The Time Roads

Once I had finished, I laid a ribbon in the report to mark my place and joined Aidrean by the fire. “You mentioned troubling news.”

“I did.” He took up the book from the table. “Though troubling is far too faint a word.”

He ran his fingers over the embossed lettering of the title, then pressed his thumb against the spine. A distinct click sounded, and the spine swiveled open to reveal a narrow cavity between the bound pages and the outer cover.

“The games of spies,” I murmured.

“There is a reason for such a game,” Aidrean replied. “But you will see in a moment.”

He took a small flask from the cavity and held it up to the electric lamp.

The flask measured no more than the height and width of a man’s thumb, and was filled with a clear liquid.

“A new explosive,” he said. “This tiny amount could turn all of Osraighe into dust.”

I stiffened. “And yet you took no precautions…”

“Not true. As a liquid, it’s harmless. But let a few drops evaporate, then strike a match, and…”

He proceeded to give me the scientific details how the substance worked. The liquid kept the true explosive inert, he said, which made its transportation a simple matter. Chemists in Prussia had experimented with the material, thinking to make a more effective bomb. The difficulty lay in the mechanism for striking a flame at the proper moment. “From what I understand,” he said, “the substance has other, much more unusual qualities, but my sources have not proved as forthcoming on those points.”

A new weapon, and the Prussians were already at work to exploit its capabilities. My stomach clenched in horror. “Where did you acquire this?”

One corner of his long mouth tilted upward. “Through scraps of conversations overheard on the telephone exchange. Through visa requests from certain individuals wishing to enter Montenegro, and others wishing to depart our borders. In short, all the usual sources.”

I had not missed that inadvertent reference to our borders. Was that an indication of shifting loyalties? Possibly. Agents abroad were often required to pretend any number of contradictory allegiances. Aidrean had lived ten years in Montenegro. His wife was a citizen of the country, formerly a dissident herself, and now a prominent member of the political community.

I set that suspicion to one side for today. “You believe this weapon poses a danger to my union.”

“I cannot tell. I can only report its existence. The rest is for you to say.”

“Hardly. But Aidrean, you are the one who requested this private meeting. Do you think then I should delay the conference? Cancel it altogether?” And then, I had to know. “Do you think I am wrong?”

It was a question spoken on impulse, borne of our former intimacy, in the early days of my reign, when I could trust almost no one except him and Lord Ó Cadhla. I did not expect him to answer, but he nodded, his expression grave and contained, as though he were truly considering a proper response.

“You are not wrong,” he said at last. “But you will find that even certain allies will oppose you. It can be a dangerous thing, wanting justice—true justice—in a world such as ours.”

I had to smile, though it was a painful one. “My father spoke about the trap of idealism. I was never certain if he meant to warn me or direct me.”

We were silent a while, both of us drinking our wine slowly. When Aidrean set his empty glass on the table, I refilled it. “Stay a while longer,” I said. “As a favor to an old friend.”

He relented, but not happily. A friend, but a troubled friend. I could accept that from him. I refilled my own glass and waited for him to speak.

“You asked me for a prediction of the future,” he said at last. “That I cannot give you. But my instincts tell me that yes, those who oppose your union would use a weapon such as this one to gain their point.”

Instincts. I had come to value them over the years.

“Would more guards help?” I a

sked. “A stronger army?” My minister of war constantly urged me to increase Éire’s military. Perhaps he was right.

Aidrean shook his head. “Possibly. Or they might create the illusion of security, while nibbling away true liberty.”

Not an argument I had expected from him. “You sound like one of Thomas Austen’s followers.”

He did not laugh, as I expected. But he did smile.

“I have no love for Thomas Austen. But there is some truth in what he and his followers say.”