Twin Speex: Time Traitors Book II (46 page)

She almost laughed at her own lack of perception. “Wu is a monk. They don’t marry, and typically don’t have children.”

“Obviously our knowledge of human behavior is lacking.” She heard amusement in the voice.

“Was that really Wu?” she asked, afraid of the answer.

“A reflection of him,” the little creature replied. “We reached out to him, and through him, to you. He is an extremely sensitive precept. But within this dimension, very old and frail.”

Odette swallowed a lump in her throat. Even his reflection, knowing that he was somehow part of this venture, comforted her.

She nodded and stepped close to the being, Ambrosius and the Time Traitors with her.

“We are ready,” she said.

Thirty-Three

SHE KEPT HER head down and strode hurriedly through the crowded street. The information had come to her late, the final result of her crumbling intelligence network. There was to be a meeting, a secret meeting tonight at the humble home of Mister Gabriel Wright. She’d had to work swiftly to pull together the materials from her various caches. Most of her informants and minions had fled, flushed out by the colonial authorities. She was on her own now.

These last few days had been difficult as she scrambled from one safe house to another, her carefully crafted illusion being stripped of its layers of lies. They knew what she looked like. They would find her. Despite her disguises, they would eventually track her down.

But it didn’t matter anymore, because she was coming to them.

*

Benjamin Franklin had told them to await him in the parlor at ten p.m. Curtains were to be drawn with only enough candles to illuminate the meeting space within. A fire also burned in the hearth casting a contrasting ambiance of cozy mystery over the room.

Odell placed a candelabrum at the center of a round card table that had been set up for the occasion. Franklin had given no numbers for attendance, so they had pulled in what chairs they could find from the dining room and kitchen to place around the table and against the walls.

Ava paced to and fro in front of the fireplace. Benjamin Franklin had asked specifically for her presence. Odell watched her with a worried frown upon his face. Since that evening in the belfry, he had been scrupulously careful about the manner in which he interacted with her, knowing all the while that any fraternization discovered between them would go much harder on her than on him.

Except for that time in the kitchen pantry, just thinking about it almost paralyzed his brain. It had been only a few suspended moments when they had found themselves closeted together in the aromatic darkness. He often thought of that sleepless night when he had raided the kitchen in a kind of poetic trance; something analogous to the “Night Before Christmas.”

Twas the night after Hugh left and silence abound, I left my lonely bedroom in search of some sound; down the long quiet staircase that led to the hall I wondered withal; when what should I hear but the sound of dainty feet quite near; I rushed to the kitchen and on to the stove, where arose the sweet vapor of tea, I suppose; there she stood in her nightgown and me in my banyan, quite effectively covering the reaction of my man-yan…

Odell’s spurt of laughter caused Ava to look up questioningly.

“What’s so funny?”

“I was just thinking of poetic euphemisms,” he replied evasively, a slight blush dusting his cheekbones.

It was a testament to her mental turmoil that this explanation elicited no response. She resumed her pacing.

Ava had no idea why she was summoned to this meeting. Benjamin Franklin only ever spoke to her when absolutely necessary and, since the death of his grandson, she hardly saw him. In fact, he was rarely seen in public at all. She knew from Odell that his absence from society was a cover. In his grief, he had not been idle. Messengers and secret envoys were a common presence in the Wright household, as it was often used as a way station in their travels.

Odell and Gabriel were fixtures at these discussions and planning sessions. The time and location of these meetings were closely guarded secrets, and the two men would come and go at all hours of the day and night. However, Odell was scrupulous in keeping Ava abreast of developments. She was privy to his frustrations when there were setbacks and his optimism when they won over another convert.

It hadn’t been easy. In fact, Odell was almost certain that Benjamin Franklin had thought it a lost cause. Yet they persevered, and the day that Gabriel had asked her to help him draft the framework for an alliance between the colonists and the native peoples was one of celebration.

The question of slavery proved harder still. They had staunch allies, but the thought of losing even one of the southern colonies to the British, spooked many of the colonial delegates. Even now with the serious possibility of native alliances, General Washington, in particular, was reluctant to alienate those colonies most dependent on slave labor, his home colony of Virginia among them.

With Hugh and his brave compatriots off recruiting resistance fighters and setting up supply lines, Gabriel relied more and more on Ava’s knowledge to help formulate the moral and legal basis for the abolition of slavery. Ava knew that their mission was to actually change the course of history, but still found herself reluctant to give away too much. Nevertheless, the words of the yet-to-be-written Declaration of Independence kept popping up in her head:
“We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal…”

Her mind kept turning to the denial of these rights to slaves. At first, she had attributed this to a form of mental gymnastics in which these men engaged to justify their actions. But then she remembered the still prevalent bigotry that poisoned her own time. There were people who truly believed that the races were somehow different in mind and body, although science and biology had long ago dismissed the concept of race as a purely social construct.

“Long ago” in her time, she reminded herself. She knew that many of the Founding Fathers were very conflicted about slavery, particularly in light of their own revolutionary ambitions. But something, something deep inside them, couldn’t allow them to let go—

Activity at the parlor door interrupted her thoughts. Evelyn rushed in, her pale, worried face flashing Ava a quick warning glance. She was prepared for something momentous, but could hardly believe her eyes when the men entering the room, assembled around the table. Benjamin Franklin she barely noticed, but for the tall figures of Thomas Jefferson and General George Washington. The last man to enter was much smaller in stature, but John Adams was the only one of the group to nod politely in her direction.

*

His pale eyes looked dispassionately down at the small, still figure.

“Remove it,” he said curtly, nodding to the large, muscular man waiting silently by the door.

Sir Knightly Davis rarely let his emotions show, and even now was hardly demonstrative in his worry. Yet, worried he was. Lillian had been gone for far longer than the few days she had planned, and his supply of Feralon was running low. Keeping the wormhole stable was becoming increasingly difficult.

He turned his back on the room to look out the windows over the glittering city. The crackle of plastic as his henchman wrapped up the body and carried it out barely registered with him.

He was in a quandary. Lillian was unreliable and had become more so as their plan progressed. Still, she had always steadied herself in the end, at least enough to do the job. Sir Knightly was well aware that her thirst for revenge was overcoming all other instincts, even self-preservation. But he had counted on her need to be the last one standing, to lord her survival over her enemies, as the most dependable check on her behavior. Now, he wasn’t so sure.

Lillian Brandon had been a beautiful and brilliant child. Knightly Davis first met her when she was a little girl of three or four. He didn’t know at that point the depth of Sir Archibald’s obsession with his daughter; he had seemed like any other doting father. Even when the relationship between the two became clear to him, Davis couldn’t have cared less. His own predilection for young boys had made him an unlikely moral arbiter of sexual behavior.

In fact, it was this jointly understood sexual deviance that had bound him to Sir Archibald as much as their passion for science and time travel. There was an understanding of mutually assured destruction should one try to betray the other.

Davis turned back to the room. He would need to get another Feralon to bring the machine back up to full capacity, but not tonight. Right now, he just needed to think.

Lillian may be in trouble, or she may have finally gone off the deep end. Certainly, she was never far from it. Beginning when he had found her with a decaying child in her arms—no, he had to acknowledge that it probably had begun much earlier with her father’s depravity. But it really didn’t matter when she had become unstable. He still needed her. He had tried to carefully calibrate her thirst for revenge with the goal of ridding themselves of anyone who could stand in their way, Odell Speex and his sister, Odette, primary among them.

Although his recent discovery of Sir Matthew’s listening devices had been an eye-opener. He hadn’t counted on much resistance from this timeline. It seemed he was mistaken. It was a pity. He had always considered Matthew one of the more intelligent members of the aristocracy.

He sighed deeply. Did world domination always mean getting rid of one’s intellectual equals? Life would get boring very quickly if one had only the Ravensdales of the world to talk to.

Sir Knightly shrugged his shoulders noncommittally and walked to the door, flicking the lights off as he went. He supposed he’d have to dispose of his prisoners in some manner or other. The predicament required deeper thought than he was willing to give it at the moment.

While he maintained an astounding amount of control over much of the ruling elite, he was reluctant to dirty his own nest, as the old saying went. He hoped to live comfortably in this timeline and avoid too many situations where he would have to employ violence. But examples might have to be made, and Matthew and Abigail were popular. People would be sorry to see them punished. It might be a good lesson for the rest.

He pursed his lips and nodded with some satisfaction. Yes, that just might do it; perhaps no deep thought was necessary after all.

Reaching the doorway, he stopped and looked back at the room. Lights and dials on the machine blinked in the darkness. He could see the reflected glow of the pinkish liquid from the three remaining Feralon as it emptied into the machine. He would have to adjust the frequency of his traps. The creatures had apparently recalibrated to avoid them, leaving him dangerously low on the resource, as he so euphemistically referred to living beings.

As he went out shutting the door behind him, he thought that at least this was a problem worthy of keeping him up all night.

*

Ettie lowered the spyglass. She was crouched down behind the low brick wall encircling the rooftop of the Lacy Group Building. She turned around and leaned back against the cold brick, saying, “He’s gone.”

“Did you see anyone else?” Clem’s voice was tense with anxiety. “Uncle Matthew? Aunt Abigail?”

“No,” she replied with compassion. “Likely, Clem, they are imprisoned somewhere in the building. Charlie will find them,” she concluded with more confidence than she really felt.

Ettie was also nervous. Her stomach was tied up into knots, and she nearly choked on her fear. She breathed deeply in an attempt to dissipate the lethargy collecting in her muscles.

“Ettie,” her palmavox crackled and popped as Charlie’s disembodied voice came through, “Ettie?”

She cleared her throat and attempted with some success a calm, cool tone as she answered, “Yeah, we’re here. Is everything in position?”

She felt rather than heard the hesitation in his reply, “Yep. Um… just a little catch.”

“Christ,” she whispered under her breath, terrified of even the smallest glitch.

“No, Miss Speex, just me,” Inspector Hamilton’s tone was much more successfully calm and cool than her own she thought with some envy.

She assumed a casual, conversational attitude, even though she felt as if their whole mission had been blown, “To what do we owe the honor, Inspector? Wanting to get in on the ground floor of some new tech Lord Westchester and I have invested in?”

“Spare me the cover story,” he replied, humor coloring his voice. “Lord Westchester has given me a very detailed account of your supposed test flight.”

“Inspec—” she began.

“I have no intention of interfering, Miss Speex,” he explained. “As a matter of fact, I’m here to help.”

The wave of relief that crashed over her was immediately followed by an intense feeling of bewilderment.

“Why?” she asked.

“The Ungawen,” he said, “or Feralon as they are more commonly known.”

“You mean the
mythical
creatures that steal children from their beds?” she drawled with an edge of sarcasm.”

“Well, Miss Speex,” he countered with unfailing professionalism, “
they
are. Mythical, that is. But the creatures who have worked so diligently on our behalf and whose suffering is causing our shaman many sleepless nights, are not.”

Ettie felt the beginnings of a headache work the edges of her brain. She breathed deeply to try and dispel her confusion. Now was not the time for explanations.

“Whatever you say,” she agreed resignedly. “You follow Charlie. We’ll meet inside.”

“Ettie.” It was Charlie back in command of his palmavox.

“Yeah, what is it?”

“The communicator,” he began, referring to the paperweight-like cube that the Feralon used to speak with them, “it’s gone blank.”

“But you’ve memorized the map, right?” she fretted, her stomach knotting up even tighter.