John Schettler - Touchstone

“You mean to say you think they would conspire against us?”

“Why not? LeGrand has revealed that we have already overturned their assassination plot against Reginald. Lord… we’ve said entirely too much to that man. Telling him that the incident in Wadi Rumm was mere happenstance was not good. Translating the message you read on Rasil’s scroll, as you were about to do, would have been worse. Remember what Paul said about security. We’ve been very sloppy this time—myself included. I was thoughtless in taking that note back in my purse. If you must know, I simply forgot it was there, but that’s no excuse. I practically stripped myself naked the first time I went through the Arch. I was careless, and I put them on to us.”

Nordhausen nodded. “All is forgiven,” he said, then grew very quiet. After a moment he looked at her with a searching expression. “Maeve, can you possibly forgive me for… for what I did in using the Arch? I was on to something—taken up with the hunt, as it were. I wanted to have a look at artifacts, yes, I’ll admit it: I choose London because I have always loved that time. And when I met Wilde and all I…”

“Say no more,” said Maeve. “Alright, I’ll let you off the hook on the condition that you behave yourself for the rest of this mission.” She smiled, and the mood between them lightened.

“We had better get into town and find some new accommodations,” said Robert. “I suppose it may appear somewhat scandalous to some—a strapping man like me alone with a woman in this savage land.”

“Remember,” Maeve corrected him quickly, “I’m your sister.”

They walked on, the town growing around them as they made their way past parched fields, once lush plantations in the flood season. The smell of sea salt and brine was in the air, and Nordhausen steered them in the direction of the fort. Before long, however, they were very tired, and surprisingly hungry.

“I simply must get out of this sun and have something to eat,” said Maeve, and Robert concurred.

The activity of traders, farmers and herders was more apparent as they moved into the heart of the settlement. People were hustling along the thin, stone-laid roads, intent on a thousand matters know only to themselves. As Nordhausen looked at them he felt a strange inner twinge of something akin to fear. What if one of these people was musing on something that would end up triggering any of the great events of history waiting to play out?

LeGrand was correct when he said it was the common man, and the triviality of his simple desires, that you really had to look out for. It occurred to him that the greatest part of all human experience was entirely unknown—stuck away in a man’s head as his inner thoughts moved from one tiny necessity to the next. Only the smallest fraction was ever expressed, in conversation with other men, and even less of that was ever written down to be known by future generations.

Yes, he thought, most of human experience was silent, private, confined in the heads of simple men and women, and never revealed. Just as he kept this very muse to himself, so the greatest measure of human thought was entirely unknown—a mystery he could never imagine. What was Maeve thinking at this very moment?

He looked at her, struggling along in that layered costume, parasol held up bravely against the tireless sun. A bit of the mystery was suddenly revealed to him when she took a deep breath and licked her lips.

“Smell that?” There was a palpable aroma of cooking meat on the air, and Robert could see that they were approaching a souk near the center of town.

“Delightful,” he said. “Are you as famished as I am?”

“Yes,” she said, fidgeting about in her purse. “Ah,” she smiled. “At least they had the good manners to leave the contents intact.”

“What do you mean?”

“I scrounged up some old French francs at a dealer’s shop in Berkeley before we left. It’s all here—even the three gold pieces I added, just in case the notes would not be accepted. Why, they’ve even left my note in the purse.”

“With all the details of our mission?”

“Yes. I’ll say one thing for them: they’re tidy. Looks like someone in Outcomes insisted that the purse had to be left exactly as it was, and returned to the proper owner for disposition, as LeGrand called it.”

“I don’t know if I like the sound of that,” said Nordhausen. “But let’s see about something to eat!”

Maeve was only too happy to accommodate him. They made their way into a wide open square where many street vendors offered the produce from nearby plantations. Sellers were calling out to catch the attention of passers by, and people crowded about carts and stands, where baskets of melons, dates, and other fruit were offered. But their attention was led by their noses to a man offering slivers of seasoned meat on long wood skewers. He was grilling them over a brazier of charcoal, and the aroma was compelling.

Maeve handed Robert a note, and he angled in to bargain with the man for their lunch. The vendor eyed him suspiciously at first. He accepted the note cautiously, squinting at it in the bright sunlight, and finally smelling it before he flashed them a gritty smile and handed over two skewers of meat. Robert accepted them with a nod, handing them to Maeve, then he waited, eyeing the vendor like he was up to no good.

“Come on, Robert,” said Maeve.

“Why, the beggar hasn’t given me my change yet,” Robert protested. “That was a five frank note, am I right?”

Maeve gave him an incredulous look. “Leave it,” she said, pulling him away. “I’m famished. Let’s get out of this sun and find another inn.”

Robert allowed himself to be pulled along, looking over his shoulder at the vendor as they went. There was no mystery as to what was going on in that man’s head just now—spoken or not. The man had a sly smile on his face, obviously pleased that he had been able to garner such a hefty price for his wares, and all without the slightest bit of haggling.

They finished the food, finding it a spicy, though satisfying meal. People were understandably curious to see these strangers in their midst, and the more they lingered in the souk, the more attention they got. It was making Maeve somewhat nervous, and she pulled Robert along, heading for a group of buildings at one end of the square. Her eye fixed on one that had the look of a caravanserai, and she hastened toward it, glad to be out away from the lingering stares of these earthy, brown skinned locals.

In time they found an inn that looked acceptable, and went in to see about a room. The keeper did not want to accept paper currency, however, and Maeve was forced to pay one of the three gold coins to secure accommodations. Robert seemed irritated as the negotiation was concluded, largely by sign language, as the man did not speak any European language.

“See what I mean?” He nodded his head at the man. “We got taken again. These people are bandits. Five francs for lunch and an ounce of gold for a single night on a dusty hovel like this.”

“It’s not the price I’m concerned about,” said Maeve. “It’s just that I was hoping to use the notes instead of coinage.”

“Well the lout would have probably taken us for the entire wad in that case.” He looked at the man, clearly displeased. “Too much,” he breathed. Then to Maeve he said: “What’s the difference? Gold, notes, he’s a robber either way.”

“The difference is that notes deteriorate quickly, and so I don’t leave detritus in the Meridian very long. A gold coin is another matter. It will hang around for centuries, and it doesn’t belong here any more than we do.”

“May I be of some assistance?”