by April White
Ringo wrapped himself up in the cloak. “I’ll be fair warm in this. Thank ye.”
Archer looked at him critically and nodded. “It’ll do.” Then he picked up a long piece of brown wool the color of milk chocolate that was lying across the bed. “I had a bit more time with yours. The stitching’s rough in places, but the material’s finer than most might wear so it’ll tell the story you’re a lady.”
He held the cloak up for me to put on. He had stitched together a hood, and he’d lined the cloak with something soft and olive green that took away the itch of the pure wool. I turned my back and he fastened it around my shoulders, then put the hood up to check the fit. I felt like a minstrel or a mage from one of Ringo’s fantasy video games.
“You made this?” Even I could hear the awe in my voice, and Archer smiled.
“I told you, tailors are among the people who stick to regular business hours, so I had to learn to sew.”
“This is gorgeous.”
“I’m glad you like it.” Archer pulled on his own black cloak, one that he’d had for over a hundred years. “Should we change here or when we land?” He was all business, and I was grateful for the practical distraction from the fear that still churned in my guts.
“I vote when we land. Unless ye think we’re coming in amongst people?” Ringo turned questioning eyes to me. I shook my head.
“I’m going to picture the landscape, but the portal is here, in the cellar. And hopefully the old spiral I repaired was actually here when the school was built.”
Archer nodded. “We can stash our clothes there in case we need them again. Everyone has good boots?” He looked at our footwear for confirmation. Then he searched my eyes and his voice softened. “Ready?”
I took a deep breath and tipped my head. They both slung their bags over their shoulders and joined me at the spiral. Ringo held my left hand, while Archer’s arm snaked around my waist from the right. I began to trace.
I wished I’d spent more time studying the painting that was currently propped up against a wall in the Clocker Tower. I wondered if the Mongers would find it, or if they’d think anything about an old landscape of the school. My brain darted around to all the things we’d left in the tower, and I had to force it back to the image of St. Brigid’s in 1554. I concentrated on emptying the trees of their leaves, adding some white puffy clouds in an otherwise gray sky, and feeling the sensation of the beginning of spring in the air.
The roiling waves of nausea were the first indicator that we were going. The tightening of grips on both my hand and waist was the second. I had a sudden moment of panic as I realized not only was I trying to jump off the 125-year time ring pattern, but I was carrying two extra bodies with me. And anyone extra meant a tougher period spent between times. I forced the panic to its knees and refocused on the scent of cold spring air in the dark cellar, and pictured the newly built school above us.
I counted every heartbeat that we were between and nearly lost my breath entirely from the shock when we finally emerged, gasping, into cool darkness. It was an alive darkness, not the total absence of everything that was the space between times. There was nothing in my stomach to lose, and I realized none of us had eaten in hours, so although we were all sucking air in a similar kind of shock, none of us was actually hurling. Which was nice.
I dug a mini Maglite out of my back pocket and shielded the business end with my hand. When the light clicked on I could just see where we’d landed, and it was clear the secret wall had already gone up. The bricks were covered in plaster with a Clocker spiral that looked recently carved. I unshielded the light, but still held it pointed toward the floor so I could get my bearings without blinding everyone.
Archer and Ringo had collected themselves and were starting to look around too.
“It’s still St. Brigid’s,” Archer whispered.
“Let’s check the other side of the wall.”
I aimed the Maglite at the wall and found the latch exactly where I expected it. The shelves swung very easily to the side and I realized they must have just been installed. There were baskets on the other side full of potatoes, and what looked like a whole side of beef hung from a hook in the ceiling. I shuddered at that, but grabbed a couple of meat pies stored on a shelf and handed one to Ringo.
He looked at Archer. “Do you need to eat?”
Archer’s gaze was locked on the side of beef, and he tore it away to meet ours tensely. “Tonight. I’ll just need an hour.”
I turned to Archer. “Can you hunt right now so we don’t have to wait?”
He paused for one brief moment, then nodded curtly.
“Let’s leave our bags in the hidden room and go explore.” I looked at Archer. “We’ll meet you back here in an hour.”
I reopened the sliding shelf door, and we stashed our bags out of sight. Both Archer and Ringo refused Maglites, and reluctantly, I left mine behind too. It would be bad enough if any of us were caught in our clothes from the future, but they might just look foreign. Future technology was another thing entirely. My knife went in my pocket though, and I noticed both guys had theirs too.
Just before we went back into the food cellar Archer grabbed me around the waist and kissed me hard. It was a kiss that took my breath away, and Ringo’s cough finally broke Archer’s hold on me. He searched my eyes for a long moment, then flew up the stairs in that way only he could. And I remembered how very otherworldly he was.
“I don’t think he likes you to know he has to hunt.”
“I think you’re right.” Both Ringo and I were whispering. “Shall we go see if we landed in 1554?”
I was just barely able to make out the glint of light in his eyes as we neared the top of the cellar stairs. He didn’t speak, just nodded and gestured for me to go first.
There was a moon, and I could tell it was probably just after midnight, but it wasn’t great for remaining invisible. We stayed close to the building and I went straight for the kitchen door. Ringo stopped me with a hand on my arm, put his finger to his lips, and pointed up. I shook my head. There was no fire escape, of course, and I reached for the door again, but this time he grabbed my arm and shook his head.
“What?!” I whispered in my most exasperated silent tone. Ringo leaned in close to my ear. “Cooks sleep by the fire or in a room right off the kitchen.”
Oh.
He pointed up, but slightly around the corner, and I moved to the side to look. There was some scaffolding left in place, presumably to finish the decorative work around the window, and it was much more climbable than even a fire escape ladder would have been.
Up until then I’d just been acting on instinct. But finally my brain engaged with a mental ‘snap.’ “Where, exactly, are we going?” Ringo’s hearing hadn’t been damaged by too much loud music, and despite being ten feet off the ground already, he had no trouble hearing my mousy whisper.
He dropped down to face me. “I don’t know. Where should we go?”
I thought for a long moment. My first instinct was to go back up to the attics where we could possibly find some more useful stuff. But that was a bad idea. If we had actually made it back to 1554, the attics would be servants’ quarters, and people have a tendency to make a lot of noise when you startle them in bed.
The library was a possibility because there’s never a bad time to be in a library. But really, the place I most wanted to see was the Clocker Tower.
I told Ringo that and he gave me a ‘duh’ look. I hate the look almost as much as I hate the word, or sound, or whatever it is that is designed to make someone else feel stupid. “That’s where I was goin’.”
Of course he was. I actually couldn’t be annoyed at Ringo. If anything, he was too good at most things, and I bet if he had been born in a different time or in different circumstances, he’d have been one of those Renaissance guys who never ‘work’ a day in their lives because they love every job they do. Archer was that kind of guy too. It’s probably why they got along so well.
I cli
mbed the scaffolding up to the second floor window casement. We catwalked the ledge from there over to the drainpipe and then scooted up that to the roof where we stopped to catch our breath and take in the view. There was enough light from the moon to see that it was a very different scene than the one we’d last looked at. The big tree at the west end of the building was missing. Just like in Doran’s painting, it hadn’t even begun to grow. That and the scaffolding were starting to give me confidence I’d landed us in the right time period. The big crap shoot was whether it was the right month, or even if it was spring time. I could see our breath in the cold night air, and the trees were still bare of leaves, so I was hopeful it was March or April. But there weren’t too many ways to find out for sure that didn’t involve asking someone.
An owl took off out of a copse of trees a ways away and it made me jump. Ringo and I looked at each other but didn’t say what I knew we were both thinking.
Archer was hunting.
Silently we picked our way across the roof tiles until we got to the Clocker Tower. The best way in was from the upper floor, so we had an eight foot section of stone facing to climb. Without the fire escapes it was actually pretty tricky, so I stood back and watched where Ringo gripped and stepped. He only had to backtrack on himself once, which was pretty amazing because I probably wouldn’t have tried it if he hadn’t mapped out how it could be done. I followed quickly, and we were able to slip into the dark tower room without making any noise.
The only thing visible inside from the window was a desk and a chair, but I had dropped to the floor and was halfway across the room when I realized there was a bed against the far wall. The shock of that discovery was further amplified when someone who had presumably been asleep in that bed sat bolt upright and said, “What the bloody hell are you doing?”
“Ahhh!” I couldn’t help it. I yelled. Crap. There was nothing stealthy about the noise I’d just made, or about Ringo hurtling across the room to tackle the guy to the ground. The noise of two bodies hitting the wood floor was like a WWF takedown.
“Stop it!” I yelled at them in the loudest whisper I had. Ringo instantly froze, and the Bloody Hell guy shoved him off and stood up shaking himself like a pissed-off dog.
“What the bloody hell are you doing in my bedroom?” The guy was about as tall as me, and I couldn’t see his face clearly, but he’d slept shirtless and he was broad-shouldered with tight, ropy muscles. I concentrated very hard on his face so I didn’t have to notice his body.
“We’re just passing through, mate.” Ringo’s voice was wary.
Bloody Hell stilled. “When did you come from?”
When? The guy was a Clocker. Which made sense, given that we’d just shocked him awake in the Clocker Tower, but wow. Somehow I hadn’t really factored in the idea that there might have been lots of Clockers in the fifteen hundreds.
“Sorry we woke you. We’ll get out of your way.” My voice was still a whisper, but Bloody Hell jumped.
“You’re a bloody lass.” The shock in his voice made it loud, and I shushed him automatically.
“And you’re a bloody idiot,” I whispered fiercely. “You’ll wake everybody up.”
I realized how ridiculous that sounded after I’d said it, considering that we were the interlopers. But maybe Bloody Hell did too, because the smallest smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.
“You’re dressed like a man.” His whispered voice was back down to normal, and his eyes took in my clothes in a frank assessment that made me rethink the choice of them. Granted, climbing over rooftops in full skirts was a daunting prospect, but the gaze of shirtless Bloody Hell guy was the red tag special in the highly-uncomfortable department. It made me snarky.
“Yeah, well, you’re not dressed.”
“I was asleep.”
“Not anymore.”
“Clearly.” His delivery was almost as dry as Archer’s usually was, and I looked over to see how Ringo was taking our exchange. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed in front of him, watching Bloody Hell with a look of intense dislike. Which surprised the hell out of me.
“Put a shirt on.” I’d never heard so much menace in Ringo’s voice. I glanced sharply at him, and so did Bloody Hell, who glared at him with an ‘I’m-the-man-here’ stare.
The guy’s shirtlessness was actually starting to get to me, and I broke one of my own cardinal rules by turning my back on him. I’m not overly modest, but I’m also not immune, and Bloody Hell was practically naked.
I could hear cloth rustle, and then Bloody Hell’s actual voice. “I apologize to the lady if I’ve offended.”
I spun around to face him. He was wearing a linen shirt of the Shakespeare in Love variety and it suited him. His dark hair was tousled and curly, and despite a long English winter his skin had the color of Italy or Spain. And I’d seen from his previous shirtlessness that there didn’t seem to be tan lines.
“We’re sorry for busting in on your sleep. It didn’t occur to me the tower would be a bedroom.”
“It’s not generally, but my father is the headmaster, so it was the way to get my own room. Who are you?”
His gaze flicked briefly to Ringo, but he directed the question at me. Ringo was like a statue in the corner, and I couldn’t tell if it was active dislike I felt coming off him or just mistrust. I decided first names couldn’t hurt, and so far Bloody Hell didn’t seem to be the alarm-raising type.
I held out my hand to shake. “I’m Saira, and this is Ringo.”
After a moment’s surprise, Bloody Hell took my hand and shook it. “My name is Henry. Henry Grayson. And since I’ve never seen clothing like yours, I’m going to assume at least one of you is a Clocker?”
“Since you’re asleep in the Clocker Tower I assume you are?”
Henry winced. “Technically, I suppose. But since I haven’t yet reached the age of majority, I’m still merely a student.”
That confused me. “But you were born a Clocker, right?”
He looked at me oddly. “Until I’ve proven I can travel, I merely have potential.”
Fascinating. “And you’re allowed to travel at what, eighteen?”
“Nineteen, actually. Next month.”
It occurred to me we were speaking at normal volume, and I had no idea who might have been woken up by our grand entrance. My voice dropped back down to a whisper. “What’s the date today, Henry?”
The silence stretched out until it filled the room. Finally, Henry spoke. “March 31st. Year of our Lord, 1554.”
I rapidly calculated from what I’d learned in my mom’s history class. Lady Elizabeth Tudor had been in the Tower of London for thirteen days. I sagged in relief, but Henry must have taken my reaction for disappointment.
“You are from 1679, are you not?”
“1679? Why would you … oh, right. A century and a quarter per ring.”
Now it was Henry’s turn to look confused. “When else could you have come from?”
Not touching that one. “So when you travel next month, you’re going back to …” Mental math. Not really my strong suit. “1429?”
Henry’s expression was proud and he nodded. “My birthday was foretold as a triumphant day for England.”
“There’s a prophecy about you too?” I threw Ringo a look and he shrugged, still stony-faced. “What are the odds?” I muttered under my breath. I knew exactly what the odds were. Doran sent me back to St. Brigid’s to meet Henry, instead of leaving me a painting of, say, the queen’s apartments in the Tower of London. My fists balled up at my sides. Ringo continued to watch with careful eyes, and when my gaze flicked to the window, he nodded.
“Well, Henry, it’s been interesting to meet you, but we have to go.”
Henry moved as if to stop me, and Ringo was beside me in a flash. Henry’s arm dropped to his side at a look from Ringo, but his voice held a plea. “Don’t go. Please. There’s much I’d learn from you if you’re willing.”
My eyes narrowed. This guy could probab
ly teach me things, given his Clocker student status, but I had a feeling I was walking a big historical anomaly line with him. And I had no interest in messing with time like that.
“Sorry. If we come back to St. Brigid’s maybe I’ll catch you again.” I headed back over to the window.
“Let me help you then. Why are you here?” Henry’s tone sounded a little desperate. He’d gone from totally cocky one minute to rattled the next. Weird.
I turned to face him. “I can’t tell you that.”
“If you won’t let me help, perhaps I could make introductions? I know people at court.”
That got my attention. “Court, like the royal court?”
He nodded. “My mother is Mistress of the Robes to the queen.”
My mouth dropped open a little. “That’s knowing people.”
He got a little of his swagger back. “You see. You’re pleased you met me now.”
“Yeah, not so much.” I was already halfway out the window, and Ringo had my back. “Sorry we woke you, Henry. Good luck with your Clocking trip, and happy birthday next month.”
Ringo pulled himself up and out of the window quickly, and we dropped down to the main roof level, out of sight of the Clocker Tower. Henry’s whispered shout could just be heard on the wind. “Send for me if I can help you with your mission.”
I knew he couldn’t see how much those words startled me. “Mission? What are we, 007 agents?”
Ringo’s voice was quiet and grim. “I don’t trust Henry Grayson.”
I looked quickly at my friend. Ringo’s instincts were usually good. I hadn’t gotten the same vibe from the Clocker guy, but maybe I was just blinded by muscles and bare skin. “At least we know the date. But maybe we should find Archer and leave now in case Henry decides to raise an alarm about us being here.”
“My thinking exactly.”
We made our way back across the roof and down the scaffolding. I didn’t know if clocks even existed in this time, and pitch black is pitch black, so I was at a loss for how much more night we had.
Archer seemed to reverse-melt from the trees when we dropped to the ground. He had our bags in his hands.
