by Joe Corso
Also by Joe Corso
The Time Portal Series
The Old Man and the King
The Starlight Club Series
The Revenge of John W
The Adventures of the Lone Jack Kid
The Comeback
The Time Portal 3
The Princess
By Joe Corso
Time Portal 3
The Princess
Joe Corso
Copyright 2013 by Joe Corso
Published by
Black Horse Publishing
Cover Art by Marina Shipova
Formatting by BZHercules.com
Edited by Sherry Thomas
Black Horse Publishing
www.blackhorsepublishing.com
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written permission of the author or publisher, except where permitted by law or by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a newspaper, magazine or journal.
All Rights Reserved.
Table of Contents
Preface
Chapter one
Chapter two
Chapter three
Chapter four
Chapter five
Chapter six
Chapter seven
Chapter eight
Chapter nine
Chapter ten
Chapter eleven
Chapter twelve
Chapter thirteen
Chapter fourteen
Chapter fifteen
Chapter sixteen
Chapter seventeen
Chapter eighteen
Chapter nineteen
Chapter twenty
Chapter twenty–one
Chapter twenty–two
Chapter twenty–three
Chapter twenty–four
Chapter twenty–five
Chapter twenty–six
Chapter twenty–seven
Chapter twenty–eight
Chapter twenty–nine
Chapter thirty
Chapter thirty-one
Epilogue
Preface
Twelfth Century England
For six days it had rained torrentially. In the last few hours, the deluge had diminished to a trickle until finally, the rain stopped. Welcomed rays of sunlight peeked through the clouds. Traveling was difficult due to the mud and ruts in the road. The knights on horseback looked up and were finally able to see the full moon, previously hidden behind gray clouds, as it eased into view. Moonlight bounced off the polished chainmail armor of Queen Alexandra’s escort, sparkling like brilliant stars against a night sky. It was a radiant and mesmerizing sight especially after the previous week of travel full of wet and misery.
King Robert, along with his escort of ten knights, had left before the rains had begun, and was traveling much faster than the caravan carrying his wife and sister-in-law. He wanted to get to his father-in-law, King William, quickly in order to have everything organized for the Princess when she arrived.
It was a pleasure traveling now and although the rain had been a nuisance, it was a blessing to the parched lands. The farmers had prayed for rain. Seeds planted in the spring desperately thirsted for moisture. Yes, the rain meant a healthy harvest for the people of the kingdom and assurance that workers could fill the King’s warehouses with wheat, corn and vegetables for residents of the keep. The King, too, was pleased, knowing that food would be available for his people during the cold, hard winter months. The drought had passed and the rains were viewed as a blessing from the good Queen who always brought good fortune whenever she traversed the villages, or so the peasants and serfs believed. What they didn’t know was that their Queen was traveling with a heavy heart, transporting her seriously ill and beloved sister, Princess Krystina, to their father for counsel and examination by his team of doctors.
The King’s doctors were the most learned physicians in the country. This was the journey of last resort as all the other wise men had been ineffective. They had bled her, making her weaker, and eventually the Queen put a stop to their medicinal ways, instead insisting that they visit her father’s castle in hopes of a cure. The Queen did not even have to ask her husband to send a messenger to her father informing him of the severity of the Princess’s illness and their arrival. Her husband, King Robert, had sent word that they would arrive within the month and then King Robert himself travelled to his father-in-law’s castle to be certain he received their message and together they would await the Queen and Princess’s arrival.
The Queen, with fifty men-at-arms, had left in the early spring soon after the snows had melted and the rain had stopped. They traveled north by day and spent their nights at tiny inns that dotted the path to Northern England, en route to her father’s castle. Word of the Queen’s travels spread quickly throughout the land, through the villages. The townspeople lined the roads hoping to get a glimpse, just a tiny glance of their beautiful Queen. Patiently, they waited for the carriage to pass, hoping for a rare glimpse of a royal. When her caravan appeared, there was song and dance and gaiety and young girls, tossing beautiful flowers towards the carriage, indigenous blooms of all colors, picked specifically for this occasion.
More than once, the Queen insisted they stop so that she could greet her subjects. How thrilling it was to the villagers who adored their King and Queen. Queen Alexandra’s kindness had long captured the hearts of her people. They expressed their affection the only way they knew how . . . with smiles and flowers.
When the royal party stopped in the evening to rest and dine, owners were elated to find that their establishment had been chosen. There were simply no words. Yes, the King and Queen were definitely good for business. The innkeepers ensured that the King, who passed first well ahead, and the Queen and troupe, had the very best their village had to offer. Cuisine, carefully prepared by the local top cooks, was always accompanied by the choicest of drinks, taken from select stock in dusty wine cellars – nothing but the best for the royal assemblage.
The weather had remained clear and although the Queen stopped often, she and her protectors made good time as they approached her ancestral home. On route, they passed sparsely populated, outlying farms, but as the days passed, the villages’ population increased incrementally as they traveled deeper toward her father’s kingdom until finally, one mid-morning they saw in the distance, high on a promontory, a silhouette of the King’s castle. With each stride of travel, the closer together the farms appeared. They entered a settlement close to the castle. There were familiar tents with vendors selling various, sundry items. Word quickly reached the King that the Queen and group were approaching. An order was given for a contingent of ten knights to greet and formally escort them into the castle.
As the Queen neared the palace, villagers jockeyed for the best positions to ensure an unobstructed view of her. Many shouted for her to stop so that they could present her with flowers. And to their great surprise, she indeed ordered the caravan to halt and proceeded to walk among them, like one of them, as she had done so many times in other villages. Alarming as this was to her protectors, Alexandra had a mind of her own. There was no use arguing with her. She was strong willed. She was loving. She cared.
On this morning, the last day of travel, the Queen had wanted to look her best for her father, King William, and she did. She looked every inch a Queen, with her gold, diamond studded tiara and her white fox cape coveri
ng her long, white silk gown. Young girls stared, mouths agape, at the jewel encrusted headpiece. What a contradiction –
strolling amongst the townspeople, along the dusty roads, while dressed so regally. She chatted easily with a young girl here and a boy there, until the captain of her knights took her gently by the arm and coaxed her back into her carriage. The Queen, her Ladies-In-Waiting, and her knights then continued their slow ride up toward the gates of the parade grounds abutting the castle.
King William had lost his wife, Beatrice, to the fever and when she passed, he thought that he would die with her, such was his love for her. But he had his two daughters to think of, so he lived for them . . . and for his people. He had not seen his daughters for three years and he missed them. Anxiously, he awaited their arrival, to hold them in his arms once again.
Heavy footsteps, followed by softer ones, approached the King’s chamber. From inside, two guards opened the floor-to-ceiling doors and allowed two men to enter, one significantly shorter than the other. The smaller man stood by the door while the knight approached the King and knelt.
“Your Majesty, the doctor is here. Where would you have me take him?”
“Take him to Queen Alexandra’s chamber,” the King replied. “Princess Krystina is resting with her sister. Tell Queen Alexandra that I’ll be in to see her shortly.”
Then drawing the knight closer to him so as not to have the doctor hear what he was saying, King William said in a low voice, “I want the doctor to look at her with no interruptions, well before I enter. I don’t want to be in the way or make him nervous while he conducts his examination. I need for him to do his job and do it well.”
King Robert, having arrived two days prior, stood next to his father-in-law and heard his whisperings. He felt helpless.
“By the gods,” King Robert mumbled, “I wish I knew how to contact the wizard.”
Chapter One
Lucky was now alone. Samantha, his nurse, his confidante, his girlfriend, had left him. At first, he had been devastated, crushed by her departure both physically and emotionally, believing that he was truly in love with her. But as time passed, it became apparent that it wasn’t so much real love as it was two people thrown together, victims of circumstance. What he felt for her was something different than love. Infatuation perhaps, but not love. Patients fall in love with their doctors and nurses. Nurses fall in love with their patients. That was life. Sam had been there when he needed her. She was there when the agency had tried to kill him and she had nursed him through recovery. Lucky had believed that she loved him. He could not understand why she would leave. The fact was that Sam realized that she could never have him – not in the classic sense, at least, where girl loves boy, boy loves girl, they get married, have a family and live happily ever after. She rationalized that Lucky and she (if she was a part of this duo) would always have to worry about an old enemy returning someday and harming them, harming others around them. Sam noticed as Lucky slowly began to distance himself from her. It was confusing. He showered her with material “things” but what she wanted most was his love, his affection, and she wasn’t getting that. Perhaps Lucky was just one of those men incapable of true love, always guarded with his feelings. When they talked, Lucky always insisted that everything was fine, that he really did care, and that she shouldn’t confuse his alone time with a lack of emotional commitment. But after weeks of wrestling with this emotional conflict, Sam decided to move on with her life. One morning, Lucky found a letter on the nightstand. In it, Sam said that she had a lot of soul searching to do and that she might contact him again at some point in the future, but for now, she needed time to think. She added that this was the best way to say good-bye as good-byes are unpleasant. Lucky took it hard, but he knew that she would be all right, at least financially she would. He had seen to that. But truth be told, there was a void that she left in her wake.
Weeks passed. Lucky learned that routine becomes habit and when habit is changed, longing sets in. For example, if every Friday night for years you go to a movie with your girlfriend and suddenly the girlfriend leaves, then you might find that it isn’t so much the girlfriend that you miss as it is the routine of going to the movie on Friday nights. When that routine is disturbed, Friday nights are difficult until you substitute that memory, or routine, with something else, equally as pleasant. That’s what Lucky felt for months after Sam had left him. But as time went on, the emptiness dissipated and along with it came a sense of freedom. There was no one to worry about but himself. He began to feel like the old Lucky again.
Lucky now had thoughts and ideas outside of love and romance. He was bothered by the thought that someday his ability to travel through time might come to a screeching halt, an end, in an inauspicious time. What if he entered a portal and couldn’t return to the present, to his own time, his own country, his own era? Could he adjust to living where he was stuck? Could he ever get used to never seeing familiar places or his friends again? These were real concerns that he always put to rest by rationalizing that he is a survivor, capable of handling anything that life throws his way. But there was something else. Something inside of him was changing, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on and whatever change was coming, he couldn’t help but feel that it was somehow for the better.
Lucky thought back to when it started. It all began when he walked into a trap set up by his then boss, Dirk Sommerville. Explosions rocked the building and the force blew Lucky right out of the window, catapulting him six stories to the concrete floor of the courtyard below. It was an old tenement building but fortunately, he had laundry to thank for his life. He had bounced from one laundry line to the other like a ping pong ball. The zig zaggy clotheslines had broken his fall, saving his life. Lying there semi-conscious, he couldn’t move a muscle in any part of his body. There were multiple broken bones, but the most serious injury of all was to his head. A piece of his skull, with its skin still attached, was almost surgically torn from Lucky’s cranium. It took numerous surgeries by the finest army surgeons, including John Vigiano, the Chief Surgeon himself, to save his life. The Chief, long relieved from his civilian duties, was re-activated by the government, just to perform Lucky’s extensive, complex surgery.
After months of convalescing, Lucky’s bandages were finally removed but the stinging rays of blinding light that pierced his corneas were too much to bear and necessitated special, protective eye gear, glasses that were expertly crafted by a brilliant scientist. There was nothing in the textbooks that explained his condition. As for surgery, it was experimental, at best. His situation was likened to an expensive object, such as an intricate timepiece with a thousand moving parts, a watch, falling from a six-story building, hitting the ground, and shattering into a thousand component pieces. The owner of the watch now needed to find an expert capable of putting each one of the thousand parts back together again, without a blueprint or instruction manual, and make sure it worked. That’s what Lucky’s surgery was like. The world’s top brain surgeon sliced and spliced bits and pieces of Lucky’s damaged brain, not knowing for sure whether he had correctly joined the right circuits. There was doubt if Lucky would ever regain consciousness and if he did, doctors felt certain that the chances were that he would remain in a vegetative state. When Lucky finally awakened from his coma, medical journals had to be rewritten.
The special glasses worked. Lucky could see objects but more important than that he could see an object’s primal energy, its aura, or for lack of a better name, its life force. He no longer viewed the object as just an object. He now saw its essential life force radiating from it. He could see the flow of electrons at a sub-atomic level beaming from inanimate objects and for the first time in his life, he understood that inanimate objects were indeed living entities – a paradox of sorts. When Lucky eyed a table or a wall, he saw electrons swirling around atoms, and he knew that if he could somehow alter or adjust his bodily vibration to match the vibration of the object he was viewing, that
he could easily pass through it, even though it appeared to be solid. It was Lucky’s secret – it wasn’t something solid. It was liquid, but on a vibratory level. Over time, Lucky no longer needed the special glasses.
As his vision coalesced into the abstract characteristics that became his sight, he began to notice a stationary force that had no apparent source of energy. Through trial and error he learned that the manifestation he saw was the energy force of a portal, a door, an opening that leads through time – a specific time, an era in the past. Until then, Lucky had always thought that life was like a movie, with each phase of your life happening in a different frame. But that had changed. No longer did he believe that. He now thought of time as a movie of all your lifetimes where someone, he Lucky, could travel to a different time just by landing on an earlier or later frame in the movie.
Lucky figured that the doctors must have inadvertently misdirected his brain circuits, and opened up some unknown energy field, a sidhi perhaps, a sidhi not mentioned in the sutras of Patanjali, the reputed author of Yoga. The sidhi of time travel now appeared to be a power that all mankind possessed if only man knew how to activate it, thought Lucky. If it was awakened in him, then why not everyone? The doctors probably had no clue what wires they crossed to cause this, but as a result, Lucky discovered he had this unique ability to travel through time. All he needed was a portal that he could slip into.
At the time of his discovery, Lucky was being held captive as a patient at a hospital in a secure CIA facility known as The Compound (Central Operational Military Program Organized Under National Directive). After searching for a way to escape, he found nothing – nothing, that is, until he discovered the portal hovering in a field on the hospital grounds. To his surprise, the special life force door landed him in twelfth century England. It was there that Lucky helped the King of England ward off an attack by an invading King from the northern borders. This brought Lucky good favor from the King and ensured a close kinship. Lucky liked being in that time period. Of all the portals he had discovered, this one made him smile. It had also been the one to make him wealthy. Artifacts and treasures from a vendor there were transported back to the present and auctioned at Sotheby’s with regularity. Lucky never had to worry about money, ever again, in his entire life.
