kat jaske title

author kat jaske

 
info@forhonor.com

HOME  | Buybooks | Books Coming | What's New | Meet the Author | Links | Browse More Books

contact
Fencing | Visit France | How to Publish | Reagan Yearbook Pic.
Free Downloads
book righting time by kat jaske section 1b

Buy books ->>>

FREE BOOK downloads->>>

A terrible mistake by time travelers has messed up their history. Can they convince the musketeers of seventeenth-century France to travel forward in time and help them capture the displaced villain?

author kat jaske

Read Righting Time pages 1-7 ->>>

 

National award winning author of the book
For Honor: An Adventure of What Might Have Been

Reviews

  • "Some of best stories and best written books I have read in several years."
    Mark Myers - storyteller - Ohio

  • Selected by Las Vegas Green Valley High School for 2006 Reading Incentive Program

More reviews ->>>


For Honor ->>>
Gambit ->>>
Righting Time ->>>
Out of Phase ->>>

Free book downloads ->>>

 

 

 

 

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 ->>>