effective as a nine-millimeter round, paced back and forth as though waiting for something that had not yet happened.
Like my recall, thought Noel. It had been long enough. Was the signal jammed? Wasn’t it reaching back to the time computer? Didn’t they know by now that he was in trouble?
“Look,” Noel said curtly. “There’s one aspect of your plan that maybe you haven’t considered. Like, if they start thinking I’m Theodore of Albania and you’re my servant, what’s to stop them from making you expendable and killing you?”
“I have considered that, of course,” said Theodore. No trace of fear or self-concern showed in his eyes. “It is a risk, but I am not afraid to gamble. If you can focus their attention upon you, then less will be upon me. I shall find an opportunity to escape.”
“I sympathize,” said Noel, “but I can’t help you.”
“You must!”
“No. It’s not my cause. It’s not my involvement.”
Theodore drew back. A frown darkened his face, and Noel wondered if Theodore was going to demonstrate princely temper. “Who are you?” he asked imperiously. “Where are you from?”
“I am Noel of Kedran.”
Theodore’s frown intensified. “I have not heard of this place. What country? Are you English?”
“No,” said Noel hastily.
‘The English have no interest in our affairs, and we pay our Venetian allies a great deal of money to make sure the English continue to stay away,“ said Theodore with visible displeasure. ”To whom is your allegiance?“
“I owe no man my allegiance,” said Noel. He didn’t like where this interrogation was heading. He didn’t like not having a thorough cover story at hand. Theodore could tell he was lying. “I am not a vassal.”
“Odd,” said Theodore, still subjecting him to that penetrating gaze. “Are you dishonored, then? Disinherited? Are you nothing but a vagrant, wandering the face of Europe? ‘Tis dangerous indeed.”
“I was on my way to Constantinople,” said Noel, growing weary of having to repeat himself. “Apparently I am lost.”
“Lost? Indeed, you are. One hundred fifty leagues if you go by sea as well as by land. You are too far north of your course.”
Noel grunted. He made himself accept the fact that his recall wasn’t going to work. That meant there was a ninety-five percent chance that his 1.67-day limit wouldn’t work either. If so, he was trapped here for the rest of his life, with no way to get home at all.
He shivered. He wasn’t ready to give up.
“If you help me,” Theodore was saying, “I shall give you safe escort to Constantinople. I shall give you money and ample rewards. You may even gain an audience with the emperor.”
It was tempting. Noel knew Theodore was being more than generous. But he could not interfere. Every dictate, every principle he lived by forbade violating the time paradox.
He met Theodore’s anxious, persuasive gaze. He could almost feel the force of this man’s will being thrown at him, urging him to agree.
“No,” he said. “You make a good offer, but to my regret, I cannot accept it. My reasons are valid. I have an oath I must obey.”
“What oath supersedes this?” cried Theodore. “Even God must look down from His heaven and know these times are fraught with upheaval and dangerous change.”
“Change can be a good thing,” said Noel.
Theodore drew breath with a hiss. “You believe in this cause of independence?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“What, then, say you? Have I spilled my confidences to a traitorous varlet? A knave without conscience or loyalty?”
“I won’t betray you,” said Noel, trying hard to hang on to his temper.
“Oh, yes, an easy assurance. No doubt you think you will now go and bargain with them at my expense. I shall strangle you here in the dirt before I let that happen.”
Theodore’s eyes blazed. His fingers curled into fists. Noel tensed, although he knew he was in no shape to defend himself from attack.
“Let’s just keep things as they are, without complications, without intrigue, all right?” Noel said soothingly. “You’re the prince. And I’m the simple traveler-”
“Indeed you are simple,” muttered Theodore, shoving a hand through his hair. “And most damnably stubborn as well.”
Noel glared at him and said nothing. Silence stretched out for several minutes, a silence in which Theodore sat on a rock with his blue eyes dark with anger and his jaw clenched hard. Noel studied the layout of the camp, although it was hard to concentrate when his own disappointment was choking him.
Wasn’t there anyone listening in Chicago? Wasn’t there anyone monitoring his mission? The LOC was recording the events happening here, and it was supposed to transmit back. If nothing else, they should be able to trace him to the wrong time. Weren’t they trying to get him back?
All kinds of chilling explanations occurred to him: the anarchists had overrun the Time Institute and destroyed the equipment; a traitor had infiltrated the labs, sabotaging not only Noel’s LOC but others as well; the time computer had malfunctioned…
He could theorize all day, but what good did that do him? As long as he remained a prisoner with these other men, he couldn’t access his LOC for much needed data. Aside from Theodore, four others had been taken prisoner. From the looks of their torn, drooping finery, they must be part of Theodore’s personal entourage. Not one wore mail or showed signs of having borne arms. Scribes and toadies, thought Noel unfairly and tried to banish the grim memory of all those soldiers lying dead upon the mountainside. What had they died for? To protect this pathetic knot of courtiers now huddled in a dejected cluster?
Their prison was a goat pen, and the haphazard, rickety pole fence wouldn’t hold an arthritic nanny goat, much less active, able-bodied men. But a boy in a ragged, homespun tunic and bare feet stood guard over them with a crossbow. He had the intense, eager look of someone anxious to practice his aim on a moving target.
Noel shifted his gaze back to Theodore and frowned. The worst part of it was that he wanted to help this man. There was something noble-for lack of a better word-about the prince, some aspect of character that shone from within him even when he was worried and abstracted, as now. That kind of charm was hard to resist.
The words of his mentor Tchielskov came back to Noel, haunting him: “ You must not involve yourself with the lives and concerns of the people you encounter. Change no course of events. That is our primary directive. Interfere, and you alter history forever. Meddle, and you might eliminate your own existence. Remember that when your heart urges you to practice compassion.”
“Something is wrong about this,” said Noel aloud, still frowning.
Theodore’s gaze swung to meet his. “Obviously.”
“I’m not talking about morality,” snapped Noel. “The ambush. Your men scattered upon the mountainside. How many? Fifty?”
“Seventy-two.” Theodore’s eyes held anguish. “All dead? Or any wounded?”
Noel thought of the scavenging dwarfs and their little daggers. He looked away first. “All dead.”
Theodore remained silent.
Noel said, “But that’s what I mean. Seventy men at arms, enough to man a garrison, and these hill bandits take them out? It doesn’t add up.”
“The Milengi did not carry the main brunt of the fighting,” said Theodore, giving him an odd look. “It was that fiend, Magnin Phrangopoulos, and his army who came upon us like the hounds of hell. To engage in combat without announcement, to engage in combat from ambush, and at night… he may call himself a knight, but God pity his black soul, if he still has one.”
“Look,” said Noel, unable to resist his own curiosity, “your pride is hurt right now. It was a nice post, being governor, but your emperor will ransom you. At least your hide is still intact. You’ll get assigned another post. You don’t have to take this to heart-”
“Hell’s teeth, how dare you tell me to fold my bones and be grateful I can sit far away from the action while that damned gasmoule bastard has Sophia in his clutches!”
