“I have learned a great deal,” Drakov said. “I have learned that your ‘modern era’ is degenerate and decadent, and not in ways that pertain just to sexual morality. You have replaced quality with quantity, substance with artifice and principles with expediency. Forgive me, but I find little in your time to admire except your technological achievements, and even those you use irresponsibly.”
“You’re a fine one to take such a lofty moral tone,” she said. “When I found you, you were a jaded playboy who could buy everything except the things you really wanted. Your money couldn’t buy you peace and it couldn’t buy you a sense of purpose. I gave you both.”
“I will admit that for a brief time, I found a sense of peace with you,” said Drakov, “but that was nothing more than self-delusion. You used me, but I’m not complaining. We used each other and we continue to do so, like a pair of parasites. And where has it brought us? Here we are, the last remaining members of the Timekeepers’ vaunted inner circle, sitting in a cold, gray room like a pair of deluded anarchists, plotting our revenge.”
“It’s what you wanted, Nikolai.”
“What I wanted? No, it isn’t what I wanted. If I could have had what I wanted, mine would have been a different life entirely. It is, however regrettably, what I need. When this is over, if things should go our way, I can think of nothing that would please me more than to part from you and never see you or your 27th century again.”
“Poor Nicky,” she said. “What would you rather do?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I do know that I can never go back to being what I was. Making war on war has changed me. Whether for the better or for the worse, I cannot tell. I do know that it is a thing that needs doing.”
“I see,” she said. “You just don’t want to continue doing it with me, is that it?”
“If I remained with you, I would become like you,” said Drakov, “and that is what I do not want. The end result of fanaticism such as yours is that everything becomes subordinated to the cause. After a time, you perpetuate the cause for its own sake, not for the sake of whatever it was you started out to achieve. Look at what’s happened to us. Taylor killed in 17th-century Paris, Singh captured to die a suicide, Tremain trapped forever in the dead zone when he tried to follow us, Benedetto escaped to God knows where in abject panic, and all of those who were arrested, all of those who died trying to escape, yet you feel nothing, do you? To you, it’s merely a setback.”
“Sacrifices must be made, Nikolai,” said Falcon, putting the computer down and looking at him thoughtfully. “I thought you understood that.”
“Oh, I understand,” he said. “What troubles me is that I’m beginning to accept it so easily. I said much the same thing to Rassendyll when I killed him. I sat there, trying to explain things to him like a fool, watching his uncomprehending eyes staring at me as he slipped away, and I felt no remorse. None whatsoever.”
“What do you want, Nikolai, to cry over everyone who has to die so that the Time Wars can be stopped?”
“Someone should, don’t you think?”
“Well, you go ahead and grieve for all the poor souls who fall by wayside,” she said, flatly. “I’ve got more important things to do. You want to go your own way when this is over, fine with me. I don’t need you. But meanwhile, there’s work to be done. Just in case the adjustment team manages to get someone inside here, I’ve prepared some surprises for them. If staying inside this castle hasn’t turned you into an impotent Prince Hamlet, you can help me set them up. Otherwise, you can stay here and muse on the pathos of it all.” She got up from the cot. “Priest, Cross, and Delaney are undoubtedly here by now and things will start to happen very soon.”
“How can you be so certain that they’re the ones Forrester will send?” said Drakov.
“Because those three are the First Division’s best,” she said. “And because Moses Forrester will realize that he has no choice but to send them, just as he will have no choice but to come to us when we’re ready for him. Then you can have your own personal revenge. After that, I really don’t care what you do.”
Drakov glanced out of the small embrasure in the turret. “Have you ever cared for anything or anyone at all?” he said.
She was silent for a moment. “Yes, once.”
“Only once?”
“There was a very special man once. It was another life, but I remember it quite vividly.” She smiled. “Ironically, it was the same man you want to kill.”
Drakov looked at her with surprise. “Moses Forrester?”
“Hard to believe, isn’t it?” she said. She held up her hand. “I still wear his ring. Here,” she said, pulling it off and tossing it to him, “maybe you should have it. After all, it was your father’s.”
From where they stood, the three commandos had a spectacular view of the Duke of Strelsau’s residence. They had clocked in at a point several miles away from the village of Zenda. The province was mostly heavily forested hill country, wild and teeming with game. The village was tiny and bucolic, made up of small, picturesque cottages, an inn, a blacksmith shop, a church and several farms that dotted the hillsides around it. The flavor of the place was decidedly medieval, but the duke’s estate was a palatial mixture of the old and new.
They had been met at their transition point by Captain Robert Derringer, the Observer assigned to their mission. He seemed very young for an Observer, despite the fact that the antiaging drugs made appearances deceptive. Derringer didn’t look much older than a recruit fresh out of boot camp. He was dressed in period, in a lightweight dark brown jacket, riding britches, high brown boots, and a blue silk shirt. He was sharp-featured with large brown eyes and a thick, unruly mop of dark brown hair. There was a coltish look about him, an energetic restlessness in his speech and demeanor. He had led them a short distance to the top of the hill, from where they were able to take their first look at Michael Elphberg’s home.
The long, wide, tree-lined avenue that ran straight for a distance of about two miles to “Black Michael’s” chateau was immaculately maintained. It led up to a large courtyard in front of the chateau, then curled around the east side of the estate, making a wide loop around Zenda Castle, following the moat which was as wide as a medium-sized river. Having rounded half the castle, the road then ran south, away from the estate and into the forest, through a small pass and to the village of Zenda. The avenue that led to the chateau’s front entrance ran in the opposite direction to the road that led from Zenda to the capital city of Strelsau.
Though it was dwarfed by the castle situated directly behind it, the chateau was nevertheless quite large. Built in the French style, it was five stories high with an elaborate, columned portico and a steeply gabled roof. Its gleaming whiteness was a stark contrast to the murky gray stone of the castle that loomed over it.
“It’s a rather curious architectural mixture,” said Derringer. “The chateau was built by the last king as a country residence, because he evidently liked the castle a great deal but felt it too uncomfortable to live in. Only that one small drawbridge you see connects the castle to the chateau. It spans the moat about twenty feet above it and it’s wide enough for three or four men to cross it abreast. It won’t accommodate a carriage. With the construction of the chateau, the only way to get into the castle now is to go through the chateau. The back door is flush with the wall and it opens directly out onto the drawbridge or the moat if the drawbridge has been raised. The castle itself seems to have been constructed in stages. The oldest part is the central portion. You’ll notice that there are no baillies. Apparently, there were at one time, but at some point, perhaps during the construction of the chateau, the outer walls were torn down and the moat was widened.”