually, no. Not really."

"I didn't think so."

"What do you think about this idea of someone in the underground going in with these Timekeepers?"

Lucas said.

"I don't know. Why, you thinking about Hunter?"

"How'd you guess?"

"Wasn't too hard."

"I just can't see it, somehow. I couldn't see someone like Hunter going along with that kind of insanity. No one appreciates the potential dangers of a split more than a soldier, even a deserter. Why would someone who has gone to all the trouble of going over the hill and stealing a plate place himself at the disposal of a bunch of terrorists? It just doesn't make sense. What could they possibly have that he would want?"

"They wouldn't have anything that Hunter would want," said Finn, "but not all deserters are like Hunter. Think about all the things that would make a man desert. This character is probably someone who couldn't take it anymore or some maladjusted individual who just couldn't make it in Plus Time.

Maybe it's some fanatic who joined the service with some idea of subverting it from within, who knows?

Whoever he is, he's got to be just as crazy as the Timekeepers. No one in their right mind would set out to cause a split."

"I can't believe anyone would really go that far," said Lucas.

"Darrow may have a point on that one," Finn said. "They may hope that they won't have to, but if they get pushed, if their bluff gets called, they'll have no choice. Nobody knows what sort of an effect a split will have. Maybe they think that that's what it will take to bring the war machine to a grinding halt. It might at that. But I'd just as soon not have to find out just what a split would do. Just researching it made Mensinger a nervous wreck. And the whole idea of this mission isn't doing my nerves any good."

They reached the inn at Meung without being contacted by anyone. They took a room and ordered dinner in the tavern. The wine was passable and it felt pleasant after their journey. The innkeeper, although he had been somewhat wary of their well-traveled and rough appearance at the beginning, had warmed up considerably at the prospect of entertaining two customers who paid as they were served.

He had been stiffed so many times by gallant cavaliers that he fussed over Finn and Lucas like a mother hen, ever solicitous of their satisfaction and trotting out from the kitchen constantly to see if they were enjoying their meal. Finn was on his second roasted chicken and Lucas was enjoying the innkeeper's best wine, a pleasant Bordeaux, when a young man almost completely covered with dust entered the establishment. Once inside the door, he began pounding at his clothing, so that within seconds he became almost completely obscured by a dust cloud.

"Some more wine, Monsieur?" said the innkeeper, bringing yet another bottle to their table.

"With pleasure," Finn said. "And pour a glass for young Lochinvar over there, he looks as though he could do with some refreshment."

At this, the young man looked up. He was scarcely more than a boy, perhaps eighteen years of age.

He had a thick shock of disheveled blond hair and his clothes looked like hand-me-downs.

"I beg your pardon, sir," he said, "were you speaking of me?"

"Do you see anyone else in here besides ourselves?" said Finn, smiling.

"I fear you have taken me for someone else, sir," the young man said. "My name is not Lochinvar."

Finn chuckled. "It was just a figure of speech, lad. Lochinvar was the hero in a tale I heard once."

The young man frowned. "You seek to mock me, sir?"

"Don't get your feathers ruffled, son," said Finn. "I'm only offering you a drink. You look like you could do with some refreshment."

"And what, may I ask, is there in my appearance that leads you to believe I am in need of charity?"

the young man said.

"Look, let's try this again," said Finn. "We've been traveling a long way ourselves, my friend and I.

You came in, looking all dusty and bedraggled and I thought—"

The young man stiffened. "My clothing may not be quite so fine as your own, Monsieur, but nevertheless, it is not good manners for a gentleman to remark upon the difference."

"Leave him alone, Finn," Lucas said.

"Forget it, kid," said Finn. "Buy your own damn wine." He went back to eating his chicken, shaking his head in resignation. "Try to be a nice guy," he told Lucas.

"Monsieur," said the young man.

"Yes, what is it now?"

"I am not in the habit of being dismissed so cavalierly."

Finn raised his eyebrows. "Excuse me," he said. "I was not aware that I was dismissing a cavalier."

"Finn—" Lucas said.

The innkeeper backed away from the table.

"Then I will make you aware of whom you are dealing with, Monsieur. D'Artagnan suffers slights from no one." He drew his rapier. " 'Guarde, Monsieur!"

"Oh, Christ," said Finn. The innkeeper dove under a table.

"Monsieur D'Artagnan," Lucas began, "allow me to—"

"I will deal with you presently, sir," D'Artagnan said, "after I have done with your unruly friend. That is, unless you wish to increase the odds against me. I will not shrink from crossing swords with both of you at once." He swished his rapier back and forth a couple of times.

"Put that thing away," said Finn. "It's almost as big as you are."

"Nevertheless, its size will not impede my use of it," D'Artagnan said. "Now, 'guarde!"

"Oh, sit down," said Finn.

"You will stand, Monsieur, and draw your sword!"

"I will sit, my friend, and finish my dinner. And you would be wise to do the same."

D'Artagnan's sword stabbed out and lanced Finn's chicken off his plate. With a flick of the wrist, he sent the bird flying into a corner of the room.

"You appear to have finished your dinner, Monsieur."

"That does it," Finn said. "I'm going to take that pigsticker away from you and spank you with it." He started to stand.

Lucas took hold of his arm.
"Finn, sit down. Don't be an idiot."

Delaney stood. "Look," he said to D'Artagnan, "can't we just forget the whole thing? I'm willing to overlook the chicken, but—"

"But I am not willing to overlook your insults, sir," D'Artagnan said.

"What
insults?"

"Your sword, Monsieur!"

"No."

"You refuse to draw your sword?"

"That's right, I refuse."

"Then you are a base coward and no gentleman!"

"Listen here, you—"

"Finn ..
."said Lucas.

Delaney took a deep breath. "AH right. I am a base coward and I'm not a gentleman. Does that satisfy you?"

D'Artagnan looked disappointed. "Well, then, in that case, I must demand an apology."

"For what?"

"Finn, will you for Christ's sake apologize and have done with it?" said Lucas.

"Well now what the hell should I apologize for?"

"It doesn't matter, just apologize, if it will make him happy."

"Sir, I will not be condescended to," D'Artagnan said.

"Just stay out of this," said Lucas. "Finn, say you're sorry, all right?"

"All right, I'm sorry. I apologize."

"I do not think you are sincere in your apology," D'Artagnan said.

"Please accept his apology, Monsieur," said Lucas. "It will bring this entire affair to a close and do wonders for my digestion."

"This is most perplexing," said D'Artagnan. "Your friend clearly does not wish to apologize, yet he apologizes. And although he is not sincere in his apology, he will do as you wish to spare himself from dueling with me. It appears that there is no way I can gain satisfaction in this affair. You place me in a most disadvantageous situation, Monsieur."