Restoration

by Deborah Chester

  The irony of the situation was too much.

  “Damn it, man,” said Noel impatiently, “I’m busy. Why don’t you pick on someone else?”

  “Ah, now I know that voice from somewhere,” said the highwayman. He brought his horse a step closer. “It’s the fellow from the Horse and Crown, the peckish one what caught my Becky’s eye.”

  Noel stared in turn. “Robert Mallory?” he said at last, remembering the big-nosed man who’d sat beside him while he ate dinner.

  The robber pulled down the scarf from his face and grinned. He tapped the side of his warty nose. “I hoped we’d meet in a business capacity one of these fine days. Been fleeced in London town yet, my friend?”

  “No,” said Noel shortly before he thought, “Er, that is, I haven’t—”

  “Oh, enough of the chatter, friend. Hand it—”

  “But I didn’t know you were a bandit. I thought—”

  “Told you, didn’t I? Played more than fair. Don’t be holding a grudge now. Just—”

  “But you said you were on the, um, bridle-lay.”

  “Aye,” said Mallory impatiently. “What do ye think this is?”

  “Oh,” said Noel. “No one explained. I thought—”

  “Never mind what you thought. Fair’s fair. Hand it over like a good fellow, and I’ll let you go on your way.”

  “Hand what over?” said Noel blankly, thinking Mallory wanted his weapons.

  “Your nob, daffy!”

  “My what?”

  “Your nob, your bounty, your yellow coach wheels.”

  “Oh!” said Noel, catching on. “My money.”

  Mallory heaved a huge sigh. “Green as a willow branch. Yes, your money, my lad. Let’s not take all night about this, eh? There’s a coach coming in the distance—”

  Noel whirled around as though stung. “The coach! Damn! Mallory, get out of the road. I’ve got work to do.”

  Spurring his horse forward, Mallory blocked Noel’s path. “What kind of work?”

  “Don’t be an idiot,” said Noel furiously. “What do you think?”

  Mallory tipped back his head and hooted. “You? That’s the best I’ve heard all day. You?”

  “Stop laughing. You’ll tip them off. This is vital. I have to stop the king from—”

  “Hush,” said Mallory, his laughter gone in an instant. He was close enough now for Noel to see his face, and his expression was dead serious. “Did I hear you say that’s the king’s coach?”

  “It is,” said Noel. He could hear it himself, the hoofbeats of the horses making a gentle, steady cadence in the distance. His mount’s ears pricked that way.

  “God in heaven, I ain’t daft enough to hold up the king. For all my faults, I’m a loyal subject and no man’ll dare—”

  “Oh, shut up. I’m not going to rob the king,” said Noel with exasperation. “It’s my…my brother. He’s traveling in the carriage too. Look, I don’t have time to explain the whole thing. But I have to get Leon in my custody.”

  “But, mercy on us, man, you can’t hold up the king.”

  “I’m not going to hold up the king. I just want to stop him long enough to drag my brother out.”

  “Same thing,” said Mallory primly. “Ain’t done, my lad. Ain’t done at all.”

  Noel saw the carriage come around the bend. His nerves tightened, and he drew his pistol from his pocket and trained it on Mallory.

  “I give you my word I mean no harm to His Majesty. But I will stop this carriage and I will get my brother. You can help me, or get out of the way and let me do it alone.”

  He and Mallory stared at each other for several seconds while the coach came closer. A horn sounded for them to clear the road. Noel’s nerves jumped, but he kept his gaze and his pistol trained on the highwayman.

  At last Mallory broke the deadlock and glanced over his shoulder at the carriage. “It’ll never work,” he said. “Got outriders for protection. They’ll riddle you with holes as soon as you let off the barker.”

  Noel looked and saw that Mallory was right. About half of the king’s guards were traveling in the wake of the carriage. “Damn,” he said softly, feeling disappointment sour and cold on his tongue.

  “Aw, you’re daft, but you’ve a spirit I like,” said Mallory. “Hand over your purse, and I’ll help draw ’em off.”

  “Done,” said Noel.

  He drew out his money and tossed the bag to Mallory. The bandit went to work reloading his pistol.

  “Stand out in the center of the road and stop ’em,” he said. “I’ll draw ’em off, but you’ll have to work quick.”

  “Right.” Noel nodded and tensed himself in the saddle. He couldn’t seem to draw a complete breath, and his mouth was as dry as the powder in his pistol.

  “Swear on the name of God and all you hold sacred that no harm’ll come to the king.”

  “I swear before God, before my mother, and upon my honor that I mean no harm to the king,” said Noel solemnly.

  Mallory nodded. “That’s it, then. We’ll do it.”

  He pulled up his scarf and glared at Noel. “Have you no sense? Disguise yourself quick.”

  “I’m not a thief,” said Noel. “It’s Leon I want, nothing else.”

  Mallory sighed deeply. “A waste,” he muttered. “The ambush of a lifetime, and naught to show for it.”

  “You have every penny I own,” retorted Noel.

  Mallory chuckled. The man sitting beside the coachman blew the trumpet again, louder, and Mallory settled himself deep in the saddle.

  “This is it, my lad,” he muttered. “If you must shoot, put it in the guard alongside the coachman. He’s the one who’ll be a danger to us.”

  Indeed, Mallory was right. Noel saw the guard pulling an awkward blunderbuss out from beneath the seat.

  “Clear the road!” he shouted. “Let us pass!”

  They were close enough now for Noel to see that the king was indeed riding in a plain, ordinary carriage, but the outriders wore royal livery. They cantered forward now.

  “Stand and deliver!” yelled Mallory, standing up in his stirrups and waving his pistol.

  Someone fired a shot. It whizzed between Noel and Mallory. They swung apart and headed for separate sides of the stopped carriage. As Noel rode around in front of the frightened team, the guard on the seat stood up and took aim. Noel fired his pistol, and the man toppled over, clutching his arm.

  On the other side, several shots rang out. Mallory let out a whoop, and galloped away. The outriders set off in pursuit. Noel had no time to lose. Flinging himself off his horse, he gripped his emptied pistol and wrenched open the door.

  A dagger flew out, missing his head by inches. Rattled by the near miss, Noel let the door bang against the side of the carriage and leaned inside. He held his pistol just inches from the king’s large nose.

  A lantern swayed from the silk-lined ceiling of the carriage. The king, his long dark hair hanging in his face, wore only his shirt and breeches. He half reclined on the seat with a woman who was naked to the waist.

  She gave a muffled little scream and pulled up her bodice. The king was pale, but his gaze never wavered from Noel’s.

  “Leon,” he said softly, his voice hurt, “what is this betrayal you deal us?”

  “I’m not Leon. I’m Noel, his twin brother,” said Noel roughly. His gaze shot around the cramped interior of the carriage again, unable to believe that Leon was not here. “Where is he? Damn it, where is he?”

  The king’s eyes widened. “He had other plans and did not join us. How did you overhear—”

  “Never mind that,” said Noel, too upset to remember who he was talking to. “Where is he now?”

  The king raised his brows.

  “Look, I don’t have time to be polite about this. Where is he? Do you know? What kind of plans? I’ve got to find him.”

  The woman made a little movement, and the king stilled her with his hand. He said nothing in reply to Noel’s questions.
>
  With a sigh Noel raised his pistol. “I have nothing against you personally, but I have to find my brother before—”

  Something heavy and unbelievably hard crashed into the back of Noel’s head. His vision flared white, then red, then black, and he was gone long before he hit the ground.

  Chapter 15

  Noel awakened to the sound of thunder and a sickening sway of the world. After a few seconds, his vision cleared and he found himself staring at a moonlit, starry sky and the silhouette of tree branches passing overhead.

  Flying trees? he wondered fuzzily, then realized that the thunder he heard came from pounding hoofbeats. He was lying on top of the king’s carriage while it careened down the road.

  The wind was cool against his flushed face. He shook his hair back from his eyes and tried raising his head. It hurt, and he was tempted to sink back into lethargy, but the night’s business wasn’t finished.

  There were only a few hours remaining in which to find Leon. He couldn’t afford to stay here—tied? yes, tied—and be thrown into the Tower or some other dungeon until they executed him in a very unpleasant way. People didn’t take kindly to having their king held at gunpoint.

  Noel sank back with a soft groan and mentally kicked himself. If only Leon had been where he was supposed to be…but when had his twin ever cooperated?

  Turning his head to the right, he saw the back of the coachman, sitting tall above the bobbing backs of the horses. Behind the carriage, eating its dust, rode the guards. Noel wondered what had become of Robert Mallory. He hoped the bandit had escaped, but if he hadn’t Mallory was on his own. Noel had to worry about himself now.

  “LOC,” he whispered. “Keep it very, very quiet.”

  The LOC pulsed warmly against his wrist.

  “Run a check. Has history righted itself? Will Clarendon be replaced on the king’s cabinet?”

  “Affirmative,” intoned the LOC softly.

  Noel blew out his breath in relief. “Good. LOC, determine our direction heading. Are we heading into London or away from it?”

  “Heading is northwest—”

  “Away from London.”

  “Affirmative.”

  “I wish I knew if that were good or bad.” Noel squinted at the night sky and thought a moment. “How much time remaining?”

  “Four hours, thirty-two minutes—”

  “Stop. Are you registering LOC activity from Leon?”

  “Affirmative.”

  Noel nearly sat up in his excitement. “You are?” he whispered, careful to keep his voice lower than the rush of wind. “Where? What’s his location?”

  “London.”

  Noel waited a moment, but it seemed the LOC wasn’t going to say anything else. He snorted. “You don’t happen to have a more precise address, do you?”

  “Precision is not possible under current conditions.”

  “On my end, or his?”

  “His.”

  “So what’s he doing? Moving around?”

  “Affirmative.”

  “Can you give me a general area? London’s a pretty big town. Or didn’t you know that?”

  “Square miles equivalent to—”

  “Stop!” said Noel impatiently.

  The driver glanced back at him, and Noel froze with his face turned away. After a few seconds, he dared cut his eye around to peek at the driver’s back. The man was facing forward again.

  In relief, Noel slowly eased out his breath. He had to be careful.

  “LOC,” he whispered cautiously. “Give me some landmark, some reference.”

  The LOC pulsed warmly against his wrist for several seconds. “Present landmarks do not precisely correspond with information in my data banks.”

  Noel pursed his lips. “That’s right,” he said. “I keep forgetting the city burned…wait a minute. What’s today?”

  “Sunday—”

  “No, the date.”

  “September second, 1666—”

  “September second!” said Noel. “Isn’t this the day the Great Fire started?”

  “Affirmative. The Great Fire of London burned for five days and destroyed more than—”

  “Stop. Where did it start?”

  “Scanning…a baker’s house in Pudding Lane. The water engine in that neighborhood was out of order. Wind carried the fire to St. Paul’s Cathedral—”

  “Which was destroyed,” said Noel.

  “The East End was destroyed, then the fire spread to the heart of the city,” continued the LOC. “It was considered popish arson, and Lord Clarendon was blamed.”

  Dark suspicions were rising in Noel. “Is my—is Leon setting this up to get rid of Clarendon?” he asked.

  “Unknown.”

  “Is Leon in the East End right now?”

  “Affirmative.”

  “Is he setting that fire?”

  The LOC pulsed a long while. “Scanning…Leon’s LOC activity does not register in Pudding Lane.”

  “But I’ll bet you an entire circuit overhaul that he’ll be there come dawn,” said Noel grimly. “Damn, he’s going to torch the city. I’ve got to get free.”

  Noel started struggling against the ropes binding his wrists.

  “The Great Fire is a historical occurrence that must not change.”

  Noel looked up. “What?”

  “The Great Fire is a historical occurrence that must not change.”

  Noel stopped trying to twist free of the ropes. “Yeah, you’re right. That can’t be it. There’s only one thing you can count on from Leon, and that is he’ll always try to change history. Why should he preserve it?”

  “Preservation is not his pattern.”

  “No, although he saved our bacon tonight with that Clarendon business.” Noel’s puzzlement grew as he tried to reason it out. “But everything is backward this time. Inverted. We’re following each other’s scripts…which means…

  Noel sat bolt upright in dismay. “My God!”

  The coachman looked over his shoulder. “Hey! Lie down and keep quiet, ye damned filthy traitor. Better pray God yer soul to keep afore they takes off yer nasty head.”

  Noel went flat, but his mind was racing. He had to be right. There was no other answer. Leon was trying to stop the fire from happening. That meant…

  “I have to start it,” whispered Noel aloud.

  He thought about the lives that would be lost, the number of people that would be turned out of their homes, the fortunes shattered, the countless buildings that would be destroyed, a city flattened and charred, decimated more thoroughly than Hitler’s bombs during the middle of the twentieth century. He didn’t want the responsibility for that.

  But he dared not leave it to chance, not with Leon striving to mess up the equation of history. Even if Leon filled the water engine, even if Leon pitched in to help stop the blaze just as it started—those little things could quench the fire completely.

  And history would change again, leaving Noel with no future.

  He set his jaw. It had to be done. He had no choice.

  “LOC,” he whispered. “Burn through these ropes.”

  The LOC did not comply.

  “LOC!”

  The coachman glanced back and cracked his whip across Noel’s chest. “Quit yer shoutin’! Lie flat or ye’ll never see a trial.”

  The whip stung viciously. Noel laid down again, trying to think of a means of escape. The top of the carriage vibrated and bounced beneath him as it bowled along. Through the trees lining the road, he glimpsed a reflection of silver.

  It was the river. This stretch of road bordered the Thames.

  He got an idea.

  “LOC,” he said. “I order you to comply. Burn through my ropes.”

  “I am not programmed to harm—”

  “You are programmed to assist me. I authorize override of your non-harm programming. I must be freed. Do it!”

  He smelled the acrid burning of the rope fibers first. Then came the fierce heat scorching his sk
in. He choked back a cry of pain, and jerked his wrists apart. The charred rope snapped, and he was free.

  Without hesitation, he shed his coat and scooted across the top of the carriage on his belly. He hit the coachman from behind. The man flailed his arms wildly, but Noel pushed him off balance. He fell off the seat and went tumbling into the ditch.

  A shout went up from the guards. Someone fired a pistol. Busy trying to recover the reins, Noel ducked just in time. The horses, sensing they had no driver, lengthened their stride to a full gallop. Seizing a pistol from the seat, Noel fired back. One of the riders fell, and Noel tucked the spent pistol in the waistband of his breeches. The carriage careened wildly as the team veered from one side of the road to the other. Noel, balanced precariously over the gap between the traces and the carriage, lunged for the ends of the flapping reins, managed to grab one, and nearly fell under the wheels.

  He caught himself, straining his muscles, and heaved himself back to safety. The carriage veered again, so sharply two wheels lifted off the road. Noel heard a royal shout of alarm from inside, and the woman’s screams.

  The guards whipped their horses forward, trying to come alongside the team and slow it down, but each erratic veer of the carriage prevented them from getting in front. Noel sent up a little prayer and tried again to reach the loose rein, still flopping free, but it was too far out of reach.

  He realized he could never hope to get it. Besides, if he had the reins and climbed up to the seat, he’d be a sitting target. No, he was safer down here crouched between the front of the carriage and the rear of the team. The only problem was, he couldn’t control where they were going.

  The wheels hit an old rut in the road, and bounced. Noel nearly lost his hold, and felt as though every bone in his body had been jarred. At this rate, they’d turn over in the ditch in a few minutes.

  There was only one thing left to do. He grabbed the whip, gathered himself, and jumped forward, managing to land on the back of one of the rear horses. The animal snorted and plunged in fright, throwing his mate off stride and causing the two forward horses to stumble and shy.

  A horse and rider loomed up alongside. Clutching one of the hames for support, Noel struck out with the whip. The guard’s horse reared and plunged away. Noel gave his own frightened mount a pat, then slid off its right side until his feet were balanced precariously on the narrow wooden tongue running up the center of the team. One slight loss of balance, and he would fall beneath their hooves, to be cut to ribbons in a matter of seconds. He worked himself forward inch by inch in a thunder of galloping hooves, whipping manes, and jingling harness. Hidden in the midst of the running team, he knew no one dared shoot at him now. It was probably the most dangerous stunt he’d ever pulled in his life.