Time's Demon

by D. B. Jackson

  “Shriveled up, weren’t they?” the man told her. “Like fruit left in the sun for too long.”

  “How would that have happened?”

  “How indeed?” he said, with a keenness that told her he had an idea. He leaned closer, his breath stinking of fish and stale ale. “Demons, if you ask me.”

  She tried to hide her disappointment. Apparently she failed.

  His expression ossified. “You think I’m lying. Or mad.”

  “No, I–”

  “You don’t live and trade in the lanes of a port city for as long as I have, without learning a thing or two about time demons. And I’m telling you, that’s who did this.”

  Gillian stared back at him. That she did believe. She had heard of Tirribin, but had been fortunate never to encounter one.

  They were said to be vicious and canny. They were also drawn to Walkers, not for sustenance, but for companionship. Had Tobias allied himself with one of the creatures? And might the Sheraighs and Pemin’s men be interested to know about it?

  She bought a small jeweled blade from the man – it was more bauble than weapon, but it sparkled in the morning sun, and he had proven himself useful.

  The other peddlers she met had less to offer. A little past midday, she reentered the flat with fresh bread, more honey, the last winter berries they were likely to find this year, and a carafe of Fairisle white.

  Bexler wasn’t there, but the tri-sextant sat on his workbench. She guessed that he had already finished it, and was making arrangements for additional materials. His single-mindedness had its advantages.

  She took up parchment and quill and began to write out what she would say to whomever she met in the palace. She couldn’t leave this conversation to chance, and she performed better when she organized her thoughts.

  Bexler returned nearly two bells later, arriving in an ill temper. Apparently he would have to wait a ha’turn for the first arcs to reach Hayncalde, and another qua’turn after that for enough of them to complete two tri-sextants. In the interim, Gillian knew, he would be impossible to live with: more incentive to ingratiate herself with people in the castle. If she remained in the flat for all that time, her boredom might well prove fatal for at least one of them.

  “Is this one finished?” she asked him, interrupting a tirade about the incompetence of ministers, and the value of tri-sextants.

  “Yes, it’s ready. I have nothing to do for… for days upon days.” He flounced to a chair near the hearth and dropped himself into it, a boy in a man’s body.

  “Can’t you work on tri-apertures?”

  “I suppose, but to what end? They don’t need those.”

  “Not now, perhaps. They might before long.”

  Bexler nodded. His gaze roamed the chamber, restless. Eventually it settled on her, and his mien shifted in a way she recognized too well.

  “You know,” he said, smiling, “as long as we’ve nothing to do–”

  “You have nothing to do. I have plenty. I’ll be leaving for the castle before long. In the meantime, I’d suggest you get to work on those apertures. If nothing else, we can sell them for food money, until some other noble has need of our services.”

  He frowned, putting her in mind again of a fifteen year old boy.

  “What is that you’re writing?”

  “Nothing you need be concerned about.”

  He turned away, sulking. She couldn’t have cared less. She penned a few more lines and studied what she had written. Finally, she rose, folded the parchment, and set it on the coals in the hearth. It blackened, smoked, and curled. After a spirecount it burst into flames and shriveled to ash.

  She sensed Bexler watching her.

  “Maybe I should come with you to the castle.”

  “That isn’t necessary.”

  “I know that, but it might be a good idea just the same. The sun will be setting before long. Even if you leave right now–”

  “Yes, I’m about to go.”

  “Right. That means you won’t be back until after dark.”

  She laughed. “And you intend to protect me?”

  He scowled at her from his chair. “You needn’t be cruel.”

  Gillian sighed, feeling a twinge of regret. Perhaps she had gone too far. She knelt before him and took one of his hands in her own. His hands were his best feature. They were large and strong and yet surprisingly gentle. She laced her fingers through his and kissed the back of his hand.

  “You’re right, love. Forgive me. I promise to be careful navigating the lanes on my way home. But I believe this is a conversation I should have on my own. You are, for all your gifts, not the most skilled of diplomats, and this might take some tact.”

  He frowned still, clearly not mollified. “Very well.” His eyes met hers and darted away. “Shall I wait to have supper?”

  He was asking for more, she knew.

  She swallowed her distaste and fixed a smile on her lips. She might still need him, even after her coming audience at the castle. “That could be quite pleasant,” she said.

  Abruptly, he looked so pleased. It was pathetic really.

  Gillian kissed his hand again, released him, and stood.

  The flat had cooled with the approach of evening. It would be colder still in the streets. She donned a shawl, retrieved the tri- sextant, and slipped it into a rough cloth sack.

  “Fourteen rounds for that, Gillian. More if you can get it. Certainly no less. I spent seven on materials alone, plus the time it took.”

  She faltered before saying, “All right.” It was a lot of gold, more than she imagined the Sheraighs would want to pay.

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?”

  “I’ll be fine.” She let herself out of the flat without saying more. The moment she closed the door, she breathed easier. Just being around him darkened her mood.

  She wound through the lanes, need of him creeping up on her again. She had laughed at his offer of protection, but as she approached the castle her trepidation deepened. Guards patrolled the streets nearest the fortress in groups of six and eight, all of them carrying swords and muskets. Many of them eyed her with suspicion. Others leered. Bexler wouldn’t have intimidated any of them, but at least she wouldn’t have been alone.

  As she came within sight of the castle’s main gate, more soldiers planted themselves in her path and leveled their weapons.

  “What are you doing here?” one of them asked. She might have been about Gillian’s age, but that was all they had in common. The soldier was squat and powerfully built, with a round, ruddy face, and small, widely spaced eyes. Like the others, she wore a stiff uniform of Sheraigh blue.

  “I’m on my way to the castle.”

  “Clearly. Why?”

  “I’ve an audience.”

  “With whom?”

  The flaw in her plan. “Someone brought a message to my flat today. I replied by dove. The gate guards should know I’m on my way. My name is Gillian Ainfor. I used to be minister of protocol. I’m married to the Binder, Bexler Filt.”

  “Used to be,” the woman repeated. “You worked for Mearlan?”

  “Both of us did. We were agents of Sheraigh in the court.” She was reasonably certain that their gold had come from Oaqamar, but this didn’t seem the time to confuse matters with unnecessary details.

  “I see. What’s in the sack?”

  She hesitated. Tri-sextants were valuable, and soldiers had been known to supplement their poor pay by any means possible. On the other hand, they couldn’t allow her into the castle without knowing what she carried.

  “Something I was asked to bring. I’ll be happy to let the gate guards inspect it.”

  The commander didn’t appear pleased, but she dipped her chin in agreement. “You’ll come with us.”

  She and her soldiers escorted Gillian the rest of the way to the gate. The guards there had indeed been expecting her. They peered into the sack and asked if she was armed. She produced the jeweled blade, dr
awing smirks. Still, they treated her with courtesy and soon two men led her into the fortress, to the middle ward, and finally to a chamber along a corridor not far from where she and Bexler once lived.

  One of the soldiers knocked and, at a word from within, indicated that she should enter. Gillian inhaled, the way she imagined a Walker might before stepping into the between, and entered the chamber.

  CHAPTER 6

  6th day of Kheraya’s Stirring, year 634

  A man sat near the hearth, dark skin warmed by the glow of his fire and a host of candles arrayed around the chamber. He remained seated, but Gillian could tell that he was tall and well-proportioned. He wore soldier’s garb: black breeches and a rough blue shirt. A sword hung from one side of his belt, a flintlock from the other. His eyes were hazel, his hair bronze and long, framing a square face. He might have been the most beautiful man she had ever seen.

  She tore her eyes from him and scanned the rest of the chamber, which was large and generously appointed with chairs and a table, a desk, a broad bed, a wardrobe. Paintings and tapestries adorned the walls. The air was redolent of bay. Gillian couldn’t recall whose chamber this had been, but it suited this man well.

  “You’re the Binder?” he asked, his voice a warm baritone.

  She shook her head, gaze settling on him again. “The Binder’s wife.”

  His smile brightened the chamber. “Surely more than that.”

  Gillian blushed. She blushed! When was the last time any man had warmed her cheeks so?

  “I was also minister of protocol under Mearlan, and an agent of the autarchy within his court.”

  The man sobered. “You work for Pemin?”

  “We did. We were his contacts within the sovereignty.”

  He weighed this. “Then I’m indebted to you.” He stood, walked to her and proffered a slender, long-fingered hand. “Quinnel Orzili.”

  She gripped his hand, which was warm, the palm calloused. “Gillian Ainfor.”

  With a lift of his chin, he indicated the sack she held. “Is that for me?”

  “It is if you’re a Spanner, but I’m afraid it’s not all you’re waiting for.” She handed it to him.

  He frowned and peered within.

  “One tri-sextant is about as useful as a single boot.”

  “I know. Losing three tri-sextants at one time is somewhat unusual.”

  His glower chilled her, but he couldn’t maintain it for long. “True,” he said, his tone more subdued than she had expected. He carried the tri-sextant back to his chair, sat, and gestured for her to join him at the hearth.

  Gillian followed and took the chair to his left.

  “Your husband is working on the others?”

  “He finished this one only a few bells ago, and made arrangements earlier today to purchase materials for the others. But Binding takes time. Securing the necessary metals takes time. And the latter takes gold as well.”

  His smile returned, bitter. “Of course. How much time? How much gold?”

  “He said it would take a turn.”

  Orzili sat forward. “A turn?”

  “He was adamant.”

  He closed his eyes and rubbed a hand over his brow. “And the gold?”

  “Fourteen rounds for this one. I expect the price for the others will be the same.”

  “Yes, all right.”

  That was all. No argument. No bargaining. She wondered if Bexler had directed her to ask for too little.

  Gillian sensed that in another instant, Orzili would give her the rounds and send her away. She wasn’t ready for their conversation to end.

  “How did you lose them?”

  Anger hardened his features again. Maybe a less pointed approach would have served her better.

  She pushed on. “It was Tobias, wasn’t it? He nearly killed Bexler and me.”

  Genuine surprise widened the man’s eyes. “When was this?”

  “Not long ago. A day or two before the Goddess’s Emergence.”

  He let out a dry chuckle and shook his head. “I ascribed much of what happened to fortune – his good, mine bad. Maybe there was more to it. Maybe there was more to him.”

  “So it was Tobias.”

  “Yes. And the woman who was with him.”

  “A Traveler as well?”

  “Probably,” he said. “She had the look of one. You encountered her, too?”

  “Yes. She’s a Walker, and a Spanner. She followed him back through time. I think they’re in love.”

  His glance sharpened at this. “We had more in common than I knew.” He spoke under his breath, so that she barely heard. “What else can you tell me about him?” he asked her.

  “I know how far back he came. How many years.”

  “So do I,” Orzili said, his voice flat. “What else?”

  She hadn’t expected that. “Well… I think he might have been working with Tirribin.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  Gillian related what the peddler had told her earlier that day.

  “Interesting,” he said. “Thank you.” He gripped the arms of his chair. Again she thought her dismissal imminent.

  “I can help you,” she said. Too quick, too eager.

  “You have already.” He was humoring her.

  “I can do much more. I served the autarch in Mearlan’s court for more than a year. I’m smart, I’m brave, and I… I want to help.” I don’t want to go back to that flat.

  He studied her until Gillian grew uncomfortable. Before he said anything, someone knocked at his door.

  “Enter.”

  The door opened and a woman strode in, only halting when she spotted Gillian. She was older than both of them, but beautiful nevertheless, with coloring like his and long silken hair that cascaded over her shoulders to the small of her back.

  Orzili stood. Gillian did as well.

  “I’m sorry,” the woman said. “I didn’t know you had a guest.”

  “This is Gillian Ainfor,” he said. “She was one of Pemin’s operatives in Mearlan’s court. Minister, this is Lenna Stenci.”

  “I’m pleased to meet you,” Gillian said.

  Lenna said nothing, but stared, her dark eyes wide and troubled. “One of Pemin’s… How long were you…?” She broke off, shaking her head. “Never mind. Forgive me. It’s a pleasure to meet you as well.”

  Orzili watched the woman, lines in his brow.

  “Her husband is the Binder,” he said. “It seems we’ll have to wait a turn for our tri-sextants.”

  “I’m afraid it can’t be helped,” Gillian added.

  The woman appeared discomfited, confused. “Yes, of course.”

  “Lenna–”

  “I’ll come back later.” She pivoted and stepped to the door. “It was nice to meet you.”

  “And you.”

  She let herself out of the chamber and closed the door behind her. Orzili gazed after her.

  “What would you do?” he asked.

  “I’m sorry?”

  He faced her. “You wish to work with us. What would you do?”

  “What do you need?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “I need to find Tobias, and the child he spirited away from here. But you’re known to him. I assume you’re neither a Walker nor a Spanner. You’ll be of little help to us in our pursuit of the boy. So I’m asking, what would you do?”

  He didn’t give her time to think.

  “Can you kill?”

  “I- I don’t know.”

  He shook his head. “Then you probably can’t.”

  “I’m a spy,” she said, knowing it for truth as she spoke the words. “I can win people’s trust. I can lie convincingly. And I’m discreet enough to avoid detection and capture.”

  “Valuable skills, if I didn’t already have access to all the information I need.”

  “Here you do. What about elsewhere?”

  “You and your husband would be willing to leave Hayncalde?”

  “I’d
be willing to leave.”

  His look heated her cheeks again. “I see.”

  “He would need to remain anyway. He has tri-sextants to build and deliver.”

  “Yes, of course.” He scrutinized her with frank appraisal – her visage, and then her form. Her embarrassment deepened. “I can see where you might be quite useful,” he said.

  “I’m so glad,” she shot back with asperity.

  “You offered your services as a spy, and spoke of winning people’s trust. Surely you understand that your beauty would be a valuable tool in that regard.”

  Of course she did. And yet…

  “I understand well enough,” she said. “That doesn’t mean I’m willing to be treated like a horse at market.”

  “Very good, minister. You have backbone as well as looks. That bodes well.”

  She shook her head, feeling unbalanced and overmatched.

  “I’m not sure yet where to send you. I have ideas, but need to speak of this with Lenna, and others. I take it I can reach you the same way I did today.”

  “Yes, but… please keep your messages cryptic. Bexler thinks I’m here only to sell you a tri-sextant and inform you of the delay in delivering the others.”

  Orzili nodded. If he said, “I see” again, in that same presumptuous tone, she would scream.

  He didn’t.

  He started toward the door, forcing Gillian to follow. “Thank you for coming,” he said. “This has been a most illuminating conversation.”

  She said nothing, taken aback. Didn’t he mean to pay her?

  He smirked. “Forgive me. Your gold, of course.” He crossed to his desk. “I hope you’re better at concealing your emotions when your life hangs in the balance.”

  She swallowed the first retort that came to mind. “I am,” she said.

  He opened a small pouch, counted fourteen rounds, and held them out to her. She joined him at the desk and he dropped the gold into her open palm.

  “When the time comes, regardless of where I send you, I’ll provide you with coin.”

  “Thank you.” She slipped the rounds into her purse and returned it to the folds of her gown.