The Time Roads

The other members of Congress flinched at my tone, but Ó Bruicléigh himself was oblivious. “The monies spent on Doctor Ó Cuilinn’s research are a matter of public record, Your Majesty. The committee has studied those records. We wish merely to express our concern about spending so freely—”

“We are hardly in danger of ruin.” It took a great effort to keep my voice calm.

“No, but as you know, Your Majesty, there are troubling rumors from the Continent, echoed by troubling rumors within our own borders. We need an advantage, be it economic or political or…” Here he offered me an edged smile. “Or an advantage both scientific and concrete.”

“You mean a weapon,” I said.

He shrugged. “Whatever you wish to call it, Your Majesty.”

I studied the man before me with growing anger. His threat was plain enough—if I did

not give him the assurances he wanted, he and the committee would work to undermine Ó Cuilinn’s project. Though I had established a measure of authority over the past year, I could not afford to insult or ignore these men, however badly I wished to.

You must make concessions, my father’s voice added. He holds a portion of influence, and has the means and determination to increase it.

That night, in a rare private conference with Aidrean Ó Deághaidh, I reopened the matter. Though he knew all about the invitation, and Ó Cuilinn himself, I recounted everything, from Ó Cuilinn’s first visit, almost three years before, to Ó Bruicléigh’s speech.

“They want reassurance,” Ó Deághaidh said.

“I know that,” I said. “I only wished to know your opinion about the matter. As a friend,” I added in an undertone.

His expression did not change, nor did he glance in my direction, but I thought that his pulse had jumped at my words, and the tension around his mouth eased momentarily—faint clues that I nearly missed, despite the ubiquitous gaslight.

“If you wish my opinion,” he said, “then I will give it. Spend the money for his research, if you believe it necessary and right for Éire. For you. But do not promise anything to your Congress. Otherwise you break the promise you made to him.”

No need to ask how he knew. He knew everything.

“Thank you,” I said.

“No need to thank me, Your Majesty.”

The odd inflection caught my attention. I started to speak—it would have been easy to breach the strangeness between us, I thought—but Aidrean Ó Deághaidh was already rising and bowing, a deep graceful bow expressing loyalty and obedience and all the qualities I loved in him.

You have spoiled me forever, Aidrean Ó Deághaidh.

Alone, I considered the problem. The difficulty was that Ó Bruicléigh did have a point. Our alliance with Frankonia, sealed with treaties and blood ties, had assured us security for decades. But now Frankonia’s king was failing, and the electors were voicing disagreement about his successor. The Turkish States were embroiled in another succession battle. Our few dependencies across the Atlantic had broken free, only to find themselves at war with the Iroquois and Delaware nations. The Prussian Alliance and Dietsch Empire pressed upon our colonial borders in Palestine and in Southeast Asia, and the Austrian Empire, failing for decades now, proved no less dangerous in its dying throes.

“I will not renege on my promises,” I told Doctor Ó Cuilinn at our next meeting.

He seemed unsurprised by the rumors I told him.

“It has always been the case,” he said. “They are politicians. They think scientists are nothing but servants to war.”

And, as if I had not mentioned any difficulties at all, he went on to talk about his latest discoveries. He had made great progress in mapping out the time fractures. Indeed, they seemed to be multiplying, though he could not yet determine why. The largest cluster centered over Awveline City; others had appeared in the neighborhood of Osraighe and the northern provinces, and he was corresponding with scientists on the Continent to determine if they had discovered any. Whatever their origin, he said, they represented a weakness in the fabric of time. If his theories were correct, he could use them as avenues between the years.

“A road between times?” I said.

“Possibly. I cannot guarantee anything yet.”

Of course, I thought.

There were no guarantees in science, I knew. None at all in politics. Nevertheless, I found myself reviewing Doctor Ó Cuilinn’s reports with greater eagerness than I knew was wholesome. And though I hated the necessity, I played the conciliator to Lord Ó Bruicléigh and his faction. But to what end?

Uncertainty nibbled at me. In turn, I asked each of my advisers their opinion.

“Remember your father,” Lord Mac Gioll said.

“Remember the longest road,” Lord Ó Cadhla told me.