Everard returned to ground level. I’d better steal away while I can. Too bad that “away” is all I’m managing to steal. However, a gun or a communicator lying loose was more than I had a right to expect. I’ve learned the layout here, which is pretty good booty.
Not that such embryonic plans as he had involved it. But you never knew.
From the courtyard he climbed back onto the roof. At the cornice he drew his knife. With his light to see by, he carefully cut the noose until only a few fibers remained. Then he cast the rope’s end to the street, took hold, and slid earthward.
If the line parted when he was halfway down, he shouldn’t land too noisily. As was, it held, and he must give several fierce tugs before it broke. There had better be no trace of his visit. He withdrew to an alley, where he put sandals and cloak back on, recoiled the rope and again made a lariat of it.
Okay. Now to skip town. That may be less easy. The gates were barred and manned, the sentinels posted thickly on walls and turrets.
During the day he had marked the likeliest place. It was at the river, of course, the side that could not be attacked by surprise, therefore lightly held. Still, those men were nervous too, wide awake, suspicious of everything that moved, and well armed. What he had going for him was size, strength, combat skills undreamed of here, and desperation.
Plus bullheadedness. One reason I could do my caper at Raor’s was that she never looked for anything so unsubtle.
Near the target site he chose a lane opening on the pomoerium, in the murk of which he could stand and wait for an opportunity. That was a long wait. The moon rose and climbed. Twice he almost acted when somebody passed by, but assessed the situation and decided against it. He didn’t mind too much, or seethe. The patience of the tiger was upon him.
His chance arrived at last, a soldier walking along the pavement, alone, on his way to report for his watch, and nobody else in sight. Doubtless he’d sneaked from barracks to be with a girl or whomever till a clepsydra, or the stars, or an innate time sense that clockless folk sometimes developed, told him he’d better get going. His hobnails rang on the flags. Moonlight tinged helmet and mail. Everard surged forth after him.
The boy never saw or heard. From behind, great hands closed on his neck and fingers bore down on his carotids. For a moment he struggled, unable to cry out. His heels drummed. He slumped, and Everard dragged him back to the alley.
The Patrolman poised, tense for escape. Nobody came running, nobody shouted. He’d pulled it off. The boy stirred, moaned, sucked in air, groped back toward consciousness.
The sensible thing was to stick the knife in him. But moonlight fell on his face, and he was quite young, and whatever his age, Everard bore him no grudge. The blade gleamed before his eyes. “Behave yourself and you’ll live,” he heard.
Luckily for him and for Everard’s conscience, he did. In the morning he’d be discovered, lying bound with pieces of rope and gagged with pieces of his kilt. He might be whipped, or might be given pack drill—no matter. As for the robbery, that was an incident his superiors would not want publicized.
Without its coif, his helmet went onto the robber’s head, just barely. His mail would never fit, but Everard didn’t intend getting near enough to anyone else for that to be noticed. If it happened anyway, come worst to worst, a sword was now at his hip.
In the event, he went unchallenged up the stairs to the top of the wall and along it till he reached a suitable spot. Others saw him glimpsewise by poor light, and he stepped briskly, a man on some special errand who should not be hindered. The point at which he stopped lay between two sentry posts, both sufficiently far off that he was a shadow which, maybe, neither guard observed. A patrol on its rounds was farther yet.
The lariat had been around his shoulder. In a single swift movement he secured it to a merlon and cast the end free. Plenty remained to reach the strip of ground between wall and wharf. Immediately he swung himself over the edge and went down. They’d find the rope and wonder whether it was a spy or a hunted criminal who’d exited, but the news was unlikely to reach Theonis.
On the way, he cast his glance about. Dwellings and countryside reached into night-gray that became black, save where houses that had been torched still smoldered red. Elsewhere were brighter points of light, enemy campfires. From the opposite side of the city he would have seen many, many, hemming Bactra in against its river.
His feet struck turf. It was steeply slanted, he nearly lost his balance. Somewhere a dog howled. He made haste, around the rampart, forth into the hinterland.
First let’s find a haystack or something and grab a few hours’ sleep. Christ, I’m tired! Tomorrow morning the order of business will be water, food if possible, and—whatever seems indicated. We know the song we want, but we’re singing strictly by ear, and one sour note could get us booed off the stage. California of the late twentieth century seemed more distant than the stars.
Why the devil am I remembering California?
1988 A.D.
When the phone rang in his New York apartment, he muttered a curse and was tempted to let his answering machine handle it. The music was bearing him upward and up on its tide. But the matter could be important. He didn’t unthinkingly give out his unlisted number. He left the armchair, put receiver to ear, and grunted, “Manse Everard speaking.”
“Hello,” said the slightly burred contralto, “this is Wanda Tamberly,” and he was glad he had responded. “I, I hope I haven’t … interrupted you.”
“No, no,” he told her, “a quiet evening at home alone. What can I do for you?”
Her words stumbled. “Manse, I feel awful about this, but—that date of ours—could we possibly change it?”
“Why, sure. What’s the problem, may I ask?”
“It’s, oh, my parents, they want to take me and my sister on a weekend excursion … a family farewell party, before I go off to m-my new job—Bad enough, lying to them,” she blurted, “w-without hurting them. They wouldn’t blame me or anything, but, but it would seem like I didn’t care much. Wouldn’t it?”
“Of course, of course. No difficulty at all.” Everard laughed. “For a minute there, I was afraid you were going to stand me up.”
“Huh? Me, turn you down, after everything you’ve done and—” She attempted humor. “A new recruitie, on the eve of entering the Academy of the Time Patrol, cancels her date with an Unattached agent who wants to give her a jolly send-off. It might earn me a certain amount of awe, but that kind I can do without.” The jauntiness broke down. “Sir, you—Manse—you’ve been so kind. Could I ask one thing more? I don’t want to be grabby or, or a wimp, but—could we talk when you get here, just talk, a couple of hours, maybe? Instead of going to dinner, if you’re short on time or, well, growing bored. I can understand if you are, though you’re too nice ever to say it. But I do need … advice, and I’ll try real hard not to cry on your shoulder.”
“You’re welcome to. I’m sorry you’re having trouble. I’ll bring an extra big handkerchief. And I assure you, I am not bored. On the contrary, I insist we have dinner afterward.”
“Oh, gosh, Manse, you—Well, it needn’t be anything F and E. I mean, you’ve taken me to a couple of great places, but I don’t have to drink Dom Perignon w-with my beluga caviar.”
He chuckled. “Tell you what, you pick the spot. You’re the San Franciscan. Surprise me.”
“Why, I—”
“Which, makes no difference to me,” he said. “I suspect, though, you’d prefer something small and relaxed this time. You see, I’ve got a notion of what your problem is. Anyway, I’m mostly a beer and clam chowder type myself. Or whatever you feel like.”