We have what we need from your motor cortex, and we’re ninety-seven percent confident this ancestor never interacted with any piece of the Trident.
“Can I stay a little longer?” Sean asked. He wanted to see this memory through.
Victoria paused. A few more minutes.
“Thanks.”
So Sean stayed in the simulation, and two hours before dawn, the watchmen alerted Brandon to a mob that was on its way up the road. That roused the household, and everyone took up positions, preparing for whatever was to come. Brandon ordered a gunman to each corner room, and through his own window, he could see the ruffians rushing forward in their white shirts, a few of the cowards in white hoods.
Some of them carried pitchforks and scythes, and many of them held torches. When they reached the house, they didn’t even call for a parley. They just howled and hurled bricks.
Some of the projectiles broke through the windows, scattering shattered glass over the furniture and floor. Brandon had ordered those armed with muskets to exercise restraint as long as possible, fearing the way gunshot might inflame the mob.
“Let’s hope their objective is only to intimidate,” Richard said at Brandon’s side.
“Let’s hope.”
But then men with torches marched toward the house. Brandon took aim at one of them, waiting, barely breathing. With a cry, the assailants threw the torches at the broken windows, trying to land the flames inside the house.
At that, Brandon pulled the trigger, his ears ringing from the explosion. Richard fired his gun next to him, as did the groundskeepers on the opposite corner of the house.
A few of the torchmen fell, their bodies struck by lead balls, and their compatriots pulled them away from the house, while the rest of the mob roared with fury, brandishing their weapons, but now hanging back.
“Maybe they’re thinking better of this,” Brandon said, reloading his musket.
“I saw Michael Dooley out there.” His son shook his head. “He was one I talked to today. He shook my hand.”
“I’m sorry.” Brandon passed his son the powder horn. “But now you know what we’re dealing with.”
Richard nodded and loaded his weapon, and they prepared for the next wave.
None came at first, though the mob leered and screamed. Brandon saw familiar faces among them, too. Farmers he’d known for years. But not the herdsmen he had seen that morning, and he took some small comfort from that.
“They’re trying to torch the stables,” Richard said.
Brandon looked and saw that some of the mob, no doubt frustrated, had turned their destructive intentions onto some of the other buildings, but the wet thatch refused to catch fire. Brendan hoped they wouldn’t enter the stables to kill the horses. He looked back at the main body of the mob, which had gathered tight, as if conferring. “Do you think they’re giving up?” Richard asked.
“Not likely. They’re up to something.”
A few moments later, his fears were borne out. The mob spread out in a line, and someone gave the order, and they all charged as one. Brandon took aim and fired, but his hands shook and he missed. Richard managed to hit one of them, and so did one of the groundskeepers, but the flood came on. Brandon looked at his son.
Not enough time to reload.
Not enough men for a fight.
A torch flew through the broken window, landing on the floor. Richard doused it with one of the pails in an instant, but the mob had reached the walls of the house. Pitchforks and torches broke more glass, and one of the curtains caught fire. Brandon and Richard retreated toward the middle of the room, and then Brandon heard one of his daughters scream.
“Jane!” Brandon shouted.
It’s time, Sean, Victoria said, her voice clear over the chaos.
“What?” Sean said. “No!”
I’m sorry. Memory Corridor in three, two, one …
“No!” Sean shouted again, but the house went up in a different kind of blaze, a crackling white storm, and when it cleared, Sean was standing on nothing, in nothing.
“Let me go back!” he shouted.
You can’t change the outcome, Victoria said. These events happened over two hundred years ago. And remember, you know your ancestor survived, because he passed on his memories of this event after it happened.
“But what about Richard? And my daughters?”
His daughters, Sean. Say it. His daughters.
That stopped him. “His daughters,” he said more calmly.
Not yours. You have a different life. Take hold of it.
But Sean didn’t want to take hold of it. He didn’t want to return to his body.
Remember the good you’re doing out here. We’re learning so much from you.
Sean let out a long sigh. He went through the exercises Victoria had taught him, calling up the memory of his mom’s pot roast, the cedar smell of his dad’s woodshop. But with those pleasant memories came others from the hospital, horrible memories of tubes and pain and tortured nights. The bad ones were almost better at reminding him who he was than the good ones.
Are you ready for parietal extraction? Victoria asked.
“Yes,” he said very quietly.
Okay. In three, two, one …
He felt the tsunami rage through his skull, spinning him, and then the water receded, and he was left battered and bloodied on the shores of his mind. He kept his eyes closed against the vertigo until Victoria lifted the helmet away. For a moment, he thought he might throw up, but the tingling in his cheeks went away, and this time he seemed to have avoided that particular embarrassment.
“How are you feeling?” Victoria asked, disconnecting him from the machines.
“Okay. Better than the last time.”
“That’s good to hear. It should keep improving.”
He nodded, but waited until the spinning room had come to a complete stop before he tried to lift himself out of the harness.
“Do you feel up to talking?”
“Like, therapy?” Sean rubbed his hands through his hair. “Probably not.”
“Not with me.” Victoria paused. “With Isaiah.”
Isaiah really didn’t talk with them that often, although Sean assumed that was probably different for Natalya. The chat with the director that morning had been an exception, and Sean wondered what Isaiah could want now. Also, Victoria’s hesitation suggested that maybe she wasn’t happy about it.
“What does he want to talk about?”
“Your potential,” she said.
Grace knew that Masireh would not be able to free himself from the bindings. He would have to wait for the merchant to do that for him the next morning.
But such a release wouldn’t happen unless Masireh revealed the location of his gold mines, something his honor would never allow. He could always give a false location, but they would discover it soon enough and kill him anyway, only he would die even farther from his home and family. Masireh needed to bring the merchant back to town, where he had allies, and there was only one way to make that happen.
The night grew cold, but the sand beneath Masireh’s back continued to radiate the heat of the day for some time. Then, against his skin, Masireh felt the insects and crawling things that came out in the cool darkness to hunt. He ignored them, and he ignored the cold that gradually seeped into his skin until he was shivering. He did not sleep.
When dawn stretched its pale light over the desert, and the dewdrops gathered and vanished almost in the same moment, the merchant came to stand over Masireh.
“Did you sleep well?” he asked, stretching and yawning.
“Well enough for both of us,” Masireh said.
“And will you tell me where your mines are located?”
“I can’t,” Masireh said.
The merchant pulled out the knife. “I warned you. I have been very patient, but that patience has reached its end.”
“Don’t berate yourself,” Masireh said. “No one could possibly have the necessary pat
ience.”
“And why is that?”
“Because I don’t have the answer to your question.”
The merchant pointed the knife at him. “What do you mean?”
“I said it plainly. I don’t have the answer. I don’t know where the mines are.”
“You are lying.”
“I wish that I were. For my sake, not yours.”
The merchant lowered the point of the knife by an uncertain inch. “Explain.”
“It is an arrangement with my brother. He handles the mining. I handle the trade. He is safe, and I take the risk, should anyone try to force me to reveal the location of our mines. It works out very well for my brother.”
“Not so well for you.” The merchant looked angry now. The false geniality of his demeanor had fallen away, and Masireh now saw the coldness in his true eyes. “Or me. Now I will get nothing for killing you.”
He lunged downward with the knife.
“Perhaps not!” Masireh said, almost breathless with sudden panic, and within the memory, Grace tried to shield herself from the blade.
The merchant had stopped, the knife halfway to Masireh’s neck. “I already told you I am out of patience—”
“There is a map.”
The merchant straightened back up, but the knife remained in his hand. “A map?”
“A map to the mines. Should anything happen to my brother, I am to open it.”
“And where is this map?”
“With a trusted friend, back in town. It is sealed. He doesn’t know what it contains.”
The merchant rolled the knife tip against his thumb for several moments, and finally put it away. “Back in town?”
“Near my home.”
“I can kill you there as easily as here.”
“I don’t doubt that. But if I do this, will you give me your word on something?”
“You think you’re in a position to barter?” The merchant laughed, his genial mask returned. “I am curious, though. What is this request?”
“Don’t hurt my brother. When you reach the mines, spare him.”
The merchant turned away. “That will depend upon your brother.”
Not long after that, the merchant’s men came and pulled up the stakes holding Masireh to the ground. They did not loosen the bonds around his wrists, however, and after giving him a small amount of water to drink, they forced him by the point of a sword to march eastward, back toward town. Ten miles later, when the first of houses and buildings came into sight among the dunes, the merchant came to stand before Masireh, holding his knife once again.
“I know you are up to something, but I tell you this. If you stray, if you give me even the smallest of signs that you are lying or working to betray me, I won’t use this on you. I will take it to your house and find your family. Do you understand?”
Masireh understood very well, which made his anger that much hotter. But he kept it contained, a lidded pot that did not appear to be boiling.
The merchant stepped closer. “Do you understand!”
Masireh nodded.
The merchant eyed him for a moment longer, and then he untied Masireh’s wrists. “You lead the way, but know this. You may not see the knife at your back, but it will be there.”
“This way,” Masireh said, and walked toward the city.
They passed the pavilion near the inn where he had met the merchant and been poisoned. They passed the market, with the silk Masireh had planned to purchase. Along the way, many people stopped to greet him, and he nodded and smiled as if nothing was amiss, though they asked where he had been, because his family had been looking for him. Masireh did his best to convince them that all was well. The merchant had no trouble fooling those they met.
It was near midday when they reached the house Masireh had told the merchant about.
“Remember,” the merchant said. “Your life and the lives of your family are in my hands.”
“I have not forgotten,” Masireh said.
The man who greeted them at the door seemed surprised to see them, but before he could speak, Masireh said, “Peace, my friend. I come with terrible news. It seems my brother has died in an accident at the mines.”
“Oh?” said the man at the door.
“These associates of mine will swear to it,” Masireh said.
“And what would you ask of me?”
“A map was entrusted to you many years ago. A map to my family’s mines. I have come to claim it.”
“I see,” the man said. He opened his door wide, and ushered in the visitors. “Please, wait in my courtyard, and I shall retrieve it for you.”
Masireh entered the man’s house with the merchant and his guards. They came into a fine courtyard with a fountain and fruit trees. The air was cool and fragrant.
“It may take me some time to find it.”
“We will wait,” Masireh said, glancing at the merchant, who appeared irritated, but said nothing.
The next few minutes passed very slowly, and in total silence save the trill of the fountain. The merchant had a hand inside his robes, no doubt gripping the handle of Masireh’s knife. He and his men stared hard at Masireh until the man of the house returned with the map, rolled and sealed.
“There is a protocol that must be performed before I give you this,” the man said.
“What protocol?” the merchant asked, the first words he had uttered since entering the house.
“Your word is not enough. I must know that Masireh’s brother is dead.”
“How?” the merchant asked.
“Normally, I would see the body for myself.”
“We will go to retrieve it,” the merchant said. “But for that, we need the map.”
“That is true. So I will give you this map, but you must leave me with some form of collateral.”
“How much?” the merchant asked.
“Not money. Unless you have a caravan of gold outside, you couldn’t possibly have enough. I would like something much more valuable.”
“What?” the merchant asked.
“A life,” the man said. “Masireh’s life. Leave him with me. If you return with the body of his brother, I will release him to you. If you do not, his fate is in my hands.”
The merchant folded his arms and seemed to be considering the man’s offer. He looked at his men, and looked at Masireh, and Masireh did his best to appear frightened. At last the merchant nodded. “You have a deal.”
“Excellent,” the man said. He handed over the map, and the merchant took it.
Then the merchant turned to Masireh and he smiled. “Until we meet again.” He nodded to his men, and they abruptly departed the house.
After they had gone, the man turned to Masireh. “How do you get yourself into these situations, brother?”
Masireh sighed. “Bad luck.”
The revelation shocked Grace. She had given Masireh free access to the palace of her mind, and yet he had somehow concealed his brother’s identity from her. As if his performance for the merchant had required him to conceal his brother’s identity even from himself. Masireh had been extremely clever and disciplined and bold. All qualities Grace wished for herself, and the fact that she had his DNA within her was a good thing. She also wished she had a brother she could count on the way Masireh could count on his.
“One of these times,” his brother said, “your luck will fail.”
Masireh sat down upon the edge of the fountain and dipped his fingers in the water. “What map did you give them?”
His brother waved him off. “I marked a spot fifty miles away. There’s nothing there.”
“They’ll be back.”
“Of course they will. But we’ll be ready.” He turned toward the inner house. “Have you eaten?”
“Not since yesterday.”
“Come then. We have preparations to make.”
Grace? Anaya’s voice carried over the sound of the fountain. This memory seems to be winding down. I’m showing a low probab
ility that this ancestor interacted with the Piece of Eden.
“I think you’re right,” Grace said. But even without the Piece of Eden, this simulation hadn’t been a waste of time to her, after all. She’d even enjoyed it, and felt that maybe she’d gained something from it, on a level she didn’t understand yet, but was beginning to.
Are you ready to come out?
“I am.”
Good. Isaiah would like to speak with you.
Grace knocked on the door, and Isaiah called her in. This was his office, but she had the impression it wasn’t his real office. Like he had a bigger, better office somewhere else in the Aerie, but this was the office he used when he wanted to meet with her or one of the others. He sat at his desk, which didn’t have anything on it. The room didn’t have any kind of personal expression at all. Even the stark, black-and-white photos hanging on the wall seemed to have been picked for their universality and inoffensiveness. Some bridge in the fog. Some leaves on the ground. Some old wooden fence in a field.
“Please, have a seat,” Isaiah said.
Grace went to one of the chrome-supported angular chairs facing his desk and sat down. “Anaya said you wanted to speak to me?”
“Yes. Victoria mentioned your frustrations.”
“Oh.”
“I wondered if I might help.”
“How?”
“Why don’t you tell me what’s bothering you?”
Grace wasn’t sure. This morning, she had simply wanted to be a part of the mission and find a Piece of Eden, to prove that she and David were valuable to the program. But after experiencing Masireh’s memories, she wasn’t quite as impatient with the trial and error of the Animus anymore.
“Let’s start with what you told Victoria,” Isaiah said. “You wish you could switch places with Natalya?”
“Does Victoria tell you everything?”
“Only what I need to know.” He sat back in his chair, and the leather creaked. “Is that how you feel?”
“Sometimes.”
“Why is that?”
“She’s going to find one of the prongs of the Trident.”
“And?”
“That’s why we’re here.”
He got up from the chair and walked around to sit on his desk near her, his arms folded, his gold watch showing on his wrist. “Your dad initially refused my offer and took you and your brother home.”
Tomb of the Khan Page 8
