by Donna Hosie
“I think we need yeoman clothes,” I said. “It’s our best hope of getting through the palace unnoticed. And we don’t have time to ask politely.”
Charlie nodded; Alice looked fierce. This was what we had trained for. It was perverse, knowing that we would be leaving The 48 forever after this, but that our final actions in another time would be exactly what they had shown us we would have to do in order to succeed and survive.
We had no choice.
The three of us made our way from the stables to the orchards. It was early in the day, so few people were around.
The first yeoman we came across was easy pickings. His clothes were too small for Charlie or me to fit into—once I had rendered him unconscious—but they fit Alice perfectly, and the hat was large enough to cover her short hair and most of her face.
We made it into the armory, and Alice and I teamed up to take out another guard. Charlie was only there for moral support. He could barely lift his arms, and his feet were still so badly blistered he was hobbling like an old man. I saw Alice wince more than once at the burns on his body.
It was my turn to look after my twin.
And anyone who got in my way would have hell to pay.
* * *
—
Charlie took the second guard’s clothes. The pants were too short, but they would suffice. My clothes were stolen from a yeoman who came to check on the guard we had just disabled. Our success was fueling my adrenaline. In fact, I felt like I was on fire. No one would ever have thought that I had been near death myself just a few weeks earlier. I was totally owning life.
Which meant that it wasn’t adrenaline at all. The reverse Quickening was starting.
“Charlie, can you feel your fingers?” I asked, feeling the grin spread across my face.
“Yeah,” he replied, giggling. “It tickles.”
Alice swore. “You can’t do anything stupid now. Either of you.”
Stupid? Stupid was this dumbass assignment that had used me and my brother as punching bags. When I got hold of Grinch…
Grinch. The green-skinned creature who had dragged Alice here, who had killed our contact, and who was going to kill us if we didn’t get to her first.
I was going to find her, and end her.
“Charlie, Alex, listen to me,” said Alice, blocking the exit from the armory. “You cannot go all Godlike on me right now.”
“Where is Grinch’s room?” I replied. “We’re cool, aren’t we, Charlie-boy?”
“I’m cooler than you.”
“Never in a million—Marlon!” I suddenly exclaimed.
A third yeoman had appeared behind Alice.
“What are you doing?” asked Marlon, looking down at the bare legs of the two yeomen we had already undressed.
“We’re—we’re leaving,” I said. Even with the Reverse Quickening flooding my bloodstream, I could feel my throat constrict.
This really wasn’t fair. Any of it. I wanted more time with him. At least enough to tell him how grateful I was.
Before anyone could say anything stupid, I crossed the floor and kissed him.
It was a blissful state, just for a couple of seconds. When we parted, his eyes were wide with surprise.
“Sorry,” I said. “I should have asked.”
“Yes, Alexander of Cleves.” Marlon was grinning. “And a lot sooner.”
“Thank you, Marlon. For saving us all.” I embraced him swiftly once more, then rejoined Charlie and Alice and the three of us headed for the door.
“Will I see you again, Alexander of Cleves?” called Marlon.
I didn’t have the heart to tell him the truth. I wasn’t sure I had a heart left.
* * *
—
The Reverse Quickening had steadied. We ducked through arches and hid in doorways as Alice led us to Grinch’s room, the location of which she had found out from another chambermaid who had been cleaning it.
Grinch wasn’t there.
“We don’t have time to wait,” said Alice. “It was a long shot anyway. We need to get to Cromwell’s rooms now.”
“She’ll come after us,” I said. “In the future.”
“I know,” said Charlie.
“We don’t have time!” cried Alice. “If we don’t get to that painting, then the fact that Grinch is still alive to get to us will be irrelevant, because there will be no us left.”
Both Charlie and I were happy to let Alice lead now, so we kept in the shadows as we made our way to Cromwell’s rooms. The place was deserted—no doubt everyone was getting ready for the imminent betrothal of Henry and Jane.
The radiation had already moved into the next stage, which was a feeling of intense nausea. Charlie was the first one to retch; my stomach ached so much I couldn’t even manage that. Bile moved up and down freely in my throat.
“How much time do we have?” asked Charlie as we reached Cromwell’s door.
“Less than ten minutes,” I replied, herding us all through the entryway.
When we got inside, we all gasped—even though I had half expected the sight before me. Or, expected half the sight.
Grinch was there, waiting for us.
“I knew you would come here,” she whispered. “And now you are going to see a real Asset carry out what you should have done the moment this assignment went dark.”
“You know the sons of Cleves, Madame du Pont? What a small world we exist in.”
It was the king’s chief minister and master of death, I hadn’t thought I’d see—and he was standing right behind her.
I reacted first. I grabbed Grinch around the throat and dragged her into a corner. Alice went for Cromwell and pointed a knife she had taken from the armory just below his Adam’s apple, which was bobbing furiously.
Cromwell’s hands were already raised in surrender, but Grinch was fighting back. Then Charlie joined me, and despite the obvious agony it was causing him, he and I combined to tackle Grinch to the ground. I placed my knee in the center of her spine to incapacitate her.
“Don’t say a word,” I commanded. “Because I swear I won’t need a rack to reciprocate what you and your Asset friends did to us. I don’t even mean here. I mean back home. To all of us. For our whole lives.”
Grinch was coughing and shaking her head.
Grinch, Piermont, Aramis, Asix…they were all the same. Evil. The lot of them. And those who weren’t evil were just liars.
“You were prepared to sacrifice Charlie and Alex for The 48. Now it’s time you were disposed of, Grinch. Charlie, pass me those tongs from the fireplace.”
But Charlie had staggered back.
“Charlie, we have to finish her,” said Alice urgently.
Grinch groaned as Alice wrapped her hands through her hair, exposing her already wounded neck.
“No!”
“Charlie—”
“We aren’t assassins. We aren’t like them. We’re not—we’re not monsters, Alice.”
“Alex?” Alice said. Tears were streaming down her face. I realized my cheeks were wet too.
“Okay,” she whispered.
“Okay,” I repeated. “Charlie, toss me some of that drapery cord.” He did as I asked. I tied up Cromwell, and then Grinch. Then I got down in Cromwell’s face. “This woman is here to assassinate Jane Seymour. When help arrives for you, you need to make sure she never gets near the next queen. Do you understand?”
“You’ll never get away from this court,” croaked Cromwell.
“Watch us,” I replied. “We’re not from Cleves, and you damn well know it. We’re from a world that would make your head spin if you knew a fraction of what we know, and—”
“If you are not of Cleves, where are you from?” said another voice quietly.
And the whole world stopped moving.
Jane Seymour had stepped out of the darkness. Her gown was golden and edged in pearls. A necklace of rubies lay against her pale skin. It clashed with the peak of red hair just visible under a cream-colored hood.
“Jane! What are you doing here?” cried Charlie.
“My life changes today,” replied Jane. “I wanted the privilege of being Lady Jane of Wulfhall one last time. I met Master Cromwell, and he asked me here to sign some papers. Madame du Pont was already here, and she asked me to wait. I never thought I would see you again, Charles…if that is indeed your name?”
“It is Charles. Charles Douglas.”
“You’re Scottish?”
Charlie smiled. It looked strange. Like he was saying goodbye to a character in a play whom he wanted so desperately to be real.
“No. No, milady. I’m a time traveler,” he replied. “I’m from many years in the future. And I know yours. And I want to help you.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I don’t expect you to,” he said. “But I’m serious when I say I know your future.”
“My future, or my fate?” replied Jane. “This sounds like witchcraft, Charles Douglas.”
“Charlie,” I whispered, burning rising in my chest as I looked at the countdown. “We don’t have long.”
“We’re leaving,” said Charlie, taking a step toward Jane, and then another, and another when she didn’t flinch away. “You saved me, Jane. Let me save you.”
“You’ve saved me in more ways than you can imagine,” said Jane, smiling with her eyes as well as her mouth. “Your love for your brother touched my heart, as did his love for you. When I am the king’s wife, I will reunify his daughters. And then, God willing, I will provide him with a son.”
“Charlie!” screamed Alice. “The countdown…I’m warning you.”
“You will have a son,” said Charlie, taking Jane’s hands in his. “But you need to listen to me. Your son will become king, but you will become ill after his birth. There is a surgeon called Fiennes at Windsor Castle. You know him. He helped Alex. Fiennes will keep you well and free of infection in the days after. You have to call for him, even though the king’s physicians will not want it. Do you understand me? You need to make sure Fiennes is allowed to tend to you.”
“I will have a son?” whispered Jane.
“Yes, but you have to understand about the sickness that will follow—”
“Charlie!” screamed Alice again.
“Jane, promise me…”
But Jane was a picture of contentment. Her face was serene as she closed her eyes and smiled. She believed she was safe. That by giving Henry a son she would endure.
* * *
—
I strode across the floor to the painting of Cromwell by Hans Holbein. Alice dragged Charlie away from Jane Seymour and twisted his face to look at the portrait.
“I can’t wait here for my countdown to get to zero!” she cried. “Hold on to me and I’ll travel through with you. Just don’t let go of me.”
My chest was contracting. I couldn’t breathe.
“Vanishing point…vanishing point,” Alice whispered. “Don’t let me go, Alex.”
My body was stretching through time. Cromwell’s lodgings became a swirling whirlpool of color. I wrapped my left arm around Alice.
“Fiennes…Fiennes…” Charlie kept saying the same word until it just became a garbled noise. Jane held out her hand. I could see into my brother’s head, as if we had become one entity moving through time. If he stretched far enough, he could take her with him. She would be safe with him.
* * *
—
The floor was cold against my skin, freezing, biting. I was being flayed alive by Aramis again. It had all been a nightmare, and I was back in the clutches of Aramis and Piermont as they recruited for their own breakaway unit from The 48 and TOD.
I was dying.
“Don’t…fight…it…Alex.”
Hands were on my face. Callused fingertips.
“We…need…to…get…away…before…anyone…from…The…48…finds…us.”
I wasn’t dying.
I was Alexander Douglas.
A time writer.
A time assassin.
And this was the beginning of my new life.
I was back in my own time.
* * *
—
And Jane and Margaret were dead.
Six seasons had passed since Lady Jane’s betrothal when my dear friend and I at last heard the words the entire kingdom had been hoping to hear.
“You have a son, Your Grace.”
The excitement in their voices was like warm sunlight flooding through the darkened room. I could have sworn to God that the physicians had actually torn down the heavy drapes that had covered every window during my dear friend’s confinement.
She had done her queenly duty. She had given the king a son.
“Is he healthy? Will he endure?” she asked.
“He is a bonny boy, pink and princely.”
Princely. I liked the sound of that word. It was musical. I could already imagine the bells that would peal across the kingdom, announcing that a son had been born to the king.
“His name is Edward,” she whispered. “Prince Edward.”
“Prince Edward,” voiced a chorus. Their approval was obvious.
“You will be beloved and cherished above all others,” I whispered, pressing a damp cloth across Queen Jane’s forehead. “You have saved yourself and all of us. You are a saint.”
Dampness was spreading across her thighs as the physician pushed down on her swollen belly.
This would soon be my ordeal and duty.
“I will be beloved above all others,” whispered Jane, closing her eyes. “Above all others…”
* * *
—
It had taken three torturous nights for my dearest Jane—the Queen of Christendom—to bring her healthy son into the world.
Twelve torturous nights later, my dearest Jane—the queen who had sacrificed everything for duty—passed into His loving arms. At one point she had asked me to bring forth the surgeon called Fiennes, but he was not allowed near her quarters, despite her request.
* * *
—
The king went into the deepest mourning. A court that had been restored to order and serenity wore black and cried a river of true tears.
I was one of the twenty-nine official mourners who followed the king’s eldest daughter Lady Mary during the queen’s funeral at Windsor Castle. Queen Jane would be evermore thought of as a saint of her people and their Catholic faith.
* * *
—
I missed my friend. And I also mourned for the life that I, too, would never have. Felt guilt for the gambles I’d taken with other people’s lives.
Once Jane was interred, I went back to my home in Scotland to await the birth of my own child. My husband, the Earl of Moray of the clan Douglas, was a distant man, aware that his obligation—like mine—was to serve.
I just did not know with whom his loyalties lay. Men on horses came and went at all hours of the day, and I knew that if Scotland went to war, my marriage was not enough to secure fealty to Henry.
I would always live in fear.
* * *
—
My son Charles was born on Christmas morn. His brother, Alexander, followed two years later. An heir and a spare.
I had done my duty to my husband and king.
Three years later, my daughter arrived. I called her Jane for my beloved friend. And I vowed that my daughter would know love and learning. My Jane would never be a possession of men. And while she would never hold a sword, she’d have a more powerful weapon at hand: her own mind.
Teaching her to brandish it would be my duty to her.
&n
bsp; The money we had stashed in the French hotel room got the three of us to England. We traveled by boat and paid dearly for the privilege to avoid customs. We didn’t need The 48 knowing when our passports had been used.
Alice had traveled through the cosmic string thirty minutes before her time expired by holding fast to my brother. Thirty minutes after we arrived back in Paris, her retching and subsequent Quickening had been so severe we had to hold her until she recovered.
Even now she wasn’t fully back to her old self. She slept a lot.
* * *
—
When I first proposed the idea, Alex wasn’t happy at all about going back to Windsor, even several hundred years in the future. But I insisted. I had to see this first and last assignment through to the very end.
I had to say goodbye.
* * *
—
Windsor Castle was bustling with tourists. It looked brighter than I remembered it. And people weren’t scared.
“Do you want us to come with you?” asked Alice. Her hair was growing back into its wild mass of curls, and to my delight, she had developed a liking for an English snack called a Jaffa Cake, which meant her face no longer had a pinched, unhealthy look to it.
Healthy was a look that suited Alice.
“No, it’s okay. You two stay here,” I replied. We were outside St. George’s Chapel. The sun was shining and the grass was like a bright green carpet. “That way you can keep an eye out for…”
I didn’t need to finish the sentence. We weren’t safe. We would never be safe, not as long as Grinch and The 48 survived on one side, and Piermont and his breakaway order survived on the other. We had every reason to believe that both would be coming after us.
The Quire was in the eastern part of the chapel, near the cloisters. A helpful yeoman had handed me a map.
Under a black marble slab, surrounded by black-and-white tiles, I found what I was looking for. It had been a month since she saved my life.
