Taylor seemed to know almost as much about her as she knew herself. That frightened her. How could he know such intimate details of her private life? How could he know that she had once been a nun and that she had seduced a priest at the convent of the Benedictines of Templemar? How had he known about the fleur-de-lis, with which the executioner of Lille had branded her? Who was this man, who seemed to know her almost as well as she knew herself?
She could get nothing out of him. On several occasions, he had come with a slightly older man, another stranger to her. This man would gaze at her strangely, then approach her. He would study her intently. Sometimes, he would touch her face, running his hands along her jawbone, touching her nose, the corners of her eyes, her lips. Once, when he had done so, she had softly kissed his finger, licking it lightly with her tongue. His hands shook slightly after that.
"Think you can do it, Doctor?" Taylor had said at one such time.
"I–I can do it."
"You'd damn well better be sure," said Taylor.
"I won't let you down, Adrian."
"It's not just me, Doc. You know what's riding on this."
"Yes, I know," said the one called Doc. "I know only too well." He had sounded frightened.
She had no idea what any of it meant. Sooner or later, she knew, they would have to make their purpose clear. She would bide her time and wait.
A week and two days had passed when she received yet another visitor. This one was a lady. The door to her room opened and the man called Doc entered, along with the lady and two other men. The lady hid her face behind a fan. Milady was certain that now she would find out the reason for her abduction, the purpose behind all this intrigue. She stood up, giving her jailors a haughty look.
"Well," she said. "It appears that at last I will-"
The words caught in her throat as the lady dropped her fan, revealing her face. It was the Countess's own face. Milady stared at her living reflection, struck speechless at the sight.
"You see," said the woman, in Milady's own voice, "I told you that we would only keep you for a week or so."
Milady backed away from the woman who was her twin in every way. She had her face, she had her voice, she had her manner…
"Who- who are you?" she whispered.
Her double laughed and it was her own laugh, exactly. Then she spoke in a completely different voice. A voice Milady had come to know only too well. "Why, Milady, don't you recognize me?"
"Taylor! In God's name, how is this possible? How-"
"Why don't you ask Him when you see Him?" Taylor said. He pointed a slim tubelike instrument at her. A bright, pencil-thin light stabbed out from it as Taylor quickly flicked his wrist.
Milady's head, severed by the laser, fell upon the floor and rolled grotesquely into a corner of the room.
The man called Doc turned his head away and made a whimpering sound.
"Jesus, Taylor!" He leaned against the door jamb for support.
"Weak stomach, Doc?"
"You didn't have to kill her," Doc said, his voice quivering.
"Oh, I did, indeed. We're playing for high stakes, my friend. It wouldn't do to have two Milady de Winters running around now, would it? Besides, I did her a favor. I spared her from the headsman's axe."
"By beheading her yourself," said Doc. "You didn't tell me you were going to kill her."
"She would have done the same to me, Doc, or to you or any one of us. This was one very nasty lady. Besides, if you want to salve your conscience, think of all the lives that will be saved when we bring the time wars to a halt."
"I agree that the time wars should be stopped," said Doc, "but I can't believe that your end justifies your means."
"You went into this with your eyes wide open, Doc," said Taylor. "It's a bit late for second thoughts now, don't you think?"
"Yes, I'm afraid it is." He took a deep breath, refusing to look at the headless body on the floor. "Well, I've done all that you asked. You don't need me anymore. Am I free to go, or am I going to end up like her?"
"Why, Doc," said Taylor, gently placing his hand alongside the man's cheek, "what makes you say a thing like that?" His voice was a perfect mimicry of de Winter's voice. Doc jerked away.
"Let him go," said Taylor.
The man was led away.
"You think he's going to be a problem?" said one of the others.
"I doubt it," Taylor said. "We've got his chronoplate. What harm can he do? Still, I don't suppose that it would hurt to keep an eye on him." He walked up to the mirror in the room and examined his reflection. He smiled de Winter's smile. "He did a hell of a good job, wouldn't you say? Amazing what just a little cosmetic surgery can do. Damn, look at me. I'm beautiful."
The other man cleared his throat uneasily.
Taylor grinned. "Sort of gets to you, doesn't it? What do you think, Jimmy? You think Richelieu will know the difference?"
Taylor threw back his head and gave a startlingly feminine laugh. Jimmy left the room.
Their instructions were to proceed to the tavern in Meung, and from there to make their way to Paris. Somewhere along the way, they would be contacted by an agent code-named "Mongoose."
"Are they all named after animals?" Finn had asked Darrow.
"Yes, why do you ask?"
"Oh, I was just wondering if there was an agent Jackass or an agent Baboon, you know. Just curious."
Darrow had not appreciated Finn's sense of humor.
"What is it you've got against these people, anyway?" Lucas asked him as they rode their horses at a walk on the road to Meung.
"They're sly," said Finn. "I don't like people who are sly. They're always sneaking around like weasels-wonder if there's an agent Weasel? — and they're totally untrustworthy. I prefer to work with people I can depend on. I wouldn't turn my back on a TIA agent for one second."
"You don't really think we have anything to worry about, do you?" Lucas said.
"Who knows, kid? Who knows what this mission really is? They say it's the Timekeepers, but it could be the Daughters of the American Revolution for all I know. They don't even tell each other everything."
They conversed in French, a language they spoke as easily as English, thanks to their implant programming. Anyone seeing them upon the road would have taken them for nothing more than what they appeared to be, cavaliers, soldiers of fortune, comrades in arms. Finn's normally red hair was now an auburn shade, Lucas's was a chestnut brown. Both men wore their hair down to their shoulders, in the style of gallants of the time. Lucas wore a waxed moustache, Finn wore a moustache and a goatee, a style that would one day be known as a Van Dyke. Both men wore high boots and leather baldricks, both carried daggers and rapiers. Their apparel did not lend an air of wealth or fashion to them. Both their cloaks were brown and well worn. Finn's doublet was yellow, cut from inexpensive cloth; Lucas's was brown. Neither man wore lace anywhere about his person; both wore simple sashes of green silk and white shirts that were in need of laundering. Their hats were plumed, but the feathers had seen better days.
"I hate this cloak-and-dagger stuff," said Finn, then chuckled at the thought that both of them actually had real cloaks and daggers. "I don't like the idea of not even knowing what our contact is supposed to look like. I'm not even sure what we're supposed to do."
"My impression was that we were to act as a sort of back-up team to the TIA boys," Lucas said. "Look, it might not be so bad. They might not even need us. This mission could turn into a Minus Time vacation."
"You wouldn't want to place a little bet on that, would you?" said Finn.
"Actually, no. Not really."
"I didn't think so."
"What do you think about this idea of someone in the underground going in with these Timekeepers?" Lucas said.