Termination

by Deborah Chester

  Messer Tibo slid his dirty thumb into Noel’s mouth and pried his teeth apart. Noel forgot about acting and bit down as hard as he could, but by then Messer Tibo had the ivory spoon in his mouth instead. Noel snapped the bowl off the spoon, but the nasty liquid spread across his tongue and down his throat before he could choke and spit it out.

  Coughing and gasping, he tried to tear free of them, but he lacked the strength. They lowered him gently, holding his arms when he would have flailed and hurt himself more. By then a curious numbness was spreading through his mouth. He felt it travel up his jaws into his cheeks, then to his eyes, which felt as though they’d been frozen in ice. When it reached his forehead, his vision faded as though someone had tossed a blanket over his head. The throbbing in his side vanished too. That was a mercy he welcomed, but why couldn’t he see?

  Then his vision returned. He blinked and tried to speak just as Leon bent over him and kissed him on the temple. Stunned, Noel stared at his duplicate and saw apology shimmering in Leon’s pale eyes.

  “I’m sorry, brother,” he whispered. “I could not stop him. I’m sorry.”

  Then he was gone, and Noel found himself fading back into dark, still coldness before he could ask Leon what he was sorry for.

  Chapter 8

  Noel awakened to the sound of singing, something religious and beautiful, a choir with a young male voice rising impossibly high and pure. Smiling to himself, Noel opened his eyes and found himself in the same room as before, in the same canopied bed. The shutters across the window had been thrown open and golden afternoon light streamed into the room. The canal water outside reflected dancing bits of light onto his ceiling, making the whole room shimmer.

  He could hear birds chirping, the splash of gondola oars, bells ringing from the Campanile, servants laughing, a woman haggling with a street vendor.

  The peace of it filled him and he lay there enjoying it all for a moment before memories returned to him. He wondered if he’d dreamed about Leon, Messer Tibo, and the rat.

  Perhaps. He was alone, and he felt remarkably well.

  But his waist was still bandaged. He prodded the wound gingerly, but felt nothing more than a faint twinge. His fever seemed to be gone as well. He was very thirsty and starving.

  Noel sat up, moving very slowly and cautiously. Why, he asked himself, did he always seem to get banged up no matter where he traveled? Maybe he was jinxed or something. Still, he was alive and in a pleasant enough room instead of being tortured in a dungeon. He rested a moment, but felt all right and swung his feet to the floor.

  Standing up was harder. He felt no pain from moving around, but his legs were weak. He steadied himself against one of the canopy poles until his knees strengthened. Except for his bandage, he was stark naked. His LOCs were gone.

  Noel frowned. So he hadn’t been dreaming about Leon after all.

  He walked a few paces, then came back, carefully working out the stiffness in his legs. His balance improved quickly.

  His worry worsened. Trojan’s hologram had warned him to stay close to Leon. He could only assume the technicians were still working to repair the time portal. If they succeeded, recall would be the first thing they initiated. He knew from past problems that he and Leon had to enter the time stream together, or another distortion would result. With Leon wearing the LOC, Noel had to stick close or he would be the one left behind.

  He could just imagine Leon persuading the technicians that he was Noel. He would be believed. After all, none of them had ever seen Leon. They only had Noel’s word and an energy wave to prove that he existed at all.

  “So, brother dear,” Noel said sarcastically, lifting his arms with caution to stretch, “where are you now?”

  Leon was clever, greedy, and shrewd, but he didn’t have much sense. He could be up to anything right now, causing all sorts of trouble.

  Noel sighed. First he had to find clothes. Then food. Then his duplicate.

  There was a tapestry bell pull hanging by the bed. Noel left it alone. He didn’t want to alert anyone that he was up and around.

  The room contained his bed and the table beside it, a prie-dieu, and a chest. Noel maneuvered himself down onto his knees and opened the chest.

  It held clothes all right, old, moth-eaten ones that smelled of camphor. The hose were the hardest to get on since he could do just about anything except bend over. He finally got them gartered on and rested a while until his heart stopped pounding. The breeches were complicated, primarily because of how the codpiece fastened on. He struggled with this, imagined how Trojan would laugh at him if he saw him now, and had to grin at himself. The shirt was of delicate linen, much creased from storage, and yellowed with age. He couldn’t raise his arms very high without pulling at his wound, but again he finally succeeded. The doublet, long and heavy, was easy.

  By the time he’d worked on the cloth shoes, which were too narrow and too short, he had exhausted his strength. Weary, he rested a long while, resisting the urge to go back to bed. Thoughts of him napping while Leon was recalled to the twenty-sixth century made him determined to keep going.

  At last he walked carefully to the door and opened it quietly. He expected someone to be standing guard, but no one was on duty.

  Easy.

  Noel frowned. He’d learned the hard way to distrust what looked easy. There was always a catch.

  Keeping his right arm clamped to his side for support, he went downstairs, using the banister like an old man, and followed his nose to the kitchens.

  Capons were roasting on spits; bread baked in the oven. Their mingled, heavenly aromas nearly made him faint. The cook was dozing, but Noel coaxed one of the scullions into giving him some leftovers from luncheon. Sitting outside on a small marble bench overlooking the gardens, Noel dined on cold quail, cheese, and oranges. He washed this down with wine and felt much refreshed.

  After this he prowled about the palace, which was quiet with siesta. Or maybe Carnival had ended and Lent had begun. The LOC, of course, could have told him. Noel’s frustration renewed itself. Where the devil was Leon?

  He asked a sleepy page, who stared at him in puzzlement and finally shrugged. Walking away, Noel supposed that the majority of the household didn’t know about the two of them. If they’d only seen Leon, they must think him mad, walking about inquiring about himself.

  The palace itself was magnificent. Had Noel been in the mood to admire the exquisite tapestries, the walls hung with red damask and cloth of gold, the paintings by various Renaissance masters, columns of Oriental jasper, the grand staircase with its overwrought, reptilian splendor, hearths of black marble, and all the furniture, vases of flowers, brass incense pots, stools, velvet cushions, chests of books, little bronze statuettes, enameled lamps, majolica, pieces of Murano glass in jewel colors…he could have spent hours wandering around surveying the whole of it. But he paid little attention to his self-conducted tour. It was Leon he wanted.

  He came to the private chapel and found the contessa and her women kneeling at prayer while a priest in his robes and stole droned in solemn Latin. Leon was not in there. The contessa’s lapdog pricked up its ears and growled at Noel, and he retreated swiftly from the doorway.

  Weary from his search, he walked out into the loggia where sunshine warmed the mild air of late winter. The roses, protected within the walls, stood bare and thorny, displaying their bright orange hips. An arthritic old woman in black was sweeping the stone walkway.

  Noel approached her. “Good afternoon,” he said courteously. “Have you seen my brother?”

  Beneath her shawl, she had a tiny face like a withered apple. She gazed at him awhile, then finally nodded. With a shy smile, she pointed toward the rear of the garden and went back to her sweeping.

  Noel headed in that direction. The shrubbery had been meticulously clipped into topiaries and globes. Noel stopped next to an empty bench and gazed around with a frown. At last he glimpsed a patch of blue behind the hedge.

  “Leon?” he s
aid.

  No answer.

  Noel pushed his way through the hedge and came upon his duplicate. Leon had burrowed his way into a spot between the shrubs and the garden wall, and was curled upon the ground like an animal, his arms and knees tucked in close to his body, his face hidden.

  Concerned, Noel knelt beside him and touched his arm.

  Leon flinched. “Leave me alone.”

  “What’s wrong? What are you doing out here? Are you hurt?”

  “None of your business.”

  “Aren’t you cold?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  Noel sat back on his heels. This made no sense unless Leon was hurt or hiding, or both. He put his hand on Leon’s shoulder and tried to roll him over.

  Leon moaned. “Don’t!” he said sharply. “Leave me alone.”

  “You are hurt,” Noel said. “What happened?”

  Leon sniffed and didn’t reply.

  Noel’s frown deepened. Occasionally he could sense when Leon was injured or in trouble. This time, he’d had no premonition at all. He placed his palm against Leon’s back, and Leon jerked with a cry of pain.

  Noel gripped his shoulders and pulled him up. “I want to help you.”

  “Don’t,” pleaded Leon, jerking in his breath. “Don’t.”

  But Noel made him sit up anyway and moved around so that they faced each other. Mud streaked Leon’s cheek, and his eyes were red and puffy from weeping. His knuckles were skinned as though he’d been fighting. Noel began checking him for broken bones. When he touched Leon’s torso, Leon flinched and tried to fend him off.

  “You’ve been beaten,” Noel said. He stood up and pulled at the collar of Leon’s doublet to peer down his back. He could see some blood staining Leon’s shirt. “With what? A whip?”

  “Yes,” Leon whispered.

  “Who did this?”

  Leon hunched away from him and used his sleeve to wipe his eyes. “I told you it doesn’t matter.”

  “Don’t be stupid.”

  “You can’t do anything.”

  Noel set his mouth. “I can give the contessa a swift kick in the seat if she—”

  “Wasn’t her.”

  “Then who?”

  Leon bent his head to evade Noel’s gaze. Noel shook him. “Come on. Why won’t you talk to me?”

  Leon said, “Messer Tibo ordered it done.”

  “Why?”

  “He knows…” Leon swallowed audibly. “He blamed me because you weren’t better.”

  Noel snorted. “That was our decision to fool him a little.”

  “He was angry. He knows…” Leon drew up his knees and rested his chin on them.

  “What?”

  Leon’s shoulders shook. His skinned knuckles were clenched so hard they turned white. “Never mind.”

  “Don’t clam up on me now. Out with it. What does he know?”

  “He can do what I do,” Leon whispered, almost inaudibly.

  “What? Read minds?”

  “No, not that. Push them.”

  “Manipulate them the way you do?”

  “He can’t really do that either. I guess he could make some people, the really weak ones, obey him sometimes.”

  “Then what does he do?”

  “Just…hurts them.” Leon buried his face against his knees. “I didn’t know. I didn’t know it could hurt like that. It was always something I enjoyed. I could do it well. It’s all I have that makes me special. You can’t do it, and I…I can.”

  Noel shifted his weight to a more comfortable position. It was cold here in the shade. Beyond the walls, a vendor cried his wares, and gulls swooped overhead in wheeling patterns among the pigeons.

  “I thought I could have a place here,” Leon continued. “I thought you’d finally leave me alone now that you can’t get back. I wanted to stay, to please the contessa. I meant to trick her into believing I can make gold from lead. But Tibo already does that. He’s smarter than me. He’s got all the tricks I have and more. He sent me to Lady Francesca as a test, but he’s never intended me to stay here.” Leon’s voice quivered. “He’s mean.”

  “And you’ve never been mean? You’ve never hurt anyone or tormented them?” Noel retorted.

  Leon turned his face away. “That was different.”

  “How?”

  Leon made no reply.

  Noel watched him a moment, dissatisfied but aware that he’d learned all he could probably get from Leon right now. Leon would never understand, would never grow, would never learn compassion. He’d finally met his match in evil and it had shocked him, but he was incapable of seeing the lesson to be learned. As for Messer Tibo, he needed to learn to pick on someone his own size.

  “Is this the first time he’s hurt you?” Noel asked quietly.

  “No.”

  “That’s why you were afraid when he came to my room this morning.”

  “Yes.” Leon looked up at him. “I tried to warn you.”

  Noel gripped his shoulder a moment, then hauled himself stiffly to his feet with a wince.

  “How is your back?” Leon asked.

  “Much better. I can hardly feel it unless I move too fast.”

  Leon’s pale eyes shifted hastily away from Noel’s. “It’s the potion he gave you.”

  “Opium probably, except I’m not seeing pink elephants. The rest did me good.”

  Leon nodded without looking at him.

  The way he continued to crouch there on the cold winter ground at Noel’s feet was disturbing. Noel gazed down at him, watching the light breeze ruffle his duplicate’s black hair. At that angle, unable to see Leon’s face but only the tilt of his head, the delicate scrolling of his ear, the strength of his throat, it was like looking at himself. Noel felt the old flicker of disorientation. He would never get used to it, would never be able to wholly accept the fact of Leon’s existence. It was a slight shock each time he saw his twin.

  “The ground’s too cold to sit on,” Noel said gently. “Why don’t you go inside and get warm? Have some wine. It will make you feel better.”

  Leon hunched his shoulders angrily. “Nothing like that works for me.”

  “Oh.” Noel had forgotten. There was something essential lacking in Leon. It kept him from tasting food and drink, from living completely. “I didn’t mean to—”

  “Just go away,” Leon said.

  “All right, but why don’t you return the LOCs to me now? I’ve got my clothes on and I can hide them again.”

  Leon shook his head. “It’s not safe.”

  “Why not?”

  “He can read you.”

  Noel frowned. How did Leon know he intended to have a little talk with Messer Tibo? “He’s already read you.”

  Leon glanced up. “I said he hurt me. I didn’t say he read my mind.”

  “You can’t read my mind,” Noel said. “Why should he be able to?”

  “It’s different.”

  “How?”

  “Just…different.”

  Noel’s patience slipped. “Look, you took the LOCs to hide them while I was incapacitated. But you can’t keep them. I want them back.”

  “One doesn’t work.”

  A chill ran through Noel. So Leon had been accessing the new one already. He kept his voice even, however, as he replied, “But I’m attached to it.”

  “How did you get another?”

  Noel bared his teeth. “I have things to do. Hand them over.”

  “Not if you’re going to see Tibo.”

  “You think he’ll take them from me?”

  “He might.”

  “But he didn’t take them from you. I don’t understand.”

  “It’s different with me,” Leon said in exasperation. “Do I have to explain everything?”

  “Only when you don’t make any sense.”

  Leon shook his head stubbornly. “It’s not safe. And I don’t think you should go see him either.”

  “Well,” Noel said grimly, “he picked on my fa
mily. I may hate your guts, but that doesn’t mean anyone else can.”

  Leon looked at him in startlement, his mouth falling open. “You—you care?” he asked as though he couldn’t believe it. “But you’ve always tried to destroy me. You don’t even want me to exist.”

  Noel wiggled in embarrassment. He wasn’t going to explain anything. “You go take care of yourself. When I’m finished with Tibo, we’re leaving.”

  “But—”

  “We’re leaving. This is no place for us, and I want no more involvement with these people. Understand?”

  Leon dropped his gaze and said nothing, but as Noel pushed back through the hedge he glanced back and saw his duplicate watching him with that same stunned, disbelieving expression.

  Noel wasn’t sure he believed himself. Seeing Leon hurt and scared and humiliated like that had kicked awake a reluctant pity. He would never like Leon, but in a strange way he felt responsible for his duplicate. With all his faults, Leon was a cripple—emotionally and socially. He could never be anything else, and he shouldn’t be picked on.

  Once again Noel approached the old woman who was sweeping. “Prego,” he said politely. “Where can I find Messer Tibo?”

  She pointed to the short round tower rising above the rear of the palazzo.

  Thanking her, Noel studied the tower and felt a sudden reluctance rise inside him. He thought of Tibo’s compelling black eyes. He thought of rats. He thought of Leon’s fear and what Leon had told him about Tibo’s abilities. It would be easier to just sneak out of the palazzo and not come back. But Noel didn’t believe in running away and he thought a man ought to be paid what he deserved.

  He wandered inside the palazzo until he finally came to the tower stairs. They seemed to spiral up forever. Noel looked at them and sighed. The weakness in his legs persisted although he still felt well. It took him a long time to reach the top.

  He was met there by a grotesque man. The man was of normal stature, but he had no ears and one eye. His head was bald and heavily scarred as though his hair had been burned off.

  “I want to speak to Messer Tibo,” Noel said firmly. “Is he available?”

  In silence the servant tapped on a door, received a reply from within, and bowed as he gestured for Noel to enter.