by Dave Duncan
"There you are—that's how I got to Olympus. It's a charming spot, very scenic, a little glen tucked away between Thovale, Narshvale, and Randorvale. Didn't dare stay more than four or five fort ... about a couple of months.” He fell silent for a moment, and then seemed to discard what he had been about to say. His smile had gone.
"I'd been two years on Nextdoor, and that was the first time I'd had any news of Home. I was horrified to hear that the war was still on and at the same time glad that I hadn't missed it all and would still be able to do my bit. I sat around for a few days, bringing them up to date on what I'd been doing and learning about the Service and so on. Then I politely asked for the first boat Home. That's when the wicket got sticky.
"The Service is badly split over the Liberator prophecies, you see, and always has been. The guv'nor had never gone for them. Once I got to Olympus and learned all the ins and outs of the business, then I was thoroughly against it, too. Break the chain and be done with it! Jumbo was pretty much leader of the anti faction, and I agreed with him wholeheartedly. Killing Zath would only lead to worse trouble. I wanted to come Home and enlist.
"Creighton, incidentally, had been one of the pro-Liberator group. In spite of what he told me, he came Home in 1914 specifically to make sure I crossed over on schedule. Much good it did him personally! But the pro-Liberator forces were in a majority, and they kept me dangling, on one pretext after another."
They were almost at the summit, and Alice decided she could cycle again. Before she could say so, she saw that Edward's mind was very far off.
"And what happened?"
"Mm? Oh, well, I did come back, didn't I? Eventually. And here I am. It's a beautiful day and I'm Home and I want to enjoy every minute of it."
She sensed evasion there and went after it—instinct, she thought, like a dog chasing anything that runs. “How, Edward? How did you come back?"
Long pause ... Then he shrugged. “That was Jumbo's doing, too. One day he turned up at the chapel where I was massaging the heathens’ souls for the Undivided and more or less said, ‘If you wait for a flag from those blokes on the Committee, you'll wait a thousand years. I can fix it up for you.’ He took me to another node and taught me a key to get me Home, and he swore that there would be people waiting at this end to help."
"What! You mean he deliberately dropped you on that battlefield in Flanders? He's the traitor you've been talking about! Jumbo tried to kill you?"
Edward nodded. He stared at the road ahead with eyes as hard and cold as sapphires. With a shock, she remembered that her young cousin could be dangerous. He was a sacker of cities.
"You see why I need to send word back?” he said. “And it may be worse than that, even. Five years ago, when the coming of the Liberator was almost due, the Service sent a couple of men Home to talk to the guv'nor, to see if he still felt the same way about matters. They wanted to meet me, too. I was sixteen by then, and they thought they should be allowed to inspect me. The guv'nor forbade that, although the only one who ever learned his reaction was Soapy Maclean. Jumbo came straight to England. Soapy went to Africa."
She took her bike from him. “And died at Nyagatha!"
Again Edward nodded. “The Blighters roused the Meru outlaws. But who tipped off the Blighters? Who told them where Cameron Exeter was? I think that must have been Jumbo, too. I think he was working for the Chamber even then. He killed our—"
She looked where he was looking. They had come to the gate. It was no farmer's gate. It was a steel gate, with a padlock. It bore a sign that said, WAR DEPARTMENT and POSITIVELY NO ADMITTANCE EXCEPT ON HIS MAJESTY'S SERVICE and other stern things. Beyond it, a freshly paved road climbed across the field to the crest of the hill—once, she assumed, crowned with a copse of oaks and a few immemorially ancient standing stones. Now it was surrounded by yet another fence and a gate with a sentry box. The woods had gone. In their place was an antiaircraft battery, a twentieth-century obscenity of iron sheds and repulsive ordnance.
"Puck!” Edward said with cold fury. “They've despoiled his grove! It's all gone. They drove him away."
First Stonehenge, now this. Another of the roads back to Nextdoor had just closed. But obviously that was not what was distressing him. He had just stumbled on a friend's grave.
Alice fumbled for words of comfort. “He had lived beyond his time, Edward. All things pass."
"But he was such a likable old ruin! Harmless! He helped me—a kid who meant nothing to him at all but was in serious trouble. He wouldn't have hurt a fly!"
"On the contrary, Mr. Exeter,” said a voice from the other side of the road, “he was a meddler, and for that he had to pay."
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49
IT WAS THE MOTORIST WHOM EDWARD HAD CALLED A BOUNDER. HE was short and thick, standing in the weedy grass of the verge, half hidden in the hedge. He wore his floppy cap at a cocky angle above a haircut short enough to be called a shave; his brown tweed suit looked absurdly hot for the weather. He had removed his goggles. Despite his breadth, his features were not flabby. They were hard, and his eyes were a peculiar shade of violet.
He was smiling and he had his hands in his pockets, yet Alice had an inexplicable feeling that he was pointing a gun at her.
"Should I know you?” Edward drawled.
"If you believe in knowing your enemy. I have been waiting for this meeting for a long time, Exeter. The prophecy has run out of mana at last."
Fighting to quench panic, Alice wondered why she did not turn around to face this threat. She had not moved her feet, and neither had Edward. They were both standing in an awkward, twisted position, holding their bikes; they had not moved their feet.
"You needn't worry about the prophecy,” Edward said calmly. “I will never go back. I will never become the Liberator. You have my word on it."
"Ah! The word of an English gentleman!” The bounder sighed dramatically. He ought to be an artesian well of perspiration in those tweeds on a day like this, but his face was pale and dry. “So you say now. Forgive my doubts. I had rather make sure.” She could not place his accent.
"Then let Miss Prescott leave. She is not involved in this."
"I think it will be neater to include both of you. Turn your bicycles around, please, and prepare to mount."
Alice did as she was bid, and so did Edward. Why had she not refused? Why did she not simply climb on the saddle and pedal away? Why didn't Edward? Of course the nasty red roadster was parked just over there, so the bounder could run them down, but why should they not at least try to make a break for it?
Rabbits hypnotized by snakes?
Oh, that was absurd!
Then why not just go? Why not just scarper?
"What are you going to do?” she demanded, and was disgusted by the shrillness in her voice.
"Very little.” The bounder shrugged his broad shoulders. “I've already done it, actually. I just have to say the word. An Army lorry is starting up the hill. You and Mr. Exeter are going to pedal down. You will pedal as hard as you can, both of you. When you reach that bend down there, you will cut the corner, over to the wrong side of the road."
"Humor him, darling,” Edward said. “He's funnier as Lady Hamilton, but that's on Tuesdays. His keeper gets Fridays off."
"Ah, the impeccably stiff upper lip!” the man agreed in the same dry tone. “Toujours le sang-froid! I estimate you will be doing between forty-four and forty-seven miles an hour when you stop. That is quite adequate to remove most of the rigidity from your ossiferous framework, if you will pardon the euphemism."
"Never,” Edward said. “I had better warn you, I suppose. You have overlooked something. The Testament is a self-fulfilling prophecy. Every time someone tries to break the chain, he just strengthens it!"
"A few more minutes,” the bounder said casually.
"You don't believe me? Then consider: If Zath had simply ignored the whole damned rigmarole, then nothing would have happened. But he tried to kill my f
ather to prevent my being born. The attempt failed, and it alerted the guv'nor to the prophecy. The guv'nor left Nextdoor in case Zath tried again, but that meant he met the mater in New Zealand and got married and I transpired. If he'd stayed on Nextdoor, then any son he might have had would be a native, and harmless. Don't you see?"
"Ingenious. But not convincing."
Leave! Alice thought. Just perch on the saddle and pedal away. Freewheel sedately down the hill, staying safely on the left side of the road, and this whole insane conversation will fade away like moonbeams. Why did she not do that?
"It goes on and on.” Edward was still speaking quietly, but faster. “The massacre at Nyagatha was supposed to kill me, but it killed my parents instead. If my father had lived he would have told me the whole story and I would never have crossed over! I would have taken his advice. I worshipped him and would never have gone against his wishes. So you out-smarted yourselves again. Then you tried to kill me in Greyfriars, and the result of that was that I did cross over and the prophecy was fulfilled. If you'd left me alone, I'd have enlisted and probably died last year on the Somme!"
The bounder had barely moved since Alice first set eyes on him, but now he raised a hand to smother a yawn. “Sorry to drag it out like this. Another minute or so and you can be on your way."
"I'm warning you!” Edward said, louder. “The same thing happened in Thargvale. Zath tried so hard to snare me that he let the whole army escape, and me too. By trying to break the chain, you will only strengthen it. Don't, please! I'm on your side! I want out. I want my own life. I don't want this damned prophecy coiling around me like a serpent all the time. Just ignore it and it will go away. It will wither. I want to stay here on Earth and serve my King. I do not want to be the Liberator!"
"You won't. We are about to make quite sure of that."
"Then leave Miss Prescott out of it!"
The bounder chuckled, but his ugly purple eyes did not smile. “If you believed your theories, you would not ask that."
"Bystanders get hurt! That's why you should listen to me. You may get caught in the backlash yourself. Dozens died at Nyagatha, thousands at Lemod. I sail through unscathed, and the innocents get mowed down!"
"You won't sail through this time,” said the bounder. “Pedal as hard as you can and cut the corner at the bottom. No braking! It won't hurt."
"Let Alice go!” Edward shouted.
"You both go. Ready? Now!"
Alice swung up on the saddle and began to pedal as if her life depended on it. She was just trying to deceive the man. She would stop pedaling in a couple of minutes, as soon as she was safely away. They could freewheel almost all the way to Vicarsdown from here, and perhaps even have another cup of tea in the Tea Shoppe.
Edward went by her, head down, legs going like aeroplane propeller blades.
How dare he! Show-off brat! She forced her legs to move even faster. The wind was whistling by her. Never had she known such a sensation of speed. The hill unrolled below her like a death warrant. The hedges on either hand streaked past in green blurs. Wind caught her hat and snatched it away. Faster, faster! Harder, harder! Steeper, steeper! Edward was still gaining, his long legs giving him an unfair advantage, his jacket flailing behind him like Dracula's cloak.
She could no longer move her feet fast enough to do any good. Her hair was unravelling. Her eyes were full of icy tears, and she could hardly see. The bike hammered so hard she could barely hang on to the handlebars. The corner was rushing up at her.
Edward was there already. He leaned into the curve, cutting across to the inside—and vanished behind the hedge. She struggled to stay on her own side of the road, but at that speed she dare not. Despite all her efforts, she was turning to follow exactly where he had gone. The lorry leaped into view, growling up the hill, dead in her path, filling the road. Alongside it, cutting out to overtake it blind, came a huge silver-gray Rolls-Royce. There was no sign of Edward at all and she closed her eyes.
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50
IN ONE CORNER OF THE BACK SEAT, MISS PIMM SNAPPED COMMANDS: “Faster! Cut this corner! Go faster!” Her voice was soft and yet it carried the authority of a sergeant major's. In the driver's seat, Stringer was howling in terror, but apparently doing exactly what she wanted, like a puppet on strings. The big car swung around the bends, trees and hedgerows streaming past in an impossible blur. Thank the gods there was no other traffic ... so far.
In the other corner of the back seat, Smedley had clenched his real fist until the nails dug into his palm, and he could not feel his imaginary one at all, just when he needed it. This was downright maniacal! A country lane like this was only safe at about twenty miles an hour, and they must be doing seventy at least. And uphill at that! The engine would boil. Even a Rolls made a din at this speed.
"Prepare to overtake!” Miss Pimm said. She seemed quite relaxed, holding her oversized handbag on her lap. “There is a lorry ahead."
God in heaven! What had got into the crazy old bat? She had been perfectly sane until about fifteen minutes ago. And then ... well, they had gone through Vicarsdown like a Sopwith Camel. A miracle they hadn't killed someone. When he had expostulated, she had told him to stuff a sock in it.
"Pull over—now!"
The Rolls seemed to tilt almost onto two wheels as it hurtled around the corner on the outside. The back of an Army lorry swelled instantly from nowhere to fill the gap from hedge to hedge. Stringer shrieked and somehow shot the Rolls into the slit on the right. Branches snapped and whipped along the coachwork.
"Stay on this side!"
Straight ahead! A cyclist! Smedley yelled, “Look out!” Stringer screamed at the top of his lungs. There was a momentary image of an impending disaster, a loud impact of metal against metal, and Edward Exeter was sitting alongside Mr. Stringer in the front. Then another! More noise ... something like a wheel whistled past the window ... and Alice Prescott was on the back seat between Smedley and Miss Pimm. “Stay on this side!” Miss Pimm repeated. A bright red roadster rushed straight at the windscreen, veered at the last second, missed the lorry by inches, and plunged headlong into the woods with a noise like an artillery barrage at close range. Smedley caught a glimpse of its wheels and chassis as it reared vertically, plastering itself against a tree. Then the Rolls was around the bend and humming up a long, straight hill on a peaceful, sunny afternoon.
"I think that went well, don't you?” Miss Pimm said, in the tones of one who had just pulled off a daring finesse in a game of auction bridge. “You may pull over to the left now, Mr. Stringer, and reduce speed."
Alice opened her eyes. Exeter said something in a harsh foreign tongue and twisted around to look at her. They were both brightly flushed and apparently out of breath. He studied Alice, then Smedley, and finally Miss Pimm.
"Is it legal to enter a car at that speed?” Smedley inquired weakly. His heart was doing a thousand revs. If he had been skeptical of magic before, he must certainly believe now. Those two had been outside, on bicycles, and boring straight into the lorry like howitzers and here they were quietly sitting...
"Mr. Stringer, why are you stopping?” Miss Pimm demanded sharply.
"I'm a doctor! There has been an accident. And, by heaven, the police are going to ask some—"
"Drive on! We need not worry about the law. Unfortunately, nobody was injured. The soldiers will discover that the other car had no driver, whatever they may have thought they saw before the crash. They will not be able to explain the bicycle debris either, but that is not our concern. Pray continue.” The class will now hand in its dictation.
"I'm alive?” Alice whispered.
"Only just!” Miss Pimm said. “I apologize for my tardy arrival and the unruly procedure."
Exeter squirmed around to kneel on the seat, leaning over the back. “I saw you at Staffles!"
"Being a guardian dragon? And now I am the deus ex machina."
His eyes gleamed with delight. “Dea, surely? And
in machina, not ex?"
How could he possibly be capable of making jokes already? Alice was still paralyzed. Smedley had just discovered that he had bitten his tongue.
Miss Pimm smiled her barely visible, thin-lipped smile in appreciation. “At the moment I am going by the name of Miss Pimm."
"But when I was at Fallow, I used to address you as Jonathan Oldcastle, Esq?"
"You did indeed! Well done.” Move to the top of the class. “I don't suppose your handwriting has improved at all, has it?"
Exeter was grinning as if all this insanity were just enormous fun. “Unlikely. Colonel Creighton said you were a committee."
A faint spasm of annoyance crossed her face. “I was chairwoman."
"Was it the pillar-box? You had a spell on it?"
"No, Edward. It was your fountain pen. Turn left at the intersection, Mr. Stringer."
"You read my diary?"
"No. It was excessively uninteresting."
Exeter scowled and looked at Alice. “You all right?” He reached out a hand, but the car was too big for him to reach her.
She let out a long sigh. “Yes, I think so. I need an explanation!"
"We have time for that!” Miss Pimm adjusted her handbag on her lap. “The real credit goes to Mr. Stringer's brother, the brigadier. He recognized Edward. He guessed that whatever had happened was beyond the scope of normal military procedures and very gallantly took the risk of shipping him home, notifying—"
"Dumping the whole mess on me!” Stringer snarled, turning left at the intersection. “I will kill him! Where are we going?"
Nextdoor! Smedley thought. Olympus!
"Straight on until I say otherwise. I became aware of your cousin's return when he reached England, Miss Prescott. I placed a mark on him many years ago. It is not operative outside this world, and even here its range is limited. I investigated. I decided he was in no immediate danger. It took me a few days to make arrangements—"
