Times Without Number (16 page)

anywhere
?"
"What do you mean?"
"I came to California for a rest. Simply for a rest! I got so sick at
home of being shown off like a circus animal -- looky looky, here's a
time-traveller, let's make him do some tricks to amuse us! How in the
name of all that's holy did you find out?"
Two Dogs gave a dry chuckle, " I see. With your typically European
parochialism, you thought that this was the end of the world. Well,
it's true we're a long way from Londres, but that doesn't mean that we
don't hear the news eventually. On your way to California you passed
through New Madrid. The Prince of New Castile, who's the Commander of
your Society, happened to be in residence at his palace there, making
one of his infrequent visits to the territory he nominally governs.
You called on him to pay your respects. And . . ." An expressive shrug.
"There can't be very many people in the world by the name of
Miguel Navarro."
"By the infernal fires, isn't there anywhere on Earth I can get away from
it all?" Don Miguel, scowling terribly so that the cicatrised sword-slash
on his cheek nearly vanished as the muscles under it tightened, slapped
his open palm oh the table in an access of fury.
"Away from what?"
"I told you! From these sensation-seekers who always seem to descend
on a time-traveller like flies on rotten meat -- and they're no less
unwholesome, I tell you straight!"
"Well, that at least I can promise you you'll be spared," Two Dogs said.
"Our code of good behaviour doesn't allow us to offend visitors in that
fashion. In fact, out of deference to your wish for anonymity, I'd drop
the subject but for one thing."
"That being . . . ?"
"By now, Don Miguel, there isn't anywhere on Earth you -- I mean Europeans
generally--can 'get away from it all.' You've scarred the face of the planet
far too deeply. They tell me that even the sterile snow of the South Pole
is now littered with the refuse of the explorers you've sent to it."
There was a pause, and Don Miguel again stared across the valley towards
the mines. Honesty compelled him to accept, watching the half-naked
workers there whose brown skins were turned nearly yellow by the coating
of mineral dust they wore, that in the fierce summer heat they must be
suffering torments of thirst and weariness. Yes, it was regrettable,
but true: the greed of Europe had caused a lot of harm to people who
didn't deserve it.
He sighed, and drained his glass. This time Two Dogs filled it anew.
"And there's another more personal reason for not acting as I suppose
I ought to," he went on meditatively. "I am, as you deduced, very much
interested in history. To forego this chance to talk with an expert
from the centre of world affairs is something I'll only do if you're
insistent."
"As you like," Don Miguel conceded, comforting himself with the reflection
that -- judging by what Two Dogs had so far said -- questions from him
would be on a higher level than those from, say, the Marquesa di Jorque.
"You're kind," Two Dogs said formally. "In the event, let me ask if you
agree with the proposition I advanced a short time ago. Is it not probable
that without Imperial dominance over the nearer coast of Europe, and your
virtual monopoly of trans-Atlantic sea-trade, we'd likely have had you,
and the French, and the Swedes, and the Dutch, and even the English,
transporting their local differences to this continent and battling over
them? And we poor Indians might have been ground between them like corn
between millstones."
There could be no doubt that he took his hypothesis seriously; under the
shadow of the reed awning, his face was as grim and ominous as one of
the idols carved by his Central American cousins. Don Miguel marvelled
at the change that had overtaken him, and wished achingly that it could
have been any other subject than this which had arisen between them. He
had taken quite a liking to Two Dogs since their first meeting three days
earlier, and had looked forward to a lot of idle small-talk to distract
his mind from the things that preyed on it.
But here, now, Two Dogs had gone to the core of his anxieties as directly
as a skilled engineer sinking a mineshaft to a lode of ore.
Well, there was no help for it. But tomorrow or some time soon he'd be
advised to move on to some even more remote townlet, possibly even register
at an inn under an assumed name . . .
With yet another sigh, the deepest of all, he said, "Oh . . . Yes,
I suppose it's possible. Though personally I doubt whether any would-be
conqueror with so small an economic base as a single member-country of the
Empire -- even France, which is relatively large and fairly wealthy --
could have established a permanent bridgehead here if the Indians had
united to oppose them."
"Oh, I think so," contradicted Two Dogs. "I think what you would have
done would be to take advantage of our poor internal communications and
the linguistic distinctions which divided us. Some of us might have
been tempted to throw in our lot with one party, some with another,
until in the end we were as war-torn and antagonistic as you."
"You have an excessively cynical attitude towards Europeans," Don Miguel
objected mildly.
"I contest that. Reverting for a moment to the role you've enforced on me,
and thinking in Mohawk terms: was it not a cynical action to single out
one small tribe among so many and equip it to embark on a grand crusade
clear to the Pacific? That's how we learned to be cynical, if there's any
truth in your charge! Not that I'm admitting the term is justified. It's
more that being allied with the Empire is like being brother to a
hot-headed adventurer. Any day a feud in which he's embroiled himself
may explode in the face of his family without their knowledge or desire."
Thinking of the currently strained relations between the Empire and
its coeval super-power the Confederacy of the East -- and, still more
alarming, of the recent rumours that westernised scientists in Cathay
were on the track of time apparatus of their own, which might lead to
who could guess what consequences in view of the widespread Oriental
belief that the material world was
maya
, illusory! -- Don MigueI was
compelled to give a nod of acquiescence.
"It is mainly because of that," Two Dogs added after a pause, "that I'm
infringing our code of good manners. It's disquieting to learn that a
supposedly innocent tourist, here to rest and relax in the California
sunlight, ts actually a time-traveller. Particularly in view of . . ."
"What?" Don Miguel, alerted by he could not say what reaction of his
subconscious, made the word crackle like a firearrow.
For a long moment Two Dogs seemed to be struggling towards a
decision. Suddenly he drained his wine-glass and slammed it down hard
on the table.
"I'll show you! Because -- though it shames me to admit it to a foreigner
-- what I'm talking about is too much for one man to endure knowledge of
by himself!"
Without further explanation he jumped to his feet and strode down the
hillside shouting at the top of his lungs for Tomás, his dour chief
overseer. Some of the labourers on the far side of the valley heard,
paused in their work and looked to see what madness had come upon their
master. More slowly, Don Miguel followed him, screwing up his eyes with
the shock of the strong sunlight. By the time he caught up with Two Dogs
he had located Tomás and was giving him orders in the incomprehensible
local Indian language. He ventured to ask what the sudden fuss was all
about, but the only answer he got was, "Wait and see!"
Much puzzled, indeed greatly disturbed, Don Miguel was forced to contain
himself while Tomás went in search of two burros with saddles fit for
gentlefolk. The sketchy outline of a pattern was forming in his mind,
and the ingredients that made it up were alarming. Clearly it had been
his admission that he was a member of the Society of Time which triggered
the Mohawk's outburst -- but what possible connection could there be
between the arrival of a Licentiate of the Society in this back-of-beyond
community, and the sudden transformation of a mine manager into a man
apparently struck into a frenzy of panic?
After a wait of only a few minutes -- which felt to Don Miguel like a
miniature foretaste of eternity -- Tomás returned with their mounts. Then,
wrapping his old but bright scrape around him, he set forth ahead of
them along a narrow dusty trail, walking steadily with the aid of a staff.
Don Miguel decided after the first twenty yards that he too would rather
be on foot. The jogging of the burro was so unlike the motion of a horse
as to make him uncomfortable. Besides, it was nearing the middle of the
day and the flies were troublesome; he would have preferred to have both
hands free to swat at them. But a glance at Two Dogs persuaded him not
to mention these facts. The Mohawk wore the expression of a man driven
by demons.
The trail wound over the shoulder of the hill, becoming in places a mere
footpath, but the burros were at least sure-footed and Tomás marched
ahead stolidly. Once past the hillcrest, beyond the limit of the land
that the miners had so far attacked, a smaller valley lay baking in
the sun. Only the trail winding across it suggested that men had ever
disturbed it. That apart, it might have lain as it was since Creation Day.
"There!" Two Dogs said, causing his burro to fall back alongside Don
Miguel's. He raised his arm and pointed to a rocky slope ahead.
After careful scrutiny, Don Miguel said, "I'm afraid I see nothing out
of the ordinary."
"Well, then, come and look more closely," Two Dogs grunted, and kicked
his mount into a reluctant trot.
What in the world could have so shattered the man's normal Mohawk
imperturbability?
It appeared that Tomás also knew what they were heading for; he turned
aside and scrambled straight up a steep rocky incline, while Two Dogs
on his burro had to take a more roundabout route. Abandoning the animal
to wander, he jumped down at the overseer's side and the two of them
together leaned against a large round boulder, nearly man-high, about
which at first glance Don Miguel saw nothing remarkable.
Then, as they strained against it, it rocked back and forth. Suddenly it
gave, rolling through half a circle and coming to rest in a cup of ground
which fitted it so accurately it could scarcely have been accidental. Its
displacement revealed an opening in the slope behind. A dark, roughly
square opening. The mouth of a tunnel.
The mouth of the gallery of a mine!
Don Miguel felt horrified understanding dawn. Hastening to join the others,
he stared down the black tunnel -- seeing nothing because of the contrast
with the bright sun -- and demanded, "What is this? I didn't think you'd
begun to mine this valley!"
"We haven't," Two Dogs continued. He seemed to have recovered his habitual
self-possession, and his tone was sardonic. "But there doesn't seem to be
much doubt that someone has. Over the past few years, we've frequently
been puzzled by the fact that what ought to have been rich lodes of ore
running for a considerable distance have stopped short, contrary to the
predictions of our geologists. And now, a matter of a month or two ago,
we stumbled across this concealed mine gallery. And inside we found . . ."
He stepped for a moment into the low opening, having to stoop to avoid
the roof, fumbled on the ground and turned back to Don Miguel, holding
out something on his palm. Don Miguel took it, stared at it, and felt
the world tremble around him.
III
His Highness the Prince of New Castile, Commander of the Society of Time,
ran his fingers through his short black beard. He stared for a long while
at the object on the table in from of him, and at last spoke.
"Well, since you seem to have a gift for turning up uncomfortable odds
and ends, Navarro, I suppose I'll have to inquire what you make of this
-- this bit of scrap metal. I know you take it seriously enough to have
abandoned your furlough in California, but I must say it seems to me an
innocuous enough object . . . All right: why the song and dance?"
Don Miguel drew a deep breath and held it for the space of three heartbeats.
He didn't need anyone to tell him he was going out on a limb; he would
have been far happier if he had been able to consult with one of the
Society's theoreticians -- ideally, with Father Ramón himself -- before
making his suspicions public. But Father Ramón was on the other side of
the Atlantic Ocean, and the Commander was here in New Madrid. And the
discovery which Two Dogs had made was already two months in the past . . .
He licked his lips, very conscious of the piercing eyes of the many
notables assembled in this, the Prince's audience chamber, and above
all of the stare of the other Licentiates who were present. On his brief
stopover at New Madrid en route to California he had made the unpleasant
discovery that the members of the Society based here tended to resent
his being awarded the Order of the Scythe and Hourglass at such an early
age and attributed it not to anything he had done to merit the honour but
to undue influence at the Headquarters Office of the Society in Londres.
If this gamble of his were to prove unwarranted . . .
But he shut away that possibility from his mind. Far too much was at
stake for him to consider the risk of later personal disadvantage.
And, anyway, was it not worse to be a prince than a commoner in so
many ways? Imagine living in the public eye twenty-four hours a day,
so that one could not rise from bed, conduct one's toilet, eat a meal,
without scores of hangers-on in attendance! One could barely even enjoy
a love-affair, come to that, without the crudest details filtering down
in garbled form to the palace kitcheners!
Accordingly he set his shoulders back, looked his Commander straight in
the eye, and spoke out boldly.
"What I make of it, sir, is this-- though I'm open to correction. I think
it's a breach of the Treaty of Prague."
Well . . . there was the bombshell. And it certainly went off to great
effect. The Prince himself blanched and jerked back in his chair, while
everyone else without exception paled and voiced wordless exclamations.