The Zenda Vendetta (TimeWars 4)

“Oh, dear,” said Rassendyll. “It appears that I have taken your last.”

“Think nothing of it,” Drakov said. “I have another bottle in my compartment. In fact, perhaps you’d care to join me there for brandy and a cigar or two?”

“A capital idea!” said Rassendyll. “I must say, this promises to be a most pleasant journey.”

They adjourned to Drakov’s compartment after a few moments, where they opened a bottle of Napoleon brandy. From an elegantly finished gentleman’s necessary case lined with plush red velvet, Drakov removed two small glass snifters and poured for them both. Then he offered Rassendyll a handsomely crafted cigar case with the name Alfred Dunhill, Ltd. engraved upon it. Rassendyll paused for a moment to admire it before selecting one of the excellent Havanas it contained, an exquisitely mild leaf in a maduro wrapper. Drakov handed him a tiny silver cutter with which to snip the end off. Before lighting it, Rassendyll removed the band.

“My father always used to say that one should never smoke a fine cigar with the band still on it, just as one would not make love to a beautiful woman without first removing all her clothing.”

“Most amusing,” Drakov said, turning his cigar slowly as he held a match to it.

Rassendyll shifted a bit uncomfortably in his seat, feeling a slight numbness in his lower region. “You know I really must compliment you, old chap,” he said. “You certainly travel with all of the most modern conveniences.”

Drakov smiled. “Interesting that you should say that. Since you appear to have an appreciation for such things, perhaps you will be intrigued by this.”

He reached beneath his seat and pulled out a small black case. At first, Rassendyll thought that it was covered with a finely grained black leather, then he realized that it was not a covering at all, but some sort of curious material that he could not identify. He noted that the case had extremely unusual-looking fastenings. He watched with interest as Drakov opened it, holding it upon his lap.

“You know, Rudolf, if I may call you that,” said Drakov, “I have a confession I must make to you. This meeting of ours was not entirely accidental.”

“Oh?” said Rassendyll, watching with growing fascination as Drakov removed a series of curiously shaped strips from the case. They were translucent and appeared to have very intricate workings within them. He had never seen anything quite like them before.

“I arranged this encounter,” Drakov said. “I also arranged to be present at your brother’s party, so that we might see each other. That way, when we ran into each other on this journey, I could more easily approach you in a familiar manner.”

“I say,” said Rassendyll, “this all sounds like quite the plot.” He frowned. There was a peculiar tingling sensation in his legs. Was it possible that so small an amount of brandy could be affecting him?

“But wait a moment. How could you possibly have known that I would be aboard this train? I only decided to take the journey several days ago!”

“As you say, it’s quite the plot,” said Drakov. “I wish I had the time to explain it to you fully. However, I fear that it would prove to be quite beyond your comprehension.”

Rassendyll looked puzzled. Was the man insulting him? “I’m afraid I don’t quite follow you,” he said, uncertainly. The tingling sensation had now spread to his chest, and his legs felt numb. “By the way, what are those things?”

Drakov was bent over, connecting the strange-looking strips together in a circular pattern on the floor of the compartment. Though Rassendyll watched closely, he could not make out just how they were connected.

“They’re called border circuits,” Drakov said, finishing his task and straightening. “I’m afraid the term will not mean anything to you, but you should find their operation fascinating, just the same.”

He reached for the case once more, this time opening it so that Rassendyll could see inside it. What he saw baffled him completely. It looked like a device out of one of those fantastic novels by that imaginative Frenchman, Verne. Rassendyll had no idea what it was. It seemed quite complicated, what with controls of some sort, reflective surfaces upon which numerals appeared as if by magic and tiny, winking, glowing lights.

“See here, Drakov, what manner of contraption is that?”

“It’s called a chronoplate.”

“A chronoplate? What does it do?”

“It is a device for traveling through time.”

“For — ” Rassendyll looked astonished, then realized that the man was having him on. He laughed. “Traveling through time, eh? Jolly good! What say we voyage to tomorrow and see what the weather will be like, what? Come now, really, what does it actually-”

Rassendyll’s voice suddenly trailed off and he turned pale.

“Is something wrong?” said Drakov.

“I do believe I’m feeling a bit ill, old chap. Perhaps a little air — ” He attempted to stand, only to discover that he was unable to move from the waist down. “What the devil? I seem to have lost all feeling in my legs!”

“That’s because the poison is taking effect,” said Drakov.

“What did you say?”

“That brandy I poured into your coffee,” Drakov said, making some adjustments inside the case. “It was laced with an interesting concoction that would totally baffle your present-day chemists. By now, the numbness you’ve been feeling should be spreading very rapidly. In another few seconds, you will be completely paralyzed and dead moments after that.”