The first thing Lucas became aware of when he came to was that his head was throbbing. He put his hand to his forehead and was surprised to encounter a bandage. He was also surprised to find himself lying in a bed. He gradually became aware of his surroundings. He was in a small wooden cabin with a planked floor. There were shutters on the windows and these shutters were closed, but there was light inside the cabin. He moved his head slightly and saw a light bulb hanging from the ceiling. There was music in the cabin. A Bartok concerto for the recorder. He sat up quickly and immediately collapsed back on the bed with a groan.
'Take it easy there, pilgrim,' said a man's voice. 'You've had a nasty crack on the head and you've got a concussion.'
Lucas looked up and saw the man bending over him. He looked like an old man at first, but then Lucas realized that what gave that impression was his extremely long hair, which was streaked with gray, and his long, full beard. The face behind the foliage was youthful and the blue eyes were clear and bright. The man wore a long, clean, beautifully embroidered velvet caftan. There were dragons on both sides of his chest, their tails curling down to his knees. When the man turned around to pick up something from the table, Lucas saw that the back of the caftan was embroidered with the words 'Hong Kong.'
'Here you go, pilgrim. Have some chicken soup. It's good for what ails you.'
'Jesus, I'm hallucinating,' Lucas said.
The man in the caftan pursed his lips. 'Don't think so. I can fix that, though. I've got some dynamite acid here from 1969, that oughtta do the trick. But with you being in the shape you're in, I don't think a trip would be such a good idea.'
Lucas sat up, much more slowly this time. The man sat down on the bed with the bowl of soup in his hand. He spooned out some of it and fed it to Lucas.
Lucas swallowed the hot broth. 'Who the hell are you?'
'Name's Hunter,' said the man. 'Lieutenant Reese Hunter, late of the U.S.T.C. Here, have some more soup.'
'Where am I? What am I doing here? What happened?'
'Just relax and eat your soup, son. We'll take things one at a time, okay?'
Lucas nodded and opened his mouth as another spoonful approached.
'Answer to number one: You're in my cabin. We're smack dab in the middle of the woods here, you can barely get around without a machete. It's not that bad, actually, but we're off the beaten track and no one's likely to bother us. As for answer number two, what you're doing here is recovering from the answer to number three, which I can only take a wild stab at, but as near as I can tell, it appears that your head side-swiped a mace. I found you wandering around out there in shock and I brought you in and sewed you up.'
'How'd you know I was a-'
'Whoever hit you not only busted you up pretty well,' said Hunter, 'they also smashed your implant. I'm a pretty decent surgeon, which is a lucky thing for you, and I removed it. I'll show it to you if you like, but the little suckers are tiny and your vision probably isn't going to be so hot for a while.'
'You're an observer,' Lucas said.
Hunter laughed. 'Oh, no, not me. I'm through with that gig. I'm just a plain old citizen.'
'I don't understand.'
'I'm a deserter.'
'I don't believe it.'
'It's the truth. See, I just sort of… well, retired, you might say. I take it you're here on an adjustment.'
Lucas nodded.
'I figured as much. There's some kind of circus going on back here, a real crazy merry-go-round. They've been sending people back and forth and back and forth, I mean, it's really frantic. At first, I figured maybe they were on my trail, but that just didn't add up, so the only other answer had to be a threatened timeline split. That's a bad deal, friend. Heavy business. Standard duty's bad enough, but an adjustment on a split, that could be a real killer. If you're smart, you'll just throw in with me and take a real long vacation. You're KIA now, with your implant out. They'll never trace you. I've got a pretty nice set-up here, all the comforts of home. I could do with some company. What do you say?'
Lucas looked slowly around the cabin and, at first glance, he took in the sound system, the microwave oven, the holovision and the cassette file, thousands of books, a reading lamp and chair, several Persian rugs, racks of pipes with tobacco humidors beside them…
'How on earth did you…' His voice trailed off as the answer became obvious.
'What, all this stuff?' said Hunter. 'No sweat. I've got a chronoplate.'
8
The sheriff sat at the table in his chambers at Nottingham Castle, scratching his head and frowning. He poured himself another goblet of wine to help him think. He was an extremely large man and very muscular, a giant by the standards of his time. He towered over the man who paced the floor in his chambers, but that did not change the fact that this man intimidated him. The sheriff scratched his square, clean-shaven jaw and his slate gray eyes never left the pacing man. Richard had changed since he had returned from the Crusades. The sheriff, who was senior to his king in age (or so he thought) by a good ten years, decided that fighting Saladin had matured Richard. Always fiery, fierce and impetuous, the Lion Heart was now tempered with maturity. He had developed cunning and a cold, methodical ruthlessness that impressed him greatly.
'Damn me for a dullard, Sire, I still don't understand,' he said.
Irving, dressed as the black knight, although sans his armor, stopped his pacing for a moment. He looked at the sheriff much the way a patient schoolteacher might gaze upon an inordinately slow pupil.
'All right, Guy. I shall explain it once again, but listen carefully this time. John has obtained a great deal of power in my absence. He now holds both York and Ashby and he has reassigned the lands of many of my faithful knights to his own followers. He has his own men at arms, whose number he has significantly increased, as well as the lances of De Bracy and his Free Companions. He also has the formidable Templar, Bois-Guilbert, in his good graces and Sir Brian has but to snap his fingers and the knights at the Preceptory of Templestowe will be at his beck and call. John has granted them complete autonomy within their province and they will be anxious to protect their interests against me. My differences with the Knights Templars and the Knights of St. John in the Holy Land will not aid my cause.
'I have my loyal followers,' he continued. 'I have Andre de la Croix in John's camp; I have you, Sir Guy, and your well trained men at arms, but we are still vastly outnumbered. I cannot afford to take direct action against my brother at this time. There are yet other forces about who seek to bring us down. The time to strike is not yet ripe. You and I must make it so.'
'This much I understand,' the sheriff said, 'but I do not see the purpose served by the abduction of this Saxon and his party. Will it not serve to alienate the people from our cause?'
'Oh, think, Guy, for pity's sake!' said Irving. 'To what end does de la Croix impersonate De Bracy? How do you think the people will respond when it becomes known that De Bracy, John's paid vassal, attacked a Saxon lord, carrying off not only Cedric, but Athelstane and Rowena, the last of the royal Saxon lines? For what reason did your men at arms who accompanied Sir Andre wear lincoln green?'
'It would make them appear as outlaws,' Guy said. 'But then, if you want it thought that outlaws did the deed, why dress Sir Andre as De Bracy?'
'Think, Guy! Must I explain everything to you?'
The sheriff put on a heavy expression of concentration.
'Stop that,' Irving said. 'You look as though you're suffering from piles.'
The sheriff stopped frowning and shrugged.
Irving sighed. 'Very well. I will explain it to you. And you will feel heartily ashamed for not seeing it yourself. Why is it that you have had so little success in bringing the Saxon outlaws to justice?'
'Because they are led by the cleverest shrew who ever-'
