“ ’Tis no jest, Brion! I saw a man last night lurking by the gate at Gunvor’s house—and half an hour since, a man well muffled up in scarves passed in the road yonder, as you supped coffee.”
“That doesn’t prove anything—”
She shook her head impatiently. “You plan to fly, I know that. I know also that your visit to me will arouse the curiosity of those who prison you here—”
“Prison me? Why, I’m as free as a bird—”
“You waste time, Brion,” she cut me off. “What deed you committed, or why, I know not; but in a contest between you and drab officialdom, I’ll support your cause. Now, quickly, Brion! Where will you go? How will you travel? What plan will—”
“Hold on, Olivia! You’re jumping to conclusions!”
“And jump you must, if you’d evade the hounds of the hunter! I sense danger, closing about you as a snare about the roebuck’s neck!”
“I’ve told you, Olivia—I was exiled here by the Xonijeelian Council. They didn’t believe my story—or pretended not to. They dumped me here to be rid of me—they fancy themselves as humane, you know. If they’d meant to kill me, they had every opportunity to do so—”
“They sought to’ mesmerize your knowledge of the past away; now they watch, their results to judge. And when they see you restive, familiar of a witch—”
“You’re no witch—”
“As such all know me here. ’Twas an ill gambit that brought you here by daylight, Brion—”
“If I’d crept out at midnight, they’d have seen me anyway—if they’re watching me as you seem to think—and they’d have known damned well I wasn’t satisfied with their hand-painted picture of my past.”
“In any case, they’ll like it not. They’ll come again, take you away, and once again essay to numb your knowledge of the worlds, and of your past.”
I thought that over. “They might, at that,” I said. “I don’t suppose it was part of their relocation program to have me spreading technical knowledge among the primitives.”
“Where will you go, Brion?”
I hesitated; but what the hell, Olivia was right. I had to have help. And if she intended to betray me, she had plenty on me already.
“Rome,” I said.
She nodded. “Very well. What is the state of your purse?”
“I have a bank account—”
“Leave that. Luckily, I have my store of gold Napoleons buried in the garden.”
“I don’t want your money—”
“Nonsense. We’ll both need it. I’m going with you.”
“You can’t—”
“Can, and will!” she said, her dark eyes alight. “Make ready, Brion! We leave this very night!”
“This is crazy,” I whispered to the dark, hooded figure standing beside me on the shadowed path. “There’s no reason for you to get involved in this…”
“Hush,” Olivia said softly. “Now he grows restless. See him there? I think he’ll cross the road now, more closely to spy us out.”
I watched the dense shadows, made out the figure of a man. He moved off, crossed the road a hundred yards below the cottage, disappeared among the trees on our side. I shifted my weight carefully, itching under the wild getup Olivia had assembled for me—warty face, gnarly hands, stringy white hair, and all. I looked like Mother Goodwill’s older brother—as ill-tempered an old duffer as ever gnashed his gums at the carryings-on of the younger generation. Olivia was done up like Belle Watling in three layers of paint, a fancy red wig, a purple dress that fit her trim figure like wet silk, and enough bangles, rings, beads and tinkly earrings to stock a gyfte shoppe.
“Hist—he steals closer now,” my coconspirator whispered. “Another half minute…”
I waited, listening to the monotonous chirrup of crickets in a nearby field, the faraway oo-mau of a cow, the yapping of a farm dog. After dark, the world belonged to the animals.
Olivia’s hand touched mine. “Now…” I followed as she stepped silently off. I had to crouch slightly to keep below the level of the ragged hedge. There was no moon, only a little faint starlight to help us pick a way along the rutted dirt road. We reached the end of the hedge, and I motioned Olivia back, stole a look toward the house. A head was clearly silhouetted against the faint light from the small side window.
“It’s okay,” I said in a low voice. “He’s at the window—”
There was a crunch of gravel, and a light snapped on, played across the ruts, flashed over me, settled on Olivia.
“Here, woman,” a deep voice growled. “What’re ye doing aboard after bell-toll?”
Olivia planted a hand on her hip, tossed her head, not neglecting to smile archly.
“Aoow, Capting,” she purred. “Ye fair give me a turn! It’s only me old gaffer, what oi’m seein orf to the rile-trine.”
“Gaffer, is it?” The light dwelt on me again briefly, went back to caress Olivia’s sequinned bosom. “Haven’t seen ye about the village before. Where ye from?”
“I float about, as ye might say, Major. A tourist, like, ye might call me—”
“On shank’s mare, in the middle of the night? Queer idea o’ fun, I call it—and with yer gaffer, too. Better let me see yer identity papers, ducks.”
“Well, as it appears, I come away in such a rush, they seem to ’ave got left behind…”
“Like that, is’t?” I heard a snort from the unseen man behind the light—one of the roving security police who were a fixture of this world, I guessed. “Run off with a fistful o’ spoons, did ye? Or maybe lifted one purse too many—”
“Nofink o’ that sort! What cheek! I’m an honest, licensed tart, plying ’er profession and keeping her old gaffer, what oi’m the sole support of!”
“Never mind, love. I won’t take ye in. A wee sample of yer wares, and I’ll forget I ever saw y,e.” He came close, and a big hand reached out toward Olivia. She let out a sharp squeak and jumped back. The cop brushed past me. I caught a glimpse of a tricorn hat, a beak nose, loose jowls, a splash of color on the collar of the uniform. I picked my spot, chopped down hard across the base of his neck with the side of my hand. He yelped, dropped the light, stumbled to hands and knees. The stiff collar had protected him from the full force of the blow. He scrambled, trying to rise; I followed, kicked him square under the chin. He back-flipped and sprawled out, unconscious. I grabbed up the light and found the switch, flicked it off.
“Is he… badly hurt?” Olivia was staring at the smear of blood at the corner of the slack mouth.
“He’ll have trouble asking for bribes for a few weeks.” I pulled Olivia back toward the hedgerow. “Let’s hope our snooper didn’t hear anything.”
We waited for a minute, then started off again, hurrying now. Far away, a spark of wavering, yellowish light moved across the slope of the hill beyond the village.
“That’s the train,” Olivia said. “We’ll have to hurry!”
We walked briskly for fifteen minutes, passed the darkened shops at the edge of town, reached the station just as the puffing coal-burner pulled in. A severe-looking clerk in a dark uniform with crossed chest straps and coattails accepted Olivia’s money, wrote out tickets by hand, pointed out our car. Inside we found wide seats upholstered in green plush. We were the only passengers. I leaned back in my seat with a sigh. The train whistle shrilled, a lurch ran through the car.
“We’re on our way,” Olivia breathed. She looked ecstatic, like a kid at the fair.
“We’re just going to Rome,” I said. “Not the land of Oz.”
“Who can say whither the road of the future leads?”
Chapter Eight
At the Albergo Romulus, Olivia and I had adjoining rooms well up under the eaves, with ceilings that slanted down to a pair of dormer windows opening onto a marketplace with a handsome Renaissance fountain, the incessant flutter of pigeons’ wings, and a day and night shrilling of excited Italian voices. We were sitting at the small table in my room, eating a late breakfast of pizzas, washed down with a musty red wine that cost so little that even the local begging corps could afford to keep a mild buzz on most of the time.