Waging War

by April White

  Archer’s gaze didn’t waver. “So, I’m to look for a message about an Englishman named Landers leading a Werwolf incursion into London, decode it, and pass it along to you.” Again, his tone spoke volumes more than his words did.

  I sighed. He was clearly annoyed, and I was too tired to disarm it. “There’s a huge amount of back story to it, but I’m afraid to tell you most of it because whatever you know now could affect the future when it actually happens. And I’m feeling pretty useless at the moment because I haven’t slept in way too many hours. Can I just lie here for a minute and figure out what’s safe to tell you?”

  The hard edges around his eyes softened a little as he stood and offered me his bedroll. “Of course. I’ll leave my shift early so perhaps we can have a chance to talk before I go down for the day.”

  “I’d like that.” I smiled up at him. The tenderness was back in his eyes, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was on eggshells with this Archer. Then he looked at Ringo, and the tenderness was gone again.

  “I only have the one blanket, but I can find a small rug for you if you’d like.” Archer’s voice was carefully neutral, and Ringo responded with a smirk. He wasn’t letting Archer put up any formality walls with him.

  “Ye’ll remember yer lady talks in ‘er sleep. If I’m to get any rest, I’ll need to find a cupboard for myself and meet ye back in yer ‘ut at sundown if it’s just the same to ye.”

  My eyes were drifting closed, but I could hear the smile in Archer’s voice. “Yes, she does talk in her sleep, doesn’t she. Come, I’ll point you in the direction of a private cupboard that could work.”

  I was asleep before they’d even closed the door.

  “Archer?” I whispered into the darkness.

  “Shhh, stay asleep,” he whispered back.

  I reached for him, and I was still mostly asleep. I found him sitting on the edge of the bedroll, and I pulled myself into his lap before I gave it a second thought. When he tensed, I realized my mistake and struggled to sit up. This wasn’t my Archer, who held me close without hesitation, and who had slept wrapped around me as often as we could find time to be alone. I didn’t know this man, not really. Not yet. And fifty years was a long time ago for him.

  “What time is it?” I asked.

  “Nearly dawn.”

  “Then you should lie down. I’ll sit.”

  He hesitated. “Would you being lying next to me in your time?” His whisper was so tentative it was almost silent.

  “Yes.”

  I could hear the catch in his breath when he spoke again. “Then we’ll share the bed.”

  “Only if you shove all your Victorian judgments about my morals down around your ankles.” I tried to keep my whisper lighthearted, but I meant it.

  “I don’t think—”

  “Yes you do. But we haven’t done more than sleep – actually sleep – together. Even seventy years from now you have the crazy idea that we have to be married for anything to happen.”

  “We should be married,” he said quietly.

  “There’s the Victorian in you. That’s the one I’m talking about.” It’s hard to scoff a whisper, but I pulled it off.

  “No. I mean we should be married. I should have married you fifty years ago.” His whisper dropped again. “I wanted to.”

  Instead of yelling What is it with you and marriage? like I wanted to, I remembered that this Archer and I had never had that conversation. So I took a deep breath and said simply, “I’m too young.”

  “And I’m too old.” His voice sounded sad. “And the world is at war. And people are dying. And you are not in your time. But among all the uncertainties in the world, of one thing I am most certain. You are the reason I have the strength to go on. Since we first met, every path I’ve chosen has been with you imagined by my side, with the hope that someday we would walk a single path together, find a place that is ours together.”

  I couldn’t find the right words to respond, and Archer reached for my hand to pull me close to his side. In this position, I knew I’d be able to sleep again, and I settled back into him. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ve had far too much time to dwell on my feelings for you, and you barely know me. I find I’m jealous of myself – of all the time and experience with you I will have. Forgive my intensity.”

  My chest was tight and I couldn’t breathe properly, but the warm, spicy scent of his skin was like my home and I felt myself begin to relax. “It’s okay. You’ve done it before.”

  “I have?” He sounded slightly less intense, and I thought he might be relaxing into me, too.

  “Yeah, I had just come back from my first time in 1888 and your older self dropped a whole bunch of intense emotions on me. God, I should have names for all of you. Victorian Archer, Modern Archer. What should I call you?”

  I could hear the smile in his voice. “If I have my way, you’ll call me husband.”

  I did eventually fall back to sleep, despite the husband word that made me itch, and finally woke when Archer lit his small lantern at dusk. He looked just like himself, and a little like Cary Grant. I, on the other hand, felt like a giant vacuum had sucked all the moisture out of my eyes, and rats had taken up residence in my hair. I sat up, rubbed my face, and struggled to finger-comb the tangles out. My hair was still at bob length, which made it somewhat easier, but Archer picked up a comb and turned my back to him so he could work through the knots. His touch was so gentle, I felt myself melting into him. Fingers running through my hair was my kryptonite, and Archer chuckled.

  “You’re like a cat getting her fur stroked. I almost expect to hear a purr.”

  “Mmm, this is me, purring.” I sat up suddenly and turned to face him. “Oh, right. You should know. I can Shift into a Cougar, but I have to be wearing the Shifter family artifact – this bone – to do it.” I pulled the leather cord out from under my shirt and showed him the ancient carved bone.

  Archer’s eyes widened in surprise, and not, I hoped, disgust. “How does it feel, to Shift?”

  Okay, not disgust, but I wasn’t sure why I was even worried about that. Maybe because my Archer and I had already been through so much together by the time he learned about my feline nature, and this one only had a week in Ringo’s loft in 1888 to go on. “At first I hated it because I couldn’t control my Cat. But I’ve been working with Connor and Mr. Shaw, and they’ve been teaching me how to be a boss.”

  “Shaw is your teacher?”

  “Right. Descended from my father’s brother.”

  Archer nodded thoughtfully. “And Connor is …?”

  “A friend. Of both of ours. He came with us to France …” I sighed. “Okay, here’s the thing. Once we have the message, the plan is for us – me and Ringo – to go deal with whatever there is to deal with on our own.” His mouth was already opening to protest, but I cut him off. “Honestly though, I have the feeling the two of us won’t be enough. But if you come with us, trying to protect you from information you shouldn’t know yet feels like sending you into battle with an unloaded gun.”

  He regarded me steadily. “You once told me my memories about you weren’t clear until you had set them in motion, so why shouldn’t it work that way now? If, as you say, I’ve already done these things without proper foreknowledge, you telling me now is only going to clarify the memories of you telling me about them for my future self. At the time we did the things, I didn’t know yet.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “You think it’ll be the same thing?”

  “I don’t see why not. Temporal rules seem to have held so far.”

  “Easy for you to say. You didn’t see the split.”

  “The split?” He looked confused and horrified at the same time.

  So I told him. Or at least I gave him the bullet-point version of Wilder escaping Tudor England with Tom, then turning Tom into a Vampire and Clocking back to an alternate timeline that Henry Grayson had created by capturing Joan of Arc. We didn’t have time for a lot of detail, but the broad
strokes were pretty mind-blowing all by themselves.

  “And the mixed-blood boy who is now a Vampire is the one you believe to be working with the Werwolves?”

  “According to the scrap of message you left for Ravi, it seems pretty likely.”

  He thought for a moment, then held his hand out and lifted me to my feet. “Come. There’s someone I’d like you to meet. She might have information about the Werwolves we could use. And,” he checked the watch on his wrist, “I can still catch Colonel Marks before he heads off for the night.”

  “You know he’s a Monger, right?” I quickly whipped off the blouse I’d been wearing and grabbed a clean t-shirt from my bag. I was wearing a cami underneath, so I didn’t even think twice about what Archer might think, but despite the fact that even his Victorian self had seen me in less, he still turned around uncomfortably as he answered me.

  “Colonel Marks is a good man, but more importantly he is my commanding officer.” The tension in his shoulders was evident, even with his back turned to me.

  I sighed at Archer’s discomfort. I couldn’t help it. There literally was no room for modesty in the cramped hidey-hole he’d made for himself behind the walls. But, since his back was already turned, I quickly slipped off my trousers and took advantage of still having clean underwear in my bag. The whole quick-change took less than a minute, but Archer’s expression was pained when I told him I was ready. I pulled my jacket on over the t-shirt and buttoned it up as we slipped out of the room.

  We made our way out of the mansion, but turned away from the main block of huts. Archer led me to a nondescript building set apart from the rest of the outbuildings on the grounds. The door opened and a pretty Wren came out, followed by her even prettier friend. I didn’t think I imagined the way their eyes sparkled when they saw Archer. The first one said, “Hello, Captain Devereux.” She was like a little bird with a bright, chirpy voice.

  “Where have you been hiding, Archer? We’ve missed you.” The other bird’s voice was neither bright, nor chirpy, and I thought I’d never heard a sultrier-sounding bird in my life.

  I looked at his expression, which was friendly and open. Could he not see the calculation in their eyes?

  “Have a nice evening, ladies,” he said with an even smile.

  He held the door to what was clearly a bar open for me. I kept my voice deliberately light. “Popular, aren’t you?”

  He winced very slightly. “If the work weren’t so damned important, I wouldn’t live so … publicly.”

  Oh. Nothing like a cold dash of perspective. Archer entered the dimly lit space, hazy with cigarette smoke, and looked around. The scratchy sound of vinyl playing big band tunes came from the corner, where some couples were swing dancing. A few people called greetings to Archer, and he waved perfunctorily, but his eyes didn’t stop searching.

  I was so glad it was illegal to smoke indoors in most twenty-first century places. The only good thing the smoke did was cover the smell of so many people together in one windowless building. Although, after having been in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries with courtiers and warriors sweating in heavy woolen clothes that probably never got washed, wartime Britain smelled pretty civilized.

  Archer seemed to find whoever he was looking for and took my hand to weave through the tables. I noticed the eyeballs on us, and wondered if it was him, or me, or the fact that he was holding my hand that got so much attention.

  We stopped in front of a table in the corner, sort of the “holding court” spot with a prime see-and-be-seen factor. Three handsome soldiers flanked one small brunette, and it was clear who the leader of this pack was. She was older than me, maybe thirty, with wavy dark hair in a style that looked like it had to be set with pins every night, full lips, and bright green eyes. Her eyes danced merrily when she spotted Archer, and she held a hand up to the guy on her right who was trying to talk to her.

  “Hold it, love. Devereux’s got something to say.”

  Her voice was throaty, tinged with an Australian accent, and sounded sophisticated coming from such a tiny woman. The smile she bestowed on Archer was as if the sun rose and set on him. I knew the feeling, but I didn’t appreciate anyone else knowing it.

  He bent down and gave her an affectionate two-cheek-kiss greeting. “I’d like you to meet Saira. She needs to pick your brain about the Werwolves while I talk to Marks. Saira, this is Nancy Wake.”

  Nancy Wake. Nancy. A sinkhole opened up in my stomach. This vivacious woman with glittering eyes and a smile that could melt an iceberg – this was Nancy. Had it happened yet? Was it still to come? I hadn’t defined it yet in my mind, mostly because I didn’t want to look, but I suddenly felt like the little kid peeking through fingers at the scary parts.

  I squared my shoulders and held out my hand to shake Nancy’s. She regarded me for an eternity, or maybe just a heartbeat, and then turned the full wattage of her smile on me and shook my hand. “Shove off, boys. The lady and I need to talk.” Nancy didn’t look at the soldiers she’d just dismissed, and they dutifully stood up and grabbed their drinks. Nancy directed me to a seat, then caught Archer’s eye.

  “Tell Marks I need you with me in France. The drop leaves tomorrow night.”

  I stared at Archer, practically daring him to tell her where she could put that idea, but he just laughed. “You know I’d follow you to the ends of the earth, Mouse, but not without Saira.”

  He would? And … Mouse?

  Nancy gave me another appraising look, then dismissed Archer. “Well, tell him anyway. We’ll see what we have to work with.”

  Archer touched my shoulder lightly. “Come find me in the hut afterward?”

  I nodded with more confidence than I felt. “Sure.”

  His smile was a private one, just for me, and then he turned and wove his way back through the crowd and was gone.

  Nancy caught the bartender’s eye and held up two fingers. I was about to protest, but she cut me off. “If you don’t want it, I’ll have it, so don’t spoil my fun.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it,” I muttered under my breath.

  Nancy’s gaze locked onto me again, and I had the sense of being a bug under a microscope. Then she smiled. “I appreciate the compliment, love. He happens to be one of the few men I respect around here, but I know when a man’s available, and that one isn’t.” Her gaze sharpened. “But you would know that, wouldn’t you.” It wasn’t a question, so I didn’t answer it.

  “What can you tell me about Hitler’s Werwolves?”

  Two glasses of amber liquid were delivered by a young guy in a military uniform. Nancy gave him her glittering smile. “You’re new. Buy me a drink later and tell me about yourself.”

  The young soldier looked flustered, but nodded enthusiastically and then tripped over a chair in his embarrassment. Nancy turned a serious gaze back to me.

  “A group of them have been using my Maquis as target practice in Limoges.”

  “What are your Maquis?”

  Nancy looked at me oddly. “You’re young, but is it possible you’ve been living under a rock?”

  “It’s possible.” I looked her straight in the eye, and slowly, she smiled.

  “The Maquis were born out of the French resistance to the Vichy puppets. My Maquis are trained guerrilla fighters, working mostly in the free region of France.”

  Guerrilla fighters brought to mind the old eighties movie Red Dawn, with the kids in the Colorado mountains fighting the Russians who had invaded the US. It was a great movie, even though almost all the heroes died, including the leader. I hoped the comparison didn’t bode ominously.

  “We’re specifically looking for an Englishman who may have joined up with the Werwolves.”

  Nancy’s expression thundered instantly, and she spat on the floor in a distinctly French move I would have expected more from a coarse farmer than a petite Australian beauty. “The Nazi bastards have been hinting at English and American spies infiltrating our pilot escape network, and I heard rumors of
a particularly deadly one in France. If that’s your man and he’s in my district, I’ll need a description immediately.”

  I considered her for a moment. This woman clearly had a network of people. If there was any chance Tom was in Limoges, she might find him.

  “I haven’t seen him in a couple of months, but he’s my age, a little shorter than me, slender, with dark hair, dark eyes, and a little bit of a gypsy look to him.”

  Nancy snorted. “You’ve just described half the men in France.”

  “He also speaks fluent French.”

  Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “He’s in France for sure, then. I’ll need everything you have on him. An Englishman cannot be allowed to run with those wolves.”

  Secret Message

  I bumped into Stella outside H Block after I left Nancy Wake at the bar. She seemed to be waiting for someone, and I guessed it was me by the way she took my arm.

  “You’re Saira, right? Archer talks about you when we push him, but it’s like pulling teeth to get him to admit anything about his personal life.”

  She waited expectantly, as if daring me to confirm or deny. I just smiled. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Stella.”

  “There, that’s another thing. How did you know my name last night? I know Archer doesn’t talk about any of us. He takes his confidentiality agreement very seriously.”

  “You’re right. I haven’t spoken to Archer about you.”

  “Then how?” She watched me expectantly.

  “I believe your grandmother was friends with my aunt.” I needed to talk to Archer because although the Stella I knew was absolutely lovely, I really didn’t know anything about this young woman who was engaged to a Monger.

  Her eyes widened dramatically, and I wondered if I’d just given something away. “I haven’t Seen you before,” she whispered.

  “I only just got here.”

  “That’s not what I meant.” Her voice was very tentative.

  “I know.” I had an impulse to reassure her, so I took her hand and squeezed it. “By the way, Colonel Marks loves butter, he’s just saving all of his for you.”