'The problem,' he said, 'is that I have thirty executives coming to hear my presentation tomorrow. The title of my presentation is `The Promise of the Past,' and I have no compelling visuals to show them.'
'Got it,' one of the young men said crisply. 'That was exactly our starting point here, Mr. Doniger. The client wants to bring the past alive. That's what we set out to do. With Ms. Kramer's help, we asked your own observers to generate sample videos for us. And we believe this material will have the compelling quality-'
'Let's see it,' Doniger said.
'Yes, sir. Perhaps if we lowered the lights-'
'Leave the lights as they are.'
'Yes, Mr. Doniger.' The video screen on the wall came up blue as it glowed to life. While they were waiting for the image, the young man said, 'The reason we like this first one is because it is a famous historical event that lasts only two minutes from start to finish. As you know, many historical events occurred very slowly, especially to modern sensibilities. This one was quick. Unfortunately, it occurred on a somewhat rainy day.'
The screen showed a gray, gloomy image, overhanging clouds. The camera panned to show some sort of gathering, shot over the heads of a large crowd. A tall man was climbing up onto a plain, unpainted wood platform.
'What's this? A hanging?'
'No,' the media kid said. 'That's Abraham Lincoln, about to deliver the Gettysburg Address.'
'It is? Jesus, he looks like hell. He looks like a corpse. His clothes are all wrinkled. His arms stick out of his sleeves.'
'Yes, sir, but-'
'And is that his voice? It's squeaky.'
'Yes, Mr. Doniger, no one's ever heard Lincoln's voice before, but that is his actual-'
'Are you out of your fucking minds?'
'No, Mr. Doniger-'
'Oh, for Christ's sake, I can't use this,' Doniger said. 'No one wants Abraham Lincoln to sound like Betty Boop. What else have you got?'
'It's right here, Mr. Doniger.' Unruffled, the young man changed the tapes, saying, 'For the second video, we adopted a different premise. We wanted a good action sequence, but again, a famous event that everybody would know. So this is Christmas Day, 1778, on the Delaware River, where-'
'I can't see shit,' Doniger said.
'Yes, I'm afraid it is a bit dark. It's a night crossing. But we thought George Washington crossing the Delaware would be a good-'
'George Washington? Where is George Washington?'
'He's right there,' the kid said, pointing to the screen.
'Where?'
'There.'
'He's that guy huddled in the back of the boat?'
'That's correct, and-'
'No, no, no,' Doniger said. 'He has to be standing in the bow, like a general.'
'I know that's the way the paintings portray him, but it's not what actually happened. Here you see the real George Washington as he actually crossed the-'
'He looks seasick,' Doniger said. 'You want me to show a video of George Washington looking seasick?'
'But this is reality.'
'Fuck reality,' Doniger said, throwing one of their videotapes across the room. 'What's the matter with you people? I don't care about reality. I want something intriguing, something sexy. You're showing me a walking corpse and a drowned rat.'
'Well, we can go back to the drawing board-'
'My talk is tomorrow,' Doniger said. 'I have three major executives coming here. And I have already told them they would see something very special.' He threw up his hands. 'Jesus Christ.'
Kramer cleared her throat. 'What about using stills?'
'Stills?'
'Yes, Bob. You could take single frames from these videos, and that might be quite effective,' Kramer said.
'Uh-huh, yes, that would work,' the media woman said, head bobbing.
Doniger said, 'Lincoln would still look wrinkled.'
'We'll take the wrinkles out with Photoshop.'
Doniger considered that. 'Maybe,' he said finally.
'Anyway,' Kramer said, 'you don't want to show them too much. Less is more.'
'All right,' Doniger said. 'Make the stills up, and show them to me in an hour.'
The media people filed out. Doniger was alone with Kramer. He went behind his desk, shuffled through his presentation. Then he said, 'Do you think it should be `The Promise of the Past,' or `The Future of the Past'?'
''The Promise of the Past,' ' Kramer said. 'Definitely `The Promise.''
07:34:49
Accompanied by two knights, Marek rode in the dust of the baggage carts, moving toward the head of the column. He could not see Chris or Kate yet, but his little group was moving swiftly. He would catch up to them soon.
He looked at the knights on either side of him. Raimondo on his left, erect, in full armor, with his thin smile. On his right, a grizzled warrior in armor, clearly tough and competent. Neither man paid him much attention, so secure were they in their control over him. Especially since his hands were bound together by ropes, with a six- inch gap between the wrists.
He rode along, coughing in the dust. Eventually he managed to slip his small dagger from beneath his coat, and palm it beneath his hand as he gripped the wooden pommel of the saddle in front of him. He tried to position the knife so the gentle movement of the horse up and down would slowly fray the rope at his wrists. But this was easier said than done; the knife seemed to be always in the wrong position, and his bonds were not cut. Marek glanced at his wristband counter; it read 07:21:02. There were still more than seven hours left before the batteries ran out.
Soon they had left the riverside trail behind and started to climb the twisting road up through the village of La Roque. The village was built into the cliffs above the river, the houses almost entirely of stone, giving the town a unified, somber appearance, especially now, when every door and window was boarded shut in anticipation of war.
Now they moved among the lead companies of Arnaut's soldiers, more knights in armor, each with their retinues following. Men and horses climbed the steep cobbled streets, horses snorting, baggage carts slipping as they went up. These knights in the lead had a sense of urgency; many of the carts carried pieces of disassembled siege engines. Evidently, they planned to begin the siege before nightfall.
They were still within the town when Marek caught sight of Chris and Kate, riding side by side on sagging mounts. They were perhaps a hundred yards ahead, alternately visible and hidden as the road twisted up. Raimondo put his hand on Marek's arm. 'We approach no closer.'
In the dust ahead, a banner flapped too near a horse's face. The horse reared, whinnying; a cart turned over, spilling cannonballs, which began to roll down the hill. This was the moment of confusion Marek had been waiting for, and he acted on it. He spurred his horse, which refused to go. Then he saw the grizzled knight had deftly grabbed the reins.
'My friend,' Raimondo said calmly, riding beside him. 'Do not make me kill you. At least, not yet.' He nodded to Marek's hands. 'And put that foolish little blade away, before you hurt yourself.'
Marek felt his cheeks burn. But he did as he was told; he put the small dagger back beneath his robes. They rode on in silence.
