The Zenda Vendetta (TimeWars 4)

“That would explain it, then,” she said. “It’s a strange arrangement, but an effective one. Though the placement of the cheateau directly in front of the castle limits visibility somewhat, it also renders a frontal attack in force almost impossible. The chateau might be taken without much difficulty, but then there would only be the one narrow access point to the portcullis to be defended.”

“How would you take it if you had to?” said Derringer.

Andre shrugged. “I would lay seige.”

Finn grimaced sourly. “That would be a bit hard to do with just four people,” he said. “Especially since we can’t use much in the way of modern ordnance. We’re supposed to believe that a pampered Englishman like Rassendyll managed to break in there and get the king out?”

“Perhaps he wasn’t all that pampered,” Derringer said. “Supposedly, he had been a military officer.”

“Just the same,” said Finn, “I’m not anxious to try rescuing anyone from that place.”

“Maybe our best bet would be to prevent the duke from kidnapping the king in the first place,” said Andre.

Derringer smiled. “You’re assuming that you can. I’m afraid that option isn’t open to you. You’re in the curious position of having to effect an adjustment in which there’s such a strong manifestation of the Fate Factor in evidence that it makes me wonder at the possibility for any independent action on your part. Any deviation from the original scenario beyond what has already happened is simply unthinkable. You can’t adjust a disruption with another disruption, Corporal Cross. Unfortunately, your options are limited, whereas the Timekeepers are free to attempt whatever they please. I don’t envy you your task in preserving the original scenario.”

“There’s just one little problem,” Lucas said. “If we don’t know for sure what the original scenario was, how can we help but deviate from it?”

Derringer shrugged. “You can’t, I’m afraid. The best you can do is to follow the original scenario as closely as you can within the limits of what we know about it and hope like hell that temporal inertia compensates. Sergeant Delaney’s going to have to take his lead from Colonel Sapt and Fritz von Tarlenheim. I’ll admit that it would be very tempting to foil Michael Elphberg’s plot before it ever gets off the ground, but although that might restore the status quo in the long run, it would still alter the original sequence of events as we know them. I could almost guarantee you that you wouldn’t get away with it. Apparently, the Fate Factor is attempting to compensate for something that happened back in the 17th century or maybe earlier. None of us knows what that is, but it makes no difference. With all of these coincidences cropping up like temporal ‘tilt’ signals in some sort of cosmic pinball game, do you really want to take the chance that two wrongs will make a right? From a purely academic standpoint, I must admit to a certain morbid fascination. I’d be curious to see what would happen if you failed. Do we get a massive timestream split that branches off into all sorts of alternate timelines or does time bend back in upon itself and start going round in ever decreasing circles ‘til it stops? I’ve always been fascinated by zen physics, but I never thought I’d actually be confronting it in a field exer-sorry, a mission, it makes me feel as though the Sword of Damocles were hanging over all our heads, suspended by a spider web.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Captain,” Finn said, “but how old are you?”

“Twenty-nine,” said Derringer. “You’re wondering how a baby like me managed to get through RCS?”

“Well… frankly, yes,” said Finn.

Derringer grinned. “I cut my teeth on temporal physics,” he said. “Albrecht Mensinger was my grandfather.”

“I’ll be damned,” said Finn. “Small wonder they assigned you to this mission.”

“That may have had something to do with it,” said Derringer. “On the other hand, perhaps it’s another one of these coincidences we’re swimming in. Maybe it’s karma. Do you believe in karma, Sergeant?”

“Only when it’s bad,” said Finn.

Derringer chuckled. “An answer worthy of Lenny Bruce.”

“I’m afraid I miss the reference,” said Finn.

“Ah. Well, he was a sort of 20th-century philosopher who refined bad karma to an art. Sorry, I tend to be a bit obscure at times. I understand my work well enough to realize that I really don’t understand it at all. To paraphrase, there is more to heaven and earth than is dreamed of in our philosophy.”

“Well, that one, at least, I know,” said Finn. “William Shakespeare, right?”

Derringer raised his eyebrows. “Really? I thought it was Albert Einstein. It’s the sort of thing he would have said, at any rate. Oh, and speaking of bad karma, there’s yet another piece of unpleasant news I have for you. The coronation has been moved up to the day after tomorrow.”

Lucas stared at Derringer. “How can that be? According to history, we’re supposed to have five days!”

“Yes, I know. It’s our first evident historical anomaly. I estimate that we have at most until tomorrow before Michael executes his plan. That’s always assuming that things haven’t become completely skewed.”

“Then what the hell are we doing jawing like this?” Finn said.

“Relax, Sergeant,” said Derringer. “I may have only been here a few days, but I’ve been very, very busy. I know what I’m doing. At this very moment, the king is not two miles away from here, in Michael’s hunting lodge. Sapt and von Tarlenheim are both with him. Michael is conspicuously absent. I don’t think he’d risk having Rudolf drugged before tomorrow night. That gives you all day tomorrow. I’ve been keeping them under close surveillance. Rudolf has picked himself a hunting stand from which he has a good view of the stream down in that little valley there, where the deer come to drink. I’ve picked out a spot where you are certain to encounter them. The king has been staying up quite late, getting plastered every night. He goes out to his stand just before sundown. So far, he hasn’t killed anything and I don’t think he’s likely to. Even when he’s sober, he’s a miserable shot. If it wasn’t for Sapt, they’d have nothing to eat. And speaking of food, since it’s been several hundred years since you folks have eaten, I suggest that we make our way down to the village and grab ourselves a bite of supper. The inn has very nice accommodations and the food is really quite good. I can recommend either the venison or the trout. The wine stinks, but their beer is first rate. Besides, one should never save the future of the world on an empty stomach.”

The timing worked out just right. Not five minutes after Finn had taken up position beneath a large oak tree on the wooded trail, he heard men approaching, coming up the rise toward him. He leaned his head back against the tree and pretended to be dozing. A couple of minutes more passed by and then he heard them stop in front of him.

“Why, the devil’s in it!” he heard a young man’s voice exclaim. “Shave him and he’d be the king!”

He opened his eyes and saw two men standing on the trail several feet in front of him, staring in astonishment. Both men carried guns and both were dressed in shooting costumes. One of them was short and heavily built. He had a large head crowned with thick gray-white hair; a huge cavalry moustache; muttonchops and bloodshot eyes. He was smoking a very large-bowled pipe with a deep curve to it, a Turkish meerschaum that had colored unevenly due to his apparent lack of concern in handling it. He appeared to be in his sixties or early seventies, but he was fit and straight-backed with a manner that clearly labeled him a military man. The other man was tall and slender, dark-haired with a small, neatly trimmed moustache and rounded, delicate features that gave his face an insouciant air. He looked to be in his late twenties or early thirties. He was the one who had spoken. As they came closer and Delaney stood up, the older man backed off a pace and raised his bushy eyebrows.

“He’s the same height, too!” he said. “My word! May I ask your name, sir?”