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Day Two
Christopher
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Christopher began to regret leaving David and his family behind the moment he said goodbye to Isabelle on the threshold of the back entrance to her wing of the palace, having stayed hidden in her room for far too long, each second he cowered there was one less second they would have to rescue David—and Arthur.
“We should go back inside,” he said to his friends as they crossed the River Seine at nearly one in the morning now. They’d waited an hour for him, growing more worried with every moment that passed, and had been about to bang on the door of the safe house for help. It was something to be avoided, however, since William and Thomas had already been there earlier that evening, and too much coming and going would draw attention. Better to go all the way back to the temple, which had regular traffic in and out at all hours of the day and night. “There must be something we can do for Arthur now.”
“We should do no such thing,” Thomas said flatly, “and you know it. We have our orders, and they have become even more urgent with your news. George saw you. You can’t go back inside the palace and allow him to connect you with Christophe de Clare.”
“You weren’t in the latrine with me,” Christopher said, though not as adamantly as he’d been speaking before. “Even with everything we’ve been through, I’ve never been so scared of being caught in all my life. But I think I hate running more.”
“Are we running?” William’s stride lengthened as they came off the bridge and onto the streets of the right bank. “This doesn’t look like running to me. It’s retreating so we can regroup.”
Thomas and John Jr. were a little bit ahead. As Thomas was a Templar knight, he viewed it as his responsibility to lead them. The others let him, not only because Christopher’s sense of direction was so bad, but because respect for Templars among the local population was such that no knight was ever questioned about his business. Most of the time, people bowed their heads whenever one passed. It made traveling with Thomas weirdly anonymous, just like Christopher’s experience in the audience hall standing next to Henri.
“I’m worried about Isabelle’s safety. If George goes back for her—” Christopher shuddered to think about it.
By now, even the larger streets were dark, and Christopher had to keep his eyes downward to make sure he didn’t put a foot wrong. He crunched through some debris, wishing Philippe, instead of imprisoning David, had taken advice from him—about sanitation if nothing else, since Paris was a far stinkier city than London.
There were still other people on the street, but many fewer than at sunset, and the rain was making everyone walk quickly. Like working people the world over, the residents of the city woke near dawn to begin whatever tasks were required of them, which made them tired by the time it grew dark. Most chose to stay in for the night. Parisians were also likely to shut their doors and shutters tightly, unless the weather was particularly warm. Even then, they would open the shutters only on the upper floors, out of fear of theft.
“He won’t bother Isabelle. He has no reason to.” William made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat. “Trust you to find the only English girl in the whole palace. You have all the luck.”
Both Christopher and William had for a time been interested in Aine, their friend from Ireland, but over the past year it had become clear to both of them that the distances involved were too great to maintain any kind of relationship. William, as much as Christopher, had no plans to marry without love being a part of it. William, however, was under pressure from his parents to choose someone suitable soon. He was nineteen, plenty old enough—in his father’s mind—to be married. In Avalon, William married King Edward’s youngest daughter, Elizabeth. As she was only thirteen at the moment, William was having none of it.
“This is what we do,” William added. “We follow orders, and we don’t jeopardize the mission by going off on our own.”
Christopher could have told him that David had specifically suggested they take advantage of opportunities as they presented themselves, but William was right that this was what Christopher had signed on for. At the moment, doing his job meant running away from a fight instead of staying and rescuing his cousin.
Having walked the mile from the palace to the Paris Temple at a record pace, taking multiple turns, pauses, and longcuts to make sure they weren’t being followed, Christopher was relieved to be instantly recognized by the Templar sergeant who guarded the gate. The four of them were admitted into the courtyard and then ushered straight upstairs to their command center, located one floor above the great hall. The room had been transformed into an office, with several tables, computer equipment, such as had been brought, and storage for whatever supplies they might need, including weapons, though these were kept hidden in crates. The Paris Temple was one of the most highly fortified and defended castles in all the world. For now, they didn’t need modern weapons.
There was a fireplace too, lit even though it was summer, since the rainy night wasn’t warm, maybe not even fifty degrees. Christopher didn’t wait for everyone to gather before he started telling his story, with contributions from John Jr., Thomas, and William for the parts they knew.
Throughout Christopher’s recitation, his mother watched him with a completely calm expression, though Christopher himself became more agitated the longer he talked. “We have to do something right now! I really shouldn’t have left Isabelle alone—nor Arthur.”
“You didn’t leave them alone,” Elisa said flatly. “We needed you here to tell us what you knew.”
Then she turned to Matthew Norris. “What do you want to do about Isabelle?”
Isabelle’s father was about the age of Christopher’s father, Ted, though the two men couldn’t have been more contrasting otherwise, in that Ted was rail-thin and red-headed, while Norris was thickly built and bald. As Christopher had been talking, Norris had watched everyone with dark eyes and an impassive expression that was impossible to read. Christopher found it incredibly intimidating that this was Isabelle’s dad. But he could see where she got her confidence and certainty.
“From what Sir Christopher describes, my daughter handled the situation well and is in no danger tonight. If I were to go to her at this hour, I would call attention to our activities, which has become something even more important to avoid.” He gave a nod in Christopher’s direction. “Thank you for your concern. I will see her in the morning.”
Elisa turned back to the group. “We will deal with George too, believe me. But he is only one of our current problems. The good news is that Samuel, Rachel, and Aaron have been put in the same prison as David’s guard.”
Someone had gathered an assortment of chairs and stools near the fire as a place to talk, and Christopher’s mother moved to a cushioned chair closest to the flames, her everpresent notebook on her lap and her pen hovering above the paper, ready to take notes. “Tell me again your sense of how concerned Nogaret was that Philippe was missing?”
Christopher didn’t want to talk about Nogaret. He wanted to talk about rescuing David, but at his mother’s stern look, he answered the question, “From the way he stomped onto the dais, he was a bit put out. I couldn’t say if it was because nobody had seen the king or if there was something else wrong.”
John Jr. put up a hand. “After Christopher left, Nogaret and my father walked right past me as I stood in the shadows by the main door. Nogaret was saying that the king had been in his private study, but wasn’t there anymore. They were on the way to the chapel to look for him. After that, I didn’t dare stay where I was and moved closer to the gatehouse to wait for Christopher to return.”
“You and your nervous stomach,” Elisa gave Christopher a gentle look, “for which tonight we can be very grateful.” Then she looked more generally into the faces of those before her. “I care about the king’s location because Nogaret does. I’m curious as to why he was worried about it at all, or why he would be keeping such a close eye on the king at that time of night.”
“Does Philippe have a mistress?” Livia looked at Norris.
The man was a monk, so Christopher thought it was an odd question to be asking him, but Norris took it in stride. “Not that we know.”
Elisa gave a huh. “Apparently not that Nogaret knows either. Odd.” Now she lifted her chin to indicate it was Henri’s turn to talk. “What do we know about where David is being held?”
“The king and his family are being kept in a suite on the second floor of the new wing of the castle.” Henri, who’d made his own way back to the commandery, with a detour through the safehouse to see how things were going there and to update them on what he knew, could answer that best.
Elisa still wore a watch, and she looked at it before addressing the group. “We have approximately five hours to implement our plan for getting David out of the palace. He cannot, under any circumstances, still be there when the sun rises.”
Now Henri raised a hand to draw attention back to him. “We don’t have to get him out of the palace. Philippe is going to do that for us. A captive is most accessible when he’s on the move. If Philippe intends to move David and his family to a more secure location, and separate Arthur during the transition, that’s when they’ll be the most vulnerable. We can take them then.”
“You will have as many men as you need at your disposal. Conspiring to abduct the heir to the English crown puts this George beyond redemption—along with all those who are helping him.” Norris cracked his knuckles. “I never did like Flote, though, until now, I could never put my finger on why.”
That was more like it, and Christopher warmed to the Templar master. He was glad they had started talking about a real plan of action because, in another minute, he would have made them.
“We will deal with him in due course,” Elisa said.
As she spoke, her voice echoed oddly in the hall, and, after a moment’s confusion, everyone seated around the fire realized that the words had been said simultaneously by someone else. Matthew Norris, the only person facing the door directly, straightened his shoulders and took a step away from the fireplace.
As one, everyone in the room turned to see David striding across the floor towards them. He held Arthur in his arms, and the relief that swept through the room was palpable. He was followed by the rest of his family and Michael.
Christopher was the first to greet them with a hug, enveloping both him and Arthur and on the verge of lifting even David off his feet in his enthusiasm. “Thank God you’re safe.”
One by one, David’s friends and family hugged him, and then hugged Lili, Bronwen, Ieuan, and the children. Alexander said with his two-year-old lisp, “We rode in a boat!”
Elisa bent towards him. “Did you? Was it fun?”
Alexander nodded. “Taddy helped row us.” Tad was the Welsh way of saying ‘father’, combined, of course, with the American daddy.
Bronwen eased herself into one of the vacated chairs, Cadwaladr asleep in her lap. The others returned to the circle, most standing now, since there were more of them and not enough chairs.
“So what’s this about Pierre Flote and George?” David asked. And then at everyone’s surprised look, he shrugged. “I caught the tail end of your conversation. What exactly has he done?”
Before anyone could answer, Elisa made a motion with her hand in Thomas’s direction. “Would you mind?”
“Of course.” Thomas crouched in front of Arthur. “How about you come with me? I think the kitchen might be persuaded to sneak us a pudding, even at this late hour of the night.”
Arthur agreed to a pudding, and then so did Catrin and Alexander. Christopher’s mom was right that none of them needed to hear what might have been in store for Arthur—and what still could be in store for him if George had his way.
Elisa motioned to John Jr. “You too, John.”
That left Matthew Norris and Henri as the only people in the room not Avalonians or members of their extended family.
Once the door closed behind them, Christopher repeated for David’s benefit what he’d just told everyone else.
Throughout the recitation, Lili’s hands remained clasped before her lips, and even Ieuan turned pale.
“So George really is CIA?” Bronwen asked. “It’s all true.”
“He didn’t actually say so,” Christopher said, “but maybe it doesn’t matter who he works for.”
David’s expression suggested he thought it mattered very much. For Christopher, Bronwen’s comment had opened up a whole world of questions, none of which he could answer from his eavesdropping. For starters, he wanted to know if George had joined Treadman Global specifically to get his hands on one of the time travelers, or if his organization had sent him to infiltrate the company for other reasons and lucked into coming to Earth Two with Anna.
So instead he turned to David. “You don’t seem surprised to hear any of this. Does that mean you knew about George?”
“I didn’t know. There’s a big difference between being suspicious and knowing. So yes, I am disappointed, but not surprised.”
“Why didn’t you say something sooner?” Christopher found himself more than a little outraged.
David looked at him with such a sad expression, Christopher’s ire immediately left him. “Mistrust is a dangerous thing. Once it takes hold, it affects everything and everyone. I had to be sure.” He tipped his head. “But I didn’t include him here, did I?”
“I suppose you didn’t.” Christopher hunched his shoulders. “I didn’t even suspect.”
Norris had kept his eyes on David. “Pardon me, my lord, but what exactly does this George want with your son?”
