"Perhaps. Though I wouldn't have minded seeing it end there. I am disturbed by the third one, however. It must count against me as an attempt, as I'd registered the assassin with the Games Board-but it doesn't seem as though the attempt was actually made."
"Which one was that?"
"The woman with the deadly hands and the custom you found so delightful. She simply vanished. Went off with a new boyfriend and never came back. My man waited several days for her. Nothing. I am going to call him away from that phase of the operation and write
her off." , , ,
"Pity. Sad to lose a creature of such character. But tell me, when you say 'several days,' how do you measure them if you are not certain where—or should I say when?—she has gone?"
Chadwick shook his head.
"They are 'drift' days," he explained. "My man is at a fixed point on the Road. A day there corresponds to the passage of a day at most of the exits. If he were to remain there for ten years and then wish to return to the exit point of ten years previous, he would have to head down the Road and take a different exit."
"Then there is a drift to the exits themselves?"
"Yes', that's one way of regarding it. But there appear to be an infinite number of them advancing. We change the signs periodically, but most of the travelers who go in for long runs rather than local hops carry small computers—those thinking machines I told you about—to keep track of these matters."
"So you could restore me to my own age at an earlier time, a later time, or the same time as you recovered me?"
"Yes, any of those could be arranged. Have you a
preference?"
"Actually, I would like to learn to operate one of your vehicles—and one of those computers. Could I
travel it alone then? Could I find my way back here again from another age?"
"Once you have traveled the Road, there does seem to be some sort of physical alteration permitting you to find it and do it again," Chadwick acknowledged "But I'll have to think about it. I am not ready to sacrifice your company to your sightseeing whims or to your desire to murder your grandfather."
The marquis chuckled.
"Nor am I an ungracious guest, I assure you. But once I learn to deal with the drift, I could see all the sights I want and return to just about now—could I not?"
"I'd rather discuss this later. Shall we leave it at that?"
The marquis smiled and sipped absinthe.
"For now," he said. Then, "So your quarry is temporarily invisible?"
"He was, until he foolishly betrayed his position around C Twelve by placing a bet on himself. Perhaps he does not realize that betting records in these matters have recently been centralized. And, of course, it could also be some sort of a trap."
"What are you going to do?"
"Respond, naturally. If it means sacrificing another assassin, so be it I can afford it at this point, and I have to discover whether he is being careless or has something special in mind."
"Which agent will you employ this time?"
"I feel it should be a strong one. Perhaps Max, that C Twenty-four brain in the armored vehicle. Or even Timyin Tin—though I would like to hold him in reserve, should everyone else fail. It would be best to hit hard now. Perhaps Archie. Yes..."
"I wish ..."
"What?"
"I wish it were possible for us to go back and witness
the event. Have you no desire to be present when your old enemy is brought low?" "I will, of course, receive a full report, with photos."
"Still.'.."
"Yes I see your point. Naturally, it has occurred to me. But I have no way of knowing which one will be the hit. My intention is simply to wait until the event has occurred and then go back and witness it. I'll locate some sideroad. I will get there to see it, eventually. I just want to be certain that it has taken place first In fact I intend to witness it many, many times."
"It sounds rather complicated. I would be happy to go back and serve as your personal witness the first time
around."
"Perhaps something might be arranged—later."
"But later may be too late."
"It is never too late. Right now we have a chess game to complete, and then there are some manuscripts I want you to take a look at."
The marquis sighed.
"You really know how to hurt a man."
Chadwick grinned and lit an orange tube. A tortoise, its shell inlaid with gold and precious gems, wandered by. He reached down and patted its head.
"A' time for everything, and everything in its time," he said.
One
Red had sent for trays of food—great racks of beef, whole chickens and hogs—and he sat gorging himself and swaying, rising occasionally to pace, to pause, panting, beside the barred window. The night was cool. An unrisen moon paled the east. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and strange noises rose in his throat
He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes for half a minute. Then he stared at his hands for a long while. The light seemed to be growing brighter, but he knew this was not the case. He tore off the rest of his clothing and returned to eating, pausing only to wipe the perspiration from his eyes.
The lights began to dance. Reality seemed to phase in and out in colored flashes. The heat was oppressive ...
He felt the change begin.
He threw himself back upon the bed and lay unmoving, waiting.
There came a sound like wind through a wheatfield and everything seemed to be spinning.
Two
He moved to the base of the tower, dark, darker than the moonlit night itself, silent.
For long seconds he stared upward. Then he reached out and touched the wall. He drew back his hands, clenched them, pumped them. The claws came forth.
With but the slightest of scratching sounds, he began to climb, shadow over shadow, sliding up the face of the building. His breathing was not strained. Beneath the darkness, he wore no expression. This was the place. The car that had brought him was parked in the lot below. There was absolutely no hurry. The night was young. The driver would wait.
He avoided windows, though most of them were already dark. He paused below the balcony of the first high landing, listening.
Nothing.
He raised his head and scanned the area.
Vacant.
He climbed past on the left, a gentle wind caressing him as he went. A frightened bird emitted a single cry and departed a nesting place far in the rear, vanishing into the night behind him.
Continuing on, he slowed as he neared the second landing, where he repeated the performance. He had
studied a map of the tower; he knew the room's location, he also knew that the windows were grilled. It would be simpler and faster to spring the door with a single kick, entering with as much surprise as possible...
He paused to listen below the third landing, moved to regard it, then raised himself and mounted the rail. As he did, a figure moved out of the stairwell to his right, took a single puff on a freshly lit cigarette. dropped it and stepped on it. Crouched, owl-like, on the rail, he saw that the small, now motionless figure was also watching him. A single spring, a single movement of his hands and it would not matter...
"Archie," said a soft voice, "good evening."
He restrained himself. He placed his right hand upon the rail to his side.
"I don't believe I've had the pleasure," his hoarse voice responded.
"True, we've never met. I have seen your picture, however, along with those of a number of our fellow employees. I thought that perhaps you might have seen mine under somewhat similar circumstances."
A match flared. Archie regarded the face.
"Familiar, yes," he stated. "The name, however, escapes me."
"I am called Timyin Tin."