Time Scout

CHAPTER TWENTY

An instant later, the fire-control system cut in, spraying clouds of halon into the room.

"Out!" Kit cried.

Malcolm helped carry Kynan into Phil Jones' office. Margo ran for the phone to call in a medical emergency, then ran interference, as well, driving Phil Jones bodily out of their way when he started shouting that they'd ruined his inventory, his business, and his life. When he didn't shut up, she tossed him through the doorway into his showroom. The last glimpse Malcolm had of her, she was standing on him.

Kit stripped off Kynan's shirt and stanched bleeding as best he could with direct pressure. Malcolm stripped off his woolen cassock and cut thick compresses. "Here..."

They applied the compresses and more pressure. Kynan moaned. His eyelids fluttered, then he sought Kit's gaze. His eyes were glazed.

"My lord ... I'm ... dying.. ." He groped weakly for Kit's arm.

"No," Kit said roughly, "you won't die, Kynan Rhys Gower. I won't allow it."

"Aye," Kynan breathed, allowing his eyes to close again. "My life is ... yours... ."

Kit had said just the right thing. Maybe-just maybe the man's superstitious faith that his liege lord could work magic would keep him alive. Long enough for station medical to arrive, anyway... The Meet of the medi-van's siren was the most welcome sound Malcolm had heard since the buzz of the gate in the African twilight. Rachel Eisenstein and another duty doctor raced into the office.

"Cross-bow bolt," Kit said tersely.

Rachel took over, rigging pressure bandages, stabilizing Kynan's vitals with IVs, treating for shock. "Prepare for thoracic surgery" Rachel said into her radio link with the station's hospital. -Stat! We're bringing in a bad one."

"Roger."

They lifted Kynan carefully onto a gurney and ran for the medi-van. Silence, sudden and brutal, descended on the smoky office. Kit scrubbed his brow with the heel of a bloody hand. Malcolm leaned against Phil's desk and rubbed aching ribs where Kit's lunge for safety had caught him. For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then Kit glanced his way. Malcolm ..."

He looked up. A rarely seen look which everyone dreaded having pointed at them was levelled straight at him. Malcolm winced. Well, you've been waiting for this.

"All right," Kit said quietly. "Let's hear it."

"What do you want me to say, Kit? I'm sorrier than you'll ever know. Breaking a friend's trust ... Well, I am British. For whatever that's worth. I've no excuses, Kit. So I won't even try to make any. But lame as it sounds, I thought she'd just turned nineteen, Kit, not seventeen, and ... and dammit, that headstrong little idiot does something to me ... ."

Kit snorted.

Malcolm adjusted himself against the hard desk, wincing slightly. "She's been hurt, Kit. Desperately. If I ever find out who did it, I think I might actually kill him. There's something fine inside her fighting to get out. I see glimpses of it all the time. First in London, again in Brighton. Then in Rome ..." He swore softly. "We were both a little drunk. Hilaria was in full swing. She was doing so well and I was so proud of her and the next thing I knew..."

"Stop." Kit held up one hand. "Please."

Malcolm halted. Then, very quietly, "It isn't much, but I never meant any of this. I'm bloody sorry, Kit. I won't say I'd undo the way I feel about her, but I'm bloody damned sorry for how I've handled this, the mess I've caused. If it's any consolation, I went through nine days of absolute hell, thinking I'd killed her." He groped for something else to say and ended lamely with the only thing he could say. "I'm sorry, Kit."

"So am I," his one-time friend sighed.

"I'll ... I'll go to another station, I guess, get out of your way...

"Malcolm."

He shut up, ready to take whatever bitter anger his friend vented.

"I ought to break your neck, you know. I'm tempted to saddle you with the Neo Edo. The punishment ought to fit the crime, after all. You deserve that paperwork and the government auditors and the inspections and..."

Malcolm winced.

"But..." Kit's faint smile shocked him. "At least she had enough sense to pick someone like you."

Malcolm didn't know what to say.

"It might have been Skeeter Jackson, after all."

Malcolm found his voice after all, surprising both of them. Kit just stared. "Where do you pick up language like that?"

Malcolm managed a wan smile. "Believe it or not, I overheard that one from a Praetorian guardsman the day Caligula was murdered."

"Really? Some day you must tell me the whole story about that day."

Malcolm let his gaze focus on something far beyond Phil Jones' sordid little office. "Maybe. I'm not sure I'll ever tell anyone the whole story."

Kit cleared his throat. "Know the feeling he muttered He scrubbed bloody hands on his ruined jesuit cassock, then cleared his throat again and held out one hand "I don't have enough friends to lose one. Not even for something like this."

Malcolm paused only a moment, then shook it. "I'll make it up, Kit."

The lean time scout grinned. "You sure as hell will. And if she's pregnant..." He let the threat dangle.

Malcolm just groaned

The office door opened. Kit and Malcolm looked up to find Margo staring down at them. Clad in a ragged Portuguese shirt, face and hands smeared with soot and blood, eyes hardened by what she'd been through, Malcolm hardly recognized her.

"No broken bones, I see," she said quietly. "Good. Because Rome was my fault, too. In fact, Rome was mostly my fault." Malcolm didn't know what to say. Clearly, Kit didn't either. "I would just like to say for the record that I don't deserve either one of you. But I think I've learned my lesson-oh, hell, I've learned more lessons in the past seven weeks than I have in the last seventeen years. I screwed up everything. Everyone was right and I was wrong and I'm so damned sorry I nearly got us all killed, I ... I could almost go back to Minnesota and hide ... ."

Her voice cracked.

Oh-oh. Better try and lighten the mood a bit...

"You know," Malcolm said off-handedly, "there's something you really ought to know before your next scouting trip."

She blinked tears, sounding absolutely miserable. "what?"

"Mmm ..." He glanced at Kit and winked. "There's rather a large difference between Old Nick and Saint Nick."

She stared at him, so nonplussed she forgot to keep crying. "Old Nick? Saint Nick? What are you talking about?"

Malcolm glanced at Kit. The scout's lips quirked. Then his eyes crinkled and he couldn't contain it any longer. He started to laugh. Malcolm grinned. Margo, clad in nothing but an Irish alley-cat glare and a too-loose sixteenth-century shirt, glared from one to the other as though they'd misplaced their collective wits.

"What's so funny?" she demanded.

Kit lay back and roared.

Malcolm wiped his eyes. "You called down the wrath of Santa Claus..."

Margo opened her lips over air. Then she started to chuckle. "I did?"

"Oh, Margo," Kit gasped, "you sure as hell did, honey."

Malcolm was still wiping tears. "It was priceless I had visions of the heavens splitting open and a vengeful team of reindeer screaming down at Mach eight while the jolly old elf threw Christmas boxes like grenades ... ."

That set Kit off again. Margo just grinned, taking the ribbing with surprisingly good humor. Then her laughter vanished.

Kit sat up hastily. "What's wrong? Oh, hell .... You're hurt and here we are laughing like idiots-"

"No ... no, it's Kynan." She sank to her knees beside him. "Why did he do that? Throw himself in front of me that way?"

Kit touched a bruised cheek. "He pledged me as his liege lord. You instantly became the object of his sworn protection, his liege lady if you will. He considered it a sacred duty to die in my service, protecting you."

Margo swallowed hard. "I see. I ..." Her face crumpled. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to snivel. Will he live?"

Kit smiled. "I'd say you earned a sniffle or two. And Rachel doesn't like losing patients. He has a very good chance, anyway." Kit dragged a scorched leather bag out of the corner. "I rescued your ATLS and log from the fire, by the way."

She opened the bag slowly, removing the ATLS, the personal log, even a folded chart.

"What's that?" Malcolm asked curiously.

"The map Goldie gave me." She thrust it at Kit. "I don't want it."

Kit took it wordlessly and tucked it into his own ATLS bag. "Speaking of Goldie ... I think we need to hold a little chat with that avaricious old shark."

"You're telling me! She almost got us killed!"

Kit turned a reproachful glance on her.

"Well, all right, I almost got us killed. But she knew I was hopelessly unqualified!"

"Comes with the territory," Malcolm told her unsympathetically. "It's too bad her scam will work. She deserves to lose her shirt."

Margo sniffed. "As much trouble as I had finding that stupid spot on the river, those damned diamonds had better be there. I'd hate to think I put everyone through all this and got poor Mr. van Beek killed, only to find I'd screwed up and stuck them in the wrong place."

"You had trouble finding the right spot?"

Malcolm knew that tone. Kit was suddenly and profoundly interested. "What trouble, exactly?"

Margo wiped her nose. "The maps didn't match, not exactly. Here." She dug out her log and pulled up a file, then turned the screen to face him. `That's the digital snapshot I made of the river valley where we buried the stuff. I had to scan in Goldie's chart and superimpose the two. They still didn't quite match up, but I'm sure I got the right plot of ground."

Kit studied the screen intently, then started to grin.

"What?"

"Margo, I think I just might be able to pay back every scam Goldie has ever run on me. Malcolm, take a look."

Malcolm peered over Kit's shoulder. Then he, too, began to grin.

"what?"

"The river changed course."

"So?"

Malcolm said patiently, "Look. Here and here and here. See? It's at least a hundred yards off right here and more than fifty here..."

Margo frowned. Then she got it. Her eyes widened. "You mean-" She started to laugh.

Kit grinned. "Yep. Hell, it's better than beating her at pool." He tottered to his feet and gave Margo a hand up. "You, young lady, march straight to the infirmary. Leave Goldie to me."

Malcolm rubbed metaphoric hands in anticipation.

He could hardly wait to see this one.

EPILOGUE

Goldie Morran wandered into the Down Time and sank into a chair. Kit and Malcolm left their table and sat down at hers.

"What's wrong, Goldie?" Kit asked.

The gems and currency expert sniffed autocratically. "It's that stupid granddaughter of yours. She put the diamonds in the wrong place."

"Oh?" Malcolm asked innocently.

"We dug up a square fifty yards on a side around the spot on that map. Nothing. Not a trace. My up-time rube has withdrawn his offer to buy the whole parcel. I can't believe we went through all that and she didn't get the right place. God knows where she put them."

Kit had received his own confirmation from up-time sources that Goldie was, for once, telling God's own truth.

Malcolm put in, "Well, Margo buried them what? Four hundred fifty years ago? Anything could have happened. A flash flood might have washed the whole mess out. Or someone could have dug the stuff up years ago and quietly sold it off. Who could tell? It was a great idea, Goldie. Too bad it didn't work."

"Yeah," she said glumly. "Too bad. Damn that girl...

Kit consoled her by ordering Goldie's favorite. She sipped disconsolately.

"How much money did you lose?" Kit asked quietly.

"Ten thousand dollars! I paid for that whole benighted expedition, not to mention that worthless piece of farmland! It's so riddled with tse-tse flies you can't even run cattle on it!"

"I feel really terrible," Kit said earnestly. "After all, I did train Margo. Her mistake is my mistake."

Goldie sniffed again. "You always were too nice for your own good, Kit. Thanks anyway. I'm still out ten thousand."

"Tell you what. I'm determined to drive home the lessons Margo's learning from this fiasco. How about I make her pay you back?

"Pay me back?" Goldie echoed. "Why?

"To teach her the value of getting her geography right."

Goldie sniffed once more, but her eyes had begun to gleam. "What did you have in mind?"

Gotcha! "Margo will be spending the next eight years or so in college. She's agreed to pay back every penny of her education out of what she earns as a scout. I'd like to tack an extra ten thousand onto the price tag. How's this? I'll buy the land. Then, every vacation Margo has, I'll go up time and make her fly, walk, and crawl every inch of that river valley until she learns how to do aerial mapping right."

Goldie hesitated, a veteran angler playing her "fish" with seasoned skill. "I don't know, Kit. That's an awfully expensive lesson."

Kit grunted. "Not half as expensive as losing your granddaughter. Which, I might add, I damn near did."

"Not to mention my life and Kit's," Malcolm added. "And that Welshman almost died on the operating table. Koot van Beek did die."

Goldie hurried to change the subject. "About this proposition of yours ... are you serious?"

"Dead serious," Kit muttered darkly. -Margo isn't setting foot across another gate until she's learned every lesson I insist she master. Getting geography right is critical. If she'd done a better job of it, Koot van Beek might still be alive."

Goldie tossed back the rest of her drink. "All right. I'm willing to help teach her a lesson. Come on, I have the paperwork down at my office."

Malcolm, God bless him, maintained an absolute poker face.

Goldie couldn't sign over the deed to the Shashe River property fast enough. Kit duly transferred ten thousand from his account into hers while Malcolm witnessed the signatures. "Goldie," Kit said, kissing her hand gallantly, "you have a grandfather's undying gratitude."

"My pleasure. Young people must learn, after all." Goldie's cheeks were faintly flushed. No one loved a scam quite as much as Goldie Morran.

Unless, of course, it was Kit Carson.

Two weeks later, Malcolm Moore's computer-mail queue beeped, letting him know he had a package from up time waiting at Customs. He signed for the box, which had been sealed by up-time ATF customs authorities. The return address was scrawled in Margo's hand. Malcolm spotted a second package like it for Kit.

He grinned, then made tracks for the Neo Edo.

"Kit around?"

"Yeah," Jimmy told him. "It's paperwork day again. You want me to buzz him?"

"Nah. I'll surprise him."

Jimmy grinned. "That man will do anything to avoid paperwork."

Malcolm laughed. "Can you blame him?"

"Hell, no."

Malcolm rapped on the office door. Kit's "Yeah, it's open" sounded vastly relieved

Malcolm slid back the door and kicked off his shoes. He held up his mail. "Package from Margo. There's one for you, too, waiting at Customs."

Kit came around the desk like a thrown baseball: "Well, open it!"

Malcolm tore the seals and ripped open the cardboard. Inside was a metal box which he tilted carefully out. The lid slipped back to reveal a single item: a glittering diamond in the rough, nearly as big as Malcolm's thumbnail.

Kit whooped. "She did it!"

Malcolm held it up to the light, then whistled. She sure had. "That," Malcolm sighed, "is truly beautiful." And if she still felt the same way in a few months, maybe he'd even have it made into a ring ...

Well, stranger things had happened to him lately. Their parting had been enough to shake both of them to the core. Who knew? Maybe she'd even broken his notorious string of bad luck?

Now that would be a switch.

"I think," Malcolm grinned, "this calls for a celebration."

Kit broke out champagne from his private stock and poured bubbly, then handed over a glass. "How about a toast?"

Malcolm waited expectantly.

Kit lifted his glass. "To the best damn time scouts in La La Land. Partner." He slid over a signed document giving Malcolm and Margo each a third-share interest in the land Kit had bought from Goldie Morran. Malcolm just gaped.

"You earned it. We all did. Hope you don't mind paying Kynan Rhys Gower out of our joint profits?"

Malcolm's eyes misted. "Hear, hear. I'd say that's a bargain any day of the week." They touched glasses with a musical clink.

"Now, partner," Kit grinned, "about that story you were going to tell me... the one about Caligula's murder and Claudius' ascension to the Principate of Rome."

"Oh, no," Malcolm laughed. "First you have to spill the beans about what really happened when you spent the night hiding under Queen Victoria's bed."

Kit grinned. "I never compromise a lady. You first." No one, Malcolm chuckled, could bamboozle and flummox his way out of the truth like a time scout. At last, La-La Land was back to normal. Thank God. Malcolm settled back in one of Kit's chairs and started spinning the tallest tale he could concoct about that day in Rome five years previously-and two thousand years in the past-and made himself a silent promise.

If Margo could risk it, so could he. Malcolm Moore and Margo Smith, Time Scouts ...

It had a nice ring to it.