“Ayane Sethemba?” Piercy said. “As in Kinfe Sethemba?”
“My father,” Lady Caligwe—Lady Sethemba—said. “Why did you believe I was Jendaya?”
“That doesn’t matter,” Piercy said. “From which direction did you arrive?”
Lady Sethemba pointed past him. She wasn’t laughing, but her eyes gleamed as if she really wanted to. Piercy took several running steps in the indicated direction. There was nothing but barren forest and rutted road. His head hurt, his throat ached, and he was filled with dread. “There’s no way back,” he said. “The magician has trapped us.”
“I do not understand,” Lady Sethemba said. “What brought us here?”
Piercy leaned against the nearest tree, welcoming the rough coolness of the bark against his forehead. “I don’t know,” he said, “or, rather, I can only surmise. The magician created a place of power that linked the velocitor station with some other place. Some other time, also, given that it is now autumn. Since no one has followed us, I conclude it was temporary—whether he intended that or not, I have no idea—and now there is no way to return whence we came.”
“I do not understand what a place of power is.”
“You have none in Santerre?”
“I have never heard of such a thing.”
Piercy closed his eyes against his irritation with the woman, not that it was rational to blame her for the Foreign Office’s embarrassing mistake. “Centuries ago, magicians had great power at their disposal, and since few of them had wisdom matching their magical prowess, most of them abused those powers beyond reason. Their magical battles, and oftentimes their experiments, warped the laws of nature in the places where they were most potent, in some cases permanently. There are places in which time passes differently, places where magic is visible or the land itself burns or freezes all the year long, even places where you enter and emerge elsewhere. Like this one, apparently.”
“But you spoke as if those things were in the past.”
“I thought they were. There haven’t been magicians capable of such creation in almost seven hundred years.” He refrained from mentioning the place of power that had emerged from the spell Kerensa Lorantis had carried within her for over a year; that spell had also come from the ancient time. “We must find the magician and force him to show us the exit, preferably one that does not leave us stranded outside our own time.”
“Is that a possibility?”
“Lady Sethemba, that is the extent of my knowledge.”
“Then I suggest we proceed quickly. The man cannot be more than half an hour ahead of us.” Lady Sethemba shook out her skirts and strode off as quickly as their fullness would allow.
“No, my lady, I cannot—”
“If you are about to suggest I stay behind, Mr. Faranter, I will have to rate your intelligence rather lower than I already do.”
Stung, Piercy said, “We knew you were not who you claimed to be. I hardly think it indicates a lack of intelligence that we were inaccurate in our conclusions as to your actual identity.”
Lady Sethemba shrugged and continued to walk down the road, stumbling over the ruts. Piercy cursed and ran to catch up with her. “I was about to say,” he said, “you should allow me to go first.”
“Why?”
“For your protection, naturally. These woods could contain any number of dangers, including human ones.”
Lady Sethemba stopped. “And you think I need your protection?” she said. There was an edge to her voice that made Piercy nervous. He opened his mouth, searching for a response, and she overrode him with, “I fought for my country for five years, Mr. Faranter, fought and killed, something I doubt you have ever done. And if not for me, you likely would have hurt yourself in your temporary madness. Perhaps I should offer to protect you.”
Piercy remembered the feel of that arm around his throat, cutting off the blood to his brain and knocking him unconscious, and flushed with angry embarrassment. “I thank you for your intervention, but the madness would not have persisted much longer. And I have, in fact, killed men before, not that I take such pride in it as you seem to.”
“Pride in protecting those who would otherwise have died, yes.” Lady Sethemba turned her back on him and proceeded down the road with awkwardly mincing steps. Piercy followed her, grinding his teeth. He wasn’t the sort to believe all women were soft and weak; he had too many female colleagues in Home Defense who were skilled at combat to be able to delude himself so, and Kerensa was the strongest-willed person, male or female, he’d ever met. He was just having trouble reconciling the competent, abrasive woman walking up the road just ahead of him with the demure, shy young lady he’d courted so successfully. Though now he questioned whether that were actually true.
“I apologize if I gave offense,” he said, as sincerely as was possible through his clenched jaw. “Your disguise was very convincing.”
“As was yours,” Lady Sethemba said. “Though I do not understand what you intended to gain by pretending an attraction to me.”
So she had known. “I feel I must apologize for the impropriety of my attentions to you,” he said stiffly. Then he said, “Wait—what disguise?”
“Were you not pretending to be nothing but a flirt, with no thought for anything but your dress and your next conquest?”
His teeth would be worn to nubbins before he could find a way out of this place. “Of course,” he lied. “I am astonished you failed to see through my ruse.”
“I would never have allowed you to kiss me if I believed otherwise,” Lady Sethemba said. “I suppose we were both deceived.”
“Then I hope we can overcome our first impressions and work together to find this magician.” Piercy slowed, allowing her to lead so she wouldn’t see the expression on his face. He’d completely misread her. He, the great wooer of women, deceived into thinking she genuinely welcomed his embrace. Well, he’d die before he let her know she’d fooled him. The Gods alone knew what weapon she might make of that—or she might only laugh at him, which would be ten thousand times worse.
They walked along the road in silence, listening to the distant birds in the trees and the occasional whistles of the wind blowing through the barren branches. The sun was invisible behind the thick clouds, which despite their appearance failed to drench them with rain. As the afternoon progressed with no end to the forest in sight, the air became colder and the sky darker.
Lady Sethemba shivered, now and then, and was soon rubbing her arms as if to warm herself. Without a word, Piercy removed his frock coat and draped it over her shoulders. She immediately removed it and handed it back to him. “I thank you, but your chivalry is unnecessary, Mr. Faranter,” she said.
“You are clearly cold, and my clothing is much heavier than yours,” Piercy said.
“Even so, I wish you would save your gallant gestures for someone who appreciates them,” she replied. Piercy scowled and draped his coat over his arm. Competent, abrasive, and stubborn. Well, if she wasn’t willing to accept his help even when she was in obvious need, the Underworld take her.
They came out of the forest about an hour before sunset, as best Piercy could tell through the clouds. The road continued onward down a relatively steep slope, where the ruts went crooked as if a cart had skidded and slid down the muddy path. Piercy didn’t offer Lady Sethemba his hand, reasoning that she might well bite it off and spit it at him, but made sure to go first just in case her delicate footwear betrayed her on the rough hillside and he had to catch her.
He cast a few furtive glances her way. She was still shivering, and worse, her soft shoes were tearing at the toes. In an hour or so, it would be dark, and he would have to insist on her taking his coat, which would lead to another fight. He was starting to be emotionally weary as well as physically so.
“There is a town ahead,” Lady Sethemba said, pointing toward a sprinkling of lights a few hundred yards north of the road. “I wonder if our magician stopped there for the night.”
“We should at least inquire,” Piercy said, though privately he was afraid the magician might have more powerful spells at his disposal, spells to transport him wherever he wanted, or to shelter him out of doors. If that were the case, it might be impossible to find him.
The town—more of a village, really—consisted of a handful of low, thatch-roofed buildings whose plastered walls gleamed palely in the dusk. A few taller houses, their walls whitewashed, were scattered here and there. Piercy breathed out a sigh of relief. This was clearly Dalanese construction, so wherever and whenever the magician’s portal had taken them, they were still somewhere within Dalanine.
There were a few people passing through the streets, all of whom stared openly at Lady Sethemba—they might well never have seen a noble Santerran, or any Santerran, before. Piercy examined them covertly as they crossed the village’s main street, which was rough and torn from the passage of many carts and horses. The women wore dark dresses with tan or white ankle-length aprons over them; the men’s rough trousers were stuffed into very old-fashioned boots and their shirtsleeves belled out from the deep yokes—
Oh, by the Gods, no. Let me be wrong about this.
He glanced around them. True, there were many towns in Dalanine, most of them smaller hamlets, with centuries-old construction still in use, but these buildings didn’t look old or much repaired, they looked new. And the streets…no paving, which might be normal, but also no wooden walks to allow the villagers to stay out of the mud….
“Lady Sethemba, you need to pretend you do not understand Dalanese,” he said in Santerran, in a low voice that wouldn’t carry very far.
“You speak my language!” she replied in the same tongue.
They were rapidly approaching what was probably a tavern, judging by the light and noise coming from it. “I think we may have slipped rather farther in time than I initially believed,” Piercy said. “But we cannot stand here dallying in the street for the length of time it will take me to explain everything. Please. Just follow me, pretend not to understand what you hear, and with luck someone will know of our mystery magician.”
Lady Sethemba looked at him skeptically, then nodded. “But you will explain everything,” she said, and Piercy nodded, his attention already elsewhere.
The tavern was likely also an inn, since it had two stories and some large windows made of tiny panes of thick glass. Piercy pushed open the door, bowing Lady Sethemba in, and the noise dwindled to silence. “Her Highness Princess Ayane requires food and drink,” he announced, enunciating clearly. “Pray make room for her.”
No one moved except for a few people standing at the back who craned to see the “princess.” A tall, bony woman came forward and, in a barely intelligible accent, said, “A Santerran princess? Here?”
“We were attacked by bandits in the forest,” Piercy said, “and her Highness’s attendants fought them off, but they made away with her carriage and all her possessions. I am sure you are sensible of the honor she does you in gracing your inn with her presence.” If he hadn’t been sure before, he was now; the thick accent told him they were more than two hundred years in Dalanine’s past. He tried not to fall into despair, since they were equally trapped whether they were two years in the past or two hundred, and maintained his haughty, demanding expression. He’d learned to tell better lies over the last five years. Simple and uncomplicated, that was the way, though he still had to suppress his urge to add unnecessary corroborating details.
The woman examined Lady Sethemba, who behaved exactly as if none of them existed. It was no wonder they’d all been fooled; she looked more like a princess than Princess Jendaya did. Then the woman said, “Clear f’r her Highness! Ser, we’ve naught but boiled chicken stew, ‘tes not noble food, ser.”
“Her Highness appreciates your gesture of hospitality and accepts what you have to offer.” To Lady Sethemba, in Santerran, he said, “Say something. I don’t care what.”
“Your audacity stuns me,” she said. “What if they didn’t believe you?”
“Then we’d run for our lives.” In Dalanese, he said, “The princess agrees you may tell others she patronizes your inn. She will not charge you for the privilege, since you are so generous in hosting her.”
“O’ course,” the woman said, bobbing a nervous curtsey, “o’ course, take naught from her, a true Santerran princess in my house…” Trailing more words of astonishment, she disappeared into the kitchen.
The guests had cleared a space for Lady Sethemba at one of the battered trestle tables, and Piercy ostentatiously dusted the seat of the bench with his linen handkerchief before allowing Lady Sethemba to sit.
“May I speak now, or will that interrupt your string of falsehoods?” she said in Santerran.
“My string of falsehoods, as you call it, is going to get us supper and possibly information on our magician.”
“That wasn’t a criticism. I’m truly impressed. How did you know what they would do?”
“I realized we are approximately two to three hundred years in the past. At that time in Dalanine, few people knew more of Santerre than the tales explorers brought back from the south, in which all Santerrans were—forgive me—warriors or princesses with ebon-black skin.”
“I see I’ve underestimated you.”
“Well, I did take top honors in history at Houndston School and then a degree in the same at university. And to think my mother wanted me to study engineering. I am certain even her renowned sagacity could not have predicted the situation we now find ourselves in.”
Lady Sethemba eyed the other guests, who were still staring at her in fascination. “Do they expect me to do something obviously foreign?”
“You’re already doing it just by speaking. You have a lovely voice.” To the bystanders, he said, “I’m quite certain her Highness does not need an audience for her meal.” The men and women, muttering between themselves, found seats elsewhere, though Piercy could tell they were all still watching the “princess,” if covertly.
He glanced back at Lady Sethemba and was surprised to see her glaring at him. “I would prefer you stop trying to charm me, Mr. Faranter,” she said icily, “since you know by now it won’t work.”
“I wasn’t—very well,” Piercy said irritably, and at that moment the innkeeper bustled up to them with two bowls of steaming, aromatic soup, which she placed in front of them. “Sorry ‘tesn’t more.”
“This will be sufficient. Ah, mistress…I don’t suppose another of her Highness’s party arrived here?”
The woman’s eyes widened. “O’ course, c’n see the semblance, o’ course. ‘Tes upstairs. Said nothin’ ‘bout princess.”
“He is her Highness’s…tutor, and unworldly,” Piercy improvised. “He fled the attack and we have been seeking him, concerned for his well-being. Thank you for making him welcome.”
The woman flushed and bobbed a few more curtseys. Piercy picked up his spoon and began eating. “Shouldn’t we capture the magician?” Lady Sethemba said.
“I think it unlikely he is going anywhere,” Piercy said, “not at this time of night, and my stomach is under the impression that I have deserted it in favor of some other, less demanding organ, such as my spleen. We can spare a few minutes to eat and refresh ourselves.”
Two wooden tankards foaming over at the top appeared in front of them. “T’best beer we have,” said the innkeeper. “Make it m’self.”
Piercy and Lady Sethemba exchanged glances. “Act as if it’s the best thing you’ve ever had,” Piercy muttered, and took a deep swig. It was delicious. “This is wonderful beer,” he said with enthusiasm, and took another draught. Lady Sethemba gave him a skeptical look, but drank without showing signs of revulsion. The innkeeper beamed at them and bustled away.
“We should hurry,” Lady Sethemba said, though she was putting away the soup as heartily as he was. “If he comes downstairs and catches us off-guard—”
“I am watching the stairs. And these patrons. I hope they are sufficiently awed that they will not molest us.”
“Let them try.”
“Is bloodthirstiness an ineluctable part of your character?”
“I don’t call it bloodthirsty to be proud of my abilities.”
“So long as you don’t seek out opportunities to display them, we may survive this.” Piercy lifted his bowl and drained the last drops of broth, though his soul cringed at displaying such bad manners. “Now we find our quarry,” he said, finishing off his beer and wishing he had time for another.
Lady Sethemba rose and walked toward the stairs. The crowd parted for her, their eyes avid as if hoping she would do something mysterious. Piercy hurried after her, pushing a few people out of the way with his walking stick; he clearly wasn’t foreign enough. The stairs creaked as they ascended, which Piercy welcomed. It would give them warning if anyone followed them.
The creaky stair came out on a short hallway built well enough that it might still be standing three hundred years from now. When we get home, I’ll have to see if that’s true, Piercy thought, then wanted to laugh at the irrelevancy of it. Lath and plaster walls gleamed in the light from the one lantern hanging at the head of the stairs. Four doors of solid oak lined the walls. Three of them stood slightly ajar and were dark. The fourth, at the far end of the hall, was closed, and light came from beneath it.
Lady Sethemba strode rapidly down the hall. Piercy grabbed her shoulder to bring her to a halt, then snatched his hand away when she turned on him. “If we simply fling the door open and attack him, he will certainly have time to respond,” he whispered.
“Not if we’re fast enough,” she replied.
“Nevertheless, shall we try a less direct approach?”
She eyed him suspiciously. “What do you suggest?”
“Just wait for me before you act.” He went to the door and rapped on it with the hawk-head of his stick. “Ser, ‘tes food,” he said in a fair approximation of the innkeeper’s voice.
“I already ate, mistress innkeeper,” said a voice from behind the door. It opened, revealing a short, middle-aged man with somewhat tousled fair hair and dark eyes. Piercy rapped the man smartly in the throat with his stick, making him clutch his neck and stumble backward, speechless and unable to cast spells.
Lady Sethemba launched herself at him, driving him farther backward into the little room, and Piercy quickly followed and shut the door behind him. He went to help her subdue the man, but to his astonishment she already had him face down on the bed with his hands pinioned behind him.
“Quickly, find something to bind him,” she said.
Piercy unwound his neckcloth and used its long folds to tie the magician’s hands despite his thrashing and bucking to be free. The man coughed, spat, and opened his mouth to say something, or scream. Suddenly there was a knife in Lady Sethemba’s hand and she pressed it into the side of his neck. “Silence, or I will silence you permanently,” she said in a low voice, and the magician shut his mouth.
Piercy realized his own mouth was hanging open and closed it. “Where did that come from?” he said, rather faintly.
“I do not give away all my secrets,” she said. “Now, magician, you will remove us from this place—”
“This time.”
“This time, then, and you will live.”
The magician’s eyes were wide with terror. “By the Gods, I am so sorry,” he said, barely moving his mouth. “I thought you were free of the portal. I never meant to involve anyone in this.”
“Your little jape with the velocitor left at least a dozen people dead,” Piercy said. “I call that a rather fatal kind of involvement.”
“I’m sorry,” the man whispered again, and tears came to his eyes. “It was more powerful than I anticipated. I truly did not mean for anyone to be hurt.”
“Then what did you mean?” Lady Sethemba said.
“I needed the magic of the velocitor to create the place of power, the portal,” he said. “Please, let me sit up and I’ll tell you everything.”
Lady Sethemba glanced at Piercy, who nodded, then removed the knife from his throat and stepped back. The magician awkwardly rolled over and managed to get into a sitting position on the bed. “No, I think not,” Piercy said, and helped the man to the room’s only chair, then stood behind it so he could see the magician’s fingers. If Evon could cast a spell with his hands tied behind his back, who knew what this magician could do?
Lady Sethemba went to stand in front of him. “Talk,” she said, knife still held at the ready.
“I don’t know where you want me to start.”
“Start with the place of power,” Piercy said. “I believed creating such to be impossible.”
“It is impossible,” the magician said. “That amount of magic…we just don’t have access to it anymore. Much of it is tied up in existing places of power. The velocitor is—was—the only thing that contained nearly enough magical energy, and even then it could only create a place of power for a short period of time. That’s why I called it a portal rather than a place—it allowed me to move from our time to the present.”
“You mean to the past,” Piercy said.
“The present is wherever you happen to be,” the magician said, shaking his head. “If it were the past, if you were still anchored to the time you think of as the present, you couldn’t affect anything in this time. Now is the present, and that other time is yet to come.”
“I do not understand,” Lady Sethemba said.
“Neither do I, but I suspect we do not need to,” Piercy said, hoping it was true. He was already beginning to have the brains-scooped-out feeling he did whenever magical theory was discussed. “What matters is you were able to link one time with another, enter that second time, and then the…portal…collapsed? Disappeared?”
“It’s more complicated than that—but it doesn’t matter,” the magician said quickly as Lady Sethemba made a small motion with her knife. “You understand the gist of it.”
“What I do not understand is why,” Lady Sethemba said. “Why would you do this?”
“It’s personal,” said the magician.
“Indeed, and you have made it personal for two other people, however inadvertently,” Piercy said. “I believe the lady asked you a question. I suggest you answer her before she asks it with steel.”
Piercy couldn’t see the man’s face, but he could guess as to his expression, because Lady Sethemba smiled, a rather unpleasant smile. “I was searching for something,” he said.
“For what?”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
Piercy prodded him in the back of the head with his walking stick. “If your next words are to tell me it is a matter of life or death, I shall roll my eyes at you in a derisive manner.”
The magician craned his head, trying to look at Piercy. His eyes were very large and very dark. “How did you know?”