John Schettler - Anvil of Fate

“You haven’t been able to decipher them?” said Robert. “Well I can read them.”

“Indeed? How useful. I must make a note of that. We use a similar method to send messages, though I’m afraid we rely on the King’s English more often than not, or just use the language native to the milieu we are targeting. The destination is usually fairly secure—the temporal and spatial coordinates of certain archives, libraries, monasteries and abbeys all serve to be fairly long-lived in their respective continuums. Alas, that isn’t always the case—the Library of Alexandria being a perfect example. But when we do find a stable and safe place that we are certain we can control in a milieu, we shift in messages, information, written instructions to operatives and Agents in Place. And Agents posted to the past have a way of sending us messages as well.”

“Notes in apples,” said Paul.

“I beg your pardon?” Rantgar did not understand.

“We first thought the Death of Lambert was prevented by an engineered mishap involving an Arabian horse he was to have secured while en-route to the murder scene.”

“Oh? I was not aware of that,” said Rantgar. “Or at least there was no mention of it in the messages I received.”

“When that intervention failed to impact events as we anticipated, we had to… improvise,” said Paul. He told him of the apple and the note to Maeve.

“I see,” said Rantgar. “Then your exploits are even more remarkable, Madame,” he said to Maeve.

“She’s a resourceful lady,” said Kelly.

“You all are,” said Rantgar. “You have been instrumental, essential to all our efforts thus far, and believe me, we are deeply grateful—Time and History are deeply in your debt as well…. But speaking of that. I was told not to linger here, as it seems you have a fuel problem.”

Kelly looked at the power station readouts. “We’ve got about ninety minutes in the tank,” he said. “After that we’ll have to shut down to secure fuel on whatever Meridian we find ourselves—assuming we survive the effects of Paradox.”

“Exactly,” said Rantgar. “So… If you would be so kind as to send me back, I have an appointment with Grimwald I would dearly like to keep.” His hand moved to rest on the hilt of his sword as he finished.

“But our Golem reports indicate Grimwald lives,” said Kelly. “Your mission fails.”

“Now, now… they would have to show that at the moment, wouldn’t they? Because I’m here! But I assure you. I’ll get the job done. You’ll see. The target has changed since Ms. Linford’s intervention, but it’s only a small variation in the spatial coordinates. The temporal data is perfectly sound. I believe if you will allow me to activate another of our worms, the information has already been fetched by your Golems and can be assembled forthwith and sent to your breaching module.”

“You’re going back to kill Grimwald?” said Robert.

“Indeed,” said Rantgar. “You gentle people have done your part. I’m afraid this bit is on my shoulders. It’s what I’ve trained for, and why I was sent. And given that I vanished from the Meridian in the year 705 and that you will be shifting me back in the year 714, our adversaries have undoubtedly spent themselves in a fruitless search to locate me in all those years in between, and they have failed. By now they are undoubtedly planning some other way to preserve the life of Grimwald, but if you can get me to the Arch and on my way again, I’ll finish the job and make an end of that, God willing. What comes after will be up to you.”

He bowed low and seemed to sway as he rose, a bit giddy and off balance, an odd look on his face. Maeve instinctively approached him to render assistance, but as she did so there was an odd cellophane crackle and an odor of ozone permeated the room. It was suddenly very cold.

“Oh… Dear Lord,” said Rantgar. “There seems to be a problem…”

They stared, amazed, as Rantgar seemed to flutter, like a badly tuned in image on a TV screen. His image wavered, faded, winked, and then he simply vanished with an audible snap. The last they saw of him was the wild eyed surprise on his face. Then there was sharp clank and they looked to see his javelin and sword had fallen to the floor where he once stood. Nothing else was there.

He was gone.

“Whatthe hell happened?” Kelly looked at Paul, dumbfounded. “Was this guy a hologram or something?”

“Do those look like holograms?” Paul pointed at the weapons Rantgar had been carrying. He was as surprised as the rest of them, but his mind immediately went to the physics. “It looks like he lost integrity, even here in a safe Nexus Point. His pattern just seemed like it could no longer hold together. Perhaps there was an error on the data they sent through the Golems, and he failed to re-materialize completely when he came through the arch. Very strange about the weapons, though. Perhaps something about their mass density…”

“Could have been a bad shift,” said Kelly.

“Could have been anything,” said Paul. “I was warned about this when I was at Castle Masyaf. They told me that if your weren’t properly pattern sampled you had a limited life span in the milieu where you shifted. I think they said seven days.”

“He barely lasted seven minutes, “ said Maeve. “Was this Paradox at work?”

“Not within a Nexus Point,” said Paul. “No matter what happened to him the effect is the same. He’s gone.”

“Gone where?” asked Robert, clearly uncomfortable.

Paul had no answer for him. They stood there, still feeling the tinge of cold in the room, smelling the odd odor of ozone.

“Well, maybe the Order pulled him out,” Kelly suggested.

“Not likely,” said Paul. “Not from within our Nexus. Remember, he was expecting us to send him back. It was all they could do to get him here, and he said his shift was very experimental—a new method. And the look on his face spoke volumes. He wasn’t expecting to be pulled out at all. He was as surprised as we were—terrified even. I think something went haywire, and frankly, I don’t believe he’s likely to make his appointment with Grimwald now.”

Maeve had a very serious look on her face. “Then we’ll have to do it,” she said firmly. “Hopefully we still have the fuel.”

“Kelly?” Paul looked at his friend, who was still mulling over the Retraction monitors, thinking he might spot some obvious error in the numbers.“Can we do it? Do we have the fuel?”

“We’ll have the power, alright. As for the Quantum matrix, that’s another matter. The singularity is still stable, but it’s been losing integrity with every shift.”

Paul pursed his lips, thinking hard. They had no other clues of their own to follow, and even their own discourse was wending its way to the mysterious figure of Rantgar in the history, the impious wretch who eliminated Grimwald and thus aided Charles ascension to the position of Mayor of the Palace.

“Maeve,” he decided. “Could you see about some wardrobe. Robert and I will draw lots. You and Kelly remain here to monitor results.”

He looked from one to another, and heard no protest. Exhausted from all they had endured that night, the team was quietly thankful that their unseen allies in the future were able to offer some assistance. Yet now the prospect of another mission weighed heavily on them, particularly one involving murder. Robert leaned heavily on the desk, obviously weary and looking for his coffee mug again.

“Can you do this?” asked Maeve. “I mean… we’re talking about a man in his prime, fairly hardy, and most likely wearing some sort of medium weight armor, a leather jerkin at the very least, possibly even a hauberk. He’ll be armed, and he’ll know exactly how to use whatever weapon he wields. And he won’t be alone. They’ll be a body of retainers, perhaps even a troop of soldiery with him. He was making an official visit to his father’s bedside, and he was the heir apparent of Pippin the Fat. Now… Just how do either of you—or even both of you—propose to kill this man? Ever used a sword? A Javelin? Ever fired an arrow at something with intent to kill?”