|
Buy
books ->>>
 Read
Righting Time by Kat Jaske
Pages 18 - 28 of the book
back to read pages 1-7
of the book ->>>
back to read pages 8-17 of the book ->>>
Section One - continued
2514 A.D.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
“Hump, hmm,” Porthos cleared his throat loudly, and Aramis
released Laurel, stepping away from her reluctantly. The sooner those
two got married, the better. Aramis was having a very difficult time keeping
his hands off the woman. The question was, how much longer could Aramis
resist the temptation to seduce and bed the woman? He just might make
it to the wedding day, depending on Laurel of course, Laurel who was blushing
furiously, or had been. The blush was fading quickly.
Aramis cast a look at Porthos that Porthos correctly interpreted as one
saying that he always interrupted at the most inopportune times. Just
when Aramis was starting to make some headway with his betrothed. And
that was not so easy a task. “So sorry to disturb you two.”
“Non, that is quite all right,” Laurel responded,
her composure at top form. She did not at all look like a woman caught
committing a rather grave impropriety, regardless of the fact that he
was her betrothed.
Aramis narrowed his eyes.
Infernal woman, pretending like nothing had been going on. He had been
a fool to think things would go smoothly between them once they had admitted
they were in love. It was simply not in their natures to easily allow
such a level of intimacy. Not to mention the fact Laurel was not in the
least pleased about the fact she was in love with him. Then there was
the pride, independence, and stubbornness that each of them possessed
in astoundingly large quantities. “What can I do for you?”
Laurel prompted after a brief pause.
“There is a woman here who would like to see you. She says you’re
expecting her. Calls herself Jalene. Said something about our ‘friend,’
Konrad.”
Every sense leaped to life at the name. She should have killed the dastard.
After what he had done to Erik and Aramis, he deserved it. Laurel knew
no Jalene; however, she did not reveal that fact to either musketeer.
She was very curious to see what the woman had to say, and she well knew
that if she admitted she was unfamiliar with this Jalene, neither of the
musketeers would allow her to find out what she wanted to know. Well,
time to put her acting skills to work again. “Mademoiselle
Jalene and her escorts. You found them. Dieu soit loué.
I was beginning to fear for their lives. Where are they? Have you brought
them here?”
“They’re out in the parlor. I . . .”
She had no patience to spare for his long-winded explanations today.
“Come now, Porthos, ça suffit. Enough please. Quickly
take me to them. Much time has been wasted already.” Porthos led
Laurel from the room, and Aramis trailed closely behind them, trying to
push aside the notion that Laurel might well be throwing herself recklessly
into some predicament. That a certain amount of recklessness was part
of her job description became more apparent to him with each passing day.
With such obligations how ever was he going to handle her being his wife?
Could he? Could even love suffice?
Jala swiftly rose to her feet as Porthos, Laurel, and Aramis entered.
Be ready for anything, she instructed herself as she sized up the blond-haired
woman. Now, why had nothing she’d ever read said what a beautiful
and uncommonly commanding woman Laurel d’Anlass had been? Actually
the history books probably would have mentioned next to nothing of her
if she hadn’t “temporarily” taken control of Louis XIII’s
secret spy service and married one of the most famous musketeers in history,
and a rich duc to boot.
Well, they might have mentioned her as the first single marquise,
first single, titled woman in her own right, Jala conceded.
Laurel came forward, a welcoming smile beaming from her face. “Jalene.
So Porthos wasn’t trying to pull a fast one on me. You really did
make it. Let me look at you,” Laurel said as she sized up the black-haired
woman before her. Unusual. The woman was the same height as she was. She
had not yet met a woman who matched her height or exceeded it. Well, until
now, she corrected. “I had worried for your safety when you did
not arrive as scheduled.”
At that moment Laurel took note of both Aramis’ and Porthos’
steady gazes upon her. Drat! She’d done it again, and they were
silently taking her to task for it. Forgetting the social conventions
she really had been making an effort to master. “Jalene, as you
probably know, this is Porthos, heir to the comte de Vendôme.
And I don’t believe you’ve met my betrothed. Allow me to introduce
Aramis, duc de Rouen.”
“I am honored.” Jala sketched a curtsy to the men. Mademoiselle
Laurel had very good taste in men, if Aramis’ looks were anything
to judge by. Jala quickly introduced her companions, telling Laurel that
Daryl was her cousin and that Keith was a friend of theirs. The marquise
gestured for them to be seated, and everyone followed her lead.
Laurel opened her mouth to address Jala again. At that moment, the doors
to her town-house parlor came open and the butler announced Athos and
D’Artagnan. The woman refrained from scowling. Oh, they did have
an annoying way of showing up right when she was about to get involved
with something that was of great personal interest.
Once again, Laurel played her role as hostess and made sure she acquainted
everyone. Laurel offered a drink to each of her guests, and the three
strangers turned down the drinks. In their own time, drinking was not
a popular pastime for time travelers. The musketeers, however, did not
turn down such an opportunity. Laurel was a connoisseur of wines, after
all.
The social niceties out of the way, Laurel turned to Jalene again. “As
I was saying earlier, it’s good to see that you are well. It has
been too long.”
“Indeed,” Jala played along, wondering what the other woman’s
game was and realizing Laurel was handling this surprise meeting very
skillfully. “I must say you are looking more wonderful than ever,
Laurel. May I extend my felicitations on your upcoming nuptials?”Aramis
and Laurel graciously accepted the blessing.
“I take it you know this woman?” Athos spoke for the first
time since his arrival.
“Of course,” Laurel said, making full use of her acting abilities.
“Jalene and I go back years. In fact we met in . . .”
Jala took the marquise’s cue. “In Dover. Our fathers
had business together. Needless to say we have not been able to keep in
touch as much as we would have liked to.”
While Jala and Laurel were finishing this exchange Aramis leaned over
toward D’Artagnan and Athos and said very quietly, “Laurel’s
up to something. I’d stake my life and honor on it.” Athos
and D’Artagnan exchanged glances with one another. They had a sneaking
suspicion Aramis was correct on that head. Aramis had frighteningly astute
instincts sometimes. Quickly the men turned their attention back to the
ongoing conversation. It wouldn’t do to make Laurel suspicious of
them, yet.
“You had something of great import to share with me?” Laurel
prompted the other woman.
“Oui, it’s about Konrad,” Jala informed the
woman, then dropped silent. “Do you think it wise to impart such
information to this entire assembly?”
“I do trust them all implicitly, but I see your point. If you gentlemen
would excuse us, please, Jalene and I have some matters to discuss in
private and much to catch up on.” With those words, Laurel promptly
rose to her feet, and the two women exited the parlor.
The six men sat awkwardly in the quiet room, Keith and Daryl on one side
and the musketeers on the other. Antagonistic and just short of hostile
would have been a more accurate description of the situation.
“So, Laurel invited you to Paris.” Athos, the capitaine of
the musketeers, took the initiative.
“She invited ma cousine, Mademoiselle Jalene,” Daryl
corrected. He did not like this game of Jala’s. What was the woman
thinking? And he seriously hoped that she was thinking.
“Then how come Laurel did not even mention so much as a word about
any of you to any of us?” Athos was terse, as he so often was.
D’Artagnan took up Aramis’ customary role. “Athos,
it does not do to be rude. Try a little tact, mon ami.”
“It’s all right,” Keith assured them. “It is
not an unusual reaction on the part of a friend. I might well do the same
thing were I in his place. Actually, I might well be more rude than any
of you gentlemen have been were I in your place.” Daryl seconded
the older man’s words after Keith paused.
“You still haven’t answered the question,” Athos reminded
the men.
“I, we, don’t know how to answer your question,” Daryl
said absolutely truthfully. “That is something you will have to
ask Mademoiselle Laurel yourself.” He intended to, and
he would, Athos decided. “I wish I could tell you more.” Daryl
shrugged his shoulders. Somehow he did not think these men would believe
him if he told them he was from the year 2514 and had come back in time
to get their aid to defeat Konrad in 2060. At the very least, they would
escort him to Bedlam were they in England—if he were lucky.
“All that I have told you is true.” Jala leaned forward and
met the other woman’s eyes steadily. “Though I do admit it
would be much easier if I were crazy. Then this whole thing would be nothing
more than a bad dream or the product of a deranged mind.” Then she
could go back to the occupation that she loved rather than fear that she
might cease to exist.
“That is the truly frightening thing,” Laurel began. Paused.
Visibly gathered her thoughts. “You aren’t crazy, which leaves
me with two options. Either you are lying through your teeth and have
a fantastic imagination, or you are telling the truth, unthinkable as
that may be.”
“Why would I lie to you?”
“That I don’t know, but that doesn’t make the option
any less likely,” Laurel contended. Her profession, if anything,
had taught her to be suspicious rather than trusting.
“I can prove to you that I am what and who I claim to be, or at
the very least not of any place you have ever known.” Jala’s
low-pitched voice was heavy with conviction that was nearly palpable.
Could it be that this time she was leaping before she looked; she couldn’t
help but wonder.
“Then do so.”
Porthos and the other five men in the room looked up as the two women
returned. Conversation stopped. Not that the conversation had been flowing
particularly well in the first place, but as Jala and Laurel entered the
sitting room it ground into nonexistence.
With purpose Jala strode over and picked up the pack that lay at Keith’s
feet. “Keith, Daryl, I have told Mademoiselle Laurel exactly
why we are here. Will one of you be willing to tell her the complete truth
while I retrieve the comstat?”
Keith’s eyes turned to his stepdaughter, questioning, the truth.
The thought echoed through her mind, and she warned the older man to be
careful about using his telepathic talent right now. However, in acknowledgment
she nodded her head a fraction. The black man took a long, deep breath.
“We are not from your time. We are from very far in your future—more
than eight hundred, closer to nine hundred years to be more precise.”
Already the musketeers were trading looks that plainly told them they
thought Keith was lying through his teeth or fit for the madhouse. “There
has been a big disturbance in the time continuum that sent a man we know
as Herzog Konrad into the twenty-first century, where he wreaked so much
havoc that the entire timeline was drastically changed. We came back here
to obtain your help to find the man and stop him from destroying the future
of this entire world.” Keith ran out of words to say.
“Of course, and I’ve walked on the moon numerous times.”
Porthos’ voice was plainly deriding, and it was only a warning look
from Laurel that stopped him from forcibly ejecting the three lunatics.
“Actually, men do walk on the moon in the midtwentieth,”
Daryl piped up and then abruptly fell silent, not wanting to get into
an argument with the large man. No telling what damage a man that strong
could do to him, and the medical facilities around here left a great deal
to be desired.
D’Artagnan slid his gaze to Laurel. She was far too serious and
still. Was the marquise actually considering this delusion of
madness as truth? “Do you actually believe them?” the youngest
musketeer asked.
“Can I take the chance that they aren’t lying to me and turn
my back on them only to find out that Konrad really does do what they
claim he does?” Laurel sank onto the sofa next to her friend. “Put
it this way. I don’t disbelieve them.” She couldn’t
afford to, and her gut instinct was to trust Jala. More often than not
her instincts were accurate.
That was one trait she and her stepsister, Sabine, had often shared.
The lingering memory of loss and betrayal still gave her a pang of anguish,
and she pushed it away quickly.
“Laurel,” Jala handed the woman the pack and urged her to
open it, “I’d like you to take a look at this. Just be careful.
Some of that stuff is quite sensitive, and I wouldn’t want anyone
here to get hurt.”
Laurel pulled the strange veston from the pack and held it up so she
could get a better look at it. Never before had she seen anything remotely
like it. The material itself was nothing like any cloth anywhere in the
known world, as far as she could ascertain, and she had traveled extensively
with her father on his spy missions. The marquise reached into
one of the pockets and withdrew a handheld link, the comstat.
Though, she had no idea what it was, still, it mesmerized her. The unit
was well beyond any technology of her age. Jala was telling the truth.
She was convinced of it even though her friends were not. She could tell
by the skeptical looks on their faces. Laurel replaced the items in the
pack and handed it back to the other woman.
The marquise got to her feet. At that moment Athos halted her. “You
mean to go with them?”
“Oui, Athos. Even though you do not believe, I do. And
I must go.”
“Laurel, you have no idea who these people are. It could well be
an elaborately contrived hoax.” Aramis gently grasped her arms as
he spoke.
“Now look who doesn’t want to see the truth,” she murmured
and then lifted her head, challenging. “If you are so worried about
me, then come with me.” She offered them the challenge.
“To the future?” D’Artagnan queried, skeptical and
curious at the same time.
“That would be my assumption,” Laurel quipped more to hide
her own nervousness than anything else. Sometimes she wanted to throw
their overprotectiveness back in their faces.
“I won’t let you go alone.” D’Artagnan’s
voice was firm. Still found himself trying to play the knight errant for
Laurel and protect her. This time was little different. “I’m
coming with you.”
Laurel crossed her arms. “Anyone else?” She could use the
company, friends she could trust, although she was not about to admit
it to the musketeers, lest they try to prevent her from doing as she felt
she must once again.
“Laurel.” Aramis looked at her with that gaze that went right
through her. “You should know us better than that. You are one of
us in all but name. And it is always all for one and one for all. If you
go, we go too.” He turned to the three people who claimed they were
from the future. “Lead on.”
“Actually,” Daryl spoke up, “we don’t need to
go anywhere. We can do this from right here and whenever you’re
ready.”
“Hold on a moment, Daryl.” Jala raised her hand. Time to
slow things down from their breakneck speed and prepare as best as possible
for what was to come. “We’re going to have to do something
about our costumes. No one dresses remotely like this in the twenty-first
century.” She scratched her head. “I think tunics and breeches
will be the best we can do. You wouldn’t perhaps have two extra
sets of those items on you, Laurel?”
“Zut,” Athos mumbled and Jala looked at him. Melancholic,
brusque gentleman. “You better believe she has them,” he expanded
upon the explicative. Short of death, Laurel would never give up all her
male attire.
“Daryl, Keith, help these men get down to the least unusual dress
that they can.”
“The swords?” Daryl asked.
Jala sighed. Scant protection was better than none. “We’d
better keep those. We just might need something in 2060.” This was
one time she wished for the time chamber to “magically” transform
their clothes. Unfortunately, there was no chamber here. She could only
summon up a portal, and all that would do is let them travel time and
perhaps space. Not one thing more. “We’ll be back as soon
as we’re ready,” Jala informed them, and once again the women
exited the room.
True to their word, they were back quickly and in tunics and breeches.
Wouldn’t you know it, Porthos remarked to himself? Both women were
completely comfortable in men’s garb, and Laurel had strapped her
sword to her side. He’d say not a single word, though, about how
this escapade and dress could ruin their reputations. Not this time.
Laurel was unable to hide her smile at the musketeer’s reaction;
she could get used to this idea of the future, especially if the women
were on equal footing with men, and apparently they were, if Jala were
anything to judge by. Plus, her friends didn’t look half bad reduced
to such simple garb. Although, Porthos had been unable to part with his
sash again. She glanced at Aramis. There should be a law against a man
looking that good all the time. “I think we’re ready,”
Laurel said with a confidence that had stood her in good stead since she
had taken over as head of Louis’ spy service.
A minuscule movement caught Jala’s attention. Keith was shaking
his head in a manner unnoticeable to anyone other than those who had Jala’s
specific mental talent. Not everything had been considered, and Jala bowed
her eyes in response. It did come in handy that Keith was a telepath and
that she could hear him despite the fact he sometimes read things from
her that he wasn’t supposed to know. Actually, things she’d
rather he didn’t know.
“Not yet.” It was Jala who spoke. She reached inside her
ear and plucked the device from it. The musketeers’ conversation
did not melt into gibberish, and she heaved a sigh of relief. The device
had allowed her to start picking up old French, enough to understand them
and speak it somewhat. “None of you know the language of 2060,”
she said in French that was actually quite good, though a little accented.
She did, after all, know twenty-first-century French.
“I guess we’ll just have to learn it when we get there then.”
Athos was completely pragmatic, resigned to doing what had to be done,
despite the magnitude of the probable challenge.
Jala retrieved several microtranverls from the veston and let them slide
through her fingers; her brain counted them automatically. She had been
right; with her microtranverl, a total of four of the items were not currently
in use. Still one less than what she needed. She extended her palm, showing
the musketeers and Laurel the tiny technological objects. “These
will allow you to hear, speak, and understand the language of the time
and give you time to gradually pick up the language on your own,”
Jala told them, or at least said fairly closely in the old French.
“What of you?” Daryl touched Jala’s shoulder.
Jala smiled, but did not turn to face the young Asian man. “I’ve
been an observer in twenty-first-century America. I already know American
standard. I have no need of the microtranverl there.” The young
man’s hand fell from her shoulder.
Daryl reached to his own ear and took the device out of it, offering
it to his superior and a woman seven or so years his senior. “You’ll
have need of this. I’ve been learning American standard. Given a
little immersion I should pick up the rest relatively quickly, but they,”
he gestured, “won’t be so fortunate. They need it more than
I do.”
Jala thanked him and took the tiny object. Once again the dark-haired
woman extended her open palm with the devices to the French people. For
a brief moment she concentrated and her stepfather nodded. Message received,
he proceeded to explain to the five more specifically about what the device
would do and showed them how to insert it. One by one, and reluctantly,
they each took a microtranverl and inserted it in their ear as Keith had
shown. Almost immediately they could perfectly understand Daryl and Jala
again.
“Doux Jésus,” Aramis murmured and then begged
the Lord’s pardon for using His name in vain. He had never before
experienced anything like this. Nor was he sure that he cared for this
new thing no matter how handy it seemed to be.
Jala took out the comstat and focused herself inward. Trancelike, she
depressed several buttons and tweaked an internal switch with her mental
power alone. One more adjustment, and she was done for the moment. A hazy
gold and blue portal appeared, bubblelike almost. “I believe we’re
ready to go,” she announced, prompting the musketeers out of their
pose of frozen surprise.
“Wait,” D’Artagnan called his friends to attention.
“We need to tell Constance and Yvette.”
“I’m afraid not.” Jala shook her head, steeling herself
for a battle.
“Why not?” Athos and D’Artagnan said together, ready
to challenge the three strangers despite the magical devices the three
possessed.
“There is no sense in worrying them needlessly. Drat. I didn’t
say that right,” she criticized herself aloud. “If we do what
we must and do it right, then they will never even know you were gone.”
“And if not?” It was Porthos who spoke.
“If not, it won’t make any difference anyway. This present
will have been changed, and no one here will ever know the difference.”
Her voice was cool, heartless some might say. But Keith knew better. He
knew what those words cost his stepdaughter. She had lost her natural
father because of the same premise. Mother too, more recently. She could
understand their pain better than they realized.
“Wait Jala,” Keith interrupted. “It is likely that
these men will change their appearance in 2060. Just as likely that coming
back here and bringing Konrad back, we will have to travel one way or
another in order to get him where he must go. Put it this way: the absence
will be noted.”
“Okay. What can we do then? Recommendations?” the woman from
the future asked, taking control without realizing what she was doing.
“Tell the king we have gone on a mission of national importance,
Athos. Send him a message,” the duc de Rouen suggested.
The king would trust Athos on this.
“Not enough,” Athos informed him. “I need more clout
than that.”
“Then,” Laurel said, “you and I will tell Louis that
we are going on a joint expedition on a matter that concerns his spies
and his musketeers and that we should be back in about two weeks, barring
any major and unforeseen difficulties.” This said, Laurel got out
a sharpened quill and her other writing utensils and offered them to Athos.
After he completed his missive and sealed it as she wrote her own and
sealed it, Athos gave them to a servant to be delivered immediately. The
task done, Athos reentered the room to hear Keith once again speaking.
“We’d better go,” Keith informed them, spurring them
to act before someone stumbled upon them and began to wonder. The black
man stepped into the bubble, followed by Daryl and each of the musketeers
in turn. Then Laurel. And finally Jala. Behind the dark-haired woman,
the bubble sealed—actually, Jala would have called it a portal and
would have claimed the portal had collapsed.
Jala turned her attention to the comstat once again. “Brace yourselves,”
she warned. “Where we’re going will be a big shock.”
Jala internally crossed her fingers. Hopefully these five were adaptable
and would adjust quickly to the new era. And maybe the American public
would simply think they were a bunch of weirdos dressed up to go to a
costume party. It really wasn’t such a far-out hope either, knowing
the American society of the time and their penchant for romanticizing
the past.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
2060 A.D.
Jala’s words of warning had been insufficient. Some would have called
her a “superior adept of understatement” for being so asinine
as to expect people from a “backward” time to be anything
other than completely shocked by the merest notion of time travel, let
alone the actual fact of experiencing it.
Keith and Daryl were tempted to be more generous. Jala had simply grossly
underestimated the situation. Having such little time to prepare these
new time travelers really hadn’t aided matters either. Not that
the notion of what they were doing sat well with either Daryl or Jala.
The very fabric of time that they could be changing by bringing the people
forward, regardless of the need, was staggering in its implications.
These thoughts, chaotic impressions and incoherent ideas rushed across
the trained time travelers’ neurons. Then, as the world shifted,
they snapped back into themselves, leaving them to try to cope with the
strain on five personalities unprepared for a complete shift from anything
like the world they had known or ever dared to imagine.
The haze of the portal dissipated. Laurel and her friends stood rooted
to the spot. Sensations—pure sensory overload, or close to it—assaulted
the French people. A mind-numbing awareness seeped through them. Denial
ripped at their innards. So much easier to continue that denial, to disbelieve
the bevy of oratory and visual stimuli that bombarded them, forcing them
to accept no alternative other than to believe in time travel. To believe
in a time beyond their own.
Yet the fabric of reality—if this was reality and not a delusion
of a deranged mind—defied comprehension on most every level. Deny
and go mad or accept and . . .
Obviously, they were leagues and years from home with no good idea on
how they would ever return from whence they came. The merest hint of choices
to come left them flabbergasted. Who would return? And just what challenges
would they have to surmount along the way?
* * * * * End of Section One * * * * *
Buy book ->>>
Free downloads of books ->>>
Read Righting Time starting
with page 1 ->>>
|
