Restoration

by Deborah Chester

  The basement was filled with humid, soapy air at one end. Laundry women, their cotton dresses sweated to their backs, took down vast white tablecloths from a ceiling-high drying rack. They held the cloths off the floor while more women ironed them section by section. Little girls in mobcaps ran back and forth every few minutes to fetch them freshly heated irons from the fire.

  At the other end of the basement, exquisite scents of cooking made Noel’s mouth water. Long pine tables heaped with vegetables were surrounded by scullions with paring knives. Another table held freshly plucked birds, their naked skin pimpled as though cold. The chefs screamed orders at minions. Copper caldrons bubbled over the fire in one section of the kitchen, while in another the pastry cook carefully iced tiny cakes in the shape of white swans.

  “I’ll show you where the terrace is by the most direct route,” said the footman.

  “What about our props?” asked Jack.

  “Those can be carried round through the gardens. Mind you disturb none of the guests. Come this way, and touch nothing.”

  Mouthing insults to his back, the actors followed their snooty guide upstairs to the ground floor. Noel looked around as he walked, his head swiveling to see all the magnificence. His initial sense of nearness to Leon had faded, although the LOC remained warm on his wrist. He drew a deep breath, telling himself to be patient.

  Half-open doors provided Noel with glimpses of chambers beyond imagining. The dining room itself was vast, lined with innumerable chairs of crimson damask. A servant crawled on his hands and knees across the endless expanse of table, polishing with beeswax as he went.

  “Come along. Don’t dawdle,” said the footman, and Noel hurried to catch up.

  They walked through the central entrance hall, which was hung with magnificent tapestries and portrait oils by Lely, Van Dyck, and other masters. Light from the upper-story windows flooded the broad wood-and-marble staircase.

  At the back, they were led through a spacious salon fitted with priceless carpets, marble busts of the great philosophers displayed in wall niches, hand-carved mahogany furniture, and a ceiling painted with a mythological scene of rosy-tinted women pursued by cupids and eager suitors.

  Trying to gawk and walk at the same time, Noel followed the others outside through french doors onto the terrace. Stone steps led into the gardens, which covered several acres. The plantings were young and incomplete in places, including a maze that was only waist high.

  Laughter in the distance caught Noel’s attention. He saw women in long dresses sitting on benches in the shade, their fans moving languidly as they watched a stylized game of hide-and-seek. Men in outlandish outfits of periwigs, plumed hats, plentiful lace, and high-heeled shoes minced around them. The men bent low to steal kisses behind the fans or enticed the ladies out of sight into long shady arbors strewn with fallen rose petals.

  Those playing hide-and-seek kept shrieking with false outrage and chasing each other into the shrubbery.

  “Noel!” said Will sharply. “There’s much to be done.”

  But Noel paid no attention. He walked to the edge of the terrace and leaned on the balustrade near an urn filled with blooming flowers. Like a scent that filled his nostrils, he felt it hit him, some surge of focused awareness such as he’d never experienced before. He looked until he saw a bewigged figure flirting in the distance, a man slender and dark headed, a man that made the hair rise on the back of his neck.

  He stared, squinting in an effort to be sure.

  “Noel!” said Will again. “We have to—”

  “Excuse me,” said Noel. “I have to take care of this.”

  He started down the steps, but someone caught his coattails and pulled him back. Turning, Noel found himself face-to-face with Jack. The actor’s blue eyes were narrowed with anger.

  “This is no party for us, Kedran,” he said, his deep voice low but holding an edge. “We didn’t give you this job for you to go gandering among the gentlefolk.”

  In spite of himself Noel’s attention wandered back to the distant courtiers. He was too far away to see the man’s face clearly. But something in the set of his shoulders, his stance, and the way he moved as he reached down and took a curling lock of the giggling woman’s hair in his hand…Noel could feel his stomach drawing tight with tension.

  “Hear me!” said Jack, giving Noel’s sleeve a yank. “You’ll keep your place and do what you’re told. Is that clear? Or do I have to give you another lesson in concentration?”

  “But I think I know that man over there—”

  “No matter. You’ll work, sir, or you’re out.”

  Noel swung his gaze back to Jack’s and met him glare for glare. He could feel something in him humming with recognition, reaching forth for his duplicate, his other half. He forgot about the importance of the play, forgot what he’d promised. It was Leon he needed now, needed and desired as he never had before. He could feel an ache, something just short of actual pain, spreading through him, leaving him hollow inside and vulnerable.

  “Without me,” said Noel to Jack, “you’re shorthanded. Or have you forgotten?”

  Jack’s face darkened. “By God, we’ll do without you if we must.”

  “Then go ahead,” said Noel recklessly and hurried down the steps.

  Behind him he heard Jack and Will arguing, but he paid no attention. One of them called his name, but he didn’t glance back. Neither of them dared follow him, but as he reached the bottom of the steps, he quickened his pace until he was almost running.

  It was Leon, all right. Leon, his mirror image, the creature cloned from him in a past journey through the time stream, an evil, degenerate duplication that both repelled and fascinated him. He had returned to the past to find Leon, and to rejoin with Leon.

  Now…

  Leon was still flirting with the giggling woman, taking her fan from her fingers and stealing quick caresses of her semibared breasts with an audacity that had her panting. She was petite with dainty hands and feet, her plump figure curved in all the right places. Soft brown ringlets spilled to her shoulders. She wore a quantity of pearls, and her tightly laced gown was fashioned of coral silk and old lace.

  She saw Noel’s approach and blushed rosy pink, but she did not stop Leon’s roving hands. Leon’s back was to Noel. He leaned over and kissed the lady’s ear. While her eyes were half-closed he boldly removed the pearl and diamond dangles from her ears and put them in his pocket.

  Her eyes flew open and she rapped his shoulder with her closed fan. “Fie on you, sir. Taking my ear bobs. Give them back.”

  Leon’s fingers caressed her cheekbones. “But you have such delicate, perfect ears,” he said in a husky but compelling voice. “To adorn them with jewels is to desecrate them.”

  His hand lingered on her cheek, and Noel saw her eyes flutter and lose focus.

  She said drowsily, “But my…my husband gave…they’re family heirlooms…very…”

  “You lost them somewhere in the arbor,” said Leon. “You will have all the servants look for them later.”

  “Later,” she repeated.

  Noel tapped Leon on the shoulder and made Leon jump. “What a crock,” he said angrily. “Give the earrings back and stop messing with the woman’s mind.”

  Leon’s face went wild with rage. His pale silver eyes narrowed, and madness filled them until he drew a deep breath and regained control. His fists clenched at his sides.

  “You,” he whispered with loathing. “Here—”

  “Yes, here,” said Noel. He looked past Leon at the woman who was sitting in a trance, her face slack and vacant. “Release her and send her away. I’ve got to talk with you.”

  Leon held up his hand in flinching repudiation. “Never again! You’re not real. I’d sense you if you were.”

  Noel gripped his hand and forced it down between them, feeling the strength in Leon bunch and strain against his own. “I’m real,” he said. “I’ve come for you.”

  “No!”

 
; “Listen to me,” said Noel urgently. “The fabric of time is coming apart. We have to reenter the stream together, return to being one—”

  “No!” Panting with exertion, Leon broke free of Noel’s grip and glared at him. “You gave your word I could live here.”

  “I left you thirty-one years into the future,” said Noel. “But you didn’t stay there.”

  “What does that matter?”

  “It’s just another indication of the growing instability of time. You and I are…are part of a whole.” Noel frowned, reluctant to say it aloud although he’d been trying to accept it for quite a while. “We can’t be apart, no matter how much I’d like to leave you forever.”

  Leon’s eyes shifted rapidly. He was pale and sweating. His hands reached up as though to claw his face, then stopped. He shook his head. “You gave your word,” he repeated hoarsely. “I’m real now. I deserve my own life.”

  “No,” said Noel. “That’s the problem. It can’t work.”

  “It can if you will leave me alone!”

  Leon tried to hurry away, but Noel blocked his path.

  “Listen to me,” he said, trying to get Leon to look at him. “When I returned to the Institute, to the twenty-sixth century, I thought you would remain in the seventeeth.”

  “Liar!”

  “You didn’t. We monitored you on the—”

  “Bastard! You had no right!”

  “You lost corporeal cohesion as soon as I left,” said Noel. “Your wave pattern scattered and we could barely track you. You were nonexistent while I was gone. Just a speck of consciousness between dimensions.”

  Leon backed away from him, his shoulders hunched, his eyes still wild. “You lied to me.”

  “Why should I lie?”

  “Because you hate me. You want to destroy me.” He held up his right arm and pointed to the braid of hair encircling his wrist. “I have this now. I’m just as good as you. Better! And you can’t stand that. You want to—”

  “I’m trying to help you, to help both of us.”

  “Liar!” cried Leon, still backing away. He bumped against the woman on the bench, and she toppled over in silence, her face and eyes still empty while she waited for Leon’s next command.

  Noel pulled her back up to a sitting position, handling her slack limbs like positioning a doll, then hurried after Leon, who was striding away. He caught Leon’s arm and spun him around. “You’re deliberately misunderstanding me. I don’t want to destroy you. I want to integrate you.”

  “Same thing.”

  “No—”

  “Same thing. Same thing!” cried Leon hysterically. He backed into a bush and fought it off as though it had attacked him.

  Noel caught his arm again, and he flinched as though he’d been struck.

  “Get away from me!” he said hoarsely. “You’re a monster. You want me to be like you. You want me to die.”

  “We’re two parts of a whole,” said Noel. “God knows I don’t want your nature mixed with mine, but that’s where you came from. I have to accept it. I—”

  “You,” said Leon with a sneer. “You, you, you! What about me?”

  “You care more than you’ll admit,” said Noel. “Remember the pirate ship, where you saved my life?”

  Leon threw his head back and laughed, but the sound rang hollow with desperation. “And you think my motives were kind? You think I honestly cared a damn for whether you lived or died?”

  “You can’t deny your actions,” said Noel, thankful he finally had his twin’s attention. He forced his tone to be gentle. “You took the knife meant for me. And you nearly died.”

  “I pushed you out of the way because if you’d died then I would have too,” said Leon. His face twisted in a grimace. “Back then I was connected to you. I could feel you. I had to experience sensation through you. If you hurt I hurt. If you died, I…died. I didn’t intend to be stabbed in your place. I was simply pushing you aside.”

  “Liar,” said Noel softly, almost affectionately. The emotion surprised him, but he smiled just the same and reached out his hand. “Rationalize it all you want, but the feelings cannot be denied.”

  “I tell you it was self-preservation, not any concern for your skin,” said Leon angrily. He stepped toward Noel. “I had to protect you in order to protect myself, but I’m not what I was. You let me fade when you left for the future. You put me in that limbo of hell. I went mad there…and yet I returned. I am whole now. I am alive. I am separate. I can taste food by myself. I no longer sense your presence. And I have a LOC that obeys me and only me.”

  “I brought that for you,” said Noel.

  Leon sneered. “Then why was it on my wrist when I materialized here? Why is it not in your hand now, to give to me? Your lies grow more tangled all the time, brother dear. But know this, I am no longer a part of you, will no longer be linked to you. The hold you had over me is gone. I am free, and I intend to stay that way.”

  “Leon, you have it all wrong.”

  “Do I? Then let me demonstrate it in a way you’ll understand.”

  As he spoke, Leon reached into his pocket and drew a small dagger. That was all the warning Noel had before Leon lunged at him. Noel tried to duck inside his reach and deflect the blade, but he was a fraction too slow. He felt the tip of the knife point scrape across his chest and bite deep into his right shoulder.

  With a loud, ecstatic cry Leon put his weight behind the blade, driving it deep. Noel stumbled back, felt his knees buckle, and sank.

  Leon stood over him, his legs braced apart, and held the dagger steady as Noel slid off it and collapsed on the ground. Air rushed into the wound then, and the pain was so intense it seemed to rob him of breath and stifle him. He couldn’t make a sound, couldn’t comprehend anything except the agony and the hot scent of blood. It gouted from his chest, and he felt his life flowing out with it.

  He twisted onto his side, trying to put his hand on the wound, trying to stop the blood. But breathing was too hard. Moving was too hard. He could hear a roaring in his ears. His vision grew blurred and smoky. Leon tossed the bloody dagger aside into the bushes and continued to stand over him. He was laughing, but Noel could not hear the sound for the gurgle and thrash of his own blood within his ears. Lung penetration, he thought. Drowning…

  Noel’s eyelids blinked, stayed down, and dragged open only after a struggle. He found Leon crouched by him now. Leon’s fingers dug into his arm. The lace at Leon’s wrist was stained crimson with Noel’s blood, but Leon did not notice.

  “Now you know,” he said, and although his voice sounded very far away, his words were distinct. There were screams in the distance, a woman’s screams. “I want to tell you that I feel nothing, not a twinge, not a hint of your mortal wound. Die alone, Noel, for I am no longer a part of you.”

  Rising, he turned and strode away into the arbor, leaving Noel to fade in the dust.

  Chapter 12

  The sun was setting when the king finally arrived. A fanfare of trumpets sounded as his entourage of carriages and outriders swept through the gates of Clarendon House. Servants hurried to throw open the doors, and Lord Clarendon himself, sweating beneath his long wig, hastened forth to greet his sovereign.

  Leon, decked out in clean, extravagant lace and cloth of gold, positioned himself among the fluttering courtiers and waited like a cat for his prey. Around him, the heartbeats and quicksilver thought-flashes of the others were no more than white noise, a distraction that he shoved away. He had already pinpointed the king’s mind from the others. As yet, he had not touched it. He waited for the right moment, his impatience throbbing beneath an exterior of false calm.

  While his eyes remained focused on the man emerging from a gilded carriage adorned with plumes at each corner, Leon’s own thoughts kept sliding back to Noel. A smile curved his lips and he felt joy bubble inside him. He wanted to hum; he wanted to skip and clap his hands. Instead, he shook back the lace at his wrist and admired his disguised LOC. After so much fear
and worry, the deed was done. Noel was dead.

  Leon’s smile widened. He tucked his chin low into his cravat and chuckled to himself. He felt deliciously wicked. He felt as though he could stride the world tonight and be back by dawn. He had never felt more alive, more whole. He should have killed Noel long ago. Fear had held him back, but he would never be afraid again.

  A whisper ran through the courtiers. “The king! The king!”

  The awe in them filled the hall like humidity. Leon returned his attention to the tall dark-haired man now striding up the front steps.

  Charles was bigger than Leon expected. Broad-shouldered, with a long, rangy stride, he walked in the midst of a swirling, yapping pack of tiny cavalier spaniels. He was dressed in maroon silk that complemented his dark coloring. His face had been famous for centuries—hardly handsome but not unattractive. From the information in the LOC’s data banks, Leon had learned that the king tended to be lazy and tolerant. He liked wine, women, and gambling. And although he couldn’t afford the latter, the first two pleasures had given him quite a bawdy reputation.

  Leon was prepared to find this man a dissipated puppet. Instead Leon found himself surprised by the king’s alertness, intelligence, and presence. In real life, his dark eyes held a brilliance that commanded instant respect. His expressions were animated and constantly changing as he greeted his bowing host, gave him an affectionate clap on the shoulder, and continued chatting with Clarendon as they both entered the house.

  Around Leon, the courtiers bowed. Leon’s back seemed fused at first, but a tug on his coattails made him bend in an awkward bow at the last moment.

  Charles’s gaze noticed the near-insult and he paused. Glancing up in direct violation of protocol, Leon gathered Charles’s mind within his and pushed.

  There was more resilience than Leon expected. Not everyone could be bent to his will, and it enraged him that this king might be one of them. Leon pushed again, harder. This time the king’s mind gave way to his. For a moment the king’s face went slack, and his dark eyes grew dull.