by Ken Johns
“Yes.” Mila kept her answer toneless. She really didn’t feel like arguing with him.
“Do you pull the trigger with your left?” asked John.
Mila knew immediately what she’d done wrong. “Shit.” Why did he have to notice before she did? She would have known the first time she went to draw an arrow that the quiver was hanging on the wrong shoulder. She pulled the trigger with her right, so the quiver should have been on her right shoulder. She slipped it off and adjusted it to the other side.
“Better to figure these things out now,” he said, as though he’d been reading her thoughts. “You don’t want to wait until speed might matter.”
“I know,” Mila said. “You’re right.” Two of the hardest words she’d ever say.
“What’s this for?” Jess was holding a leather strap with a metal hook on the end of it. It was attached to the front of her belt and dangled into her crotch.
Mila was working on sexual innuendo, but before she could come up with anything decent John said, “It’s to cock the string on the crossbow.”
That made perfect sense. Faster. Easier. You could lift with your legs and take the strain off your hands. “I want it,” said Mila. “Does it come off?”
Jess checked the top of the strap where it was fastened to the sword belt. She found a buckle and undid it, handing the device to Mila.
“Cool. Thanks,” said Mila. She looped it around the belt of her JumpGear and buckled it in place.
“You’re gonna wanna double-knot that belt,” said John. “Or it’ll just come undone when you put any kind of force on it.”
“I got it,” said Mila. She had been in the process of double-knotting it when John had said it.
John’s eyes went up to her hair. “Is there anything we can do about this hair?”
“What’s wrong with my hair?” Mila snapped.
“Nothing,” said John quickly. “Do we have anything to tie it up with? Not just yours.” He motioned to Sandra and Jess.
Sandra handed out some strips from Jess’s dress. They all tied up their hair as best they could.
John stood back and studied them. A smile appeared on his face. “You guys look fierce. I wish I had a camera.”
“Can we try to find some breakfast now?” said Mila.
“Let’s go see what they have.” John led them out of the woods toward the inn.
Chapter Sixteen
April 28, 1341
As they approached the door to the inn, Sandra spotted a woman rushing out from behind the building. Her simple shift was torn open from her neck to her waist, and she held it closed with one hand. She moved like a hunted animal and it was clear by the leaves matted in her hair that she’d slept in the forest. She slowed to a walk and glanced around the clearing as she approached them.
The woman stopped and offered a weak smile. “Ah need yer hilp.” She sounded Texan.
Sandra pulled out one of the extra strips from Jess’s dress. She stepped closer to the woman and held it out. She demonstrated by wrapping it around her waist and sliding it up under her breasts. “You can use this to tie your dress closed.”
The woman took the cloth and copied what Sandra had shown her, but when she cinched it, she winced. Sandra moved the woman’s hands. The gouges that ran down into her cleavage were freshly scabbed. They couldn’t have been much more than a day old.
“What’s your name?” Sandra gently tied the cloth off.
“Margaret.”
“Why don’t you tell us what happened, Margaret?”
“They have my Chaddy.” Her Texan accent had disappeared.
“Who does? Who’s Chaddy?” said John.
“She doesn’t need your questions right now.”
“Well that may be, but we need—”
“Back off.” Sandra touched his chest. “I’ll handle it,” she added more quietly.
John sat down with his back to the door of the inn. Sandra, Jess, and Mila stood in a loose circle around Margaret as she told her story of how the castle guards had come for them two days ago…
A hollow thump of something heavy hitting their wooden door awakened them. Chaddy rolled off the bed and rushed to the chest in the corner. He grabbed his em-see-vee and called to Margaret.
She rolled over slowly. “What is it, Chaddy?”
Another crash came from downstairs, and the door splintered.
“Come here.” Chaddy motioned toward himself. “Quickly.”
Margaret stumbled out of the bed and rushed to his side. He hugged her for a moment and handed her the em-see-vee. “Do you remember what I told you?”
She was still half-asleep, but she nodded. He held the chest open, and she folded herself inside to the sound of boots rushing up the stairs.
Chaddy closed the lid on her as the guards stomped into the room.
She stayed in the chest until she was sure they had left. When she came out, Chaddy was gone and so were the guards. Margaret knew they would take him to the castle, so she got dressed and walked into the village.
She went first to the cathedral to seek the bishop’s help. She took a bag of Chaddy’s silver, he had so much of it. She was sure the bishop would help her if she offered him the coins.
At first the bishop seemed pleased to see her. He escorted her to the castle. He said he would take her straight to Chaddy. It wasn’t until she arrived at the castle that she began to realize she had made a mistake. The bishop took her down the stairs, then suddenly grabbed her arm and forced her into a cell. He gagged her, chained her, and slammed the door, leaving her alone.
A few hours later he returned, dragging her out of the cell and down the hall. A door stood open at the end of the hall. When the bishop led her into the room, her heart nearly stopped. The baron stood just inside the door, watching her Chaddy, who was tied to the rack.
The bishop shoved Margaret across the stone floor. She stumbled but stayed on her feet, steadying herself on the side of the rack. Chaddy stared at her. She was too ashamed to look at him because she had ignored his instructions and been captured instead.
“Do you know this woman?” The bishop grabbed her chin and twisted her face toward Chaddy.
Chaddy didn’t answer.
“Do you know her?” The bishop squeezed her chin.
“A bit,” said Chaddy.
“How?”
“She has visited the carriage and received food from the travelers.”
“Is that all?” The bishop snickered.
“Yes,” Chaddy said.
“I think not.” The bishop shoved Margaret toward the wall behind her. He threw the chain holding her manacles over a hook mounted high on the wall, forcing her arms above her head. She winced behind her gag.
“What are you doing?” Chaddy twisted his head around, trying to keep Margaret and the bishop in sight. The bishop moved to the table and studied the rows of tools. They all appeared sharp and painful, and Margaret shuddered at the thought of their uses. The bishop’s hand slid across the short knives and caressed the curved hooks before it came to rest on a tiny rake. He picked it up and slid his finger along one of its tines. A small drop of blood appeared, and he kissed it off his finger before placing the rake into the brazier that stood in the corner of the room.
The bishop returned to Margaret and placed his hands inside the neck of her dress. With one jerk he tore it open, revealing her breasts.
“Such a shame.” The bishop cupped one of her breasts. Margaret tried to squirm away, but he squeezed it. She cried out from the shock and the shame of it.
“She doesn’t know anything!” Chaddy struggled, pulling on the straps around his wrists, but that only proved how helpless he was.
The bishop walked back to the brazier and carefully turned the rake over as if tending to a meal. He returned to Chaddy’s side. “You were saying?”
“What are you going to do? She doesn’t know anything.”
“Is there anything you would like to tell me?” One side of the bish
op’s mouth curled into a smile.
“Yes,” said Chaddy. “But only if you let her go.”
Chaddy lay back, and his eyes fell on the baron leaning by the door. “Please, I’ll pay you anything you want.”
“Pay me?” The baron stood straight, suddenly very attentive.
“Name your price!”
“You hardly look like you could afford my price,” said the baron, but he did wander toward the rack.
“Try me. I have more money than you think.”
“Do you indeed?” The baron crossed his arms on his chest.
The bishop glided over to the brazier and picked up the rake. He held it up, examining the faint red glow before he walked back toward Margaret.
When the bishop held the red-hot claws level with Margaret’s breasts, Chaddy whipped his head back toward the baron. “Quickly, or the deal’s off.”
The baron held Chaddy’s gaze and then raised a hand. “Hold a moment, Edward. I want to hear what he is offering.”
The bishop sneered. “My lord, surely you do not believe this man should be allowed to buy his freedom.”
“Any man has the right to negotiate,” said the baron.
“But my lord, what of his heresy?” The bishop inched the hot metal toward Margaret.
“If you fucking touch her, I will not say another word!”
“Edward! Stay your hand,” said the baron. “I believe him.”
“Why do you feel so strongly about a girl that you only know a bit?” The bishop smiled gleefully. “Why did she present herself at the cathedral this morning and beg for your release, promising to do… anything?”
“I don’t know.” To the baron, Chaddy said, “Please, my lord. Name your price for my—the lady’s—freedom.”
The baron studied Margaret and let out a sigh. “This is no lady. You can hardly afford to clothe her, let alone buy her freedom.” His eyes lifted to the bishop. “Edward, I have heard enough.” He strode from the room.
“Wait,” yelled Chaddy. “I can pay. I have a chest filled with silver!”
But the baron did not return.
“Now,” the bishop said as he returned his attention to Margaret.
“Tomorrow,” said Chaddy, “I can prove I was telling the truth about the travelers from the future.”
The bishop held the red-hot iron so close to Margaret’s breasts that they were sweating despite the cold.
“I’m listening,” said the bishop.
“Tomorrow a new group of travelers is coming. If you see them arrive, you will be convinced. They will instantly appear. One minute they will not be there, and the next they will be standing in front of you. Poof. Like magic, except not. It’s science.”
“Where is this place?”
“In the valley beyond the blue hill, past Annie’s inn. There is a meadow with a single oak tree.” Chaddy closed his eyes. “Now will you let her go?”
“Of course.” The bishop carelessly let the tool drop from his grasp. Its red-hot claws raked down Margaret’s breasts and snagged in her dress, igniting it.
She screamed behind her gag as she writhed, desperately trying to get the deadly iron to fall free of her dress.
“You bastard!” shouted Chaddy.
The bishop signaled the guards as he walked from the room. They tightened the winch, and the ropes lifted Chaddy off the rack’s netting and held him taut. There was a horrible tearing sound, like boning chicken, and Chaddy fainted. Margaret was dragged from the room and set free in front of the castle…
Margaret paused for the first time since starting her tale. “I’m so sorry.”
Sandra put a hand on her shoulder. “Then what happened?”
“I came into the forest to try and warn you. Yesterday, when the bishop and the baron galloped past me on their way back to the castle, I ran off the road to hide. I knew it was too late to get to the meadow, so I hid behind the inn to see if Captain Henri had captured anybody. When he and his men left without prisoners, I hoped you might still be alive, so I waited.”
“Who is Chad?” John said from behind them.
“Chad’s our tour guide, and Margaret’s his lover,” said Mila.
“Oh,” said John.
“What was the plan that you and Chad had prepared?” Sandra said.
“I was to hide, then meet you and send you home.”
“Well, that’s great.” John said. “Let’s get going.”
“John! We’re not leaving.” Sandra sounded angry.
John huffed. He sat there with his eyes closed for a long time. Then he mumbled something that sounded like, “Why not?”
“She needs us to rescue Chad—” Sandra lunged toward John as his head went limp. She caught his left arm just as his slack body fell into the void behind him when the door was pulled open.
A short woman stood in the doorway, wiping her hands on her apron as she gaped down at John. “What is the matter with him?”
Sandra ignored her and gently patted John’s cheek. He did not respond.
“Don’t just stand there gawking, Annie,” Margaret said.
“Margaret?” Annie studied Margaret. “I didn’t recognize you. You haven’t been this dirty since before you took up with that foreigner. And how is our Chad?”
“Annie, stop prattling and give us a hand.” Margaret knelt beside Sandra and put her hands under John’s knees. Jess grabbed John’s other arm, and the three of them dragged him into the inn. Annie pushed a table out of the way, and they lowered him to the dirt floor.
Mila came in last. The three of them had things under control, so she took up a lookout stance by the door. With one eye on the road, she watched Sandra tend to John.
Sandra undid John’s tourniquet. She seemed to like what she saw, because she rewrapped it with the same dressing.
“Can we have some water, please?” asked Mila.
“You don’t want the water.” Annie smirked. “You’d better stick with me ale.”
Margaret nodded. “No one drinks the water.”
“Okay. Thank you.” Sandra shrugged. “Ale would be fine.”
Annie did not move.
“Annie!” Margaret said. “Bring the ale.”
“We don’t just give it away.” Annie stood with her arms folded across her chest.
“How much will this buy?” Jess held out the money pouch.
Annie made to reach for it, but Margaret smacked her hand away and took the pouch from Jess. She dumped the glittering silver coins into her hand. “You could buy the inn with this.”
“It’s not for sale.” Annie sounded concerned.
“Bring us ale and bread.” Margaret handed her a single coin. “And be quick about it!”
Annie examined the coin with wide eyes and scurried through a door at the back of the room.
Margaret poured the rest of the coins back into the pouch and returned it to Jess.
Movement outside caught Mila’s attention, and she focused on the road. “Here comes Jean-Pierre.” She took the crossbow off her back and cocked it with her new accessory. Nice. Way easier. She slipped a bolt into the groove.
“Already? I thought he was tied up.” Sandra glanced at Jess, who just shrugged her eyebrows.
The room they were in offered no place to hide. Stairs led up to a second floor. Sandra pointed to the door Annie had used. “What’s through there?”
Jess ran to the door. “It’s a kitchen, I guess. But there’s a door out the back.”
“Grab his arms.” Sandra and Jess each took an arm and dragged John toward the door. Margaret lifted his legs and helped them carry him through the kitchen.
Mila came through behind them and grabbed the tray Annie had prepared. “We’ll take this to go.” She caught Annie’s eye. “If you tell that guard where to find us, I will shoot him as he steps through this door. Are we clear?”
Annie nodded.
They moved across the clearing behind the inn and found a place to crouch in the trees. Mila aimed her crossb
ow at the back door. For a moment she thought she saw movement in the window above the door, from one side of the room to the other. But by the time Mila pulled her focus up to the window, it was gone. She didn’t believe in ghosts, but she could have sworn whoever it was had been dressed in white. No other color would have caught her eye in such a dark room. Mila pulled her focus back to the door. The real threat was Jean-Pierre. She would just have to hope that whoever was upstairs in the inn would mind their own business.
“Do you want me to cover the door, so you can eat?” Jess asked as she put her hand out for the crossbow. Jess chewed as she spoke, and Mila shuddered.
“No.” Mila touched her gut. “I can’t.”
“You need to eat.” Jess pushed a hunk of bread toward Mila.
“Later.”
“This might be the only chance we get.”
“I don’t feel like it.” Mila took one hand off the crossbow and pushed the bread out of her face.
“Come on, Mila.”
“Back off, okay?” Mila raised her voice. Having a type A older sister meant living your life with three parents. Jess meant well, but Mila could only take so much before she had to snap at her to shut her up.
“Ladies,” Sandra said, trying to sound like John and failing miserably.
Mila stifled a smile. When John said ladies, you listened, or you paid the consequences. John was a big believer in consequences. That was the reason she no longer called her parents Dad or Mom or any other affectionate moniker.
It had been one afternoon when Mila was about thirteen. John had been yelling about something she’d done, ordering her around like one of his trainees at the base. He refused to listen to reason. He refused to see her tears. He was always right and had no interest in anything or anyone that might question that. His yelling and her tears had become their permanent reality, and there was nothing she could do to change it. That day, she had decided there would be consequences. After that, she refused to call him Daddy, Dad, or Father. He was just John. And her mom became Sandra for her tacit acceptance of his treatment of her. Consequences.
Fucking hard-ass. He was supposed to be looking out for them, not the opposite. He was losing consciousness from loss of blood, and that should have been Jess’s focus.
