James Axler - Deathlands 43 - Dark Emblem

by Dark Emblem [lit]

  "There are all kinds of support, Ryan," Doc said softly. "While you might not be conversant in the mathematics used in time trawling, I sleep easier knowing you are at my back."

  Ryan smiled, the expression pulling back the ghastly scar on his right cheek, and clasped Doc firmly on the shoulder. "You've always been a stand-up guy, Doc. From the first time we met, I just knew you were going to drag my ass into all kinds of craziness. I thank you now for not proving me wrong."

  Doc beamed. "My friend, I do believe I have been insulted, but I do not take it personally."

  Across the room, Mildred made a final adjustment and switched off a comp monitor. "What do you think, Dean? About the disc?" Mildred asked.

  "Me? Boy, I think being able to find our way around would be a hot pipe," Dean said, picturing a future when they could choose their destinations within the mat-trans units.

  "Dean, that would be worth two hot pipes," Mildred replied with a grin.

  J.B. stepped over and placed an arm around Mildred's shoulders, giving her a squeeze. "What's going on?" he asked. At the chamber, Ryan was waiting for the rest of the group to step inside, before closing the door and triggering a new jump to take them into another part of the world-or Deathlands.

  "Nothing, John, just making a small investment in our future."

  J.B. cocked his head, then nodded. "Sounds good."

  Mildred kissed him on the cheek. "Doesn't it, though?"

  Epilogue

  "Heavens, sir, are you hurt?"

  At the sound of the query, Dr. Silas Jamaisvous, or, rather, Torrence Silas Burr, as he'd been known in a previous life a long time ago, opened his cold pale eyes. Above him was a woman in her late twenties with a delicate heart-shaped face dressed in period clothing of what he associated with being late Victorian. She looked concerned, almost frantic, about the status of his well-being.

  Jamaisvous didn't recognize the woman, so his first thought of being awakened from a lengthy bad dream was probably incorrect, although up until this instant of hearing the new voice, he'd been under the impression of plummeting downward from a great height with no visible sign of ground below. Since he'd been having the same nightmare of falling since he was a young boy, he'd assumed he was indeed sleeping.

  But who was the woman?

  The line of thought was doubly rammed home by the fact he was resting on a hard surface, not a mattress, and he could look down his prone body and see a slightly scuffed pair of black dress shoes, and for all his eccentricities, Jamaisvous wasn't inclined to wear shoes to bed.

  He turned his attention back to the lady in the old-style dress standing over him. A gingham bonnet was tied tightly over her auburn hair, but a few wisps had escaped from the top and dangled coquettishly over her creamy white forehead. She looked so worried, so fragile, that Jamaisvous had to stop himself from reaching up and tucking the stray hairs back where they belonged...while offering up his own words of reassurance that everything would be all right.

  "Can you hear me?" she asked. "Are you hurt?"

  "No," he said from his supine position. "I fell, I think."

  She shook her head in a manner indicating she knew exactly what he was talking about, which was good, for Jamaisvous was still attempting to find his footing-at least, in a figurative manner. He was glad she hadn't expressed any curiosity over how a man fell and ended up prostrate on his back. Until the queasy sensation in his stomach went away, he was quite content to remain flat on his back until he had to try to move his inclined body.

  "This lot is a hazard," the woman scolded, her eyes raking over the empty area in which Jamaisvous was resting. "Fencing should be put hi place if construction is going to be continually delayed, else children and adults alike shall continue to use it as the quickest route between two points!"

  Jamaisvous merely listened to the tirade and took in a breath of oxygen, feeling the cool of the dusky air flow agreeably into his lungs. The air tasted good and clean, but there was no hint of salt, which even if his own eyes hadn't provided a series of essential clues, told him he was by no means still in Puerto Rico.

  "Of course, I'd expect to find children playing their games here as opposed to a man dressed in the formal attire of a scientist, although I must say I am not familiar with the cut of ascot around your neck," the woman continued as she fetched a swallow's-eye blue kerchief from the sleeve of her dress. "Your nose is bleeding. Here, press this against your left nostril. If any blood gets on that white lab coat you will never be able to wash it out."

  Jamaisvous took the proffered piece of cloth and wiped his nose, bringing back a bright smattering of blood. He then stuck out his tongue, running it along the exterior of his upper lip. The blood he tasted was indeed fresh.

  "My ascot...?" he asked, finally comprehending the first half of the woman's statement.

  "Around your neck," she said, and mimed tying a bow around her own graceful throat.

  "Oh! My tie. Um, yes. New fashion. From Europe," he said dryly.

  "Ah, that explains it!" she replied brightly, kneeling and offering a hand to help raise and support the bleeding Jamaisvous.

  "Explains what?" he asked.

  "Your attire, sir. And your accent."

  Jamaisvous sat up slowly, letting his benefactor's arm do most of the support work. Directly in front of him was a weather-beaten wooden sign staked in the dirt. In black faded letters on white-painted weatherboard the sign read Opening Soon, A New Boutique of Bargains! and at the bottom was a name printed in block capitals: Mr. Wesley Keith Johnson, Esq.

  "Might I ask your name, sir?"

  "Silas," he replied, and suppressed the silly urge to add "Mariner," choosing instead to stay with "Jamaisvous. Dr. Silas Jamaisvous."

  "Doctor? You are a physician?"

  "No, madam, I'm a scientist."

  "You must meet my husband. He should be home by now. He is a scientist, too!" the woman chatted, steadying him to his feet as he carefully stood.

  Jamaisvous swayed like a child's kite in a gale-force wind and his injured leg folded when he tried to place his weight on the limb. Crusted blood could be seen on his pants where he'd suffered a previous wound, but only if one looked closely, and his newfound friend seemed more interested in his face and the obvious nosebleed.

  "I appreciate your kindness. Tell me, dear. Who are you?" Jamaisvous asked, his voice gaining strength as he managed to finally stand erect without falling. A train of thought was on a runaway collision with an idea he was developing, and if what he suspected was true, then the gods of the cosmos were certainly having a belly laugh at his expense right now.

  The young woman held out a hand gloved in white lace and said in a gracious tone, "My name is Emily, sir. Emily Tanner."

  The End