Sean Dalton - Time trap

Was it the LOC that made Noel special? Leon had listened to him consulting it. He knew the LOC had made it possible for Noel to escape.

Leon frowned at the copper bracelet on his own wrist and rubbed it angrily. Why couldn’t he have an operable LOC? Why did he have only this fake copy?

Because you are an anomaly, a freak, an accident.

He shoved the thought away with fresh resentment. Very well. He might not have a LOC of his own. He might have come into this world with a purse of fused, unusable coins. He might have other flaws-other differences — but he could make a place for himself here. He liked Mistra, liked Sir Magnin and the events that were happening around him. He liked shaping history, feeling it flow and re-form under his influence like modeling clay.

The key to success lay in possessing Noel’s LOC. The knowledge it contained would give him almost limitless power. And because he was Noel’s duplicate, the isomorphic properties should work for him. The LOC would protect him, and Noel could be eliminated.

It was indeed poor jail design to have the hinges set on the inside of the door, but Leon was unable to remove them anyway. They had long since rusted into a solid mass with the hinge, and even prying and scraping with the thin edge of his bracelet could not budge them.

Gasping and fatigued, he finally gave up. Thirsty, he went to the water pail and scooped some of the water into his mouth. It was probably stale, but it had no taste to him. Earlier in the day he had drunk wine for the first time, and it had had no taste either. Cold and wet, going down his throat; that was all. He had eaten with Sir Magnin’s men. They proclaimed the steamed grape leaves stuffed with seasoned rice to be delicious. Leon could feel the textures upon his tongue, but there was no taste for him, no enjoyment.

It seemed there were other flaws besides the lump of fused, unusable coins in his purse and the inoperable LOC on his wrist. Flaws in him.

He felt panic unraveling the edges of his mind and shoved it away hastily. Not flaws, he told himself with all the force he could muster. Differences.

A trickle of sound caught his attention. Cat-quick, Leon went to the door and listened. It was the turnkey, yawning and shuffling, his torch flaming high in the cross drafts of air. No more than half awake, he made his rounds slowly. At random he inserted a long staff through the door grilles and poked an occupant. Curses, moans, or dead silence responded to this ploy. He twisted the iron maiden about on its chain, then let it spin free, chuckling softly to himself as the occupant sobbed in agony. Then he came over to the last cell block.

By now, Leon had his plan worked out. He reached his hand through the grille. ‘Turnkey!“ he called softly. ”You there, listen. He’s gone.“

The turnkey stared at him and scratched his head. “Eh?”

“He’s gone. My double is gone.”

“Be it so?” The turnkey peered at Noel’s door, half ajar, and scratched his head again.

Sweat broke out upon Leon as he pressed with all his might. But this man’s mind was too simple to be affected. “He’s a sorcerer,” said Leon urgently. “I heard him calling on his demon, and it answered him plain as plain. It opened the door for him. He’s free. Don’t you understand?”

“Got loose, eh?” The turnkey finally seemed to comprehend. He touched the door with wonder, then backed away. “Jailer!” he shouted. “Jailer!”

He ran for the jailer’s quarters, crying out loudly.

In moments both of them returned. The jailer took one look at the empty cell, and his craggy face turned grim. “Roust the guards,” he said to the turnkey. “Hurry, man! Don’t stand there gawking.”

The turnkey shuffled off, and the jailer stared at the empty cell with his torch held aloft. He crossed himself.

“Aye,” said Leon eagerly, pressing hard. He could affect this man’s wits. He’d already done it once, and that made new persuasion easier. “Sorcery. I heard him at it. I heard the demon talking to him. It tore the hinges off the door for him, and none of you heard.”

The jailer was sweating. He bent and picked up one of the bolts from the floor, turned it over in his thick fingers, then dropped it. “Witchcraft!” he whispered.

Leon had been experimenting all day. Already he had found that when he willed it he could walk past people without them able to remember seeing him. He could also persuade them to do what he wanted, regardless of where their own best interests lay.

“Witchcraft,” he echoed now, feeding on the jailer’s fear as though it were ambrosia, taking small sips, drawing out the moment to its fullest. “He’s called his demons down upon Mistra. Sir Magnin must be warned. Only I can protect him from the sorcerer.”

“You!” The jailer blinked and came over to stare very hard at Leon through the grille. He put the flaming torch close to the grille, and the heat drove Leon back. “You are his double. If he is a sorcerer, then so are you.”

“I command no demons,” said Leon sharply, displeased by this argument. “Unlike him, I possess no special powers. But because I am his-”

“What is all this?” demanded Sir Magnin’s voice, booming loudly enough to awaken all the inmates. He strode in, a long, billowing cloak draped over his bare shoulders. Guards with drawn weapons trotted behind him. “Jailer, an explanation. Your minion has broken my sleep with the babblings of a madman. Who has escaped and how?”

The jailer bowed low. “My liege, forgive me for failing my duty. I do not know how this man-”

“Who, blast your eyes? Who?”

“Noel of Kedran,” said Leon.

Sir Magnin’s black eyes narrowed. He pursed his lips thoughtfully, and the expression on his face boded no good for Noel. In his heart Leon laughed.

“Did you drop your keys in his hand? Are these cells not secure? How was this accomplished? Did he bribe you to help him, jailer?”

“No, my lord,” said the jailer with a frightened gasp. “I swear to God, my lord. I had no part in it. Look for yourself. The hinges have been taken apart by no means that I understand. The bolt is still fastened.”

Scowling, Sir Magnin took the torch from his hand and entered Noel’s cell. When he finally emerged, he held all the bolts in his hand and hefted them absently. “Where is Leon?”

“Here, my lord,” said Leon eagerly. He pressed his face to the grille where Sir Magnin could see him. “It was sorcery. Noel is evil in heart; his soul belongs to Satan.”

“God help us!” cried the jailer.

“Rubbish,” said Sir Magnin. “I want solid answers from you, my lad, not superstitious twaddle.”

“I heard him call upon a demon,” said Leon, pressing although he dared do little tampering with Sir Magnin’s mind. The knight’s thoughts were like steel traps. He was quick, with an agile intelligence, and suspicious. “I heard the voices. You must take care, my lord. He means to do you great harm.”

“And what do you intend?” asked Sir Magnin. “You are his twin-”

“Do they not say twins are two sides of the same coin?” cried Leon hastily. “One good, the other evil? Has he not shown he is against you? Have I not sworn my loyalty and allegiance to you? I can protect you from him. I know his ways. I know what he intends. He stands on Lord Theodore’s side. That has already been proven.”

“You talk in circles,” said Sir Magnin, but he was listening. “Why did you not cry out while he was escaping? Why did you wait?”

Leon frowned, but he had a lie ready. “I could not. There seemed to be a pressure upon my throat, paralyzing my speech, until he was well gone. I spoke the warning as soon as I was able. The turnkey himself can testify that I told him what happened before he discovered it himself.”