“To the future,” said Paul.
“Yes, but I can’t get back there now. No one can. Palma’s Shadow is simply too intense. So when the Order discovered that you good people were running an intervention they bent all their remaining resources to assisting its successful completion. We saw the continuum open at the dates presumed for the Battle of Tours, and at first we wondered what you were about there, because we knew the real problem started much earlier, with the Bishop Lambert. But it seems you are as resourceful as we had hoped, and you managed to identify the crucial Nexus Points in play here. Bravo! Our heartfelt congratulations.”
He nodded his head with a smile, then sighed heavily. “But I’m afraid they’re trying to kill me now that you’ve reassured Lambert’s death. At first I received instructions to head east and get as far away from Gaul as possible. But one leaves a subtle impression on history, in spite of every effort to remain anonymous and unseen. So the only real way to assure my safety was to remove me from the Meridian entirely. When research determined the most likely hour and place for Ms. Lindford’s retraction, an opportunity arose to try and move me forward. And so here I am. On ice, as it were.”
“Rantgar….” Nordhausen turned the name over in his mind, trying to remember source material he had uncovered in the research. “Yes, he was a Frisian, the son of Belial, a pagan of the house of Ratbod of Frisia, who remained unconverted and at odds with Pippin when he came to power. The two reached an accommodation when Ratbod betrothed one of his daughters to Pippin’s son Grimwald. Our history seems to think Rantgar assassinated Grimwald because of some conflict surrounding this daughter. Yes, the heathen Rantgar, or so he was called. One of history’s rogues, I suppose.”
“Well they can’t very well know the real reason we had to kill Grimwald, eh?”
“You’re murdering Primes?” said Maeve, with just a hint of derision in her voice.
“When we must,” said the visitor. “Grimwald isn’t really a Prime, however. Unlike the good Bishop Lambert…” He let that dangle a moment. “No one is going to build a shrine to Grimwald, or a chapel that becomes a city in future days, as with Lambert. But when our enemies act to preserve the life of a man fated to die, then we must have no scruples in setting that history right again. It may be very uncomfortable, but there it is. I only just learned that your intervention in the case of the Bishop Lambert was successful. I’m sure it wasn’t the most pleasant experience for you, but your screen there clearly shows the awful consequences were this man allowed to live out his life. So we have hardened ourselves with the understanding that we must sometimes do some very despicable things to preserve the lives of countless billions, and the culture and history we hold dear.”
“You keep saying you were warned about these events,” said Paul. “That you received instructions; that you already knew Maeve’s intervention was successful.”
“As I said,” the man continued, “we can get information through Palma’s Shadow. The other side can as well.”
Paul was suddenly very curious. “How?” he asked. “Have you mastered quantum entanglement across Space-Time?”
“Well, wouldn’t that be nice!” said Rantgar. “No, I’m afraid we just do things in a fairly straightforward manner. We shift back messages. Dull but effective. The other sided uses rubbings from their hidden touchstone, in a language we’ve been unable to decipher, the ancient Hieroglyphics of Egypt.”
“You haven’t been able to decipher them?” said Robert. “Well I can read them.”
“Indeed? How useful. I must make a note of that. We use a similar method to send messages, though I’m afraid we rely on the King’s English more often than not, or just use the language native to the milieu we are targeting. The destination is usually fairly secure—the temporal and spatial coordinates of certain archives, libraries, monasteries and abbeys all serve to be fairly long-lived in their respective continuums. Alas, that isn’t always the case—the Library of Alexandria being a perfect example. But when we do find a stable and safe place that we are certain we can control in a milieu, we shift in messages, information, written instructions to operatives and Agents in Place. And Agents posted to the past have a way of sending us messages as well.”
“Notes in apples,” said Paul.
“I beg your pardon?” Rantgar did not understand.
“We first thought the Death of Lambert was prevented by an engineered mishap involving an Arabian horse he was to have secured while en-route to the murder scene.”
“Oh? I was not aware of that,” said Rantgar. “Or at least there was no mention of it in the messages I received.”
“When that intervention failed to impact events as we anticipated, we had to… improvise,” said Paul. He told him of the apple and the note to Maeve.
“I see,” said Rantgar. “Then your exploits are even more remarkable, Madame,” he said to Maeve.
“She’s a resourceful lady,” said Kelly.
“You all are,” said Rantgar. “You have been instrumental, essential to all our efforts thus far, and believe me, we are deeply grateful—Time and History are deeply in your debt as well…. But speaking of that. I was told not to linger here, as it seems you have a fuel problem.”
Kelly looked at the power station readouts. “We’ve got about ninety minutes in the tank,” he said. “After that we’ll have to shut down to secure fuel on whatever Meridian we find ourselves—assuming we survive the effects of Paradox.”
“Exactly,” said Rantgar. “So… If you would be so kind as to send me back, I have an appointment with Grimwald I would dearly like to keep.” His hand moved to rest on the hilt of his sword as he finished.
“But our Golem reports indicate Grimwald lives,” said Kelly. “Your mission fails.”
“Now, now… they would have to show that at the moment, wouldn’t they? Because I’m here! But I assure you. I’ll get the job done. You’ll see. The target has changed since Ms. Linford’s intervention, but it’s only a small variation in the spatial coordinates. The temporal data is perfectly sound. I believe if you will allow me to activate another of our worms, the information has already been fetched by your Golems and can be assembled forthwith and sent to your breaching module.”
“You’re going back to kill Grimwald?” said Robert.
“Indeed,” said Rantgar. “You gentle people have done your part. I’m afraid this bit is on my shoulders. It’s what I’ve trained for, and why I was sent. And given that I vanished from the Meridian in the year 705 and that you will be shifting me back in the year 714, our adversaries have undoubtedly spent themselves in a fruitless search to locate me in all those years in between, and they have failed. By now they are undoubtedly planning some other way to preserve the life of Grimwald, but if you can get me to the Arch and on my way again, I’ll finish the job and make an end of that, God willing. What comes after will be up to you.”
He bowed low and seemed to sway as he rose, a bit giddy and off balance, an odd look on his face. Maeve instinctively approached him to render assistance, but as she did so there was an odd cellophane crackle and an odor of ozone permeated the room. It was suddenly very cold.
“Oh… Dear Lord,” said Rantgar. “There seems to be a problem…”
They stared, amazed, as Rantgar seemed to flutter, like a badly tuned in image on a TV screen. His image wavered, faded, winked, and then he simply vanished with an audible snap. The last they saw of him was the wild eyed surprise on his face. Then there was sharp clank and they looked to see his javelin and sword had fallen to the floor where he once stood. Nothing else was there.