by Layton Green
“What I love,” Will said quietly, “is that we might have a chance to save Charlie.”
“How’s that?” Lance said. “We almost got killed stepping out of the door.”
“I’d kill for a Waffle House,” Caleb said. “I haven’t eaten since my shift began.”
Everyone turned towards Caleb, who was looking in the direction of the kitchen. The bread smelled delicious, and Will was comforted by the fact that his natural cravings trumped the terrors of inter-dimensional travel.
“I’m still not convinced,” Val said, “that Charlie isn’t a part of this. Whatever this is.”
Will shook his head. “Charlie would never do this to us. Besides, Salomon confirmed the necromancer was going to kill Charlie. And us.”
Val threw his hands up. “Think, Will. We have no idea whether this Salomon person is telling the truth or not.”
“We’re here,” Will said. “That’s fairly compelling evidence. Three bedrooms, three loaves of bread, three sacks of coin. For whatever reason, he prepared this place for us.”
“Then why didn’t he give us a way back?”
Will looked away.
Lance started plucking at his crew cut. “Listen to yourselves! None of this is real! I don’t know why I can’t wake up, but there has to be some explanation for this nightmare.” He pounded on the wall with his palm. After a few hits he stopped and rubbed his hand, then put his head in his hands.
“I can’t deny the reality of the situation,” Val said, “but I also can’t accept that we’re in some kind of . . . fantasy world.”
Caleb disappeared down the hallway, reappearing with a slice of bread. “The bread’s real. And delicious.”
Val exploded. “Caleb!”
“Like I said, no one’s going to all this trouble just to poison us with leavened wheat. Look at this place. Someone was expecting us. Well, all of us except Lance.”
“The way I see it,” Will said, eying the door, “is we have two choices. We can stay in here until we starve or we can go out there.”
The only sound was Caleb chewing. After he finished his bite, he brushed crumbs off his hands and said, “Maybe this is one giant movie set or some kind of elaborate prank. Maybe one of us is having a very bad, and convincing, dream, and the rest of us are stuck in it. But we won’t figure anything out in this dungeon. I propose we head to one of those bars down the street, find out what we’re dealing with, and then drink until we forget about everything that’s happened in the last twelve hours.”
Will cringed as Val unfolded his arms and walked over to Caleb. “That,” Val said, jabbing his finger in Caleb’s chest, “is the best idea I’ve heard all day.”
To avoid attention, they donned the clothes from the cabinet. Will felt sheepish as he pulled on leather breeches and a matching vest. Val looked ridiculous in leathers, with his lawyer-pale arms and tidy haircut, but Lance looked right at home, his muscles bulging out of his jerkin.
Caleb found a trunk of men’s clothing in one of the bedrooms. He combined a pair of leather breeches with a frilly dress shirt, rolling the sleeves up to showcase his bracers and managing to look as good as usual. Val changed into wool trousers and a shirt with a turnover collar.
They returned to the great room. Lance pocketed one of the daggers and studied the other weapons for a moment, then picked up the war hammer and took a few practice swings that looked impressive to Will.
“Inviting trouble might not be the best idea,” Val said.
“Look,” Lance said, “I know you’re smart and capable, but fighting is my world and I’m not leaving this room unarmed. Something tells me this isn’t the kind of place that’s impressed by world-class legal arguments, so you might want to stop thinking so much and stay behind me.”
Val cocked his head. “Stop thinking so much? Excellent idea, Officer. What’s next, a little police brutality?”
“Can we cool it?” Will said. “We’re all in shock, but we don’t have a chance of surviving this if we’re at each other’s throats.”
“Peace and love, people,” Caleb said. “Peace and love.”
Lance grunted and offered his hand to Val. “Blackwood’s right. I’m just a little rattled.”
Val hesitated, then gripped his hand. “Let’s see about that drink.”
-11-
Will chose to carry his sword, Val kept his staff, and Caleb avoided the weapons cabinet as if it were diseased. Everyone pocketed a few coins and then stepped warily outside. They tested the door; the lock clicked into place when they left, yet for some reason, it still opened from the outside for each of the three brothers—but not for Lance.
Twilight had fallen. During their short walk—more of a scurry—to the pub, Will absorbed the scenery with a mixture of awe and unease. The spires rising above the city were even more impressive at night, a prismatic spray of color illuminating the star-filled sky. Elegant street lamps lined both sides of the street, topped by orbs in decorative iron cages that emitted a phosphorescent silver light.
Yet despite the differences, it was still New Orleans. Giant live oaks festooned with Spanish moss still loomed over the Garden District, music and revelers filled the streets, banana palms and wrought iron fences wrapped the courtyards. He wondered what the rest of the city looked like, St. Charles and Mid-City and the French Quarter, and a sense of excitement welled up beneath the terror. He threw open the door to the pub to find an interior just as he had imagined: a pitted stone floor older than Moses, stained wooden rafters, torches flickering inside sconces, mugs filled with golden ale, heaping platters of venison.
They gathered stares as they entered. Lance selected a table close to the door, underneath a stuffed boar’s head. An attractive waitress sidled over, her bosom straining against a lace-up blouse.
“What’ll ye be havin?’” she asked, in an archaic and mellifluous British accent.
“At least people here speak English,” Lance said under his breath.
Caleb leaned back, an easy grin on his face. “What ya got?”
She gave Caleb an appraising look, then smiled in a seductive way Will had seen a thousand times before. “What a strange accent ye ’ave! I recommend the house ale.”
“We’ll have four house ales, and whatever,” Caleb pointed at the next table over, whose occupants were digging into a huge plate of fire-crisped meat, “they’re having.”
“Four ales and a Wolf’s Platter t’is,” she said, smiling again and then twirling away.
Will slapped Caleb on the back. “If there’s one place you know how to take charge, it’s a pub.”
“Damn skippy.” He watched the waitress sway towards the kitchen. “Nice scenery, right?”
Val started chuckling. “My two brothers, God bless their innocent souls. Unfazed even by this.”
Caleb tipped his chair back, hands clasped behind his head. “Innocent, big brother, we are not. Simple, I’ll give you.”
Will took a look around the pub. Most of the patrons wore leather or wool tunics, had sun-burnished arms that were natural fits for those tunics, and had a weapon either strapped to their person or within easy reach. A few women sprinkled the crowd, looking just as competent as the men.
It wasn’t exactly trivia night at the Half Moon.
Four enormous mugs of ale arrived. Val raised his glass. “To getting home,” he said grimly.
Will ran his hand along the sheath of his sword. “What do you know about Dad’s research on Durendal?” he asked Val.
“Just that it was the sword of Roland, Charlemagne’s chief paladin, and that legend says the sword is unbreakable. If I remember correctly, the origin story was unclear; various accounts claimed it was given to Charlemagne by an angel, taken from a Saracen, crafted by Wayland the Smith, or made by Morgan le Faye. The one thing they agreed on was that the sword was from somewhere unknown. Foreign.”
“Oh, it’s foreign, all right,” Caleb muttered, casting his eyes around the room.
The Wolf
’s Platter arrived, a bounty of succulent meat piled high and dripping with just the right combination of juices, grease, and fat. Will hadn’t eaten all day, and the food was so delicious he wanted to compose a ballad in its honor.
Lance put his arm around Will. “Sorry about earlier, buddy.”
“Get it together,” Will said. “We need you.”
Lance smacked his lips and tore off a hunk of meat with his teeth. “Might as well enjoy the dream.”
Will knew everyone was still in denial. He supposed he was, too. As tangible as the experience felt, he wasn’t ready to throw up his hands and admit all of this was real.
And he was the believer.
“So we need information, right?” Caleb said. “It seems our best chance of getting any is my budding relationship with our lovely service assistant.”
Will thought Val was going to retort, but instead he reached for his beer and agreed. If their eldest brother was one thing, it was practical.
“I’ve been thinking,” Val said. “If there’s really a sixty day time differential, then we could be looking at a world thousands of years in the future.”
Will choked on his beer. “I hadn’t thought of that.” He made a mental calculation. “To be more exact, we’d be roughly eighty thousand years forward from the time of Christ.”
“My brother the Rainman,” Caleb said.
No one laughed.
“Salomon said something about a recent shift in the time differential,” Will said. “I’m guessing it’s not always sixty days, or maybe it swings back and forth, evening out in the long run.”
“That hurts my head,” Caleb said.
Val steepled his fingers, suddenly sober. Will didn’t think he had ever seen his brother really and truly intoxicated. “The fact is,” Val said, “we have no idea whether Salomon’s telling the truth, Charlie’s crazy or kidnapped, or we’re in an alternate universe or a mind experiment. I’m sick of being in the dark, but I’ve had about five hours of sleep in three days, and this place is too dangerous to explore at night. I say we get the check and an early start.”
The waitress returned, and Caleb said, “We’ll take one for the road and settle up.”
She grinned. “Serious drinkers, eh? Wish I could ’elp ye, but the mugs be property of the inn.”
Caleb flipped two gold coins onto the table. “Would this cover it? The change is yours.”
Her eyes bugged as the coins knocked against each other and settled onto the wood. “A-Aye, milord. Of course.” Her eyes made a furtive sweep of the room before she flicked the coins into her apron. “J’st a minute.”
She left, and Val seethed. “What’re you doing, flashing gold like that? That could be ten thousand dollars here, for all we know.”
Caleb shrugged. “Then we’re rich.”
“I gotta agree with Val on this one,” Will said. “Not smart.”
“Chill, people,” Caleb said. “Tomorrow we buckle down, go forth, and conquer the realm.”
Val’s jaw clenched, then he let out a long breath and put his arm around Caleb. “Just promise me you’ll stay under the radar from now on.”
“But of course, brother mine.”
Val had surprised Will for the second time that day, but he was like that. Sometimes his personality was just random and Will thought he didn’t understand him at all.
Though on second thought, maybe Val was thinking—as he always was—that the best way to get Caleb home safe was to placate him.
The waitress returned with four frothy mugs. “A pleasure, sirs, and Queen-speed to you.”
Queen-speed, Will thought?
Caleb chatted up the waitress in a low voice. “Do you have plans tomorrow? I’m sure you’ve guessed we’re not from around here, and we could use a tour guide.”
“I’m full up with work the rest of the week,” she said, with a note of wariness and none of the flirtation from before.
“Maybe after your shift one night,” Caleb said, as if she hadn’t just turned him down. His speech was slurred, and he put his hand on the small of her back and drew her close. Will kicked himself for not watching Caleb’s drinking more closely.
He leaned over to remove Caleb’s hand, but before he could reach him, Caleb was jerked out of his seat. Will looked up to see a man in a sleeveless leather vest holding Caleb by the back of his shirt. Two other thick-necked brutes stood behind him, mugs of ale in hand and sporting nasty grins.
Will, Val, and Lance sprang to their feet at the same time. The sinking feeling in Will’s stomach was overcome by his anger at someone manhandling his brother.
“Not here, Garick,” the waitress said.
As Will moved to circle the table, Caleb put his hands up, still hanging in midair. “Hey, man, it’s all good here—”
Garick slammed Caleb’s head straight down on the table. Will saw Caleb’s face deflate against the wood and his body slump forward, eyes rolling back until the whites showed. Will lunged to catch him before his head bounced off the floor.
Chaos erupted.
Val roared and lunged for one of the men, who tossed Val on top of a table ten feet away. Will heard the noise of a hundred chairs sliding against wood as Lance shoved the head of his war hammer into Garick’s gut. When Garick doubled over, Lance moved in and threw an elbow to his head, dropping him to the floor. One of Garick’s friends smashed his mug against Lance’s skull, and Lance fell next to Garick.
After Will eased Caleb to the ground, he caught a face full of beer from one of Garick’s friends. When Will opened his eyes, a booted foot was coming straight at his midsection. Val threw himself sideways to absorb the blow, which sent him crashing over a chair. The same boot rose to stomp Val in the face, but Will grabbed the leg and dragged his attacker to the ground.
Will scrambled to get on top of his opponent at the same time he saw the other thug kick Val’s head like a soccer ball, snapping his neck back and spraying blood from his mouth.
Will managed to straddle his opponent’s stomach, screaming his frustration and swinging at his face as hard as he could. The thug caught Will’s fist in a gloved hand, smiled, and then Will felt a searing pain in his side. The man shoved Will off him, the knife in his hand stained crimson.
Will looked down to see blood pouring from a wound in his side. In shock, he looked up to see the hilt of a sword crashing into his temple, his last thought that dreams don’t hurt like this.
-12-
A cool, damp sensation. A foul medicinal smell. Will opened his eyes and saw a sinewy young woman, her skin charcoal black, dabbing his face with a wet cloth. Inch-high mini-dreadlocks covered her scalp, and she was dressed in a leather thong-bra and brown pantaloons made of suede-like material. An intricate tribal tattoo, sapphire blue, twisted around her arms and torso.
Will tried to sit. “My brothers—”
She put a hand on his chest, easing him down. He realized he was lying in a brick alleyway. To his left, aligned in a neat row and just beginning to stir, were Lance and his brothers.
Will looked down and noticed his side wrapped in gauze. A yellow paste leaked from the corners, the source of the foul odor. The knife wound had almost numbed, and when he looked up at the woman, her eyebrows raised in a silent question.
“It hurts,” Will said in amazement, “but not like it did. Not even close.”
“You were lucky,” said a sultry voice above him. He looked up and saw another young woman, this one dark-haired and with smooth copper skin, lounging atop a stone wall. Lithe and hard-eyed, she wore black leather pants tucked into calf-high scarlet boots, a lace-up leather vest, and a long-sleeved shirt that matched her footwear. A sapphire blue sash hung from her waist, along with a series of pouches affixed to a corded leather belt. She sported a dazzling assortment of jewelry: bracelets, rings, a nose stud, multiple earrings, a choker of intertwined bronze, and a circular amulet hanging from a silver chain.
Will realized the stone wall demarcated one side of the alley, the ba
cks of a line of three-story wooden buildings the other. An orb light from the next street over shed a soft yellow glow across the bricks.
“Who are you?” Will asked, turning towards his brothers and Lance. “Are they—”
“You’re all fine,” the woman on the wall said. A short sword was strapped to her back, she was tapping a curved dagger against her thigh, and Will noticed the hilt of a dagger sticking out of a boot. “Quite sore, I imagine, after that act of uncommon stupidity, but fine. You received the worst of it. The strike missed your vitals, but there was quite a bit of bleeding. You’re lucky a healer as talented as Allira was in the room.”
“Thank you,” Will said, wincing as he shifted his gaze to the dreadlocked woman beside him.
Allira finished dressing the wound and stepped back, her face unreadable. She nodded at him, and Will sensed it was okay for him to move. He also got the feeling she didn’t say very much. Or anything at all.
The clang of dishes emanated through a cracked doorway to his left. “Where are we?” Will asked.
“Behind the Minotaur’s Den,” the woman on the wall replied. At Will’s confused look, she said, “The notorious mercenary pub which you so blithely chose to patronize.”
She spoke with British inflection, but the accent was strange, both lilted and clipped, as if her natural sing-song cadence had been hardened by life’s travails. Though she spoke English fluently, Will guessed it was not her native tongue. He thought her accent bore a resemblance to Salomon’s, but he wasn’t sure.
Will sat and groaned, though he should have been in far more pain. On the jobsite last year, his Skilsaw kicked back and tore a chunk out of his arm, putting him out of commission for weeks. And that hurt less than the knife thrust.
His eyes flicked to Allira. Homegirl had skills.
Looking groggy, Lance pushed to his knees and helped Val sit up. Will leaned over and put a hand to Caleb’s cheek, then realized his eyes had opened.
Caleb’s nose wrinkled as he leaned on his elbows. “What’s that smell?”
“My knife wound,” Will said.
