But of course he could not remain in that hole forever. He debated with himself over waiting through the rest of the night, or of trying to slip from the castle now while there was still plenty of confusion.
He decided finally that he could not wait. By morning, the castle would be more secure. Men would be organized. The searches would become more thorough. In the darkness, he had a slim chance to slip away unseen. In daylight, he would have none.
Getting out was easier than getting in. He squirmed his way out and finally kicked free. His clothing was coated with dirt and cobwebs. He slapped and brushed as best he could in the darkness. He had to look presentable enough to blend in with the crowd if necessary. If he could find a servant about his size, he would ambush the fellow and make a quick change.
Fumbling his way to the stairs, he groped about until he found the bottom step. It was not until he placed his foot upon it that he heard a faint sound.
Noel froze, his blood turning to ice water in his veins. It seemed to come from the direction of the passageway behind him. Every instinct he had urged him to dash up the stairs for his life. But with all his willpower he forced himself to look back. His eyes strained to see through the darkness.
There must have been a torch burning far away down the passageway, for the faintest hint of a glow came from that direction. After a moment he could see the vague outlines of a figure standing there. He swallowed, forcing himself to wait.
The watcher did nothing, said nothing. Noel’s sense of alarm tamed down. Maybe this was a friend.
He hesitated, but he had to risk it. “Help me,” he whispered. “Whoever you are, I need your help.”
“Theodore?” said a woman’s voice, all atremble.
His head came up. He said, “Sophia?”
She ran to him, heedless of the dark, and gripped his arm.
Fragrant and soft in folds of velvet and fur, her beads clicking upon her bosom, she leaned close.
“God have mercy!” she said. “Who are you?”
“A friend.”
“Is he here? In the castle?”
“No.”
She gasped and began to weep. “He is dead. He is dead. I know it. I have dared to hope, but now I know it must be so.”
“No, he isn’t dead,” said Noel with irritation. He checked himself. “At least he wasn’t when I saw him last.”
“When?” she said eagerly. “When did you last see him?”
“This morning, late. About noonday.”
She thought it over a moment, then pushed away his arm and stood free of him. He could smell the clean scent of verbena upon her. She had skin as cool and smooth as silk.
“You sent your handmaiden to me, didn’t you?” he whispered. “You offered to help me.”
“Yes, I thought you must be here to help Theodore. I couldn’t imagine another reason why they should mistake you for him. He is—” She broke off.
“His only thought is to rescue you,” said Noel, feeling like Cupid on a bad day. “He is trying to—”
“But he mustn’t,” she said in fresh alarm. “Sir Magnin will only entrap him. Theodore must send word to Byzantium for a sebastocrator and reinforcements. He must retake the castle and subdue the rebels before they incite the entire Peloponnese to revolt.”
“Fine,” said Noel. “Whatever. I must get out of the castle. Can you help me?”
“But who are you?” she asked again.
“My name is Noel of Kedran. I am a traveler who has been caught up in these events. Will you help me get away? Is there some secret passage out that I can use?”
She drew in a sharp breath. “There is.”
“Great! Show me—”
“No!” Her hand closed hard upon his, her nails digging in. “I cannot. I swore to my father upon his deathbed that I would not reveal the secret of its location to anyone.”
“Oh, for God’s sake,” said Noel, losing his temper. “What good is a secret passageway if it isn’t used in times of need? I have a great need to escape Sir Magnin, Sophia. He wants to kill me, and I would rather stay alive.”
“And what have you to do with Theodore?” she asked.
He frowned. The girl might be pretty, but her wits were not quick. “As I have said,” he answered with all the scant patience he had left, “I am a friend. I switched places with him to give him a chance to escape the Milengi—”
“No! The Milengi!” she cried in distress. “They will torture him. They are animals—”
“Hush. By now he’s probably escaped them and is on his way here to rescue you. In the meantime, I have to get away. It would probably be wise for you to come with me. Then Theodore won’t have to risk his neck by entering the castle, and the two of you can go back to Constantinople together.”
“This is his plan?” she said doubtfully. “It seems poor-spirited.”
“It is a very practical plan, designed to save all our necks,” said Noel in exasperation.
“Theodore the Bold should come storming Mistra with all his men and retake it,” she said.
Noel very nearly said something unwise. Curbing his temper, he said, “Theodore may be bold, but right now he has no men. Sir Magnin wiped out his entire force.”
“Oh,” she said. “Oh, I see. That is why they have been feasting. The garrison here did not fight very well. It surrendered here almost at once. My captain-at-arms should be horsewhipped for his cowardice. Had I been a man, I could have led them in resistance and Sir Magnin would have had to besiege us. Our walls here are very strong. We do not even fear the Turks who are marauding the coasts, according to the latest word from Monemvasia.”
“My lady,” said Noel, rolling his eyes. “Forgive me, but armies, Turks, and cowardly captains-at-arms do not matter very much right now. Will you get us out of here?”
“Yes,” she replied. “But it means that I must reveal to you the location of our secret treasury. You must swear your most sacred oath that you will never betray this secret to another soul. Kneel and swear.”
Time was ticking away. Noel, however, knew that to argue with her would only delay them more. He knelt upon the hard stone floor.
“I do most solemnly swear,” he said, “by my honor, my rank, and my position in the realm of Kedran that I will hold this secret fast within my heart and reveal it to no one.”
“Very well said, Sir Noel.”
He jumped to his feet and grabbed her hand impatiently. “Come on! Which way?”
“Through here,” she whispered and led him toward the passageway.
The light grew stronger as they progressed. So did the smell. Noel wrinkled his nostrils at the fetid stench from something dead or unspeakable that came wafting along the tunnel.
“What is it?” he finally asked. “That stink?”
“Oh, just the dungeons,” she said casually, still leading the way. “It is always worse in the spring. The thaw, you know. The garderobe is worse.”
“Privies always are,” he muttered under his breath.
The dregs of macho pride still in him would not let him place his hand over his nose and mouth or even make gagging noises while she was so unconcerned. He wondered what else could be found in the dungeons besides rats and rotting corpses. The sewer?
She stopped and pointed at a flight of straight steps leading up toward a torch burning on the wall. “Up them. Quickly. And mind that you make no noise, for we can easily be heard along this way. If we are stopped, you are my ser—”
As she spoke she glanced over her shoulder at him. Her eyes flew wide, and her scream rent the air.
Noel seized her by the shoulders and shook her hard in an effort to shut her up. “Are you mad? What the hell are you doing?”
“You!” she shouted in a fury and began pounding on his chest with her fists. “You evil, treacherous dog! You lying, filthy, wicked brute!”
She screamed again, so enraged he could do nothing with her. Hearing the sound of running footsteps and a voice raised in query, Noel s
hoved her away from him and looked about for a way to escape.
But guards seemed to appear from nowhere, surrounding him. Noel found himself pinned against the wall with the barbed tip of a pike held to his gut. He glared at Sophia, who stood there glaring back with her fists clenched and her beautiful face red and contorted with rage.
“You sought to trick me!” she said. “You called on my pity, and you twisted every word into such persuasion I nearly undid the secret that I have sworn to protect unto my dying breath. Oh, how clever you think yourself, Lord Leon, but you are evil through and through. God shall surely strike you down one day for what you do!”
“What?” said Noel stupidly. “But I’m not—”
“At last!” said Sir Magnin’s voice, booming off the stone walls as he descended the steps. He looked resplendent in his pierpoint tunic cut of heavy silk that shimmered richly in the torchlight. His sleeves were very wide, revealing the snowy cuff of his linen shirt as he raised one hand to quell the noise. “Our fox is run to earth at last, and such a chase you have given us. For an impostor you amuse us greatly.”
“Who says I’m an impostor?” said Noel, but it was false bravado, and he and Sir Magnin both knew it.
Sir Magnin merely smiled and turned to regard Sophia, who had run out of breath and epithets and now stood like stone, her blue eyes wide and accusing behind the sheen of tears, her skin so pale she looked ghostly. Her blond hair flowed down her back nearly to her knees, and she held it bound back from her face with only a narrow circlet of finely worked gold filigree. She looked like a queen, but she had the intelligence of an ant. Noel watched the bewilderment and doubt flow into her face, and nearly lost his temper again. What in the world had possessed her to bring everyone down on them like this?
She was staring up the stairs at the small crowd of onlookers who had clustered there. If possible, she grew even paler. “I do not understand,” she whispered. “Is it sorcery you practice, Sir Magnin? How can you command two such creatures?”
Sir Magnin’s robust laugh echoed loudly. “Oh, my dear lady, you have tricked yourself, it seems. What a perfect joke. Such exquisite irony. I really don’t know when I have enjoyed myself more.”
He glanced at Noel, who was frowning at him without comprehension, and snapped his fingers at the staircase in a summons. “Come down, my shadow, and meet your counterpart.”
A figure detached itself from the others and came down the steps into the clear light. Noel stared into his own face, into his own eyes, and could not believe what he saw. It was not possible. It couldn’t be.
“Lord Leon,” said Sir Magnin in a voice like cream, “come and allow me to introduce you to—I don’t believe you have given us your true name, sir.”
Noel felt as though he were underwater. Everything had a bent, unfocused quality to it. His hearing seemed to be fading in and out. He could not feel anything in his body except the pulse beating hard in his left temple.
Somehow he managed to speak. “I am Noel,” he whispered.
“Ah,” said Sir Magnin. “Lord Leon, I give you Noel. Truly, the likeness is most amazing.”
The twin, the duplicate called Leon, stared back at Noel with equal astonishment. It was like staring into a mirror. He frowned at Noel, then seemed to realize that Sir Magnin’s brows were raised, signifying that he awaited a response.
Leon nodded to his master. “Indeed, I am sore amazed by this.”
His voice jolted Noel, for it was like hearing himself on a recording. A dozen questions flashed through Noel’s mind, but he had no time to speculate, for Sir Magnin’s smile had changed to a scowl.
“And why did you not tell me about this brother?” he demanded.
“Nay,” said Leon nervously, backing away from Sir Magnin. “I did not know I had a—a double. We were not born this way. I swear to you that I didn’t—”
“You lie!” said Sir Magnin in a voice like thunder. He gestured at his guards. “Throw both of them into the dungeon.”
Chapter 8
Narrow, tanned faces with straight noses and angular jaws. Crisp black hair, gray eyes widening in turn each time they looked at one another.
The shock of recognition traveled between them again and again as they were escorted down into the putrid depths of the dungeon. Noel barely noticed the stench that was now thick enough to make him cough. He saw the rack standing in one corner, with old bloodstains soaked into the wood. The iron maiden dangled from the ceiling beam overhead; its occupant moaned softly as they entered. The thumbscrews lay neatly arranged upon a table. The boot waited for its next victim. A fire burned in a raised, circular hearth, and branding irons and pokers for the putting out of eyes lay with their ends red-hot in the hissing coals.
Beyond the torture area stood the cells, black, airless holes cut into the bedrock of the mountain itself, ripe with the stinking filth of all the occupants who had been there before.
“It’s full,” said the jailer, gnawing on a cud of something stuck in his jaw. “Where do I put ’em, eh? Answer me that.”
“Sir Magnin says put ’em down here, so we put ’em down here,” replied the guard. He stuck out his jaw and faced down the jailer. “You want me to tell him you can’t do the job?”
“No, no call for that,” said the jailer hastily. He chewed a moment, his gaze vacant in thought. “We’ll put ’em in together, see? And double up another cell.”
It took time for this to be arranged. Prisoners suffering terrible, untended wounds were dragged out. One man screamed horribly each time he was touched. His right foot was swollen, bloody, lacerated to the ankle. Noel averted his gaze, certain the injury must have been caused by the boot.
He caught Leon staring at him and the shock came again. Where had Leon come from? Was he created by whatever anomaly had upset the time stream? But how? Or was it the anomaly that had brought Noel and his twin together? There was an ancient theory that said each person had a twin somewhere in the world. Was there also a twin for each time?
Now that his initial amazement was fading, Noel noticed that his duplicate was not quite as tall as he. Leon’s features were less chiseled. His jaw had a blurred line to it; the skin of his cheeks bore a few pitted scars from acne or smallpox. His eyes were not as deep-set, and their color was paler, almost silver. He held his mouth in a perpetual hostile sneer. It was like looking at oneself in an imperfect glass, where a small ripple in the surface put the reflection off kilter.
“We’ll have that dagger from you, my lord,” said the guard.
Leon’s brows drew together. Is that the way I look when I frown? wondered Noel, only to drive the thought away. Leon said nothing, but he pulled his dagger from his belt and surrendered it.
He used his right hand.
Noel himself was left-handed. He blinked, putting it all together. Even their names were reversals of each other. Noel and…Leon. This duplicate must have been created when he was going through the time stream.
But they hadn’t come through to reality in the same place, unless Leon had regained consciousness first this morning and come straight off the mountain to Mistra before the dwarves started scavenging among the bodies. Was Leon merely a clone? Did he have the same personality, the same way of thinking, the same thoughts? Or was he his own person, a duplicate only on the surface?
The whole idea was chilling.
“Inside, both of you!”
Hard shoves sent Noel and Leon staggering into the cell together. Their shoulders bumped, and as one they whirled away from each other, taking opposite sides of the cell. It was furnished with a pile of dirty straw in one corner, a pair of ring bolts to fasten shackles to, and an open grille in the door to let light stream in.
Noel sucked in a breath. His voice seemed to have deserted him. “You are Leon of…Nardek?”
Leon’s glare intensified. “I am,” he snapped.
Noel forgot the listening jailer and turnkey outside. He took a step closer to Leon. “This isn’t supposed to happen,
” he said in half a whisper. “You shouldn’t—”
“—exist?” finished Leon with a sneer. “Shouldn’t I? Next will you say I should plunge back into the ether that created me? Am I going to be too much of an inconvenience to you, Brother Noel?”
Noel blinked, surprised in spite of himself. “You know about the—”
“Of course I know! I went through it, didn’t I? I know everything you know, Brother Noel. I am everything you are. You can’t put me back. You can’t make me disappear. I’m real now, and I’m going to stay real.”
“We’ve got to go back,” said Noel. He rubbed his bracelet. “Somehow—”
“Go back to what?” said Leon angrily. “I exist here.”
“You shouldn’t.”
Leon swung at him, but Noel ducked beneath his arm and slammed him against the wall.
The jailer kicked the door. “You there! Stop that fighting.”
“Stay out of this,” said Noel and Leon simultaneously.
The jailer backed away. “Mind you keep quiet,” he said.
Noel paid him no attention. His gaze fastened on Leon. This was just a copy, an imperfect one, some twisted, angry version of himself. They shouldn’t think alike. They shouldn’t speak at the same time.
Yet they did.
Noel set his jaw. “We’ve got to talk.”
“There is nothing to say,” said Leon, still pressed against the wall although Noel had retreated. “You have everything…a real, working LOC, memories of your own past, even—”
He broke off, breathing raggedly.
Noel watched him. “Even what?”
“I have only now,” said Leon. “I was born today. That is all I have. Today. No yesterday. No past. But I can make a future for myself, in this time, in this place.”
“No,” said Noel in horror. “You can’t interfere with history. The paradox—”
Leon laughed, a scornful, cutting blare of sound. “Do you think I care? I can do anything I want, and how will you stop me?”
“You must not interfere,” said Noel urgently. “You could destroy the future, change it irrevocably—”
Time Trap Page 11
