“We should have thought of that sooner,” I say. “I don’t know what I was thinking going around soggy. I’m going to use that every time I get out of the shower. I’ll save hours of laundering towels.”
Viznir stands on tiptoe to peer over the stone window ledge. “I can see the stairs. If we can get past the guard, it’s an easy exit. Boost me up.”
I cradle my hands and give Viznir a foothold. He uses it to climb through and disappear inside. I hop up and grasp the inside ledge of the window. Viznir is creeping across the wood floor toward a heavy, drawn curtain at the far side. The laughter and giggling is coming from the other side of the room. He peeks around the corner of the curtain, pauses a moment, then gestures for me to follow. I ease myself through the window on all fours and am about to get to my feet when my canteen slips out of a pocket of my pack and clatters to the floor.
Shit.
I snatch up the container and creep toward Viznir at the stairway door. The curtain flings open, revealing a partially clad Roman soldier and two mostly undressed women companions behind him on a thick wooden table. The soldier freezes at the sight of us, his expression full of confusion. He seems unsure whether to be upset about the intrusion or repentant for getting caught off guard.
“Viznir, how do you say ‘dereliction of duty’ in Latin?” I whisper. “You should yell at him.”
Viznir considers the muscled man before us and the spear leaned against the archway. “Nope. We’re running.” He spins and darts for the stairs.
“Whoa, wait!” I straighten up and face the soldier. His expression has gone from surprise to anger in an instant. He reaches for the spear and I make a break for the exit. Through the doorway, the stairs ascend and descend from the landing. Viznir is already halfway to the landing below. I pause momentarily, then take the stairs going up.
He shouts at me, “What are you doing?”
“Buying us some time!” I take the steps two at a time as the soldier enters the stairwell.
The diversionary tactic stops him short as he considers which of us to pursue, then apparently deciding I’ll be the easiest to trap, begins climbing after me. I listen to the thudding of his footsteps on the wooden planks as I climb, and do a quick calculation of how long it will take him to close the gap between us. Glancing up to ensure there are enough stairs above me to make my plan worthwhile, I ascend just out of sight, spin the dial on my chronometer, press my palm to the stairwell wall, and push the pin.
When I reappear, the seven seconds I skipped over have given the soldier ample time to pass my position. I listen to his angry snorting as he stomps his way upward, then gingerly work my way down, slowly increasing speed as I put more distance between us. As I’m passing the guardroom, one of the women peeks her head around the corner to see what’s happening. I smile and wave as I sprint by, before racing down the rest of the stairs.
Viznir is at the courtyard gate waving frantically for me to hurry. I dash across the dirt path and out the gate, and he pulls me around the corner just as another group of soldiers appears on the road. The guard has reached the top of the tower and spots Viznir and me ducking into a hedge, but the sight of his fellow soldiers seems to concern him more and he quickly vanishes back inside.
“Well that was fun.” I grin at Viznir.
“I thought that guy was going to spear us. How’d you get past him?” he asks.
I explain my tactic to him and his eyes get a little wider. “You see, that’s what they should have been teaching us how to do in guide school, instead of so much theory. How’d you learn to do that?”
“I had a friend who taught me a few things. He helped me to think more creatively.”
Viznir shakes his head. “The time I come from is so regulated, they don’t let you use time travel like that. They only want it used for official purposes.”
“Who? ASCOTT?”
“Yeah. They regulate misuse of time travel and can fine you or put you in jail for misconduct. They can use the grid to track your jumps if you’ve had a violation.”
“That sucks. Remind me to skip over that era.”
“A lot of people feel that way. That’s why you see more and more time travelers trying to escape to the fringes, or come farther back. Its more dangerous operating off Grid, but I can see how it might be more fun. That’s also why a lot of people try to be chronothon competitors or guides. It’s a good way to have ASCOTT-sanctioned activities off Grid and not get into trouble.”
“Is that why you signed up?”
Viznir’s brow furrows before he responds. “No. Not exactly. I had other reasons.” He straightens his pack. “Come on, we need to get to our objective.”
The map points to a district of the city inside the walls labeled “Quirinal.” We attract more than a few curious looks from the citizens as we walk the streets of Rome’s outlying suburbs. Most of the people here are wearing tunics, not terribly dissimilar to the Ancient Egyptians, but they seem to come in more varieties and almost all use belts around them. I think at first it is merely a fashion statement, as the tunic doesn’t need any help staying on, but then notice bulges in some citizens’ stomach areas that give away that they’ve been stuffing things down the front of their tunics in lieu of pockets.
When we near the city gates, we opt to bypass the inspection most citizens are getting by hopping onto the back of an enclosed produce cart and blinking ahead to when the cart is already inside the walls. It’s a moderately risky move in public, but other than a man who drops his armload of bread at our sudden reappearance, no one seems to notice. Viznir and I hop off the cart and make our way uphill toward the Quirinal district.
The Quirinal Hill seems to be a middle class neighborhood of sorts with a great deal of shopping options available and blocks of apartments. The main thoroughfares are packed with shops and vendors, usually at the base of the apartment buildings. Viznir and I get our share of curious looks, but people are polite and no one accosts us. Even the soldiers we pass don’t trouble us, as we’re no longer gallivanting around on aqueducts. The most significant impressions I get from the streets are the sounds and the smells. The noise is the babble of voices, the creaking of carts, braying of mules or horses, and the laughter of children. The smells are mostly lingering smoke from cooking fires, food roasting, warm bodies and animals, and varying degrees of feces. The fecal smell gets worse at street corners where I discover there are receptacles for human waste. I quickly learn to steer well clear of those. The people themselves look fairly clean, but the streets are highly suspect, and I’m happy to be wearing shoes.
Viznir pulls his tablet out again and brings up the image of the ring we’re after.
“The seal on this has multiple hits in the database. In seventy-eight percent of the timestreams on file, it belonged to Gaius Linus Flavian, a descendant of the former emperor, Domitian Flavius. The emperor got assassinated in sixty-six percent of the timestreams, usually between 94 to 98 AD.”
“Well liked, I guess.”
“The Flavians lost power after the assassination, and they fell out of favor for quite a while, but I’d guess any of his descendants will still be at least upper middle class. I’m betting we’ll find the place farther up the hill.”
“What year are we in now?”
“Based on what we’re seeing for architecture, I’m guessing around 200AD. These buildings are all built to a post-Nero standard. He changed requirements for buildings after the great fire.”
“So this guy we’re looking for, his ancestor was emperor over a hundred years ago?”
“It just remains to be seen how close of a relative he was. That will factor into his social class.”
“How are we going to get his ring off him?”
“You’re the racer. I’ll let you figure that out.”
The map leads us to a home at the upper side of the Quirinal Hill. We can make out the Forum only a short distance away. I can also see the Colosseum, and various other aqueducts looming over the o
ther buildings. Structures on the hill are built closely together and, while the home of Linus Flavius is stately, it shares the hill with a variety of homes of equal or greater proportions. A stone wall has been erected around the front of the house to keep out the riffraff, but a metal gate allows a view of the small garden leading to the entrance of the house. The main door is open, as are the windows, to allow the breeze to circulate inside.
“So now what?” Viznir looks at me. “You have a plan?”
“I guess we need to figure out if he’s home.” My mind wrestles with how we can get to our objective without being detected. The walls are tall and solid. It might be possible to get over them from a neighboring house, but that would mean getting inside one of those. “It’s gonna be pretty hard to ninja our way in there without being seen.”
Viznir pulls out his pistol and checks the ammo clip. “We could bust our way in and make him give it up once we show him what these weapons can do.”
I frown at him. “What’s with you and wanting to shoot everybody today?” I swing my pack off my back and open it.
“Well, you don’t seem to have a better idea.”
“Sure I do.” I keep rummaging around in the pack, considering what I have to work with.
“You have something in there that’s going to convince him better?”
“We’re from the future. We have to have something he’d want.” I consider my flashlight, but decide I don’t want to part with it. The fishing line and hooks are too mundane. Finally I grasp the black plastic compass Abraham gave me. I pull Charlie’s compass out of my jeans pocket and compare the two. I put Charlie’s back and hold up the plastic one. “How about this. They don’t have these yet, right?”
Viznir enters something into his tablet and scans through the information he finds. “No. The Chinese invented a compass around 200 BC, but Western Europe won’t have them for another thousand years.”
“Good. There we go then. Priceless technology from the future. No batteries required. How can he pass that up?”
“It’s his gold ring. Might be an heirloom.”
“Gold, schmold. He probably has four or five more just like it. Look at this place. Think how many more he can make when he’s rich from showing off his fancy future compass. You gotta sell it, Vizzy. Use some salesmanship.”
“Me?”
I smile. “Yep. You’re the only one who knows Latin. I can tell him to ‘carpe diem’ or ‘deus ex machina’ something, but then I’m out.”
Viznir shakes his head but follows me to the house. I rattle the gate to get someone’s attention. After a moment, a servant comes out to see what we’re up to.
“Bene candidi.” He bows politely, but doesn’t open the gate. Viznir rambles off a stream of Latin that I can’t follow, but it sounds professional. The servant cocks his head slightly, as if having trouble with the accent, but then bows again and opens the gate for us.
“What did you tell him?” I ask.
“I told him we’re traveling merchants and we have wares his master requested we deliver personally.”
“He bought it?”
“So far.”
A child yells something from an upstairs window and I look up to see him pointing at us. Other members of the household begin to take notice as well as we are guided into a waiting area just off the main foyer. The home is beautiful. Elegant stonework on the façade is also maintained indoors. The house smells significantly better than the street. Another servant offers to take our packs, but I decline while trying to seem apologetic. We are also expected to take our shoes off, but after seeing the filth in the street, I can understand the need for that one. We dutifully remove our shoes and attach them to our packs. Seeing that we don’t have our own sandals, a servant provides us with some. Mine are entirely too small, but I manage as best I can.
The master of the house is evidently home and willing to receive us because we are ushered up the marble stairs to a back patio on the second floor that commands a breathtaking view of the city. A well-fed man in a bleached white tunic is reclining on a couch enjoying the view. A servant is standing at attention to his side and whispers to him as we approach. The man shifts on his couch and rises. His curiosity at our attire is evident by his expression, but he does a good job of remaining polite and welcomes us with a litany of Latin that Viznir does his best to respond to. I merely smile when I feel like it’s appropriate.
Linus is a gracious host and welcomes us toward a stone table to enjoy some refreshments. We put our packs down and take seats opposite him. Servants appear with fruit and nuts and set them out for our convenience. My stomach seems to know instantly and I snag as many as I can without seeming impolite. After a particularly rapid discourse during which Linus has repeatedly looked at me, Viznir finally turns and fills me in.
“He seems to be under the impression that you’re the one in charge and I’m your servant.”
“Why?”
Viznir lifts his dark forearm. “Probably because he’s a racist. Also because you just sit there, nonchalantly stuffing your face. Apparently that’s a masterly thing to do.”
“Oh.” I swallow and conceal my latest handful of dates. “What did he say about the ring?”
“We haven’t gotten that far. So far he’s just been asking where we’re from and how we like Rome. He’s very polite.”
“Did you tell him we’re from China?”
“No. Of course not. Do we look Chinese?” He pinches my elbow.
“It’s not like he’s gonna know the difference. It’s 200 AD. I highly doubt he’s been to China. If we said we were from there, it could make sense that we’d have a compass.”
Viznir goes back to the conversation, and after a few minutes, gestures for me to get out the compass. I make a show of gently removing it from my pocket and present it to Linus. I open the plastic cover before handing it to him so he can see the needle bobbing around the compass rose. Linus accepts the compass respectfully and his brow furrows as he studies it. He turns it over and considers the writing on the bottom.
I elbow Viznir. “See, it even says ‘Made in China’ right on it! That could have added authenticity.”
Viznir frowns and ignores me, then tries to assist Linus with orienting the compass, explaining how it works. Linus turns it with rapt curiosity. After a few moments, a smile breaks across the big man’s face and he even shows it to his servant. It’s clear that to him, the needle’s persistent pointing to north is nothing short of magical. Once it’s clear he wants to keep it, Viznir brings the conversation around to payment. Linus seems confused when Viznir points to his ring. He looks from Viznir to me and I nod. He considers the compass for a while longer and fidgets with the ring on his finger. It occurs to me that he may be worried about a primitive form of identity fraud if he uses the ring to verify his correspondence. It must not be a major concern; either that or the draw of the compass proves too great, because he slides the ring off his finger and drops it into my outstretched palm.
No sooner have my fingers wrapped around it, than we’re startled by the sound of automatic gunfire from somewhere down the hill. The servant and Linus cast suspicious glances at us, but upon seeing that we’re equally surprised, they join us by the railing of the porch.
“That doesn’t sound good.” I watch the people in the street below react to the unusual sound as more pops and bursts of the guns echo from somewhere near the Forum.
“Time for us to leave.” Viznir turns back to our host and bows apologetically. He rambles off a bit more Latin, and it seems to do the trick.
“What did you tell him?”
“I told him we may have friends in need of help and that he and his family should stay indoors till the noises stop.”
“Good idea.”
We make our way back through the house, and Linus sees us as far as the front steps, still holding the compass in his hand. We make our exit as politely as we can with Viznir’s vocabulary and find our way back down the street.
Once we’re out of sight of the house, I break into a run. “I think that went pretty well, don’t you?”
“He was very accommodating,” Viznir agrees, his pack jostling on his back as he keeps pace beside me.
“And you didn’t even have to shoot anybody.”
“Doesn’t sound like our competition had that luck,” Viznir mutters. “Where’s the next gate?”
I try to read the map as I run. “It doesn’t show a gate symbol, but it shows the repository. It has to be near that, right?”
“Should be. Let’s just get there quickly before whoever was shooting draws the Praetorians.”
Roman citizens stop to stare as we careen through the streets, but no one attempts to slow us down. When we reach the location on the map noted as the repository, we’re standing outside a shop nestled among at least two dozen others, on a lower terrace of the Quirinal Hill. I double-check the map and turn toward the shop. It’s less busy than its counterparts to either side, which sell woven goods and bread respectively. The shop we want is selling sundials. The shopkeeper is a wizened old man, one of the only legitimately old people I’ve seen in Rome. He wears his age with a distinct air of satisfaction. As we approach, he bows and gestures us inside.
The shop is narrow, perhaps twelve feet wide, but deep. The interior is cool and a little stuffy. More than a few of the items on the shelves are layered in dust. A second room is barely visible through a curtained doorway. Not having a particular need for a sundial, I step into this second room and look around. A centurion is standing guard near a heavy wooden trunk. To his right, a wooden table is laden with metal trinkets of varying shapes and sizes. Unsure of what to do next, I turn to Viznir, relying on his Latin again. It turns out I don’t need to, however, because the words that come out of the centurion’s mouth are in modern English.
“Welcome, gentlemen. The repository is just here.” He gestures to the wooden trunk and goes so far as to open the lid for us.
I step forward and remove Linus’s ring from my pocket. I spot my name in a small cubby inside the chest. As I lean to place the ring inside, I note that two other receptacles are filled. Tad Masterson and Jonah Sprocket.
In Times Like These: eBook Boxed Set: Books 1-3 Page 61
