The Time Roads

My secretary roused me from sleep. Aidrean Ó Deághaidh was only a few steps behind. He delivered his report while I drank the strong tea my steward provided. “A single attack using three devices,” Aidrean was saying. “Two others we cannot confirm. You understand the difficulty.”

“I understand.” I thrust the mug back into my steward’s hands. “More tea for us both. And water.” To Aidrean, I said, “Continue. And tell me everything, even the uncertainties.”

The account was chilling. Three more devices had been set in the harbor district of Loch Garman, a port city on the Éireann Sea. The explosions had killed two dozen dockworkers and sailors. Several dozen more had been more gravely injured by falling debris and the fires that broke out in the warehouses, and on board the ships closest to the explosion.

“We have also received a message,” Aidrean said.

My heart paused, then stumbled on at a faster pace.

“From whom?” I demanded. “The Anglians?”

He hesitated and glanced around my bedchamber. With a gesture, I dismissed my maids and secretary and steward. Once they had gone, I repeated, “Tell me. What did the message say?”

Aidrean blew out a breath. He was shaken—truly shaken—a thing I had believed to be impossible. “The reports are incomplete. However, this much I know. An officer discovered a letter nailed to the door of the main Garda station in Osraighe.” He paused and licked his lips. “The letter was addressed to you.”

“Ah.” I found my own breath not so steady.

“It accused you of tyranny. It said there could be no true Union of Nations, while you held other nations in bondage. It then said that Éire herself would pay in blood and fire and tears that night for your actions. We telegraphed all the chief stations throughout the kingdom, but we were too late.…”

He rubbed a hand over his eyes.

“You had no way to know,” I said.

“I did, and I did not,” he replied. “We knew about these new devices. We had word of disaffected groups throughout Éire and all four Districts. We had spies wherever we could place them. But Áine … Your Majesty. We cannot police every citizen of Éire and its Dependencies. And to speak honestly, I should not want to hear you give such an order. I do not want to witness here what I have in Austria and the Prussian Alliance, where safety has become an excuse for tyranny.”

He smiled, a faint and pensive smile. “Perhaps I am no longer suited for your service.”

“You are,” I said softly. “Because you are honest with me.”

That smile flickered into life again, only to fade just as quickly. The electric light was not kind to his features—the angles of his face seemed thinner and sharper, the shadows deeper, and the impression of the flesh worn away to bones was even stronger than before. He had come to me old; the past month had made him older still. Older and more weary.

When have I not seen him so?

Not since our first interview, fifteen years ago.

This was no moment for such memories. “Tell me about these other explosions. Or rather, these ghosts of explosions. Were they failed attempts, do you think?”

I had to wait a long moment before he answered. When he did speak at last, his tone was curiously hesitant. “I don’t know. The reports came from Osraighe. Several were quite specific—they listed the buildings destroyed, the names of the dead and wounded. Even more convincing, the reports gave details only a genuine witness would think to include. How they tried to call for help, but could hear nothing because the explosion had left them deaf and confused. The gardaí taking notes commented that their anger was most convincing. And yet, when our people dispatched forces to the site, they found no destruction, no one harmed—nothing out of the ordinary. My agents believe the reports to be deliberate mischief, an attempt by the rebels to sow further confusion.”

“But you do not.”

“I do not. I visited the site myself. It reminded me…” His gaze took on a diffuse quality. “It reminded me of the aftermath of that device in Montenegro. The explosion itself was terrible enough, but what truly frightened me was how I felt myself unanchored from time.”

He did not speak of that other, even earlier episode, when his memories had wandered through a past that no longer existed. We had all become unanchored, if only temporarily, while history altered its shape as the time fractures healed.

“There is another difficulty,” Aidrean said. “Peter Godwin has vanished. I telegraphed our agents in Londain to obtain a statement from him. He was last sighted entering a trolley car bound for the north end of the city. This was yesterday morning.”

The anger and fright had leached away by now, and I had a clear picture of what I might do. “Arrest Michael Okoye. He must know Godwin’s plans. Put him in one of the cells in the palace, not the ordinary prison. You and I shall question him together.”

“He might be innocent,” Aidrean said.

“He might be.” But my thoughts were on Éire and not my unwilling guest. “Send word to my ministers and your chief agents,” I said. “We shall meet early in the morning to plan our course. Meanwhile, I must see where this phantom attack took place. Then I shall go to the hospital in Loch Garman to visit the wounded. No, do not argue, Aidrean. I cannot have the Anglians say I hid in safety while my people died.”

I sent him away while I hurriedly dressed, but as soon as he had issued the necessary orders to his people, Aidrean returned, saying he must and would accompany me.

“You have never given over your post as my personal guard,” I said.

He made an impatient gesture with one hand. “It is my duty. Just as it is my duty to insist you remain at Cill Cannig, Your Majesty. It’s possible the Anglians set those devices in Osraighe as a trap. Your death would make a gift of confusion to our enemies.”