Anvil of Fate

Chapter 16

“That was awesome!” Nordhausen exclaimed. “The colors are amazing. I’ll never get tired of it.”

“Don’t you get nauseous?” said Paul. “I keep my eyes shut as tight as I can.”

“You miss everything then,” said Robert, hugging himself with the cold. The icy fog from the shift had dissipated, and they were standing in a green field, behind a stand of low hedges.

“Come on then,” said Maeve. “We’ve little time to lose here. The city should be north,” she pointed. “We’ll most likely find something I can ride there, and the sooner the better. Memorize this location. That stump there should be a good reminder.”

Paul took in the lay of the land. The river Meuse was to their east, gleaming in the late afternoon sun. The sky was clouding over, with a darkening front off to the west. Green fields formed a patchwork all around them, spaced by dark, sodden ground that had been freshly tilled. They were in the farmland just south of the city where the predominant crop was barley, but much of it had long since been harvested, and they could see remnants scattered over the cleared fields.

The road was tiled with well placed stone, well weathered by the elements and heavy use over the long years since Roman cohorts once marched briskly along its track, the red caped life blood in the veins of an empire that encompassed all of the known world, as far north as Hadrian’s old wall in Britain. Now it was overgrown with tufts of grass and invading weeds in places, and fringed by stands of trees and thorn scrub. In its day it had carried the commerce of war and Medieval society, Rome’s legions, traders, horsemen, stolid oxen hauling in the harvest of the land on heavy wooden carts. And it connected the emerging cities and settlements of Gaul, small hamlets, farms, and old Roman Villas that once stood as resting spots for citizens and soldiers alike, and now served as stone walled estates for the wealthy, or privileged clerics of the region.

Cities did not amount to much more than a scatter of squat wooden buildings at this time, with wood post walls and thatched roofs, with an occasional stone tower or walled area, mostly ruins from an earlier time when Rome ruled the land here. Rutted earthen roads stretched out to the immediate vicinity, connecting farms and hovelled homesteads where people sought the protection of the city garrisons.

As they walked they could just make out a few outlying shacks now, and what looked like a low stone wall off in the distance. They walked, breathless for a time, their eyes keen for any signs of other people. It was not long before they spied a stable and blacksmith on the southern outskirts of the town. The sharp ring of his hammer resounded through the clear, cold air.

“Now let me do the talking,” said Maeve.

“In Old Frankish?” Robert chided.

“Most likely Latin will do,” said Maeve. “It was my language elective when I got my history degree. It tended to come in handy throughout this period. The common tongue was a derivative of the old Roman Latin.”

They approached the livery, seeing that there were several horses tied up there, like autos in the lot of a contemporary auto shop, probably waiting to be shoed. Maeve gave them a careful inspection, before approaching the smith and pointing.

She spoke, haltingly at first, but Robert could pick up a little of the Latin she used. The word ‘equus’ was obvious, and she pointed to a grey mare tied up behind the main livery. The Smith gave her an odd look, glancing at Paul and Robert from time to time.

Paul stood up straight, trying to look somewhat haughty, though the only costuming the men could put together on such short notice had been a pair of long monk’s cassocks. They reasoned that churchmen held as much power as landed gentry at the time, and thought that Maeve might present herself as a nun in similar garb. Nordhausen went bare headed, having long since lost most of his hair. Paul balked at shaving his head, but the hood on his cassock provided enough cover. He had to swap out his eyeglasses for a pair of contact lenses, but other than the fact that they were a little too clean shaven, they could blend in easily enough, posing as missionaries from the holy see of St. Hubert, on the road to spread the gospel. It was also hoped that their affiliation with the church would afford them some protection and a measure of consideration.

In time Maeve seemed to reach an accommodation with the smith, and went over to Robert to retrieve a small nugget of gold.

“We are poor, but the church has given us at least this to offer in payment,” she said in Latin.

The man, tall and dark, with a swarthy look and round odor, squinted at the nugget she offered, hefting it in the palm of his hand to assess its weight, then giving it a bite before nodding his agreement. He handed her the tether and she bowed, graciously, leading the horse away.

“That went rather well,” she said softly as she returned to Paul and Robert. “Here, you lead the horse, Robert. I’ll get on if you could give me a boost up for good show, Paul. I told him I was weary and that we had many hours travel ahead of us.”

A moment later they were beating a hasty retreat, back down the road and away from the town. The smith had watched them go, but simply shook his head and returned to his work. The sound of his hammer was comforting, slowly receding as they distanced themselves. They were elated that the first part of their plan had worked out without a hitch.

“A proverbial old gray mare,” said Paul.

“Yes,” said Maeve. “And let’s hope she has a few miles in her. I’ll need the rest of the gold, Robert.”

“What? Oh yes, of course.” He handed her a small felt bag that they had used to carry the few chunks of gold they had managed to separate off with a rock hammer.

“I make it nigh on to 5:00 in the afternoon,” said Maeve. “So I had best get a move on.”

“Right,” said Paul. “Kelly should be pulling Robert and me out in an hour or so. We’ll leave the road and work our way back to the entry point to make his work a little easier.”

They had set up the shift to give the two men about three hours time. Maeve’s shift pattern would be sustained in the new milieu for much longer, but was also timed to expire at midnight. At that point they would use a good portion of the quantum fuel to initiate an area search and locate her mass signature. The Arch was keeping a hold on her, tenuous as it was, and they hoped they would not have any complications. It was a new program Kelly had written and it was about to get its first real test. Hopefully it would allow the Arch to maintain a micro-tunnel in Time between the lab complex and Maeve’s pattern signature. Failing that she would try to be at the entry point by midnight, and they would sweep that area for her signature to hopefully bring her home.

The two men couldn’t keep up with her, and so could afford her no further protection. While they could probably walk the sixteen miles to the villa in six to eight hours, considering rest time, there was no point in putting them both at risk. That would put them near the villa near the decisive hour of midnight, probably exhausted and hungry as well. So it was decided to pull them home and shift back in if, and only if, they determined Maeve had failed. Until then, she was on her own. And the two men wished her well with a hearty wave before turning and heading off the road to remain as inconspicuous as possible while they returned to the breaching point.

Maeve sighed, then leaned down to stroke the neck and mane of her newfound companion. “It’s just you and me now, old girl,” she whispered.

She shifted into position, loosening her garb to allow her to better use her legs to control the horse. There were no stirrups, but being a very experienced rider, she eased the horse on down the road with a light nudge of her heel. It wasn’t long before she had the feel of the animal, and the mare seemed to sense that she knew what she was about, perceiving the confidence she clearly had in her ability. In due course she had the mare up in a nice even trot, and had vanished down the long, stony byway.

Nordhausen, paused near a hewn tree stump by the old Roman road watching her go.

“Brave lady,” he said.

“Not to be trifled with,” said Paul. But there was a note of sadness in their voices, and they were both very tired. They had been awake all night, with just a few hours rest while the Arion system crunched the numbers they needed for the difficult retraction scheme that recovered Kelly.

“Do you think you could do it?” Paul asked as they walked.

“What? Ride the damn horse? Not me,” said Robert.

“No, I mean Lambert. If Maeve fails for any reason in this intervention…”

“Nordhausen pursed his lips. “Kill him? I must say the notion has been somewhat unnerving these last hours. What would we do?”

“Kelly could probably put us within a few meters of the villa. That’s where the cathedral ended up being built in Liège, and the GPS coordinates are easy to find. But that said… How would we do it?”

Nordhausen cleared his throat, trying to sound like he was just reasoning out a history problem, but it was clear that he was uncomfortable. “I suppose we’d have to bring some kind of a weapon,” he said. “Or else find one here.”

“Maeve would have a fit if we brought a modern weapon through with us. Can you imagine the impact if we were to bring in a Glock pistol and lose the damn thing here?”

“It’s an engineered weapon, and they would probably discover how to use it the hard way—by pulling the trigger. You mean to say you have a Glock?”

“Of course not. But I do have a .22 Caliber hunting rifle in the storage closet of the garage. I stowed it there after that trip to Alaska last year, and haven’t thought of it since.”

“A .22, eh? My God, you’d need to hit something vital right off with that. Otherwise you’d have to pepper the poor man to death with it.”

“A sword then?”

“You have a sword?”

“No, we’d have to find one after we shifted back in—a sword or a javelin, or something similar.”

“Are you aware of the circumstances surrounding Lambert’s death?” Robert gave him a stern look.

“Something tells me I’m about to be made aware,” said Paul.

“Well, you ought to know. Some sources claim Lambert had simply taken action to punish two rogues, Gallus and Rivaldus, for pilfering church property. That account has it that associates of the bishop had these men killed, and that they were kinsmen of Dodo, a highly appointed officer in Pippin’s court at the palace. In this light Dodo was just avenging the murder of his relatives. The story about Alpaida’s appeal to avenge her honor came later, perhaps many decades later. Some think the church put a little spin on the event to suit the coronation of Lambert as a saint, who was martyred because of his defense of marital fidelity. In any case, Lambert will have family there, two nephews and other domestics. Four men came to the villa in the middle of the night. Hearing the intruders entering his home, Lambert first reached for his sword, then decided not to oppose his assailants and accept martyrdom instead.”

Paul was silent for a moment. “Two nephews?”

“That’s what the account said when I read it before we left. Apparently they were put to the sword as well. I wonder how old they were?”

“We won’t have to do that,” Paul said quickly. Then he gave the professor a sheepish look. “I guess we won’t have to bring the .22 rifle along either.”

“What do you mean?”

“The sword,” said Paul softly. “Lambert had a sword by his bed. There’s a weapon right there….”

The two men just looked at one another, but neither one spoke for a while until Nordhausen voiced the obvious next question.

“Who does it?” His voice was a near whisper.

“Be my guest,” said Paul.

“I think’ we’d better draw lots,” said Robert.

They reached the place where they had manifested, and said nothing more on the matter. Paul was studying the ground, and could even see the imprint of their footprints in the grass when they arrived. There was a wilted edge around each one, he noted, as if the plants had been damaged by severe cold.

“Here are my footprints,” he said. “You were over there.”

“And Maeve was right between us,” said Robert. But as they stepped into their footprints the professor pointed at the ground a few feet away. “But who was there?” he asked darkly.

Paul looked where he was pointing and clearly saw another set of tracks in the ground, facing in toward the spot where they had appeared. He followed them back toward the hedge that had screened them from the road, an uneasy feeling rising in his gut.

“Looks like someone is curious,” he said quietly.

Chapter 17

“Damn,” said Nordhausen, “We’ve been discovered! Our cover’s blown already!”

“Don’t jump to conclusions, Robert.” Paul tried to calm him down.

“Looks like just one person,” said the professor, going over to peer at the tracks left in the wet grass.

“Get back over here and stand in your tracks again,” said Paul in a controlled whisper, excited himself now. “Someone is on the road, and heading this way.”

Robert looked to see horsemen on the road, apparently riding at a good clip given the dust they were leaving. It looked like two, then four men, hastening towards them.

Nordhausen stepped quickly back into his footprints. “Someone was probably passing by when we manifested, and they obviously hid in that hedge there. God, they may have seen us appear! They would have thought we were spirits, angels.”

“Or demons,” Paul took the down side of the argument. “And in either case they would have been scared out of their wits.”

“Ya think?” Nordhausen squinted at the oncoming riders. “Or they would have hastened back to Heristal to raise the alarm and get a posse up after us.”

“A posse? Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Then who is that?” Nordhausen pointed. “Four riders. Dodo and his men?” He pointed at the horsemen, who reined in sharply and came to a halt. The lead man was dressed all in black, tugging at the fit of his leather gloves as he spoke to them. Robert listened, trying to shift his brain into Latin to pick up what the man was saying, but the emotion in his voice was plain to hear, a derisive tone that paid them no respect at all, in spite of their monk’s robes.

Robert gaped at the horsemen, obviously flustered. Paul had the good sense to keep his mouth completely shut. Then the lead man, the one Robert took to be Dodo, gave them a dismissive wave and spurred his horse on. As they passed a fat man in a thick leather jerkin leaned over and spat at them, laughing as he rode off.

“Damn!” said Robert when the riders had passed well out of earshot. “That was Dodo and his retainers or I’m a frog!”

“Ornery cuss, isn’t he,” said Paul. “What did he say?”

“I was too startled to catch it all,” said Robert. “Something about pigs and a warm fire. Then that other fat slob spit at us! So much for consideration shown to clergymen.” As he finished Robert felt a shudder, and a wave of nausea sweep over him.

Paul felt it too. “Robert?”

“Close your eyes,” said the Professor. “Looks like Kelly is on time and we’re going home.”

They stared at the riders, who seemed to fade away in the gathering shadows on the road. The hedge blurred into a smudge and then the lights appeared around them in a thick frost. Nordhausen wanted to watch again, but as he needed his wits about him for a possible second shift, he closed his eyes, whispering a silent prayer for Maeve, and hoping they would not see the 8th century again anytime soon.

At least not tonight.

Maeve rode at a good speed for well over an hour before she eased off the road under an apple tree for a much needed bite to eat. Most of the low hanging fruit was gone, picked away by passersby, but from her perch on the mare she could reach high enough to pick several well ripened apples, plenty for herself and the horse.

The sun was down and the evening sky was darkening fast behind a wall of gray clouds, their tops tinged with vermillion and violet as the last light faded in the west. She had seen no one on the road thus far, but now had come down a low rise to a cultivated area that led her to believe there may be a farmer’s shack nearby. She could smell roast mutton on the wind, which seemed odd, but nonetheless inviting at his hour.

Around the next bend she saw a cluster of three buildings, an old barn, and what looked like a weathered silo. The farm house was well lit from within, the wavering glow of firelight emanating from every window. The barn was some ways off, and there were bales of recently harvested hay stacked against one wall. She rode silently towards the scene, masking her approach by skirting a line of tall hedge and thistle. When she had come up on the barn she dismounted, leading her horse by the rein. The scent of hay, horses, and leather was thick in the air. She tied of her mare to a low post, and ventured to peek inside the half open door of the barn.

It was dark and musty inside as she eased through the entrance into a small enclosure that passed for a tack room. It opened onto the main barn, where a bale of hay lay next to several canvas feed bags. The scent of oats and molasses was obvious, and she could hear the stirring of several horses inside.

She wanted to get a look at the animals without startling them, so she began to sing softly, whisper quiet at first, as she edged around the corner. One of the horses chafed and whinnied, but then grew still when Maeve drew near, still whispering her quiet song.

There were two steeds, one a milk white stallion and the other a chocolate brown plow horse, from the look of him. One glance at the stance of the stallion, and the telltale circle around the eye told her she had found the horse she wanted—Kuhaylan. He had proud bearing with well chiseled features and a long well muscled neck with a graceful arch. But more than this, the deep chest, and strong legs with large joints, told her this was a horse that could run like the wind. Elated she padded quickly back to the tack room to find a suitable rein and approached the horse again.

He was a bit skittish at first, but she stroked his neck and mane, speaking softly until he grew calm, accepting the rein with a steady eye meeting hers. She untethered the stallion and led him quietly through the barn door. The farm house was on the other side of the barn, and the smell of wood smoke and roasted meat was thick on the cool night air. She led the Arabian to the place she had tethered her mare, feeling guilty to be stealing off with such a prime steed. So she took out the small felt pouch and tied it neatly to the rein of her older mare. Small compensation, she thought, for this was a horse worth his weight in gold, but it would have to do.

At that moment a man spoke harshly from behind her, in Latin. “Quisnam adveho in nox noctis? Quis est… raptor?”

“Forgive me, sir, I am no thief,” Maeve returned as best she could in Latin. “I can pay you well, but have need of a quick horse this night. Look here,” she gestured at the felt bag. “I leave you this horse, and can offer gold as well.”

“Not for this horse,” said the man, drawing closer and eyeing her suspiciously. “Not this night,” he said darkly. He peered at her, his hand on the haft of a short sword that was tied at his waist.

“Who are you? Show yourself!” He drew his sword, threatening.

Maeve drew back her hood, shaking the fall of long honey blonde curls free as she did so.

The man’s face registered real surprise. “A woman? Alone in the night on the road? Or are there others at hand?” He looked about, squinting at the hedges and trees.

Maeve’s pulse quickened. She had to keep her wits about her, and then a sudden thought came to her. “Not alone, kind sir. My master and his retainers are on the road, close at hand. I am but a serving maid, sent hither to seek lodging and told to see what might be found in the way of livestock, for we are in need of a horse, a fresh mount. This gold and more we will pay in return.”

“Your master comes?”

Maeve decide to push the last of her chips out onto the table. “Dodo of Heristal, of the House of Pippin, not far from this place. He rides now on an urgent errand, and must suffer no delay.”

This was the horse, she reasoned. It had to be. There would be no other like it found on this road tonight. Of that she was certain. If Paul’s warning that their adversaries may also be closely involved here were true, this man could be one of them, and not the simple farmer he made himself to be. The blade in his hand had an odd curve to it, unlike typical weapons of 8th century Europe. He spoke Latin, but she had the feeling the language was not native to him, and his aspect was also not European. He had a dusky look, dark eyes over a thin, prominent nose and thick black beard. In any case, by claiming association with Dodo, she gained some small leverage. Any local would know that name and, if this man was an Assassin, he would also be expecting Dodo’s arrival. But she had to be very careful here.

The man gave her a sidelong glance, his eyes still searching the landscape around them. “I was told to expect four men,” he said quickly. “Nothing was said of a serving wench.” He pointed at her with the sword, taking a more relaxed stance, apparently satisfied that the area was secure.

“You were told?” Maeve pressed her advantage with a question of her own. “No one was to know of my lord’s travel this night. How is it you were told of this?”

“Never mind, woman,” the man said scornfully, dismissing her inquiry with obvious irritation. “You speak strangely,” he said, with an edge of accusation in his voice.

“I am not born of this land,” said Maeve. “The common tongue spoken here is not my own. I hail from the land of the Angles and Saxons. I was given to the house of Dodo as a young girl when my family perished.”

“No matter.” The man seemed uninterested, and was still somewhat restless. His dark eyes seemed to register some inner conclusion, however, and he forced a wan smile. “You seek food and rest on the road? Then the hospitality of my home is yours.” He nodded graciously, his hand gesturing to the farmhouse behind him. “But you are bold to have come here this way, and to have put your hands upon this one.” He pointed to the Arabian. “Your master is in need of a horse? This is one of the finest steeds in all the land, to be sure. It will serve him well.”

“Then you will sell it?” Maeve was quick to take advantage of this sudden shift in the man’s attitude, but an inner sense warned her to be on her guard now. The man was all too eager to let his prize steed go, when a moment ago he had clearly been very reluctant.

“For that?” He pointed his sword at the gray mare. “You say you offer gold as well? How much?”

“This I was given to offer,” she said, taking the felt bag and holding it out to the man.

He snatched it quickly, still somewhat suspicious, and hefted the bag in the palm of his hand. “How do I know this is not base stone?” he said.

“See for yourself,” Maeve gestured.

“I can see nothing here in the dark. Come into my home and we will sit by the fire to await your master. Then I will chew upon your gold and judge its worth, eh?”

Maeve’s pulse quickened. She did not want to be trapped inside close quarters with this man, on unfamiliar ground and with the possibility that Dodo and his men were indeed on the road this night, close at hand. She had to find some way to remain at large, and she had to be certain the Arabian was not here should Dodo arrive. But what to do?

“Forgive me,” she said quickly. “But I was told only to seek quarters and livestock, and to return with all speed should anything be found. My master is in some haste, and is like to ride on by, heedless of this place should I not return. But if you will offer the hospitality of your home, and this steed in trade, then I can gladly bring him these tidings, and he will surely come here at my urging.”

The man eyed her, uncertain for a time, and obviously thinking over the ramifications of her offer. Before he could speak Maeve sweetened her argument.

“That pouch you may keep until my master comes,” she moved as she spoke, taking up the rein of her gray mare. Now she was between the two horses, one hand resting on the back of the stallion, the other holding the rein of the mare. “But do not be greedy,” she put in a warning, “We have counted it well.” She maneuvered the mare between herself and the man, making as if she was preparing to mount.

The man was holding the bag, his fingers squeezing the soft felt to feel the stones within. The look of suspicion and distrust was obvious in his eyes again, but he seemed to hesitate, trying to decide.

Maeve knew it was now or never and, in a quick, steady movement, she leapt atop the horse—not the mare, but the Arabian stallion! The horse made as if it might buck, and the man shouted at her.

“Come down off that horse!” He tried to get around the mare to seize the reins, but Maeve kicked hard, forcing the mare to step forward and block the man. At the same time she pulled at the reins and gave the stallion a firm heel. The horse reared up, hooves scoring the cold air, then bolted, leaping away, out into the green field. She leaned down, taking a firm hold on the horses mane, her legs tight on his broad back. The man was shouting, in another language now, and very angry as he pushed himself free of the mare and ran after her. But the Arabian was too fast. Maeve leaned in and whispered close by his ear, feeling the power of the animal, yet confident that she could now control the horse. “Ride with me, Kuhaylan,” she said softly.

She let the stallion go now, clucking softly to urge him on as she steered the horse east toward the river, away from the road. If she could believe her own story, and Dodo was nigh at hand on the road this night as they hoped, then she would make certain they would not meet. The river would provide her an unerring guide north again, and she could skirt the bank until she came near to the city, then look for the place where they had shifted in to make Kelly’s retraction easier to manage.

It was clear in her mind now that the man she had encountered was no simple farmer. He was Arabic, she decided, and had little doubt as to who this man might be, but she had neither the time nor inclination to find out more.

Chapter 18

“Another set of footprints?” Kelly registered surprise when Paul and Robert told him the story. “Then someone must have seen you manifest,” he said. “Not good.”

“Not good at all,” said Paul. “But there’s no helping it now. We saw no one else in the area, and the three of us immediately went north to approach the outskirts of the city. Maeve found a horse with no problem,” he beamed.

“That’s my girl,” said Kelly. “Well, if you were seen on arrival, then it would have scared the fellow shitless. He probably cowered in the hedge until you were long gone.”

“A story for his grand children,” Robert agreed.

“Let’s hope that’s the worst of it,” said Paul. “I don’t think we have any worry about contamination with this. But it’s Maeve I’m concerned about now.”

“She went south?” Kelly was adjusting the controls on the retraction module, carefully watching the status on his new program monitor. He still had a tenuous hold on Maeve’s pattern signature, and he could see that it was drifting well off the initial manifestation coordinates. He wondered how far she could go and still be tracked by the system.

“How’s the quantum fuel holding up?” Paul was looking at the chamber mix integrity, assessing numbers on the reading.

“Stable,” said Kelly. “For the moment. And the fuel on the number two generator is holding up well. That was fast work! You two were in and out. I had the system programmed to give you three hours there, but it signaled retraction after twenty minutes here. At first I thought something was wrong, but then I noticed the chronometer reading for the target Meridian was moving much faster than the time here. Three hours there was just twenty minutes here. At this rate Maeve should be ready to shift back in another twenty minutes.”

Something distracted him and his glance was drawn to another monitor. The Golems were active again, signaling another variation. “Would you check that monitor?” he asked Paul. “I want to keep a firm hold on Maeve here.”

Paul threw back his hood, still in his monk’s robe and looking strangely out of place in the modern environment of the lab complex. He activated the Golem module and called up the history time line. Something had changed, not greatly from the readings, but the history had varied. He clicked on the documentation button to begin calling up references. The Golems were still fishing in the data stream. In time they would reach a weight of opinion, and Paul could actually call up documents from other Meridian, altered and at variance with their touchstone data in the RAM Bank.

“Our lady has been busy. Something has already changed,” he said. “But whatever she’s about, it isn’t that traumatic—at least not to the projected outcome of the Meridian as I read it here.”

Robert was at his side, curious, and looking at one document after another as Paul clicked on various links. “See if you can call up anything from the Vita Landiberti Vetustissima. That failing, try searching for Carmen de Sancto Landberto. Those were the two primary sources on the life and death of Lambert.”

“Here’s an account from the first,” said Paul, reading quickly. “And look here—there’s no trace of the previous data. Do we have that document in a cache somewhere, Kelly?”

“Hit the number seven function key. That will compare the current document on the screen with the last cached version from earlier searches, and you can hit F8 to compare both to the RAM Bank data.”

“Nice programming,” said Paul, but when he hit F7 the variation was somewhat disturbing. “That bit about the horse and Dodo being thrown from the ‘wilful beast’ is entirely missing!” he exclaimed. “Here, Robert, make yourself useful and read this document.”

“Missing?” Kelly was looking at the screen now. “Well it hasn’t altered the outcome much. I mean, look at the chronology color bar. Nothing has really changed. It’s still shows first variation originating at this date on the Meridian and worsening as the time line moves forward. The outcome of the battle of Tours remains unaltered, a dramatic Arab victory, and it just gets worse from there. Maeve obviously did something to alter the Meridian, but what?”

“It looks as though she found the horse,” said Paul. “That would explain the missing data in the story describing Dodo’s mishap. Robert? Anything more?” He was hoping there might still be unseen effects emerging in the data stream as they waited.

Robert had been reading intently from the original source material in an on-line translation of the Carmen de Sancto Landberto, the “Song of Saint Lambert’, and seemed dismayed.

“Paul’s correct,” he said. “The story has changed, here and in the Vita as well. There’s no mention of the horse at all now, not even in the Arabic sources. Apparently Lambert was warned of the impending plot and escaped. Look here,” he began to read. “And one came in the middle of the night to give warning, causing Lambert to flee with his domestics, away over the river. And thus was Dodo’s revenge undone, and he was roundly condemned by the Saint, and banished from Pippin’s court.”

“Damn,” said Paul. “The history has changed again. Dodo was warned? By who?”

“Neither account provides any more details,” said Robert.

“The Assassins?” Kelly suggested. “You said they would most likely be operating with an agent in place on a night of this importance, perhaps even at the farm where Dodo was to have found the so called willful beast.”

“Right,” said Paul. “That was a fair assumption, but if Maeve got to that horse first, then she may have prevented the mishap. That said, it’s clear this Pushpoint was not decisive in altering any of these events.” Then his eyes brightened with recollection. “What about that loose twine? Search for that, Robert.”

A moment later the professor had found the entry. “It still reads the same—a loose twine, where the horses were brought to gather… But let me look at the image of the Rosetta stone again.” He opened a folder and called up the file he had stored there, searching the lines of hieroglyphics.

“Here it is… a loose twine…. then the wavy line separating the two stories, and it reads—damn! It’s not the same in this image! Now it reads: “a loose twine… where the horses were brought to gather at the water’s edge. What’s happened?”

Paul thought deeply, coming to some inner conclusion. “Alright,” he said. “So let’s assume Maeve got to that horse and made off with it. If you were the Assassins, what would you do in that instance?”

“They obviously had to do something else,” said Kelly. “And the data Robert found in the source material indicates that someone warned Lambert.”

“Undoubtedly the Assassins,” said Robert. “Damn, they must have perceived the variation the moment Maeve intervened. They ran a counter-operation!”

“Possibly,” said Paul. “Or their operatives on that Meridian must have decided quickly that they had to take some other action. They warned Lambert. That was very risky. It involves direct intervention to influence the behavior of a Prime.”

“Well they had no qualms about trying to knock Dodo on his ass,” said Kelly.

“We were talking about killing Lambert ourselves. Now that’s messing with a Prime, right?” Robert folded his arms.

“Dodo was obviously important,” said Paul, “but he was just an accessory, a means to an end. Lambert was the Prime Mover here. He had to be spared a martyr’s death, and clearly they have found a way to do that without the horse being involved at all. So we’re tilting at windmills here. The Pushpoint is somewhere else now, still a loose twine, but no longer the rein of that willful beast as we assumed.”

“If it ever was,” Robert chided.

“Then what do we do?” Kelly fidgeted, looking at the time. “We’ve been yakking here for ten minutes. In another ten minutes, our time, three hours will have elapsed in the altered Meridian. It will be 9:00 P.M. there, and Maeve should be back on her original manifestation coordinates if all went well. I can pull her out if the reading on her physical location matches up, otherwise we wait until midnight.”

“No,” Paul said decisively. “Don’t pull her out just yet. We’ll need her there.”

“For what?” Kelly complained. “There’s nothing more she can do in this situation. Hell, she doesn’t even know things have changed.”

“Right,” said Paul, up off his chair. “So I’m going back to warn her.”

Kelly blinked at him, somewhat surprised. “What? Another shift?” he said. “Look, we barely have the quantum fuel for Maeve’s retraction and perhaps one more re-entry to that milieu, unless you want me to forget about our fallback plan concerning Lambert. I’ve had the Golems working on those new coordinates and I can put someone very close to Lambert’s villa if we have to take more drastic action.”

“Keep that on ice,” said Paul. “Let’s hope we don’t need that shift. But can you manage a Spook Job? Can you put me on our original manifestation point for maybe ten seconds? That would give me enough time to warn Maeve about this variation, and perhaps she can do something about it from her end. We’ll have to postpone her retraction scheme.”

“Ten seconds? How are you going to explain all this to her in that much time?”

“Easy,” said Paul. “We’ll write it down—Robert, get busy with that, will ya? We’ll write it down and I can just appear and throw out the note.”

Kelly gaped at him. “Then what?” he asked, incredulous and obviously still worried about Maeve.

“Then Maeve has three hours in the altered Meridian to figure something out,” said Paul, “and if I know her, she will.”

Maeve was riding hard now, away from the farm toward the river bank. When she first bolted away, she had turned south, thinking to avoid any possibility of encountering Dodo and his men should they be in the area. The farmer, or whoever the man was, might also take one of the other horses and try to follow her. Though she had little doubt that she could out run him in that instance. Neither the mare nor the brown plow horse could possible hope to catch her, but she nonetheless took a southerly route, thinking to double back and confound any pursuit once she reached the river.

When she first reached the Meuse she came to a small ferry where the river narrowed and seemed more shallow. After giving some consideration to using it to cross over to the east bank, she discarded the idea and decided to just wade into the shallows to mask her trail and reverse her course, heading north. There was no guarantee that she would find another easy crossing point south of the city, and fussing with the horse on the small wooden barge tethered to the tree stump there seemed more than she wanted to try and manage at the moment. She could not risk being trapped on the east bank, away from the point where she had shifted in with Robert and Paul. Kelly was trying to track her position, but that was a new program, untested and possibly unreliable at this point.

Satisfied that the farmer had not taken up pursuit, she was soon picking her way north along the river’s edge. At times she had to skirt inland around thickets of plants interspersed with heavy riverside brush and stands of trees. Yet she was making good progress and, after a while, began to veer inland, hoping to take up the old Roman road again as she drew near to Heristal.

The Arabian still seemed very skittish, snuffing the cold air and moving on with a guarded, sometimes halting gait. She noted the horse’s ears were moving this way and that, intent on something.

Maeve tried to calm the horse, but then caught sight of a few dark shapes in the dim light, just ahead. Then came a howl, and a low threatening growl, and she realized at once that she had come across a roving pack of wolves.

Kuhaylan snorted, his tail swishing fitfully. Afraid the horse was about to rear, Maeve softened the grip of her legs and kept her hands soft on the reins. A less experienced rider would have done just the opposite, communicating yet more fear and distress to the animal, but Maeve knew exactly what she was about. The Arabian seemed to sense her confidence and settled down somewhat, but it was clear to Maeve that she may be in some danger. A horse’s best defense was speed, she knew, and so she urged him forward, speaking softly. “Ride on, Kuhaylan. No one can match you. Run boy!”

The horse surged forward, leaping smartly over a fallen log and Maeve had to stoop low to avoid an overhanging tree branch. She heard a snarling growl and caught the flash of sharp white teeth beneath amber eyes in the shadow of a hedge. One wolf made as if to lunge at the horse as it came on, but the Arabian was enormously strong, leaping up again, well out of harm’s way and then accelerating so fast that the rabid pack could do little more than howl in futile pursuit. The powerful horse easily outpaced the wolves and, satisfied that the danger had passed, she soon settled the Arabian to a slower, steady gait.

In time she found the road, following it north in the dark, confident that she would not be likely to encounter anyone else at this hour, though wolves were known to scavenge even in the midst of human settlements at this time. The continent was still deeply wooded, a wild, untamed land. It would be another 600 years before many of the great woodlands had been settled and cleared, even in the most populous areas of Gaul.

It was not long before she spied a dark shape ahead against the starry horizon, and she made it out to be the livery where she had first met the blacksmith and purchased the mare. There was no sign of life or activity there now, and no sound of his hammer ringing on the cold night air. Being close to the entry point, she veered off to skirt the road and look for the low stump that had marked the place in her mind. It was not far.

A few minutes later she was off the Arabian, steadying him and feeding him an apple that she still had in a pocket of her robe. She tied the horse off on the branch of a nearby hedge, and studied the ground, squinting in the dark to see if she could find the exact place where she had manifested. The soil here was thick and sodden in places and, to her surprise, the ground was marked with many footprints. Booted feet had made many deep impressions here, not long ago from the look of them, and that thought made her very uneasy.

The horse was skittish as well, snuffing the night airs and chafing a bit. He soon became so disquieted that she went quickly over at took hold of the reins, afraid he might break loose and bolt.

At that moment there was a cellophane crackling sound and the palpable odor of ozone. The Arabian whinnied, and started to rear up, but Maeve took a firm hold and calmed him with a reassuring touch and low whisper. “Easy boy, easy…”

Then the place where she had been kneeling a moment ago seemed to shimmer with a rippling blue light, and it was immediately obvious to her what was happening. Someone was shifting in, but she could not think why. They should be monitoring her mass pattern and preparing the retraction by now. Why risk another entry… unless something was very wrong, she thought suddenly.

She kept a firm grip on Kuhaylan, watching with amazement as the image of a man in monk’s robes seemed to manifest in the blue haze of the breaching point. In a flash of recognition she saw that it was Paul, but the image seemed to waver and loose substance, and she immediately feared that there was a problem on the shift, until something came flying out of the haze, landing with a thud on the grass at her feet.

The light faded in a frosty crackle of sound and was gone. There was no sign of Paul at all now, but Maeve stooped to see that an apple lay at her feet, with a neat slice down one side where something seemed to be stuck in the meat of the fruit. She picked it up, seeing a piece of folded paper had been wedged into a the small slice in the side of the apple.

She slipped it out of the fruit, opening it quickly and leaning into the wan moon light to get a look at it. It was very dark, and she could barely make out the characters, but was able to discern the message.

“New variation,” it read, with the word heavily underlined. “Lambert warned and flees in the night! Dodo fails! New Pushpoint: “A Loose twine… by the water’s edge. DO SOMETHING!”

She stared at it for some time, stunned by the development. Something had happened and her mind raced to unravel what it was. It soon became obvious to her that she had found the correct horse and foiled the plot to delay Dodo and his men. If that were the case then he would be riding south at this very moment, perhaps well past the farm site where she had found the Arabian, and closing in on Lambert’s villa at Leodium. But the words on the note clawed at her: “Lambert warned and flees in the night! Dodo Fails!”

“Do something,” she breathed aloud, shivering with the residual cold still lingering in the air nearby. It was a Spook Job, she reasoned. They don’t have the fuel to risk another full breach of the continuum here to make a re-entry, so they ran a Spook Job instead.

“And I have to do something,” she said aloud again her mind racing along the limitless Meridians of Time, frantically trying to answer the single question burned in her mind. “But what?”