Time's Children

by D. B. Jackson

  Again, the enormity of this burden threatened to overwhelm him. I’m fifteen. I can’t do this.

  He didn’t look fifteen, and that was a secret he couldn’t share. Not with anyone. He couldn’t say why, but he knew doing so might prove to be the most perilous revelation of all. It was bad enough that his bronze hair and dark skin made him stand out on this bone white isle. If those who sought the princess knew she was with a Traveler, his race would make them that much easier to track and find.

  But more than that, he didn’t wish to upset the fragile rapport he was establishing with Jivv and Elinor. There were few Travelers in the world, and they tended to remain in the royal courts, remote from the lives of most people. He didn’t know how these two would feel about his powers, and the changes they had already wrought – in him, and in their world.

  Jivv stared at Tobias, his arms crossed over his chest, his mouth a thin gash across his ashen face. “You worked in the castle?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “As a servant? A guard? A minister?”

  “A minister of a sort, I suppose you could say.”

  The ends of the man’s mouth turned down. “Not sure I know what that means.”

  “It means the sovereign trusted me. It means I was there when he and the queen died, and was able to save the princess.”

  “You can’t stay here,” Elinor said.

  “I understand–”

  “I don’t mean here in the house, though that’s true as well. I mean, you have to get away from Daerjen. They’ll find her here. That search this morning – it won’t be the last. It’s just a matter of time. Another isle, though…” She shrugged. “You might have a chance.”

  A matter of time. It was almost enough to make him laugh. Except that she was right. When they didn’t find the princess with this round of searches, they’d start again, and they’d be even more thorough.

  Tobias gave Sofya some more bread, wondering how he could possibly escape the isle. I have nothing.

  That wasn’t true. He pulled one of the flintlocks from his carry sack and placed it on the table.

  “I don’t know what this will fetch in a market or from someone who deals in weapons. But it’s yours, if you can help me.”

  Jivv eyed him, and then the weapon. He picked it up off the table and examined it more closely. “Well made,” he said. “Aiyanthan, by the look of it.” Seeing Tobias’s puzzlement, he pointed to a marking on the barrel, just ahead of the breechplug. “Aiyanthan armsmiths put their proprietary marks here. Most others, Oaqamaran included, put them on the butt of the stock.” He hefted the weapon, held it up and sighted with it. “Aiyanthan is good. Fetch a better price.”

  “That yours?” Elinor asked. “Or did you take it from someone?”

  “It’s not mine.”

  “Well, that makes it harder to sell, don’t it? And a mite bit more dangerous.”

  “Have done, Ellie. The man’s trying to save the wee one’s life, and his own. It’s not as though you and I are delighted to see Sheraigh blue walking our streets, now is it?”

  Her mouth twitched, but she gave a curt nod. “What is it you need?” she asked Tobias.

  “Food,” he said. “Swaddling. If you can bandage my back, I’d be grateful. We’ll be gone from here as soon as we can. You have my word. I have no more desire to be caught than you do to be found helping us. But with these wounds, I’m no good–”

  “Where will you go?” Elinor asked. “And what will you do with her while you’re running? She’s a baby, not a brigand.”

  Tobias closed his eyes. His world heaved and spun. “I know that,” he whispered. “I’m… I don’t know much about children.”

  “That much is clear.”

  “I told you to let up on him.”

  “And I don’t see what good that will do. He doesn’t need coddling; he needs to have some sense kicked into his skull.”

  “I didn’t think about any of this,” Tobias said, answering an unspoken question. “I took her, because to leave her was to let her die. And I couldn’t do that.” He bit back the next words that came to him: She’s a friend. I’ve seen her as a young woman. She’s supposed to live. “I’ve lost a sister myself,” he said instead, and for the first time in his life, he felt a pang of grief for Yolli.

  “Well, you’re not going to buy your way off this isle with a pistol,” Elinor said.

  No, that’s what the apertures are for. “I know that.”

  “Good,” she said, retrieving more bread from the larder. “Then we’ll get you on the mend, and in the meantime, you and the wee one will hide here.”

  “What?”

  Tobias and Jivv said this together, then shared a glance.

  “I thought you wanted me gone. Now. That’s what you said.”

  She broke off some bread, soaked it, and gave it to Sofya. “I do want you gone, and soon. I can’t have you endangering this one, though, can I? If you go off half-crippled, and something happens to her, how am I supposed to live with myself?”

  Jivv grinned.

  “I don’t know what you’re leering at,” she said, eyes glinting like dagger blades. “You’ll be working just as hard as I will. This is a princess we’re having in our home. And this is the last time I feed her naught but bread, goat’s milk, and moldy cheese. You hear me?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” her husband said. The smile lingered on his lips.

  Once Sofya ate her fill, and Tobias had enough to take the edge off his hunger, Jivv ordered him to strip off his blood-stiffened clothes, and tended to his injuries. The knife wound on his back was by far the most serious. Tobias couldn’t see it, but Jivv told him the flesh around it was inflamed and fevered. The man cleaned the wound – a painful process – and bandaged it. Tobias couldn’t do much with his left arm without it hurting terribly.

  Elinor bustled through the house holding Sofya on her hip as naturally as she would her own child. She paused at one point to tsk over Tobias’s wound, but otherwise ignored both men. When it came time for the princess to nap, Elinor set her on a pallet of folded blankets beside the small bed she and Jivv shared. Tobias took the opportunity to sleep as well. Jivv gave him a spare blanket, and he settled down on the bare floor in a corner of the common room, his sword and the other pistol within easy reach.

  He didn’t think he could sleep under such conditions, but he soon fell into a deep slumber.

  When he woke sometime later, Jivv and Elinor were at the hearth, speaking in low tones. Almost as soon as he became aware of their conversation, they fell silent.

  “You’re awake,” Elinor said.

  He didn’t try to pretend otherwise. “Yes. How long did I sleep?”

  “A long time. Two bells at least. The wee one is still dreaming.”

  “How much of what we said did you hear?” Elinor asked.

  Tobias sat up, rubbed a hand over his face. His back throbbed, and his shirt was soaked with sweat. He wondered if he had a fever. “I heard you say something about the wharves, but that was all.”

  “They’re still closed,” Jivv said. “No word on when they’ll open. Ships from Sheraigh control the gulf. Some are saying they plan to choke off all trade in Hayncalde, send the merchant ships north, to the mouth of the gulf, where the new sovereign can take the gold for himself. Others think they’re waiting until they can put their own customs agents in place, and then they’ll offload the ships here. Either way, anyone connected with the old sovereign is bound to have a rough time of it. And no one is leaving Hayncalde by water.”

  Tobias found himself rubbing at his beard again, and forced himself to stop. “I’m not sure how I’d get her through any of the gates, even those near the wharves. I have to find another way.” Brave words, but he had no idea what other way there might be. “Did anyone survive?” he asked. “Did any ministers get away, or maybe Mearlan’s son?”

  “They claim everyone is gone, the whole family.”

  “That’s a lie.”

&nbs
p; “Maybe, but they claim it. All the court as well. Every minister, his Seer, his Binder, his Traveler.”

  Tobias tried to keep his expression neutral, but wasn’t sure he succeeded. He needn’t have made the effort. Neither of them would look at him.

  “I’m not lying. That little girl in there is Sofya, sovereign princess of Daerjen.”

  “I’m willing to believe it,” Jivv said. “More than I’m willing to believe a word that comes from some uniformed Sheraigh shit-demon.”

  “Jivv!”

  “The wee one’s still sleeping, and she ain’t got a word to her tongue yet. It’s not like she’ll be repeating it.”

  “Still, there’s a babe in the house. I expect a civil tongue.” She cast a dark glance Tobias’s way. “From both of you.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Tobias said, though his courtesy only deepened her scowl.

  “Truth is, I believe it, too,” she said at length. “If you were lying, you would have come up with something more believable. Only an idiot would come up with a story like this.”

  “A lying idiot, or a truthful one?” Tobias asked.

  That coaxed a fleeting smile from her. “A truthful one, I expect. And a brave one.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Didn’t think the Sheraighs had balls enough for something like this,” Jivv said. “Old Noak’s more coward than man.”

  “They had help. Many of the men I saw in the castle last night didn’t wear uniforms, including their leader. I think they were hired assassins, and I know they were Travelers. Spanners. Sheraigh didn’t do this alone.”

  “Then who? Who has as much to gain from the sovereign’s death as the duke of Sheraigh?”

  It was a fair question. The idea that Sheraigh would do all of this was both too obvious and too great a stretch. Tobias thought again of what Osten Cavensol had said in Tobias’s own time: Sheraigh hasn’t the resources to buy one Traveler, much less two. They definitely couldn’t afford the army of Travelers that had infiltrated the castle the night before.

  He almost mentioned Daerjen’s war with the Oaqamarans, but of course, that war hadn’t started yet. And now the autarch might not think it necessary.

  “You can think of others, can’t you?” Jivv said, reading his expression.

  “I can guess. Nothing more.” Eventually he would have to do better than that. When the time came to smuggle Sofya out of Hayncalde he’d have an easier time evading his enemies if he knew precisely who they were.

  Chapter 23

  23rd Day of Sipar’s Settling, Year 633

  The knife wound on Tobias’s back proved stubborn. By the next morning, the pain had grown worse as had his fever. When Jivv removed the old dressing, he hissed through his teeth.

  “This doesn’t look good. You should see a surgeon.”

  Tobias refused, fearing the questions a physician might ask. After arguing the point, he and Jivv agreed to give the injury another day or two to heal.

  He remained in the house, unwilling to risk being seen out of doors. He tried to stay out of Elinor’s way, and spent much of his time with Sofya, talking to her, playing foolish games, feeding her.

  Late in the morning, she soiled her swaddling, and Tobias took her to Elinor.

  “She’s messed herself.”

  Elinor didn’t deign to look up from her cooking. “Then I suppose you’d better clean her up.”

  “I… I don’t know how.”

  At that Elinor faced him. “Then I suppose you’d better learn.” Reading the panic in his eyes, she heaved a sigh, set aside her cooking spoon, and strode into the bedroom. “Come along. I’m only going to show you once.”

  He followed her, the stink of Sofya’s mess hanging over him like a cloud.

  “Now, watch,” Elinor said, laying out fresh swaddling. She folded the cloth into a neat triangle and set it aside. Then she removed the soiled cloth from Sofya and, using another cloth, this one dampened, cleaned the babe’s privates.

  “You have to make certain you get her girl parts all clean,” she said, glancing up at him. Tobias hoped his growing beard would hide the reddening of his cheeks. It didn’t.

  “It’s nothing to be bashful about. Your ma did this for you around your boy parts, just like I did for my boys. Someday, you’ll have children of your own and you’ll do the same for them. So stop being squeamish.”

  When Sofya was clean, Elinor slipped the fresh swaddling under her, folded it around her legs and crotch, and tied the corners tight, her fingers nimble and sure.

  “That’s all there is to it.” She picked up the princess and planted a kiss on her brow.

  Tobias held out his hands for the girl, but Elinor shook her head and pointed at the soiled swaddling and washing cloth. “You’ve cleaning to do. Dump the mess in the garden, get water from the well, and rinse those cloths. When they’re good and clean, wring them out and lay them near the fire. That way they’ll be ready for next time. And so will you.”

  She walked out of the chamber before he could argue.

  He did as instructed, checking the lane with care before he ventured outside, and cursing the woman the entire time. But when next Sofya soiled herself, he knew what to do, and though the swaddling he folded didn’t fit as well as the one Elinor prepared, it worked better than he’d expected.

  After dealing with the dressing on Tobias’s wound, Jivv returned to the wharves, ostensibly to see if he could work, but also to gather information. He came back late in the day, and what he had learned did nothing to improve Tobias’s mood.

  The Sheraighs were continuing their house-to-house search for the princess; it was just a matter of time before they doubled back to streets they had scoured once already. Worse, they had imposed a curfew on the city – sunrise to sunset – and they were offering rewards to informants and bounty hawks.

  “One fellow says they’re telling folk to look for children where there hadn’t been any before, and…” He grimaced. “And for Northislers. ‘Dark-skinned ones,’ he says. As if there’s other kinds.”

  “Will it work?” Tobias asked.

  Jivv lifted a shoulder. “There’s little love for Sheraigh blue in these streets. Folks here curse the Oaqamarans every day, but they hate Sheraigh almost as much. The fact that they’re Daerjeni as well? That they’d kill the sovereign like that, just to take the supremacy? That makes it worse.”

  “But?”

  The man shrugged again. “The wharves are closed, and so’s the market. I can’t work. Elinor can’t sell her jams and such.”

  “Jams? I thought she only grew carrots and potatoes.”

  She whirled at this, nearly upsetting a bowl of soaking beans, and drawing a cry from Sofya, who she held on her hip. “Carrots and potatoes?”

  Crow barked and then growled.

  “Crow, hush.” Jivv held up both hands. “It’s just what I told them soldiers the other day.” To Tobias he said, “She does more than that, but the point is, there’s no money to be made. We have some put away, and we were at market the day Mearlan died, so we’re fine for now. Other folks are hurting already. Another day or two, and those rewards are going to start looking like a king’s treasure.”

  With daylight fading, the house had started to darken. Jivv lit some candles. Elinor returned to her cooking.

  Tobias remained where he was. His back ached and the injuries to his neck and ear still stung, but he couldn’t afford to wait until he had healed. He was listening every moment for footsteps, for the jangle of steel blades. He could almost feel Mearlan’s assassin closing in on him.

  As if in answer to this thought, Crow growled again. Jivv scratched the dog’s ears, eliciting a tentative wag of his tail.

  “We can’t stay here,” Tobias said. “And we can’t risk being seen in the streets. That doesn’t leave us many options.”

  “She looks a little like you,” Jivv said, looking from the princess to Tobias. “That might help when the time comes.”

  “She looks like her mot
her,” Tobias said, his voice low. “That’s what they’re looking for. That’s what they’ll see.”

  Crow growled again. Jivv and Tobias eyed the dog at the same time. The animal stood near the door, teeth bared, hackles up.

  “What is he–”

  “Oh, no,” Tobias whispered.

  Jivv pivoted. “What–”

  Tobias silenced him with a raised hand. “Keep talking,” he whispered. “Loudly, about anything at all.”

  He crossed lightly to his carry sack, reached into it, and wrapped his hand around the handle of a pistol. He thought better of that choice, though. Instead, he grasped one of the blades he’d taken from the men he killed in Daria Belani’s chamber. Had that really only been two days ago?

  He slipped the blade into his belt and crept to the door. Jivv watched him, all the while speaking of the cloth trade between Daerjen and Qyrshen, and of carrying bolts of cloth between the wharves and the warehouses along the waterline.

  Reaching the door, Tobias wrapped his fingers around the handle, turned it slowly, and yanked it open.

  Someone to his left hissed a curse, and bolted from the yard. Tobias leapt after the figure, the injury to his back screaming. Crow ran with him, another growl rumbling in his chest.

  The figure cast one look over a shoulder – a boy’s face and body. Lanky. All elbows and knees, but damnably fast. His feet slapped a steady rhythm on the cobblestone lanes. Tobias struggled to keep up, following him down one lane, over to another alley, around a corner, and up a dirt track that ran between two houses.

  The pain in his back worsened with every turn, every step. He felt slow and plodding in this new body. If he’d still been a boy, like the one in front of him, he might have caught up. As it was, he was losing ground.

  But Crow gained on the boy, snarling now, his claws tapping out a counterpoint to the lad’s gait. Emerging into another stone lane from between the houses, the boy stumbled, righted himself, turned at the next byway.

  This proved to be a mistake. A wooden fence loomed at the end of the alley, dark and hulking in the gloaming. The boy leapt for the top, missed. Staggered back to try again, but by then Crow was on him.