Touchstone

16

Le Grand’s eyes seemed to light up with the revelation that now filled his mind, his thoughts spilling quickly into animated speech as he considered the situation.

“First things first,” he said. “You must tell me why you’ve come. Oh, joy! What an honor this is. You really have no idea. Why, it’s livened up things quite a bit! This was the last month of my tour, you see. Napoleon is on his way here even as we speak. He’s received word that the Turkish fleet has appeared, but that wheezing old Mustapha Pasha is just sitting on the beach out there while his men try to secure the French garrison at Aboukir Castle. That’s where those two kind soldiers were off to when you arrived. Well, I suppose you know the history as well as I do.”

“Quite so,” said Nordhausen. “Napoleon left Cairo on the eleventh of July, but he will be twelve days getting here.”

“Too bad you can’t stay for the final battle! I’ve seen it twice now, and it’s well worth the wait. Oh, it’s not quite as spectacular as the Battle of the Pyramids, but it’s a darn site better than that nasty business in Palestine. Murat is leading the French Cavalry in the van. Napoleon won’t wait for Kleber’s Division. With the Turks picking their noses on the beaches, he just sends in enough foot soldiers to force the Pasha’s entrenchments, and then Murat dashes in with one of those cavalry charges that he becomes so famous for. It’s really quite a show!”

“Sorry we’ll miss it,” said Nordhausen, “but we came on… other business.”

“Oh, yes,” LeGrand rolled his eyes. “The discovery. You’re here for just 48 hours. You arrive on the 14^th and leave on the 16^th. The big day is tomorrow, of course. It’s nothing so grand as a battle, but the finding of the stone is something of a windfall for Western scholars. Being somewhat of a Savant myself, I always ride forward to Rashid here for the recovery. But why are you so interested in it? Did you pick up on the variation as well?”

“Yes,” said Nordhausen. “Damn lucky I suppose. As I have said, I was doing some research at the British Museum. It’s a long story, but suffice it to say that I wanted to have a good look at the Rosetta Stone to confirm a suspicion I’ve been brooding on. Imagine my surprise when I found it damaged.”

“Damaged? What are you speaking of?”

Nordhausen related the details of his mission to London, and the harrowing discovery that no one could read the glyphs upon his return.

“I see,” said LeGrand. He thought for a moment, then broke into a broad smile. “You want to see if it’s damaged upon discovery!”

“Quite so,” said Nordhausen.

“So, that’s what this is all about. The courier didn’t have any details, just a watch order. Still, it seems that the Order is now as interested in the condition of this stone as you two seem to be. I can’t imagine why, but what’s good for the Founders sits well with me.” He dipped his head in a bow and smiled again. “I am at your service then: Jean LeGrand, First Able Sergeant of the Milieu, Order of the Temporal Knights. How may I assist you?”

“We need to observe the discovery, of course,” said Maeve. “And we want to be as inconspicuous as possible. You say you’ve witnessed this event before?”

“Twice.”

“Well man—was it damaged?” Nordhausen was eager for all the information he could get.

“Not that I could tell. No, the discovery went off without any hitch that I could discern. Captain Bouchard is already at the Fort. He’ll be directing the improvements to the west wall tomorrow—that’s where they find it, embedded in the wall of Fort Julien.”

“You can take us there?”

“Of course. It’s just to the north a tad, at the edge of the plantation country, on the west bank of the Nile. We’ll use the carriage. The two of you can sit inside and I’ll lead it right past the dig site at precisely the moment the stone is uncovered. We’ll have a perfect vantage point.”

“Excellent,” Robert rubbed his palms together.

“If I may ask,” LeGrand put in. “What kind of damage are you talking about? Was the stone defaced?”

“Oh nothing as simple as that. It was broken clean across the top when I observed it at the London Museum. All the hieroglyphics were gone, and the curator of antiquities there claims it was always so.”

That news gave LeGrand a start. “I see,” he mused. “This is more serious than I thought. What do you hope to determine here?”

“The time of the damage, for one thing,” said Robert. “If it’s intact when they dig it up tomorrow, it will mean that the damage was incurred somewhere forward of this point on the continuum.”

“Obviously,” said LeGrand.

“I know it’s not much, but it is at least a starting point. We’re fairly hopeful that it will be uncovered intact.”

“Yes, if it was damaged somehow, that narrows down the window of opportunity to just a few years before it reaches London in 1802.”

“Better than that,” said Nordhausen. “The stone was taken to the National Institute in Cairo soon after it’s discovery. My research indicates that Napoleon ordered an inscription made of the writing. Two prominent lithographers were called from France. They’re going to ink the stone and roll paper over it to get a good image of the text. The damage must occur before that is accomplished.”

“I see, then that compresses the affair to just a few months. Very clever! Napoleon won’t bother to pay any attention to it in the next week or so. He’s busy planning his battle with the Turks at Aboukir Bay.”

“That means the time of greatest vulnerability will be the journey from the discovery site to Cairo.”

“Quite so,” LeGrand concurred. “If I were planning something, that’s when I would strike. All the French troops in the area will be converging here, their minds set on the Turks. Let me think… Yes. If I were going to make a move on the stone I would probably arrange an ambush along the road—and considerably south of here so as to forestall any interference by the French.”

“How long is the journey to Cairo likely to take?” asked Nordhausen.

“I’m not exactly certain,” said LeGrand. “I’m here for the discovery, but then I take up with the Engineers as they make ready to join Napoleon’s attack at Aboukir Bay. I usually go on to the battle, but not this time. The watch order didn’t give me any specific instruction but, given this news, I’m afraid I have to stay with the stone. Problem is, the damn thing just lays around here for a good long while before they get round to moving it. Now I’ll have to come up with some plan to account for my necessary interest in the artifact for what may turn out to be a very long month. Too bad you can’t stay to keep me some company.”

“You realize that this situation is likely to be dangerous now,” said Maeve.

“Dangerous? My lady, everything I do here is dangerous. I have to watch things like an owl, being constantly vigilant while also remaining discreetly uninvolved, as much as possible.

“Take those two French soldiers this morning. They were supposed to carry a message to the commander of the garrison at Aboukir Castle. Then I get word to put a watch on the road west of town. Incursion watch! That’s what we call it when someone initiates a breaching point on the continuum in the area. We look for the telltale signs—white haze, extreme cold, and that wonderful aurora that settles around you as you manifest. Well, as far as I could tell, the road was clear of traffic in the pre-dawn hours. Then I learned that this message was being sent, and so I found out who was going and claimed that I had lost track of some associates. I tagged along and, voilá! There you were. I handled the incident quite adroitly, wouldn’t you say? ”

“To be sure,” said Maeve. “You made your rendezvous with us and managed to send the two soldiers on their way to avoid any contamination.”

“Exactly!” LeGrand beamed with satisfaction. “The trick was in figuring how to prevent any interaction between the two of you and the soldiers. I had to find you before they did, and make sure your arrival did not deter them from their courier assignment in any way.”

“Well, you’ve made a fine resolution of that one, and here we are.” Maeve set down her teacup, a pensive expression on her face. “But I have a question,” she said. “Just who would be trying to damage the stone, in your opinion, and why?”

“Our enemies, of course.”

“Enemies? Who exactly are they?”

“Well,” said LeGrand, “that’s quite a long story. As to who, radical Islam has been most inconvenient for us over the last several decades. There have been a hundred nefarious groups that have sprung up over the years, but the heart of the nest is the Ismaili Cult of Assassins. As to why, I suppose you and professor Nordhausen have as much of a clue as I do. These people will simply not stop interfering. They won’t be satisfied until the whole of the world supplicates itself to the will of Allah. Their religion is infused with bad politics, and it’s becoming insufferable—nothing more than a thin veil of hypocrisy for their devious political aims. Do you know that Mohammed was the only major religious figure who was also a warrior?”

“I see,” said Maeve, somewhat unconvinced. “Religion is like that sometimes… the Crusades, the Spanish Inquisition, the Hundred Years War, Protestants and Catholics at each other’s throats, popes paying huge bribes to Venetian merchants to have crusading armies delivered to targets of opportunity. You know the routine well enough, I suppose—’Soldiers of Christ,’ out to secure lands and fortunes for the Vicar. When it comes to hypocrisy, there seems to be plenty left over for the Christians.”

“Yes, well at least we had the good sense to work most of that out during the Middle Ages,” said LeGrand.

“Quite so,” Maeve returned. “Now it’s politics and economics to keep things interesting. Take this little adventure by Napoleon…” She gestured broadly to the unseen world outside the walls of the roadside inn. “It’s politically motivated, to be sure, but I wonder what the reaction would be in Paris if thirty thousand Turks suddenly landed in Marseilles?”

“Oh, they’ve tried, but Charles Martel put an end to Moslem expansion in Europe at the battle of Tours in 732.”

“True,” said Maeve. “And ever since then it seems the West has been on the offensive. Recent history would argue that you’ve got it all wrong, Doctor. The West has been sticking its thumb in the Islamic pie for the last few centuries—not the other way around.”

“I suppose that’s one way of looking at it.” LeGrand set down his cup, crossing his arms. “It really does come down to a clash of cultures when you get to the root of it all. The Islamic world is still centuries behind the West in terms of its social systems and politics.”

“And so your Order is helping them along?” Maeve had that look in her eye that Robert knew all too well. He gave LeGrand a sideward glance, wondering if he knew what he was in for, and smiling uncomfortably.

“Helping them is perhaps not the right way to think of it,” said LeGrand. “After Palma, the proverbial gloves have come off, Miss Lindford. Think of it like your 9/11 event in New York. That certainly catalyzed the American government. ”

“With disastrous consequences,” Maeve put in quickly. “Don’t you think all that trouble in Iraq had something to do with the plans made by this Husan al Din?”

“It probably spawned a hundred such plans, many you have yet to live through, I’m afraid. The worst was Palma, but we fixed that.”

“And it undoubtedly created a few more problems at the same time,” said Maeve.

LeGrand did not answer immediately, a troubled expression on his face. “If you must know, things have taken a turn for the worse in recent years. They’ve discovered how to travel in time as well.”

“Yes, we know, and now they have a mind to meddle in your affairs, just as you seem set on meddling in theirs.”

“That’s about the size of it. A bothersome lot, these Arabs. The Turks weren’t nearly so bad. Oh, I suppose it wouldn’t matter if they were all living in Africa or huddled on some island continent like Australia. But the simple fact of the matter is that the whole of the Islamic Crescent sits atop 90% of the world’s oil and gas.”

“How inconvenient,” said Maeve.

“To be sure, madam. The West needs that oil throughout the twenty-first century… until alternative energy sources can be properly developed.”

“Rubbish,” said Maeve. “We have the ability to develop and deploy hydrogen based fuel systems even in my day. The only reason we don’t is the enormous profit involved in the sale of a diminishing resource like oil.”

“True,” said LeGrand. “No argument here. Still, facts are facts. Whether the West needs the oil or not, the powers that be have decided they need it, and that makes for some particularly troublesome times in the storied conflict of Western nations with the Islamic world. It starts with freedom fighters in Afghanistan and becomes airplanes crashing into the World Trade Center, and worse…” He seemed to catch himself, realizing he might reveal the course of future events to these people, and somehow alter them. “Well we all know how it ends, don’t we? It ends with Palma. After that, we simply decided we had to put stop to it, once and for all.”

“Oh, that much is obvious,” said Maeve. “Let’s call it what it is Doctor, war.”

“They call it that.” LeGrand came back at her quickly. “I believe the word is Jihad.”

“Nonsense,” said Maeve, folding her arms abruptly—a very bad sign as far as Nordhausen was concerned. The conversation was becoming more and more heated, and he was considering what he might say to cool tempers down.

Maeve started in again: “It’s true that the Islamic world is far behind the West in terms of social equity and justice. But it is equally true that Western powers have never really had any noble interest in dealing with that. They’re motivated by political and economic reasons—like this expedition by Napoleon. He wanted to campaign through the Middle East to isolate Britain from her colony in India.”

“And he disarmed the peasant rabble,” LeGrand cut in. “He broke the back of the Mamluk hegemony, established new political systems, built hospitals to curb disease—”

“Carried in the plague,” Maeve raised her chin, unwilling to allow her host to serve these facts unchallenged. “He massacred hundreds of prisoners in Palestine, put down the Cairo insurrection with ritual beheadings, then tried to cart off virtually anything he could find of interest. Thankfully, he loses. The British win and so they decide set up shop in Egypt until well into the twentieth century. Got to keep a close eye on Suez, you see.”

“Well,” said LeGrand, a bit disconcerted. “It’s been my experience that the British usually leave things better off than they find them.”

“Chin, chin old boy,” Maeve winked at him, unyielding. “Yes, when the natives get restless there was always the Martini & Henry rifle and a bayonet to set things right. England created the situation that led to unrest and division in the Middle East for decades. The Sykes-Picot agreement just drew arbitrary lines in the sand here after the First World War, irrespective of cultural and ethnic differences. It created pacific little countries like Iraq, a gross conglomerate of Shiite, Sunni, Kurdish and Turkomen tribes, and all the misery that has resulted. Then, seeing the mess they’d made, Britain calmly withdrew ‘East of Suez’ and left it all to their new friend to sort out—the good old U.S.A. Now, don’t get me started on how that turned out.”

“Oh, I know exactly how it turns out, madam. You forget, it’s all history to me.”

“Spare me the details,” said Maeve, realizing she could not fight in that corner. “I can see where it’s heading quite well, thank you.”

“Come, come,” said LeGrand, trying to diffuse the situation. “If I didn’t know better I would have to ask myself who’s side you are on here.”

Maeve fixed him with a riveting stare, but LeGrand met her gaze with heavy lids, a look of suspicion settling into his fleshy features.

“Well, Doctor,” she said with an air of finality. “You didn’t invite us to tea to quibble over politics. Suppose you tell us what your real mission is here, and why you were warned to be on the lookout for two Americans on the road west of the city? Be quick about it, sir. The morning is wearing thin.”

17

Le Grand seemed taken aback by Maeve’s remark. The fire in her eyes seemed to surprise him, and he took a guarded posture, eying Nordhausen as though to see where he came down in the argument that had been unfolding. “Madame,” he said at last, “you make it sound as though there is some nefarious plot in the works.”

“You said it yourself, Doctor,” Maeve went on. “You received a message telling you to be on the lookout for two Americans on the road. You were kind enough to return my purse, but you, and your people, have had a good long look at my notes in the bargain, and this Order you speak of certainly knew what we were about here.”

“That you were about here,” LeGrand corrected. “Yes, we knew that much. The Touchstone database also indicated that there was a variation concerning the Rosetta stone as well. To put it bluntly, it was lost, as far as history was concerned. It’s significance as a key to the hieroglyphics was completely undone. We assumed you were interested, even as we were, but we did not know why.”

The ire in Maeve’s eye had not diminished. “Really? Even with a century or more to think it over? Don’t be coy, Doctor. From your perspective in the future this Order of the Temporal Knights knows very well what we are about—and why. If you will not at least grant me the courtesy of honesty, then I’m afraid I will have to insist that we leave here at once. We’ll find our way to the discovery site on our own.”

“Now, Maeve…” Robert touched her shoulder.

“Be quiet, Robert.” The tone of her voice made it quite plain that she was in no mood for compromise.

LeGrand squinted and pursed his lips, deciding. “Very well,” he said. “I forget who I’m dealing with: Maeve Lindford, head of Outcomes & Consequences, and the bane of research for…” he caught himself briefly, “an eternity,” he concluded.

“And what outcome will we have here, Doctor?” Maeve waited, chin up, eyes unyielding.

“Yes,” LeGrand said slowly. “We knew you were coming. We’ve had time enough to determine that much. The clues in that purse you dropped made the research easy. And I must warn you, Madam—warn you both.” He looked at Nordhausen as well. “They know you are here as well—the other side. You know who they are. Your friend, Mr. Dorland, made their acquaintance in Castle Massiaf. What a stroke of luck that was—a perfect example of his Pushpoint theory. Oh, Research predicted that you would try and retrieve your Ammonite fossil, Professor. Still, that little affair in Wadi Rumm was quite interesting. It’s amazing that you stumbled on the well like that.”

“You mean to say you knew about the well all along?”

“Quite the opposite,” said LeGrand. “We knew nothing at all. They set the Oklo reaction up with great secrecy, and used it sparingly so as not to reveal its location to our sensors. You see, Time war is a rather delicate business. You don’t fight any battles. There are no sweeping maneuvers and heavy blows against the enemy. It’s all subtlety, subterfuge, misdirection. It’s the little things that count, after all, the Pushpoints. So you can imagine our concern when we got a variation alert just as you were trying to slip out of Jordan for your surreptitious rendezvous with the Arabesque.”

“You knew about that?” Nordhausen seemed a bit flustered. “But I took the greatest care to conceal my plans. Why, not even Paul knew what I was up to until I had him in the helo over Wadi Rumm! How did you learn about the ship?”

“That’s irrelevant,” LeGrand waved him off. “The point is, we were caught off guard by a hidden Pushpoint at the edge of that well. When Mr. Dorland stumbled in the dark, and took his fall, it set off quite a stir back in operations. We had a mission into the very same milieu where he manifested—a rather delicate mission—and he upset the proverbial apple cart with his arrival at Castle Massiaf.”

Maeve smiled. “Let me guess,” she said with a slight edge of sarcasm. “The Horns of Hattin…”

LeGrand gave her a penetrating look. “Indeed, Madam. Do you think we would allow something like that to stand if we could prevent it? The entire Christian army was slaughtered. A hundred Templars were lined up and beheaded, one by one, with that Moslem flair for the dramatic.”

“The hostage executions were all over the Internet during the second war in Iraq,” said Maeve.

“Then you can understand our motives easily enough. The battle of Hattin set back Christian plans in the Middle East for generations. It undid ninety years of painful consolidation in the kingdom of Outrémere, and caused a great deal of misery and suffering for decades thereafter.”

“Yes,” said Maeve. “The third Crusade was the answer, but Richard The Lion Heart failed to deliver Jerusalem and met an unseemly end in a German prison. The Fourth Crusade gets diverted to Constantinople by greedy Venetian Merchants. Lots of pain and suffering there, I suppose.”

“We had our reasons,” said LeGrand, then caught himself, realizing that he had said a bit too much. “But in the matter of Mr. Dorland’s visit to Massiaf, we could not quite figure out if you were running a deliberate mission or if it was mere happenstance.”

“Yes,” said Maeve, “there are always reasons…” she let the phrase dangle, looking LeGrand square in the eye. “Tell me, Doctor. Were you trying to kill Reginald?”

LeGrand jumped at the accusation, then narrowed his gaze, somewhat determined. “That would be quite unseemly,” he said. “Did we want him dead? Certainly. Did we think we could be so bold as to… assassinate him? Absolutely not. There are rules in the game, my dear. Violations are severe. Reginald was a Prime, as you well know. Without his headstrong influence, poor Guy never takes the crown from Baldwin’s daughter. Without his lust for vengeance and his greed, Saladin is never provoked to muster the Moslem armies. Without his brazen insults and bullying ways, the Christian army never sorties out to confront Saladin at Hattin, and things turn out… quite differently.”

“I can imagine,” said Maeve. “So what were you up to, Doctor? And how did we upset your little scheme?”

“We let it be someone else’s little scheme,” said LeGrand. “We were trying to arrange it so they killed Reginald. After all—the word assassin dates from that very milieu. There were experts in the mountains of Syria who could do the job well enough. All we had to do was make certain Reginald gave them sufficient reason. Our adversaries were not sleeping, however. They must have been on to us—or so we thought. It took us some time before we realized they were running couriers into Massiaf to their agent in place at that location.”

“Sinan,” said Maeve, matter of factly.”

“Quite so,” said LeGrand. “You really are very good, Madame. Reading about you is one thing, but seeing you work this out with that steely resolve of yours is quite another. Touché!”

“Spare me the flattery,” Maeve put in.

Nordhausen was following along as best he could, but he had a puzzled expression on his face. “See here,” he began: “Then this Sinan, the one the Crusaders feared as the ‘Old Man of the Mountain’, was indeed an agent from the future?”

“Of course,” said LeGrand. “He was a perfect little Osama Bin Ladin for that milieu. He found a disaffected cult—just another of the many branches on the tree of Islam, and he managed to nurture and prune it until he had his crop of Assassins. They became a perfect instrument for the radicals for the next 200 years—until we put the Mongols on to them. In the meantime, Sinan poses quite a challenge for us.”

“But I don’t understand,” said Nordhausen. “If he was as skilled an adversary as you indicate, then why would he allow himself to be duped into taking the life of a Prime Mover?”

“Every barrel of fruit has a few bad apples,” said LeGrand. “Men are petty, they have pride, desire, odd motives that can be played upon by one who knows the span of their entire life. Sinan was not our target. We knew there were others in the Ismaili cult who could not abide a man like Reginald. We tried to get rid of Reginald ourselves, but to no avail. We urged him to conduct his little known raid by sea along the coast of Arabia, hoping to leave him hopelessly stranded there, but then, by some miracle, he escaped. We made sure he was restored to Castle Kerak on the southern border near the great Islamic trade route into Egypt, and then we whispered of the Sultan’s caravans, fat with gold, and spice and silk.”

“And it almost worked,” said Maeve.

“Almost.” LeGrand looked at her suspiciously. “Mr. Dorland’s fall into the Well of Souls undid our plan at the last moment. The man we were hoping to influence within the Ismaili cult failed to act. We aren’t exactly sure what Mr. Dorland did, or how he did it, but the assassination plot against Reginald was foiled. In fact, he managed to get the Assassins in Massiaf at each other’s throats! Quite effective for an agent saboteur! Well, we should have expected nothing less. After all, we relied on you people for the Palma reversal, so it should be no surprise to us that you find ways of… accomplishing things with great success. After all,” he smiled wanly, “you are the Founders.”

“Yes,” said Maeve quietly. “And if I read you, Doctor, and I read very well, I would say you are not at all happy with our accomplishments.”

LeGrand sighed heavily. “Well, there it is,” he said. “We want things our way—you want them yours.”

“And the Assassins want them another way,” Maeve finished.

“Yes,” said LeGrand quickly. “We’ve seen the world they want. We’ve lived in it. Believe me, madam, you would understand our motives quite well after a year or two in the Chador. I don’t think a woman of great spirit, such as yourself, would abide Islamic Sharia very long without going quite insane. Is that what you want?”

“It’s not what I want that matters here, Doctor,” said Maeve. “It’s what you want that I’m concerned about now.”

“Me? You mean the Order? Why, we want the world we fought for, died for by the thousands. We want the destiny that Christendom so richly deserves, along with the spread of freedom and democracy, in a world where individual rights are respected, and the dignity of women is upheld.”

“Doctor LeGrand,” said Maeve, “just a moment ago you were telling me how inconvenient it was that a billion Muslims were sitting on all that petroleum. You were lamenting that things might have been better if they were all shunted away on some island, safely out of the way. I must say, other men have gone about with the words freedom, equality and fraternity on their lips, and spread more misery across the globe than all the so called terrorists that ever lived. Take your friend, Napoleon, as a perfect example.” She folded her arms, her point well made.

“I can see that this is leading us nowhere,” LeGrand sighed. “Well, it hardly matters. You’re here for the discovery, and so am I. My offer to lead you to the site still stands, if you can abide my company.” He looked askance at Maeve, a wounded look on his face.

“Just a moment,” Nordhausen spoke up. “If you two are done with politics I should like to have some answers myself. You say your computers indicated a variation for this milieu.”

“Of course,” said LeGrand. “The Ismaili Assassins are up to no good again. It has something to do with the stone, and the hieroglyphics. Who knows?”

“Then you believe they are responsible for the damage to the stone?”

“Who else?” LeGrand opened his palms, his jovial eyes reflecting the sincerity of his conclusion.

“But why, Doctor, have you reasoned that?”

“Why? That’s is not my charge. I’m an agent in place. It’s my job to observe, report, and execute specific instructions. Let Research and Outcomes quarrel over the rest.”

Nordhausen thought for a moment. “And how do you receive your instructions?”

“What? Oh, by special courier. We’ve learned that’s the only safe way to transmit orders. Just a little Spook Job, you see. All the agents have rounds to make, and places to be on particular days. We plan things very well. This entire week I was to be billeted here at the inn, during the run up to the discovery of the stone. The Order knew my whereabouts and sent someone through with a message last night. It’s really quite simple—in and out, a cool minute in eternity. We’ve perfected the technique quite well: Delphi and the oracle, the burning bush that spoke to Moses in the desert, the sudden appearance of apparitions. It’s really great fun.”

“I see,” said Nordhausen. “Well it may please you to know that I think I ran into a messenger from the other side during my stay in Wadi Rumm.”

“Oh?” LeGrand perked up, suddenly interested. “Do go on, Professor.”

Robert looked at Maeve, but hearing no immediate protest he began to explain. “He called himself Rasil, the Messenger, and claimed he was to use the Well of Souls to reach Castle Massif with certain instructions. I didn’t know his destination at the time. That was not confirmed until Kelly and Maeve ran down the vectors and pulled Paul out. But the curious thing about this is—”

“That will be quite enough, Robert.” Maeve had heard a little more than she was comfortable with.

LeGrand looked surprised. “What? I was quite forthcoming with both of you. We’re in a Nexus. Please, rest assured.”

“I’m afraid not.” Maeve folded her arms, shaking her head in the contrary.

“But madam, please. I can assure you that—”

“You have assured me of one thing already, Doctor,” said Maeve. “And that is this: until I have time to reflect on this matter further, I must consider you, and your Order, to be the gravest possible threat to the integrity of the continuum, and I will do everything in my power to see that your tampering is put to an end.”

18

Maeve’s pronouncement fell like a stone in the pool of silence that now filled the room. The ripples played over the expression of both Nordhausen and LeGrand, who looked at each other, and then back at her.

“Come, Robert. I think it’s time we leave.”

“Now, Maeve,” Robert began, but Maeve answered by getting up and striding to the door, obviously intent on vacating the premises at once, with or without her friend. Robert gaped at her as she went out the door, then turned briefly to LeGrand and stood up quickly to follow.

“I’m very sorry,” he tried to apologize.

“This is most irregular,” said LeGrand, a look of amazement on his face. “What about the discovery? I’ve made all the arrangements. And where will you sleep? Doesn’t that woman realize it’s a dangerous world out there?”

“Only too well, I suppose,” said Nordhausen. “Look, I must get after her, you understand. Please forgive me.” He extended an arm in a quick, apologetic gesture, and set off after Maeve, one hand straightening his wig as he went.

By the time he caught up with her, she was out through the courtyard and exiting the gate to the inn. The sun had climbed high during their conversation, and the mid-day heat was beginning to radiate from the dry landforms about them. A saving breeze was still blowing in off the ocean to the north, but it was going to be very uncomfortable out in the open sun. Maeve had already opened her parasol and was slowing her gait somewhat to let Robert catch up.

“Really,” he said, somewhat out of breath. “Was it necessary to make a scene like that?”

“It was.”

“But I don’t understand—the man was only trying to help us. He had quarters arranged, tea, and no doubt there would have been some breakfast in the bargain as well. He knows exactly where the discovery site is, and now we’ll just have to bungle about on our own because of your stubborn—”

“Leave it, Robert. Either you weren’t listening in there or you have a severe case of time lag. The man is dangerous, don’t you understand?” She kept walking, heading east, in the general direction of the town center. Robert was pulled along with her.

“Dangerous? What are you talking about?”

“Don’t you get it? The man is an agent.”

“But he’s merely observing,” Robert explained. “He’s standing a watch on the milieu—”

“And executing instructions he receives by courier. It’s the same scenario Paul stumbled into at Castle Massiaf. You were just about to explain it to him, yes?”

“Well, of course!” Robert did not see the danger that was obviously so apparent to Maeve.

“You were going to tell him about the scroll, the hieroglyphics, everything. In fact, I’ll bet you couldn’t wait to translate the message Rasil was carrying. Didn’t you hear? They were trying to change the outcome of Hattin—by arranging the death of Reginald. I don’t know what Paul did when he was there but, whatever it was, it foiled their plan.”

“Well, you’re acting like he’s our enemy.”

“Robert…” Maeve stopped suddenly, turning to confront him. “Anyone who intends to alter the history we know is our enemy. Get that into your head! We’re here to find out if this stone you prize so highly is damaged or not. You know why, yes? Well, I should know why as well—but I don’t. The Meridian has been altered, and something that was once roosting happily in my head is gone. I wasn’t in a Nexus, like you were, when the transformation occurred, and I’ve lost something—the Rosetta stone, for one thing, and god only knows what else!” Her face reddened as she concluded, her eyes burning with controlled anger.

A look of recognition came over Robert’s face. His eyes softened, losing the frustration that was in them as he chased after her. “Very well,” he said at last. “I understand your concerns now. I can see that this is going to be very difficult—for all of us. Still, we might have learned something more from LeGrand, if you weren’t so headstrong.”

“I’ve learned quite enough,” said Maeve. “He’s an agent; probably involved in all sorts of mischief. He may be here to preserve Napoleon’s life from the assassins, or to tamper with the outcome of his battles—who knows? But I’ll tell you one thing: he’s a liar, and that makes him my enemy, no matter what his pleasantries and feigned hospitality might say to the contrary.”

“A liar? About what?”

“Weren’t you listening? He said Graves discovered Paul’s DVD in the memorial site. Now we both know that the site was tampered with, and the DVD was taken—possibly as an attempt against Kelly’s life. But Kelly’s not gone…” Her lips tightened as she struggled to complete her thought. “He’s still here, or at least I hope he is. He recovered when you and Paul determined to do something about the tampering, and published the backup DVD to the Internet. If that stands, then Graves must have found the DVD by some other means, and LeGrand is lying.”

“Well, he’s been here in Egypt for over a year, Maeve. The tampering just occurred. How would he know about it when he was stuck in Palestine with Napoleon’s army?”

“Oh, don’t be silly. Use your head, man! The tampering occurred in the year 2010, Robert. Remember, he would be privy to any transformation of the Meridian between our lifetime and his. He said it himself—it’s all history to him. He should have known that the site was tampered with, and the DVD was found by other means—yet he feigned ignorance of the whole matter.”

Nordhausen scratched his head. “Good heavens. Now I am confused.”

“Think of it this way,” Maeve explained, “the fact that Kelly remained substantial after the tampering means that something was done to preserve the DVD record—and it was found. LeGrand told us the story he thought we would believe. He’s a liar.”

“I see,” said Robert. “This is becoming more complicated than I imagined. This temporal logic is confounding. How do we know that the whole matter isn’t undone by some other operation—something that prevents the tampering with Kelly’s memorial site, just as we prevented Palma?”

“We don’t know,” said Maeve. “But the facts, as they stand now, reveal LeGrand to be… insincere, to say the least, and devious, to say more. I’ll tell you something else that you might have missed: LeGrand said the perfect time for an operation against the stone would be somewhere on the road between here and Cairo.”

“Well… That seems logical enough.”

“Oh, it would be,” Maeve said quickly. “Only the stone was not transported to Cairo by road. All that talk about the French commandeering the good riding stock was bogus. Do you realize how heavy that thing is? Really, Robert, you should have researched this mission if you were so damn set on it. They moved the stone by river. They barged it up the Nile to Cairo, and so LeGrand was just trying to put us off the scent with his clever little scenario about a roadside ambush.”

Nordhausen scratched his head, amazed that Maeve had been so perceptive. “Well,” he said at last. “I suppose I understand your hostility toward the man now.”

“Right,” Maeve agreed quickly. “We must act as though he were a potential contagion to the Meridian, Robert. He is not our friend. He was sent to intercept us—with foreknowledge of our exact arrival time and location. This Order he speaks of is aware of our operation here, as they are doubtless aware of our intention to prevent their tampering. Again—everything we do is history to them—at least the outcome of our actions. In that case, we become obstacles to their plans as well—Founders and Prime Movers all.”

“You mean to say you think they would conspire against us?”

“Why not? LeGrand has revealed that we have already overturned their assassination plot against Reginald. Lord… we’ve said entirely too much to that man. Telling him that the incident in Wadi Rumm was mere happenstance was not good. Translating the message you read on Rasil’s scroll, as you were about to do, would have been worse. Remember what Paul said about security. We’ve been very sloppy this time—myself included. I was thoughtless in taking that note back in my purse. If you must know, I simply forgot it was there, but that’s no excuse. I practically stripped myself naked the first time I went through the Arch. I was careless, and I put them on to us.”

Nordhausen nodded. “All is forgiven,” he said, then grew very quiet. After a moment he looked at her with a searching expression. “Maeve, can you possibly forgive me for… for what I did in using the Arch? I was on to something—taken up with the hunt, as it were. I wanted to have a look at artifacts, yes, I’ll admit it: I choose London because I have always loved that time. And when I met Wilde and all I…”

“Say no more,” said Maeve. “Alright, I’ll let you off the hook on the condition that you behave yourself for the rest of this mission.” She smiled, and the mood between them lightened.

“We had better get into town and find some new accommodations,” said Robert. “I suppose it may appear somewhat scandalous to some—a strapping man like me alone with a woman in this savage land.”

“Remember,” Maeve corrected him quickly, “I’m your sister.”

They walked on, the town growing around them as they made their way past parched fields, once lush plantations in the flood season. The smell of sea salt and brine was in the air, and Nordhausen steered them in the direction of the fort. Before long, however, they were very tired, and surprisingly hungry.

“I simply must get out of this sun and have something to eat,” said Maeve, and Robert concurred.

The activity of traders, farmers and herders was more apparent as they moved into the heart of the settlement. People were hustling along the thin, stone-laid roads, intent on a thousand matters know only to themselves. As Nordhausen looked at them he felt a strange inner twinge of something akin to fear. What if one of these people was musing on something that would end up triggering any of the great events of history waiting to play out?

LeGrand was correct when he said it was the common man, and the triviality of his simple desires, that you really had to look out for. It occurred to him that the greatest part of all human experience was entirely unknown—stuck away in a man’s head as his inner thoughts moved from one tiny necessity to the next. Only the smallest fraction was ever expressed, in conversation with other men, and even less of that was ever written down to be known by future generations.

Yes, he thought, most of human experience was silent, private, confined in the heads of simple men and women, and never revealed. Just as he kept this very muse to himself, so the greatest measure of human thought was entirely unknown—a mystery he could never imagine. What was Maeve thinking at this very moment?

He looked at her, struggling along in that layered costume, parasol held up bravely against the tireless sun. A bit of the mystery was suddenly revealed to him when she took a deep breath and licked her lips.

“Smell that?” There was a palpable aroma of cooking meat on the air, and Robert could see that they were approaching a souk near the center of town.

“Delightful,” he said. “Are you as famished as I am?”

“Yes,” she said, fidgeting about in her purse. “Ah,” she smiled. “At least they had the good manners to leave the contents intact.”

“What do you mean?”

“I scrounged up some old French francs at a dealer’s shop in Berkeley before we left. It’s all here—even the three gold pieces I added, just in case the notes would not be accepted. Why, they’ve even left my note in the purse.”

“With all the details of our mission?”

“Yes. I’ll say one thing for them: they’re tidy. Looks like someone in Outcomes insisted that the purse had to be left exactly as it was, and returned to the proper owner for disposition, as LeGrand called it.”

“I don’t know if I like the sound of that,” said Nordhausen. “But let’s see about something to eat!”

Maeve was only too happy to accommodate him. They made their way into a wide open square where many street vendors offered the produce from nearby plantations. Sellers were calling out to catch the attention of passers by, and people crowded about carts and stands, where baskets of melons, dates, and other fruit were offered. But their attention was led by their noses to a man offering slivers of seasoned meat on long wood skewers. He was grilling them over a brazier of charcoal, and the aroma was compelling.

Maeve handed Robert a note, and he angled in to bargain with the man for their lunch. The vendor eyed him suspiciously at first. He accepted the note cautiously, squinting at it in the bright sunlight, and finally smelling it before he flashed them a gritty smile and handed over two skewers of meat. Robert accepted them with a nod, handing them to Maeve, then he waited, eyeing the vendor like he was up to no good.

“Come on, Robert,” said Maeve.

“Why, the beggar hasn’t given me my change yet,” Robert protested. “That was a five frank note, am I right?”

Maeve gave him an incredulous look. “Leave it,” she said, pulling him away. “I’m famished. Let’s get out of this sun and find another inn.”

Robert allowed himself to be pulled along, looking over his shoulder at the vendor as they went. There was no mystery as to what was going on in that man’s head just now—spoken or not. The man had a sly smile on his face, obviously pleased that he had been able to garner such a hefty price for his wares, and all without the slightest bit of haggling.

They finished the food, finding it a spicy, though satisfying meal. People were understandably curious to see these strangers in their midst, and the more they lingered in the souk, the more attention they got. It was making Maeve somewhat nervous, and she pulled Robert along, heading for a group of buildings at one end of the square. Her eye fixed on one that had the look of a caravanserai, and she hastened toward it, glad to be out away from the lingering stares of these earthy, brown skinned locals.

In time they found an inn that looked acceptable, and went in to see about a room. The keeper did not want to accept paper currency, however, and Maeve was forced to pay one of the three gold coins to secure accommodations. Robert seemed irritated as the negotiation was concluded, largely by sign language, as the man did not speak any European language.

“See what I mean?” He nodded his head at the man. “We got taken again. These people are bandits. Five francs for lunch and an ounce of gold for a single night on a dusty hovel like this.”

“It’s not the price I’m concerned about,” said Maeve. “It’s just that I was hoping to use the notes instead of coinage.”

“Well the lout would have probably taken us for the entire wad in that case.” He looked at the man, clearly displeased. “Too much,” he breathed. Then to Maeve he said: “What’s the difference? Gold, notes, he’s a robber either way.”

“The difference is that notes deteriorate quickly, and so I don’t leave detritus in the Meridian very long. A gold coin is another matter. It will hang around for centuries, and it doesn’t belong here any more than we do.”

“May I be of some assistance?”

They were both startled to hear English spoken, though the voice was heavily accented. Robert turned to see a tall Arabic man, dressed in white robes with a lavender hem. He wore a dark headpiece banded by three red stripes, and his eyes were bright and animated, between heavy brows and high cheek bones. His moustache and beard were thick and dark, lending him an air of dignity, and at his throat he wore a three leaf broach of finely worked brass.

“You are English, yes?” the man said. “It is quite unusual to hear English spoken here these days. Are you traders?”

“Not English, Americans,” Nordhausen corrected quickly. “Off the Perla…” He was struggling to remember their cover story, still somewhat flustered that this man would speak their language.

“Ah, yes, she was here but three days ago. A brief visit. I do not think the news of the Pasha’s fleet sat well with her. She left very quickly. But how is it you were not with her?”

“We intended to make a visit here,” said Nordhausen. “Tourists, of a sort, you see.” He hoped no further explanation would be needed, looking askance at Maeve for support. Then he decided to rush the net, and volleyed a question of his own.

“How do you come to speak English? That is somewhat unusual for—”

“For an Arab?” The man smiled, taking no offense. “Yes, it is quite unusual. The English are fighting the French, you see, and the Turks have decided the French are a nuisance. Since the Turks are in bed with the English these days, an Arab who wishes to curry favor with the Turks would be wise to learn a bit of English. I lived in Spain once, and learned many languages: Spanish, Portuguese, English, and even French. They are very similar, though English does have its peculiarities.”

“I see,” said Nordhausen. “Then you are a man of letters?”

“I was fortunate enough to attend the university in Cordoba—a very beautiful place, Cordoba.” His eyes seemed to reach for some distant memory, resolving to a narrow eyed smile. “Then you are not with the savants?”

“Not directly,” said Robert. “We were in Toulon, visiting relatives, and heard of the expedition. Being somewhat of a student of history, I was fascinated by the enterprise. Unfortunately, we could not book passage with the French fleet, but we were lucky enough to catch the Perla there before she left.” The innkeeper was completely forgotten now, and they both were fixated on the strange figure before them.

“Forgive me,” said Robert. “I am…” He suddenly realized that he should not give out his real name, but could not remember anything about the cover he was supposed to assume! “Mr. Underhill,” he blurted out at last, grasping at a straw from Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings. Maeve’s eyes widened at the name and he blushed red, realizing the stupidity of the remark. Yet it was the only thing that came to mind, and so he stuck with it, in spite of Maeve’s withering regard.

“My amiable sister,” he smiled sheepishly as he gestured in her direction.

“Ah, a great pleasure,” said the man. “I am Khalid al Haram. I trade along the caravan routes, and have worked this coast for twenty years. Most of the trade is moving by ship these days, and so a man finds his English useful. The French are masters of the land, but on the sea, it is the British fleet that holds sway, and answers to little else but the wind. They fought the French here earlier, and caught their fleet at anchor. The little general is marooned! He thought to make his way through Palestine and Syria, but the Turks stopped him at Acre, and so he returned here to Egypt to sulk. Now the British fleet is back again, and with the Turkish ships as well. They landed at Aboukir Bay.”

“Yes,” said Nordhausen. “We saw them. It was quite a sight. In fact, we just came in from the road west of town, and were looking for quarters here.”

“You are right about this man,” Khalid, waved disdainfully at the innkeeper. “He is greedy at heart. The French have paid him a hundred times with notes, and he has never raised a stir with them. If you like I will chide him, and demand the return of your gold. It is unseemly that guests should be treated in this manner.”

“Well… ah…” Robert looked at Maeve, wanting to defer the matter to her, but he realized that he was the man here and, to an Arab, a woman would certainly not be one to make such a decision. Maeve remained discretely silent, intuitively embracing the notion that she should be seen, but not heard, as much as it went against the grain of her nature.

“Leave it be,” said Nordhausen. “We have no complaint. The man is entitled to a windfall now and then, and we can afford to be generous.”

“If it were me, I would have him thrashed until he offered the room as a compliment, but as you wish.” Khalid smiled, then changed the subject. “Forgive me for intruding, but I overheard your transaction. It seems you have been billeted to the room next to mine. I would be most happy to escort you, and show the way.” He gestured to the back hall, where two French soldiers had just emerged. They were looking strangely at Robert and Maeve, and Khalid seemed to quickly warm to the role of host, going so far as to take the professor by the elbow, leaning in as he spoke.

“This way,” and he said it in French, going on to describe the food that would be served at the dinner hour, and adding a bit at the end about the problem of trade in time of war. Robert did not get all of it, somewhat surprised by the switch in languages, but he gathered enough to realize that this man had just deflected the undue interest of the soldiers, who went about their business after hearing their conversation, and left the inn.

Maeve could not help but notice the easy tact of the man, and the casual manner in which he maneuvered them safely away. Still, she thought it quite odd that they would happen upon this fellow, an educated man in the midst of this dry and dusty trading port.

They went down a dimly lit hall, and Khalid gestured to a plain door at the far end. “Your quarters are here,” he said. “If I may?” He entered and looked about him suspiciously, checking this way and that to be certain the room was vacant. “I’m afraid the previous guests did not leave the room in a tidy condition. I will have my manservant visit you later to sweep the floors. Alas for me, I must wait here until this unfortunate business at Aboukir Bay is resolved. There will be a battle, of course.”

“I fear you are correct,” said Nordhausen.

“It is very inconvenient,” said Khalid. “I had several business matters pending, and now I must wait to see who will prevail. The buyers will want to know whether they can still accept French currency, you see. I suppose that is why the innkeeper was so difficult with you.”

“Yes, I understand.” Nordhausen scratched his head as they stepped into the room behind Khalid.

“If Napoleon wins they will continue to accept French bills with no qualms. Who do you think will prevail?”

“Why, I wouldn’t know the first thing about it,” Robert explained. “I am not versed in military matters, but if history serves as any guide, the French have had their way here for the last year or so.”

“Indeed, they have. The Pasha is come to correct that matter. He has, by some accounts, twenty thousand men crowded on the beaches at Aboukir Bay. Why he lingers there is hard to say. Perhaps he cannot make up his mind whether to strike at Alexandria or to march here to Rashid. I suppose he is being overly cautious until he can learn what the French might do.”

Nordhausen saw an angle in the conversation that could help their investigation. “I have heard that the French are working on the fortifications in the area.”

“That they are,” said Khalid. “A company of soldiers arrived here last week. They will be digging out the walls tomorrow, clearing away some of the old stone so they can extend the rampart.”

“What a shame,” said Robert, shaking his head. “Some of the stonework here dates back centuries. I would hate to see it damaged by these petty quarrels.”

Khalid looked at him, coming to some quiet inner conclusion. “Then you have an interest in the stonework?”

“A passing interest,” said Nordhausen. “I find it remarkable that all this history and culture has been baking away in the sun here, largely unknown to the rest of the world.”

“Egypt is a mystery, to be sure—even to the Arabs who have lived here for generations. The pyramids sit in stubborn silence. What they have seen; what they have heard, they will not tell.” Khalid gestured at unseen artifacts beyond the walls. “Have you seen the ancient writing inscribed on the stonework here? It is a mystery within a mystery—wholly confounding, even to the learned. But the monuments within easy reach of the delta are nothing. You should see the tombs of Luxor and Karnak!”

“I haven’t had time to see much more than this roadside inn and the local souk,” said Robert with a smile. “But perhaps tomorrow—when the French dig out their walls. Perhaps then I might get a look at some of the old stones rumored to lie at the foundation of the fortifications here.”

“Oh? But this is not an ancient fort,” said Khalid. It is Borg Rashid, the tower of Rosetta, an old fortress to be sure, but one built in the fifteenth century by the sultan Qa’it Bey. The French renamed it after one of Napoleon’s aides-de-camp, and so, for the moment, it is called Fort Julien. The man was killed here, along with his escort, not but a year ago. In ancient times, however, this area was covered by the sea.”

“I see,” said Nordhausen. “But undoubtedly the sultan got his stone from some location near by. It is speculated that the stonework may have come from ancient temples.”

“Perhaps,” said Khalid. “I see you have an interest in these things. Would you like to go to the fort tomorrow and see for yourself?”

Robert tried to hide his excitement. “That would be quite interesting,” he said. “What do you think, my dear?” He looked at Maeve, who was quietly fanning herself as she listened to the conversation between the two men. She smiled, nodding in the affirmative.

“Then I will take you!” Khalid beamed, stroking his beard. “There is still a small Mosque at the center of the fortifications. The French will no doubt desecrate it with the business of war, but it is still there. I must meet someone there in the morning and, if you will be so kind as to accompany me, perhaps you can get a look at the foundations of the walls. I will call on you with the new sun. Until then,” he bowed, “I am very pleased to meet you… Mr. Underhill.” He said the name slowly, as if struggling to remember it, then made a gracious bow and left.

Nordhausen waited until the man was gone before he spoke. “What do you make of that?”

“Very unusual,” Maeve said quietly.

“You believe his story?”

“Not a word.”

“What? Then you think he’s—”

“Oh, he’s a clever one, that’s for sure, but he’s not who he seems.”

“Who then?”

“You tell me,” Maeve folded her arms. “This was all too convenient. Either he’s part and parcel with LeGrand, or he’s working for the other side—one of those Assassins Paul stumbled on. But he’s certainly not the humble and amiable trader he claims to be.”

“Good lord. Do you think the Assassins could be privy to our mission here as well?”

“Anything is possible,” Maeve concluded. “We would be foolish not to assume as much. It seems we’ve got a date with this man for the discovery tomorrow. I wonder if he’s here for the same reason we are: to keep watch on the stone.”

“Yes,” said Nordhausen, “and don’t forget LeGrand. He’ll be there as well. It should give us an opportunity to watch the two of them. Could make for some interesting chemistry if they are both agents in this Time war nonsense.”

“You have a knack for understatement,” said Maeve. “Well, we may as well rest here for the heat of the day. But lock the door. I don’t trust either of these men—LeGrand and Khalid alike.”