The Art of Stealing Time t-2

by Katie MacAlister

“Oooh, an apothecary,” Mom said, looking pleased.

  “Now, hold on here a minute,” I said, jumping a little when Colorado bellowed, “Branwyn! Front and center! And see that you’re suitably garbed—ladies are present.”

  “We’re not going to go anywhere until we find out exactly where we are and what’s going on.”

  He looked surprised. “Why, you are in Lord Ethan’s encampment.”

  “Who’s Lord Ethan when he’s at home?”

  “Gwen!” Mom Two scolded me, then said apologetically to Colorado, “You have to forgive our girl. She spends most of her time in the States.”

  “Lord Ethan is Lord Ethan,” Colorado said, his hands flapping helplessly. “He is our lord and master.”

  “I got the relationship basics, but who is he, exactly? And why does he have an army in Anwyn? Wait, we are in Anwyn, aren’t we?”

  “Yes, this is Anwyn.” He gave me a look filled with pity, as if I was the one who was a sparerib short of a barbecue. “This is the battleground, my lady.”

  “Why do you keep calling me—no, never mind. I refuse to be distracted by minutiae. Who is Lord Ethan battling?”

  “Lord Aaron, of course. Ah, here comes Branwyn.”

  A stout young man of about sixteen burst out from a nearby tent, bright freckles dotted across a face that was almost as red as his hair. “You bellowed, Sir Colorado?”

  “Aye. Take Lady Alice and Lady Magdalena and . . . er . . . Mistress Vanilla to Mistress Eve’s former tent, and then hence to the apothecary’s. And do not dally. They are powerful witches and will bespell you should you waste their time.”

  The boy’s eyes widened as he looked from me to my moms.

  “Hold your horses there, Hopalong Cassidy,” I said, putting up a hand to stop him. “We’re not going to anyone’s tent until I find out exactly what’s going on.”

  “Oh, you are not to go to Mistress Eve’s tent,” Colorado said with a sunny smile. “You are young and comely and mightily built. Lady Holly would have my head if I didn’t bring you to her.”

  “We’ve already met Holly.” I bristled a little at the “mightily built” comment, tugging down my hoodie so that it covered the expanse of what my mother referred to as “child-birthing hips.”

  “I’m sure we’ll see you shortly, Gwen,” Mom Two said, taking Mrs. Vanilla by the arm. “After we see what stores the apothecary has.”

  “I think we should all stay together,” I told both mothers as they urged Branwyn forward.

  “Don’t be silly, dear. We’re safe now, and Mrs. Vanilla clearly needs to rest. We’ll get her settled in our new tent so she can replenish her strength.”

  “But—”

  “You know how your mother and I dearly love a visit to a well-stocked apothecary’s shop,” Mom Two added. “We’ll see you later. You go off and meet with that young woman again. Perhaps she’ll lead you to the people in charge. Give her our best wishes. Young man, do you know if the apothecary has wortsbane in stock? We’ve been out for the last two centuries and unable to find a reliable source for more . . .”

  “This way,” Colorado said, gesturing in the opposite direction. The old dog started to get to her feet. “No, Rosemary, you stay there. I won’t be long seeing this lady to her destination.”

  I bit my lip, watching my mothers wander off, part of me feeling it really was better for us all to stay together, but the other part of me wanting them out of the way in case the situation turned dicey. I didn’t like the look of that woman Holly, so all in all, it was best that I confront her on my own.

  Colorado chatted about nothing in particular as we wound our way through the camp toward the far edge, most of which I didn’t listen to because it was something about trees and plants and how he had an affinity to aspens, or something of that ilk, and I had more important things to chew over. Like whether the Holly woman would throw me back into a cell and how I was going to convince her that we weren’t spies.

  I kept my eyes peeled as we walked, not only so I could retrace my path if necessary, but because I wanted to get a better idea of why there was a battle going on in Anwyn and why it wasn’t being fought with modern weapons.

  Men and women moved busily through the camp, some people clearly employed as blue-collar workers, hauling buckets of water, trays of food, armor, bedding, and sundry other items. On the outer edge of the camp, visible down one of the aisles, a parade of horses marched past, on their way to or from a stable. And everywhere there were dogs, dogs, dogs.

  “—of course, what was I to do but to answer the call of Lord Gideon?”

  Startled, I realized that Colorado had been talking to me about something other than his love of trees, and I’d missed it all in my musings. “Um. Sure, why not?”

  I glanced around, noticing something. I expected that with so many dogs around, there would be a lot of dog poop. But there was nary a pile to be seen.

  He nodded. “That’s what I said. It was my duty to answer the call. I was honored when Lord Ethan chose me to be one of his knights.”

  “That’s got to be a big honor,” I said, hoping that was true.

  “It is indeed.”

  “Who is Lord Gideon again?”

  He shot me a startled look. I made a little face. “Sorry. I was thinking of something else and must have missed that bit.”

  “Lord Gideon is a magician of much power and breadth. He is responsible for all of this,” Colorado answered, gesturing toward the camp. “He is also Lord Ethan’s younger brother.”

  “Ah. Gotcha.” I had a feeling that “magician,” in this case, didn’t mean the guys in Vegas who pulled off the kind of illusions that made tigers and elephants disappear. No doubt it was a reference to the Otherworld version, the kind of mage who performed public feats of magic . . . real magic. “You guys must really like dogs. And have them really well trained, because I don’t see any obvious signs that so many live here.”

  “We all must take a rache, yes.”

  “Rache?”

  “Hunting dog. All that you see here are the spawn of Lord Ethan’s bitch, Ergo. She is long dead, but as you see, her progeny live on.”

  “They do indeed.” And I had to admit, all the dogs I saw looked happy and healthy. There wasn’t a single dog that had that air of skulking around hoping for a bite to eat or a friendly pat; they were all glossy-coated, well fed, and apparently well cared for. “You must have someone pooper-scooping on a full-time basis.”

  “Naturally, we make prisoners attend to their droppings. It is suitable punishment.”

  That surprised me. “You have other prisoners? Other than my mothers and me, that is?”

  “A few that we’ve taken over the centuries. Here we are. Lady Holly, I bring to you the lady Gwen.”

  We stopped in front of two people, one of whom was the pale-skinned bedaggered woman from the night before, the other of whom was a man in armor who sat on a wooden stool, holding out his arm.

  “It’s an RSI,” the man was saying, the words giving my brain a moment of trouble resolving a modern acronym for a repetitive injury with the anachronism of armor. “I can’t even grip the hilt of the sword without my entire arm burning in pain. Lo the healer says the MRI shows I need time off so that the herbs and physical therapy can heal the injury.”

  “Injury, schminjury,” Holly said in a disgusted voice. “We don’t have a spare soldier, so you’re just going to have to get out there and do your job.”

  “But Master Lo said—”

  “Lady Holly!” Colorado said loudly, tapping her on the shoulder.

  She spun around, her hair whipping like little blades of black silk. “Do not touch me!”

  “My apologies, but I did not think you heard me when I said that I was here with Lady Gwen.”

  Her dark green eyes shifted to me, narrowing as they raked me over. “This is the spy from last night, isn’t it?”

  “I am not an it, nor am I a spy,” I said, meeting her gaze. I’d never been one
to let someone intimidate me, and I certainly wasn’t going to start with this thin, prickly woman.

  “Who are you?”

  “Gwen Owens. I’m an alchemist. I came to Anwyn last night in the company—”

  “Suit her up,” Holly interrupted before striding off. “She can take the place of the injured soldier.”

  “Suit—whoa now!”

  I stared at her back for a second as she marched off, then ran after her, grabbing her arm to stop her.

  She whirled around, a dagger in her hand that was at my throat before I could so much as blink. “Are you deaf as well as stupid? I said not to touch me.”

  “You didn’t say that to me, and I’m not deaf, or stupid. Nor do I tolerate being pushed around,” I snarled, shoving her hand (and the dagger) away from me. “Not by you, not by anyone. Got that? Good. Now, I don’t know what you think I am, but I’m not a spy, I’m not one of your soldiers, and I’m not going to allow you to push me around.”

  She watched me with glittering green eyes while I spoke, and when I finished, she was silent for a few seconds before saying, “Brave words from a woman who spent the night in a cell.”

  “I just told you that I’m not stupid. Fighting ten armed men while in the company of my mothers and an elderly mortal isn’t a bright idea.”

  “That is possibly true,” she said, sheathing her dagger. “Regardless, you have two choices: you can be executed as a spy or you can replace the injured soldier and take up his banner on the field of battle.” She glanced at her watch. “His shift started twelve minutes ago. You have thirty seconds to decide.”

  “You have got to be out of your mind!” I said, shaking my head. “I’m not going to make that sort of a decision! I’m an alchemist—”

  “And now you’re either a spy or a fighter. Fifteen seconds.”

  I stared at her openmouthed for the count of five until I realized I was wasting time. I was between a rock and a hard place, and I knew it. I couldn’t fight her, not with all the soldiers around us, and I wasn’t willing to risk my mothers’ lives by attempting an escape. Not at that moment, at least.

  “Fine,” I said, glaring at her. “I’ll pretend I’m a soldier if it gives you your jollies. But I’m going to suck at it.”

  She made a dismissive gesture. “That matters not.”

  She strode off again, leaving me damning my life, damning my decision to bring my mothers here, and most of all, wishing they hadn’t abducted Mrs. Vanilla in the first place.

  I turned to go back to where the soldier was, and bumped into Colorado, who was standing right behind me with an anxious look on his face.

  “I assume you heard what was said.”

  His eyes widened. “Yes, but only because I was worried that Lady Holly might . . . er . . .”

  “Stab me?”

  He made an apologetic little wave of his hand. “She doesn’t suffer fools well.”

  “Uh-huh.” I straightened my shoulders and headed back to where the RSI soldier was being assisted in the removal of his armor. “Neither do I, as a matter of fact. I’m not a soldier, Colorado.”

  “Well, so far as that goes, none of us were before Lord Gideon called us up,” he said, lifting the newly discarded breastplate and eyeing it before turning his gaze to my chest. “But you are most sturdily built, and I’m sure you will have no trouble lasting two hours.”

  “Two hours?” I crossed my arms over my breasts despite the total absence of sexual interest in his eyes as he considered my torso. He discarded the breastplate and went into the tent, coming out with two others.

  “That is the length of each shift. It goes quickly, I promise you.” He held up a chest piece, squinted at my boobs, then dropped it in favor of the other one. “I believe this will offer the best fit. There’s no time to have armor made to your specifications, but once your shift is over, we’ll have the armorer get to work on a set so that you’re equipped for tomorrow. We have a very good armorer. She makes Lord Ethan’s armor and has a wonderful touch with the blacksmith hammer.”

  “Back up a sec,” I said, obediently holding up my arms when another teenager, this time a slight girl with a pixie haircut who held an armful of chain mail, instructed me to do so. “What’s this about a shift? You guys fight in shifts?”

  “Of course,” he said, assisting the page or squire or whatever she was called to slip the chain mail over my head. A few strands of my hair snagged on it, making me wince. Surprisingly, the mail was very light, and although it hung down to mid-thigh, it didn’t seem to be overly large. “If we fought longer than that, we’d get tired.”

  It was hard to dispute that logic. I said nothing more while Colorado and the girl (whose name turned out to be Columbine) slapped a plate chest piece on my front. It was attached to the mail with leather buckles, and although it was significantly heavier than the mail, it wasn’t overwhelming.

  “You guys do know that I’ve never lifted a sword in my life,” I said conversationally as they strapped on shin guards, plates that resembled wrist braces but that Columbine referred to as gauntlets, and finally, handed me a small oval shield.

  “None of us had when we started,” Colorado answered with a cheerful smile. “You’ll learn quickly. Now, as for a helm . . . I’m not sure what we have to fit you. We’ll try a couple, shall we?”

  What followed was a painful five minutes as I tried on, and rejected, a number of closed helms. Most of them were simply too small, which just irritated me since I knew that both Columbine and Colorado were thinking what a fat head I had, but one of the helms that wasn’t too small was far too massive to be worn. In the end, Colorado said, “I believe that for today we’ll do without a helm. Now, what do we have left? I’m not sure what we have in the line of a lady’s sword . . . My lord!”

  Colorado bowed low.

  I turned, ignoring the little spurt of adrenaline. A dark-haired man with a short goatee strolled up, wearing what can only be described as a maroon velvet smoking jacket, a white silk ascot, and a fez. One of his hands was in his jacket pocket, while the other waved as he spoke. Two young women in harem costumes trotted behind him, one bearing a tablet computer, the other holding a spiral notebook and pen. “—That was the last that was ever seen of those brigands. Naturally, I offered to return the jewels and fine silks that had been stolen, but the fair maiden insisted I keep them as a sign of her gratitude. That and her virginity, but we need not speak of that now. End chapter. What have we here? A new recruit?”

  “Yes, my lord,” Colorado said, bowing low again while gesturing awkwardly at me. “It is my honor to present to you the Lady Gwen.”

  “Hi,” I said, refusing to be awed or give in to my curiosity about the man’s bizarre outfit. I held out my hand to shake his.

  He looked at it for a moment, then pulled a monocle from his breast pocket and eyed it like it was made up of worms. “Greetings,” he said finally, tucking away the monocle. “You are not one of Aaron’s souls?”

  “If you mean am I alive, yes. My mothers and I sought sanctuary here from some mortal police,” I said, hoping my exclusion of mentioning the Watch wouldn’t come back to sting me. “We were promptly arrested for spying. We aren’t spies. My mothers are Wiccans, and I am an alchemist.”

  “Wiccans. Are they here?” He looked around.

  “They are housed in Mistress Eve’s tent, my lord,” Colorado said quickly.

  “Excellent. I have need of Wiccans. Tell them to start bespelling Aaron’s men immediately. Now, as for you . . . can you make fiery orbs that will rain down from the sky and decimate my enemy?”

  “No,” I said firmly. “I don’t make bombs.”

  “Pity.” His left arm, the one with the hand in his pocket, twitched and started to move. He grabbed his elbow and jammed his hand back down into the pocket. “You will be fighting on my behalf, I see. Colorado, make sure she wears my colors. All ladies like to wear my colors. And give her one of my signed head shots. The one used in my last book. It’s i
n profile. Ladies love my profile.”

  “I will gladly see that she wears your colors, Lord Ethan, but first I must find a sword suitable for a lady’s use.”

  Ethan stroked his chin for a moment, then waved an airy hand. “Give her the Nightingale.”

  Colorado’s eyes opened wide. “Are you sure, my lord? That is Lady Dawn’s own sword—”

  “She never fights anymore. She’s far too busy trying to find husband number seventy-one. My mother has issues,” Ethan confided. “She will insist on wedding mortals, and they never last. Still, it’s a hobby. Daisy, where were we?”

  “End of chapter twenty-eight,” the woman with the notebook said promptly.

  “Begin new chapter. By midsummer in the year eleven ninety-two, I had taken control of all the kingdoms of Wales, and was one day considering what act of derring-do I should next accomplish, when a Saracen prince arrived at my castle gates demanding entrance . . .”

  Ethan and his entourage wandered off, leaving Colorado and me staring after him.

  “So that’s the head of your team. He’s kind of . . . eccentric, isn’t he? What book is he writing?”

  “He is engaged in taking down into print the many dashing and thrilling adventures of his life.”

  “That explains the artsy outfit. Is something wrong with his hand?”

  A pained expression crossed Colorado’s face. “Lord Ethan was smote with a mysterious ailment, no doubt by Lord Aaron.”

  “Warts?” I guessed.

  “Alien Hand Syndrome,” Colorado answered with a sigh. “It troubles him greatly, but do not mention it. He dislikes people discussing it.”

  There was really nothing I could say to that, so I just stood patiently by while Colorado sent Columbine off to fetch the oddly named sword.

  “This was Lady Dawn’s,” he said when she returned with it. It was a smaller sword than that which Colorado bore, with a narrow blade and a delicately scribed hilt that flashed blue and green. “She named it the Nightingale because it would sing when she slew her enemies. It was her favorite sword when she ruled the mortal world.”

  “It’s very pretty. Are those emeralds?” I examined the hilt, seeing a couple of spells woven into the intricate design.