The Time Roads

Síomón gripped Evan hard. The warmth of his friend’s hand revived him, and together they approached the thing on the walkway. No, not a thing. A man. Síomón could make out the head, resting on the grass. One arm was invisible beneath the cloak, the other extended, as though reaching for something in the last moments of life.

Evan knelt and pulled back the cloak, exposing the face. “It’s David Levi.”

Síomón couldn’t make sense out of his words at first. David? Dead? Numb with disbelief, he knelt beside Evan and touched David’s face, which looked gray and stark beneath the strong moonlight. Blood trickled from the slack mouth, painting a black trail over David’s cheek and onto his collar. Síomón jerked back his hand.

“We must find a garda,” Evan said.

“Shouldn’t we call a doctor first?”

“He’s dead, Síomón. A doctor cannot help him.”

Evan’s voice sounded muffled and strange. The wind, Síomón thought, or was it the pounding in his temples that distorted his friend’s voice? He stumbled to his feet, then fell down, sprawling to avoid David’s body.

“Síomón, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I—”

Evan gripped his arm and pulled him upright. “It’s the body,” he said. “You’re faint because of the blood. Am I right?”

Síomón shook his head. “I don’t know.” He gulped down a lungful of cold air. Another. He was about to say he felt better, when he saw a shadow among the trees, not ten feet away. At first, he thought it was just branches, swaying in the wind, but then the moon broke through the clouds, and he distinctly saw the figure of a man.

“Evan, look,” he whispered.

Evan straightened up. “What do you see?”

The stranger spun around and darted into the ink-black divide between Begley Hall and the nearest dormitory.

“Stop!” Síomón called out. He sprinted after the man, ignoring Evan’s shout. The man dove into an alleyway behind the next building. MacAuliffe, it was. The lane led directly to the front of the college, Síomón remembered. Once the murderer was clear of that, he could vault over the iron fence and vanish into a maze of streets. Síomón paused, breathing hard. I must not fail. Not now. Not so close.

Before he could take that next step, however, Evan yanked him to the ground.

“Are you mad?” Evan wheezed, falling to his knees beside Síomón. “What were you doing?”

“Didn’t you see him?” A cramp took hold of Síomón. He doubled over, retching.

“Who? I see that you’re sick. Here, let me wipe your face.” Evan took out a handkerchief and cleaned away the mud and vomit.

Síomón pushed Evan’s hand away. “There. Can’t you see him? There!”

He pointed frantically toward the lane. A shaft of moonlight illuminated the space between the two buildings, plainly showing the man at the far end, but just as Evan turned, the stranger vanished around the corner.

* * *

“Tell me where you spent the afternoon, Mr. Madóc.”

Síomón pressed both hands against his eyes. Hours had passed since he and Evan had tracked down the night sentries and led them to David’s body. By now he wished only for the solitude of his rooms.

“I was in the library,” he said, “writing up notes from Professor Ó Dónaill’s lecture. I—how much do you want to hear?”

“Everything. Do not worry about boring us, Mr. Madóc.”

“Yes. I see. Well then.” Síomón massaged his face. Though he had scrubbed his face and hands in the Garda lavatory, he could still smell the blood and vomit on his skin. “I spent some hours writing my notes. Around seven o’clock I went out to supper, then returned directly to the library. May I have a glass of water?”

Ó Deághaidh signaled the nearest uniformed garda, a sergeant, who fetched a tin cup filled to the brim. Síomón drank half the cup in one swallow, grimacing at its metallic taste. Once he and Evan had notified the college patrols, the city’s gardaí had arrived promptly and hurried them off to a station on the north side of Awveline City. He had not seen Evan since they entered the building. Indeed, he’d had no other company besides Commander Ó Deághaidh and his three gardaí. For all he could tell, it was nearly morning, but his own internal clock said an hour past midnight.

Ó Deághaidh waited patiently until Síomón set the cup down. “You attended Professor Ó Dónaill’s lecture after we parted,” he continued. “Is that correct?”

“Yes. Evan De Mora can tell you that I was there. Susanna Patel can as well—”