Termination

by Deborah Chester

  “Thanks,” Noel said, casting him an uncertain glance.

  He pushed open the door, which groaned on its hinges, and walked into the dim gloom of Messer Tibo’s lair.

  Noel’s immediate impression was of clutter. The big, circular room was crammed with tables and equipment, moldering stuffed birds and animals, scrolls of parchment, primitive telescopes that were probably considered state of the art, cabinets, skulls, and junk in general. It stank of darkness and badly mixed chemicals. Noel’s nostrils wrinkled with distaste. He glanced around and saw no one.

  “Hey!” he called. “Anybody home?”

  A shadowy figure rose from a hassock and glided forward on silent, cloth-shod feet. Messer Tibo emerged into the dim light filtering through a small, stained-glass window and paused there, holding an ancient and fragile scroll in his long white fingers.

  Attired in a skull cap and a long dusty robe, he seemed pleased to see Noel. His black eyes glittered with peculiar excitement. “You have arisen.”

  Noel frowned. It was a strange thing to say. He adopted a casual attitude. “Yeah, I’m up. I’m a quick healer.”

  Messer Tibo beckoned. “Come and let me examine you.”

  Noel stayed put. “I’m fine. A little weak in the legs and damned sore in my back. I’ll mend.”

  Messer Tibo smiled, revealing long, stained yellow teeth. “Such spirit. Excellent. Sit then. You must not expend your strength too quickly.”

  “I’ll sit if you’ll sit,” Noel said.

  Messer Tibo chuckled but he sank onto a chair and gestured for Noel to do the same. Noel cleared a stack of books locked and chained off a stool and lowered himself gingerly.

  “You must be hungry,” Messer Tibo said. “Fever robs a man of strength, and it should be restored quickly. My servant will prepare a tray for you—”

  “No, thanks,” Noel interrupted. “I’ve already been to the kitchen.”

  Messer Tibo looked surprised. “You are feeling better. This recovery surpasses even my expectations.”

  Noel was glad Tibo couldn’t tell how much his legs were trembling after the long climb up the stairs. He didn’t want to linger here, but he needed the rest. “I want to talk to you about Leon. He says you—”

  “Leon is not permitted to assist me in my work,” Messer Tibo said austerely, tucking his long hands in his sleeves. “He has not proven himself worthy of knowing my secrets.”

  The squeaking of rats interrupted him. Two of the rodents scuttled by. Noel flinched and looked around in alarm. How many of the things did Tibo keep around?

  “You dislike rats, Messer Noel?”

  Noel didn’t miss the title of courtesy or the amusement in the astrologer’s voice. His instincts warned him to play this carefully. He said, “No, I can’t stand them. Pets of yours?”

  “Yes,” said Messer Tibo, smiling. His eyes, however, were watchful, probing. “I admire their intelligence and fierce cunning. They are much more interesting companions than…dogs, for example.”

  “I keep fish,” Noel said.

  “Fish?”

  “Yeah, in a tank.”

  “Ah, yes. The Pisani family uses little bowls of live fish as table decorations during their banquets. It is the new fashion among the patricians.” Messer Tibo turned his head and whistled. A gray rat scuttled across the floor and climbed up onto his knee. Sitting up on its haunches, it chittered a demand.

  Laughing, Messer Tibo fed it a morsel from his pocket. The rat ran up to his shoulder and perched there, its red eyes glaring malevolently at Noel. “This is Beppo, my particular friend,” Messer Tibo said. “Do you not remember Beppo?”

  “Uh, no. He’s pretty tame.”

  “Oh, Beppo is more than a simple pet. He is of great help to me in certain experiments, are you not, my little amico?” As he spoke, Messer Tibo stroked the rat’s head.

  Noel swallowed. “Cute. For a rat.”

  “Surely you remember Beppo. He has been to see you.”

  “No.”

  “Oh, yes. He took a great fancy to you. I have seldom seen him so taken with anyone besides myself. Beppo, go to Messer Noel. Go on.”

  The rat started down Messer Tibo’s arm, and Noel rose involuntarily to his feet.

  “No, thanks,” he said. “I don’t care for rats.”

  “But the two of you got on so well before.”

  “When?” Noel asked uneasily, hoping his lies were convincing. He’d be damned before he let that thing climb on him again.

  “Why, very early this morning. Of course you were not feeling quite as well as you do now. Your recovery is quite amazing. My potion has never produced such quick results before.”

  Noel remembered the horrible stuff, how foul it had tasted and how quickly it had knocked him out. “I don’t recall. So you’re a doctor too? Quite a Renaissance man, I guess.”

  His pun fell flat. Messer Tibo watched him without reply. The rat darted in and out of his pockets, searching for more food.

  “Do you remember nothing of this morning?”

  Noel put on his best wide-eyed look of innocence and shook his head. “I woke up maybe an hour ago. Why, did something go on earlier? I guess I was too much out of it.”

  “You seemed very feverish.”

  “Yeah?”

  “You were delirious.”

  Noel touched his forehead. “A little warm still. It’ll probably shoot up again by tonight.”

  “Indeed, I hope you will continue to feel well this evening,” said Messer Tibo. He rose to his feet, dislodging Beppo, who scurried off with an angry lash of his tail. “Perhaps I had better give you another dose of my potion to keep you from succumbing. You have begun to look pale.”

  Noel backed up a step, feeling as though this conversation had gotten out of control. “Uh, no, thanks. I’m fine, really. It’s Leon I want to talk about. You beat him. Why?”

  Messer Tibo smiled. “So that is what this visit is about. How very odd. I did not think you cared for your brother.”

  “Why shouldn’t I?”

  “Oh, just an impression of mine. He does not think much of you.”

  Noel scowled at him. “Yeah? And he saved my life the other night, came looking for me, fished me out of the canal, and got me medical attention. What is that if—”

  “But he did those things at my order,” Messer Tibo said. “Once I learned of your existence, I compelled him to go in search of you. Really, I am amazed by this. I thought you knew.”

  Noel said nothing for a moment. He was getting nowhere talking to this slippery character. “Well, thanks,” he said at last, shortly. “But I don’t appreciate people interfering with what’s private in my family. Leon is my concern. Don’t touch him again.”

  Turning on his heel, Noel started for the door.

  “You will stay!” Messer Tibo’s voice cracked with command.

  Noel halted involuntarily and glanced back to see the astrologer glaring at him.

  “You will stay,” repeated Messer Tibo in a quieter, but no less compelling voice.

  The place was suddenly claustrophobic, menacing. Every instinct in Noel warned him to get out. He took one more step toward the door, aware of a strange lassitude in his body. Squinting at the door, Noel pushed toward it with all his determination.

  Messer Tibo came after him and touched his shoulder. Noel jumped as though he’d been shocked with electricity. “You will stay,” the astrologer said. “You will answer many questions.”

  “Don’t have time,” Noel said through his teeth. It was like trying to push through a membrane, this intangible force that was holding him back. He struggled. “Have to go.”

  “But you see, Messer Noel, I know where you really come from. Hundreds of years in the future. This is so very fascinating to me. I cannot let you go just yet.”

  Noel had a sense of standing at a critical point. He knew he could break free of Messer Tibo’s commanding voice. He could force himself through that door. But what Tibo said held him
in place more than any spell ever could. He turned around and faced the astrologer, unable to believe what he’d heard.

  “Excuse me?”

  “The future man, here in my own humble laboratory.” Messer Tibo’s black eyes shone. “There is so much I must know, so much I must ask. I have a thousand questions, most of which Leon is unable to answer. He has told me—”

  “Yes?” said Noel angrily, beginning to absorb what Messer Tibo was saying, beginning to see the ramifications, beginning to seethe at what his duplicate had done. “Exactly what has he told you?”

  “Not enough. Not nearly enough. Come and sit down, Messer Noel. Let me pour you some wine if you think it will not inflame your fever. The twenty-sixth century…ah, what wonders it must possess. Ten centuries between your time and mine, yet you appear an ordinary man. Your stature is taller than the average person, but then, so is mine. Your cranium is no larger than my own. You can be injured.You bleed. You can even die. Yet how strong you are. How independent. How fiery. You treated the contessa as an equal, and I see no deference in you now before me. It is as though you lack any concept of rank. Tell me, is there no patrician class in your time? No Case Grandi? No Apostoli? How do men order themselves in this thousand-year span?”

  Noel was shocked into uttering a harsh laugh. “I can’t believe this.”

  Tibo reached out. “Do not laugh at me. Do not trifle with me. I must know. Leon is only your familiar. He wears your face like a mask, but he is not truly your twin. He lacks even a tenth of your energia. You glow with life’s force. It beats within you like a drum. Even when you lie ill, you have such a vitality. But he is a candle flame, a puppet. Without you, he is nothing.” Messer Tibo shrugged, spreading out his hands. “It is the same with my own servants. I can see how useful for intrigue such a creature as Leon is, able to come and go as you, able to spy while you remain in safety, able to cast your spells while you stay at a distance. I long to know how you created him.”

  “No,” said Noel, trying to gather his wits against this torrent. He had to think of some way of convincing Tibo that he was mistaken. But he was blank, his mind white with the sheer heat of anger.

  The astrologer turned aside to pour wine. “Denial is a lie and a waste of our time. It is an insult to our intelligence. I know what you are, and I will have what you know.”

  “You’re wrong,” Noel said forcefully. “I don’t know why Leon told you something so crazy. Or why you should want to believe it. How could we be from the future? It’s impossible.”

  Messer Tibo smiled. “I know better.”

  Noel shook his head. “Sorry. I’m from a family that deals in alum. I travel often from Byzantium, and we are seeking to establish a trade agreement with the merchants here in Venice. Leon has a touch of madness. He gets crazy ideas and has studied too much science without understanding any of it. You shouldn’t pay attention to—”

  “Stop!” Messer Tibo shouted. He slammed down the flagon of wine. “I have no patience for such drivel. Give me the truth!”

  “I’m telling you the truth,” Noel said. “You know how secretative the alum trade is. It has to be. I couldn’t arrive in town trumpeting my business, could I? Unfortunately, Leon caused trouble immediately, and it’s been a misunderstanding ever since.”

  “You try me too far,” Messer Tibo said furiously.

  Noel raised his brows. “Tell me, does the contessa have connections with the dye guild—”

  “The new continent which the Spaniards have discovered is destined to surpass the rest of the world. It will reign supreme, and all other kingdoms will serve it. There is a place, a grand city of many wonders. It is called Chicago. That is where you hail from, not Byzantium.”

  A sick feeling swept through Noel, but he kept it hidden and even managed an incredulous laugh. “This is indeed a fantasy. Do you also write for the stage? What else can you tell me?”

  “The learned men of Chicago have created a device which can alter time. Through this device men can travel to the past or to the future as easily as we travel by horseback or ship.”

  “No kidding,” Noel said, trying to put mockery into his voice. “Truly my brother has surpassed himself this time. I have never heard such a tale. It is heresy, surely, for God sets us on the path of our life. We cannot go forward faster than the days themselves and we certainly cannot go back to correct our mistakes.”

  Doubt flickered momentarily in Messer Tibo’s eyes, and Noel began to hope that he was getting through. So far, he hadn’t heard anything that would pose much of a danger to the future. But the tiniest spark could ignite a forest.

  He watched Tibo carefully and continued, “It is a shame to my father, to my whole family, that my younger brother is mad. Has he told you that he lacks a childhood, that he sprang fully adult from the ether?”

  Messer Tibo said nothing, but he shook his head.

  “Ah,” Noel said, feeling more confident. “Well, that will be the next tale, I am sure. We have tried everything, seen every doctor. Nothing helps. Often he appears lucid and normal. Then he falls into melancholy. He thinks he has magical powers. He thinks I am real and he is not. I am firstborn, you see. He has always resented me for that. Sometimes he tries to kill me.”

  “He has tended your hurts with care and concern,” Messer Tibo said.

  Noel shrugged. “We were once very close. I wish it could be that way again. But how can I trust him when one moment he is a dear brother and the next he is a fiend seeking my death? Now he has told you we are both sorcerers. Truly, Messer Tibo, do I strike you as a man of mystical learning or science?”

  Noel held out his hands and looked his most guileless.

  Messer Tibo frowned. “With a mere word he was able to separate Lady Francesca Contarini from her wits.”

  Noel snorted. “And who doesn’t know the herbs which addle the mind? I am sure he contrived a way to make her eat or inhale some.”

  “And the visions which you conjured up in the prison? Many men saw them.”

  “Men who are fearful and superstitious are easily manipulated into believing many things. A flurry of torchlight, some shouts in a disguised voice, a few flashes of Greek fire which I carry for emergencies…” Noel shrugged. “It can all be explained.”

  “You disappoint me.”

  Noel smiled, feeling as though he’d succeeded. Inside, however, he was seething. Leon had lied to him once more. This time Noel wasn’t going to forgive it or overlook it. “Again, I’m sorry,” he said smoothly. “I spend a lot of time apologizing for my brother. He isn’t to blame but—”

  “No, I mean you disappoint me. I expected you to be more intelligent.”

  Noel stared at him, his confidence deflating like a pricked soufflé.

  “You should not underestimate me,” Messer Tibo said. He held out the wine cup. “After such an inventive speech, surely you are thirsty.”

  Noel shook his head.

  Tibo put down the cup and opened a small wooden casket. He removed an object and held it up. “And this? How will you explain this?”

  Noel stared at the LOC with a rising sense of betrayal. No wonder Leon didn’t want to give the LOCs back. He didn’t have them. At least not the one that functioned. Noel’s eyes narrowed, and he began to breathe more quickly. Leon had sniveled and looked so pathetic, and he’d fallen for the whole act like a fool. He’d even pitied the wretch. He’d come here to rebuke Tibo, and the only result was that now he knew just what a gullible idiot he’d been. What had Leon exchanged it for, a handful of gold, a promise of importance? Sourness filled Noel’s mouth. He could not speak.

  “This surpasses the gazing ball of my old Persian teacher,” Messer Tibo said as he fitted the LOC around his wrist. He held up his thin arm, turning it this way and that. “One has only to ask the correct question, and its spirit speaks from the air. All the wisdom of the ages lies in this bracelet. Yet it contains no aura of the illusionary arts. It has been fashioned of no known substance. It looks like the
most delicate glass, yet it does not shatter when struck. It flashes light in a manner that lies not within simple magic. No, it is a device created by men just as the time machine has been created by men.”

  Tibo stepped toward Noel, holding his gaze. “I want to see the future. I want to walk the streets of Chicago and see its wonders for myself. This is what I want. This is what I shall have.”

  Dismayed thoughts ran through Noel in a torrent. An unprotected LOC functioned for anyone. If the time portal was repaired and recall was initiated, it would be Tibo who went, not Noel. Had this devious snake of a man any bearing on history? If so, how would his disappearance affect the natural chain of events? What would his arrival in the future mean? What might it trigger?

  “You look decidedly pale, Messer Noel. You should sit down, drink your wine, and attempt to compose yourself.”

  Noel could not move. He was locked in chaos, his mind sorting through one desperate alternative after another. Short of attacking Tibo, how was he to get the LOC back? His fingers curled into fists.

  “Ah, no, do not,” Messer Tibo said, raising his forefinger in rebuke. “You will only do injury to yourself, and that is not to our purpose.”

  “I don’t give a—”

  “You see, I do not intend to go without you. Oh, no. I understand that there are two bracelets, just as there are two of you. Now I have one bracelet, and you may wish to take the other from your familiar. You will then instruct me in how to operate this device, and we will explore the wonders of your time together.”

  Noel glared at him, gauging whether he could beat the astrologer in a fight.

  “You have until sunset,” Messer Tibo said. “There is the detail of the contessa’s own schemes against the Contarini family which I must attend to first. My servant will show you out when you have drunk your wine.”

  Noel sprang at him in a tackle that sent both of them crashing to the floor. The impact jolted through Noel’s wound, and he felt as though someone had stabbed him with a hot poker. All the strength melted from him in that moment and he was unable to reach for the LOC on Tibo’s wrist. While he hissed in pain, trying to get his breath back, Tibo pushed free and scrambled to his feet.