The Zenda Vendetta (TimeWars 4)

Drakov smiled faintly. “I might well say the same for you, Corporal Cross. I’ve seen your dossier. You were a 12th-century mercenary, were you not? What was the term used then, a ‘free companion’? Rather an ironic choice of words, wouldn’t you say? Have things changed so very much now that you live in the 27th century? Or do you merely serve different paymasters?”

“I’m a soldier,” she said. “When I kill, it’s in the line of duty. I don’t murder innocent people.”

“I see. Is it duty, then, which determines who is innocent and who is not?”

“Spare me. If you’re going to kill me, get it over with. Don’t talk me to death. I’m not exactly in the mood to discuss the philosophical implications of war, thank you. Least of all with you.”

“Have I struck a nerve, perhaps?” said Drakov. “I am merely seeking to understand your motivations. You are the first soldier of the Time Wars I have ever spoken with. Being the son of such a soldier, I am naturally curious. Besides, I do not intend to kill you. Falcon claims that honor. I desire only the death of Moses Forrester.”

“Why?”

“If he did not tell you that, I should think you would be able to infer it.”

“Humor me.”

He smiled again. “If you think to stall for time, save yourself the trouble. I am well aware that your friends are gaining entry to the castle even as we speak. It does not concern me.” He held up a small rectangular box. “We have had time to prepare for them, you see.” He turned the box so that she could see the tiny screen. “Your Major Priest is in the act of rappelling up the castle wall at the moment. He should be able to gain access to the parapet with little difficulty. It will be interesting to see how far he manages to go from there. Shall we observe his progress together?”

“You bastard,” Andre whispered.

He stiffened. “Yes, I am that. Only I know who my father is. And tonight, he shall know his son at last.”

Treading water, Lucas aimed and fired the nysteel rappelling dart at the projecting edge of the bottom of the tower high above him. He heard the faint chink as it became embedded in the stone and he put his full weight upon the line to test it. It held.

Holding firmly onto the grip handle, he thumbed the button and was yanked free of the moat to rise rapidly into the air. In seconds, he was at the level of the parapet. He thumbed the switch, stopping his ascent, and braced himself against the tower wall with his legs. Then he swung out and to the side, giving himself some slac

k at the same time. His momentum carried him over the edge of the parapet and on top of the castle wail.

Immediately, he dropped down, crouching very low. Cautiously, he moved to the far end of the parapet, towards the open, arched entryway that gave access to the tower. The stone stairs within spiraled up to the top of the tower and down to the lower levels. Down was the way he had to go, and the narrow passageway afforded no concealment whatsoever. He swallowed hard, took a deep breath, and slowly began his descent, holding his laser before him.

Forrester watched from the bank of the moat as Lucas swung out over the edge of the parapet and dropped down out of sight. He glanced at his watch. They had agreed on giving Lucas a head start of twenty minutes. By that time, if all went well, he should at least have reached the keep. Assuming all went well, However, Forrester was not going to give him that head start. He bent down and opened the case containing the chronoplate. He removed the border circuits and started to assemble them.

He was virtually certain that he would be clocking right into a trap. It did not concern him very much. In fact, he was counting on it. He did not think that he would be killed at once. Death was not the only goal of their vendetta, he felt sure of that. It would be the end result, but before death, there would be punishment. Punishment for wrongs real and perceived. Real on Nikolai’s part, be thought. No, after all these years, his son would certainly have something to say to him. And that would give him time. Time in which to set things right, once and for all. Time in which to set off the small device he wore strapped to his chest, beneath his shirt. It was not very bulky and he hardly knew he had it on. The small casing fastened directly over his breastbone contained TD-I31, a substance outlawed in the 27th century and consequently no longer manufactured. It was last used, with devastating results, in the Final Conflict of the Middle East in the early 21st century. It was a total diffusion nerve gas. Its effects were lethal and instantaneous. It would quickly and effectively resolve all of his problems. He smiled at the thought of Priest’s baiting him, psyching him up and trying to redirect his anger. It was a touching, if sophomoric gesture.

“You have no need to worry, Lucas,” he said softly. “This time, I won’t hesitate.”

The sound of galloping hooves made him look up. A coach was rapidly approaching the courtyard in-front of the chateau. It was all starting to come together. The pivotal moment in time. The fulcrum of the Fate Factor. He stepped into the circle of the border circuits as it began to glow. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small, enameled box.

“Forgive me, Vanna,” he said.

The circle flared and vanished.

She knew that more than anything, Nikolai hated rats. Since his childhood in Siberia, he had loathed the creatures and more than once while they were within the castle, she had seen him draw back in disgust at the sight of them. There were many about in the lower floors, but here, in the long-abandoned dungeons of the oldest sections of the castle, there were thousands of them. Their chittering filled the air with a deafening noise as she descended the slimy stone stairs to the lowest level of the subterranean dungeons. The air was rank with their smell and with the stink of stagnant water. The moody Russian had taken to stalking like a ghost through the dank castle passageways, immersing himself in gloom and black despair, but he would never venture here.

Her boots sloshed in fetid water up to her calves as she proceeded down the musky passageway, using her laser to clear the rodents out of her path. It was like walking through a sewer. The smell was overpowering. Once, her foot touched something that slithered away beneath the surface of the water, making ripples with its passage. She suppressed a shudder, steeling herself against the mounting nausea. Something dropped down off the ceiling and scuttled through her hair. She made frantic brushing motions and finally dislodged whatever it was. She didn’t want to know.

At the end of the passageway, which was only slightly wider than her shoulders, there was a short flight of steps. She climbed them slowly, for they were very slick with slime. Her feet had left the water by the time she reached: the third step and, after six steps more, she came to a small landing and a sharp turn to her right. The rats receded before her like a furry brown wave, screaming in protest. She killed the more aggressive ones. There were so many, she could not avoid stepping on their bodies as she moved forward. Some of them still squirmed.

There was another passageway at the top of this second flight of steps. She used her sword to clear away the spider webs that had been painstakingly reconstructed since her last passage here. She passed heavy wooden doors fastened upon rust-encrusted hinges, the barred windows in them covered with a patina of corrosion. Behind those small yet heavily constructed doors, ancient bones of prisoners who had been long forgotten even while they lived gave mute testimony to unremembered crimes and sentences. In one cell, a brown skeleton hung suspended from manacles set deep into the wall, its head bent down in shame, its jaws agape in a never-ending silent scream. At the end of this passageway, there was one door that had fallen into the cell, deprived of the support of its aged hinges, which had been burned through.

The cell was tiny, no more than a cubicle. Falcon had to bend down low to enter it, stepping upon the fallen door. Rats so large their tails looked like snakes glared at her ferociously. She killed several and the rest retreated from her, all save one which crouched upon the small case on the floor and snarled at her. She put away her laser, took out her sword and slashed at the creature viciously. The rat avoided the swift stroke, leaping off the case and darting into a small fissure in the wall.

She crouched down and set her light upon the floor, opening the case. She assembled the border circuits on the floor of the cell and set the plate for time and destination, programming the transition coordinates from the chronoplate’s data file. Then she checked the plate’s remote unit and slipped it into her pocket. Now, in the event that anything went wrong, their second chronoplate was preset with the coordinates for her escape. Drakov did not know its location. It was just as well that, his usefulness to her was almost at an end. He was becoming quite difficult to control. If not tonight, she thought, then soon. Very, very soon. She could sense it. She did not know what it was, whether it was merely a strong intuition or the perception of the confluence of forces gathering together. She had a strong sense of imminence and every nerve fiber in her body fairly tingled with anticipation. She removed the other remote from her other pocket, the one slaved to the chronoplate up in the turret. Drakov had not been there when she had clocked in. Out wandering through the castle corridors again, she thought wryly. The man was becoming an emotional basket-case. At least he had had the sense to take the security monitor along with him.

She heard a scuttling behind her and turned quickly to see several large rats converging upon her from the corners of the cell. She stood quickly, almost hitting her head on the low ceiling, slashing at them with her sword: One of them darted close inside and fastened onto the toe of her boot. She kicked it off, then hit the switch on the remote. The first thing that she saw upon materializing in the turret was the form of Andre Cross, tied down onto the cot. Drakov sat casually upon the other cot, his eyes on the screen of the security monitor.

She smiled broadly. “So,” she said, “it’s happening at last”

Drakov glanced up at her expressionlessly. “She was nosing about in a small boat just outside the king’s cell.”