Authors: Susan Squires
“I thought you just burned the Saxon villages and raped the women.” At his incensed look she said hastily, “Sorry, but I did.”
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She saw him working at the thought a minute. “Sometimes, what you say is sooth. Good men there were and
yful
or stupid. That is a way to take the land, if there is no choosing of another way. But it is not the way to hold the land. My father did not take land thus.”
“And the women were wives, not concubines?” She used the Latin word for “concubines.”
Now he looked really insulted. “Saxon women come to the bed of Danir men freely. Why not?
We bathe many more times than Saxon men.”
She tried not to smile. “Well, that would do it.” Yeah. What was she thinking? Like any Saxon woman with half a hormone wouldn’t jump into bed with Galen. Sitting there, all glowery, with his hair blowing back from his face and his blue eyes burning, he was making Lucy’s body react in its usual way. She had to think of something else. Anything else. But she couldn’t think of anything else but Saxon women coming to his bed. He’d be naked, because he seemed to like to be naked. . . .
He cleared his throat. “You say there were many English kings?”
“There is one today. Well, a queen.”
He looked astonished at that.
“And her husband,” Lucy hastened to add. “But she is the queen. Elizabeth.”
“She rules, and not her husband?”
“Oh yeah,” Lucy chuckled. “No question about that.” He nodded after a minute. “This is good.
King or queen, it is good that they are
Englisc.
The kingdom is still there. I . . . what is action word for ‘fright?’ ”
“ ‘Fear.’ ”
“I feared the kingdom would fall to the North-men who settled in Gaul.”
“North-men?”
“From Northway.”
She blinked.
Norway, settled in Gaul. North-men . . . could he mean . . . ?
“Normans? Normans were actually from Norway? ”
“
Ja.
They have that name. But they did not take the island. This is good.”
She raised her brows in apology. “But they did. Normans conquered England in 1066.”
His jaw worked and he looked away. “All I fight for is like nothing.”
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He must love his island much. He had certainly sacrificed for it. He was not only a brave warrior but also a principled one. She had to give him comfort. “You kept them away for a hundred and fifty years.” That wasn’t doing the trick. There it was again, that look. Was he ashamed that he had not single-handedly staved off the Norman invasion? “It was bad to be Saxon for a time.
But . . . but England just . . . absorbed them.” She looked to see if he understood. “Ate them?
They became English just like Danir. Their words are in our language just as Danish words are today.”
“What Danish words do you have today?”
“ ‘Skirt’? ‘Skill’? ‘Gate’? ‘Law’?”
His expression grew thoughtful and not quite so bleak. “
Ja.
Danish words.”
“Same with Norman words. But now it is all English. Just a bigger English.”
He thought about that. “Same here in America,” she continued. “Men and women of many lands are here. But all are American. And we all speak English. Well, most of us sooner or later.
We were once in thrall to English kings. We fought many battles to be free. But we still speak English.”
“The words are quick.”
He meant “alive.” She nodded.
“They
wefan
us together.”
Did he mean weave? He must.
“Is this a big kingdom?” he asked.
“Very big. Not a kingdom, though. The people here choose who leads them. We call the king a president. Every man and every woman has a choice who will rule. We call it a vote.”
“This is a strange time. Choosing kings.” He looked bleak. He must be feeling lost.
“Not so strange. Men and women haven’t changed. We still want the same things.”
Oh,
that
was a bad subject to raise. His eyes grew heated, if blue could burn. But instead of sliding closer to her, he actually pushed himself farther into the corner of the bench. She didn’t understand. One minute he seemed to lust after her, and the next he was acting like she had the plague. Or maybe he was trying to keep his promise.
Like she could be attractive to a man like Galen. But he was a Viking. He’d been in a war.
Probably hadn’t . . . hadn’t
fucked
anybody for a while. She cringed at the word. But that would be all it was to him. She was just available.
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That made her feel small. Before she knew what she was doing she had risen, just because she’d become uncomfortable in her skin. “Are you rested?”
“Nay, Lucy. Sit.” She sat with some anxiety on the edge of the bench. He swallowed, trying to work up to something. “What will be . . . what happens here, Lucy? We hide. I heal. Then . . .
what? Do you know where is this Brad? Will he make the machine work again?”
This was what she hadn’t wanted to think about for the last days. She took a breath. “I know where he is. He will fix the machine if he can. He will understand that you must go back to your year to make time right. But the others who are with him . . . they are unknown.” Again she looked out over the marshes, as though to absorb some of their peace and vitality. “They took all I have. Had. They are looking for me. I don’t know what is in their hearts.”
“They are
yful
?”
“Maybe not evil. Just angry at me.”
He looked a question at her. “Wrathful?”
She nodded, feeling a little forlorn. “Maybe they think I stole the machine.”
“You did not steal this machine. It was the Norns who set your course and mine.”
“Maybe I should go to Brad and his friends and tell them what happened. Maybe then you could go home.” Something almost like pain snaked its way from her belly to her heart at that.
“It is not good for you to stay here.” Was it? Confusion rolled around in her stomach.
“Jake is wise man. He thinks you should hide from Brad.”
“Jake is mad.” She tapped her temple. “He sees enemies everywhere.” She had to use the Latin for “enemy” before Galen understood.
Galen shook his head, thinking. “Jake is not mad. Our way is not yet clear, Lucy. For now we will not seek this Brad. Or his friends.”
“I wish I knew what to do. How will we get the machine? If Brad’s friends want to imprison you, then you can’t get back to your time, and who knows what will happen when you are not where you were meant to be?”
He pushed himself up from the bench. She could feel the fear in him. They had that in common.
But he straightened his shoulders gingerly and set his jaw.
“The Norns have not yet shown us their threads. But we will know them, soon or late.”
That was hardly comforting. She wished she had his courage.
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Casey watched the old guy stroll across the interview room like he didn’t have a care in the world. Lowell didn’t look around at the hive of activity, didn’t acknowledge Evans and Jameson at his side. Huaraches, torn jeans, a suede jacket with ridiculous amounts of fringe. Went with the gray ponytail and the beard. Guys stuck in the past were pathetic.
Casey pointed to the interview room and Lowell strolled inside and took a seat on one of the folding chairs, legs crossed out in front of him. Casey motioned Evans and Jameson out. He remained standing. That always intimidated them. “Jake Lowell?”
“Yup.”
“You the manager of 1632 Filbert?”
“Yup. Owner, too. You already know that.”
Lowell’s eyes were appraising. Not afraid. Not even with being dragged down to a federal building with a special elevator and into a busy beehive of hard men in suits.
Interesting.
There was one kind of guy who wouldn’t be intimidated. Casey felt himself getting excited.
“Wanted to talk to you about a car that was down in the parking lot of the building.”
“What car was that?”
“Tenants say it was an old blue Chevy, maybe a Pontiac. Say it never moved.”
“I might remember a car like that. . . .” But he only
seemed
to consider.
“Your tenants have assigned spaces?”
“Nah. It’s every man for himself. Or woman.”
“Do you have records of your tenants’ cars, since they’re parking on your property?”
“Not much into keeping tabs on people. Too much trouble.”
Casey pulled on his upper lip with his teeth. “So you don’t know who owned it.”
“Doesn’t anybody claim it?” Lowell looked surprised. “Guess you could break in and see the registration, seeing as you’re who you are.”
“And who is that, Mr. Lowell?”
“You tell me. Something with lots of initials. CIA. NSA. Branch of the military. Maybe NIATF, even. Not retired and selling yourself on the street corner, or you wouldn’t be using this building.”
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“You have a lively imagination, Mr. Lowell.” That nailed it. Nobody would guess NIATF. No one even knew about it. “To get back to our point. The car is missing.”
Lowell glanced to the one-way glass. “All this trouble over a stolen car? Law enforcement must be rolling in dough these days. Well, I guess murders were down in the city last year. Gotta have something to do.”
“You’re a real comedian, Mr. Lowell.”
“Nah. I’m not smart enough. Lenny Bruce. Now
he
was a comedian. Richard Pryor. Sam Kinison.
They were comedians.” Lowell folded his hands across his thighs and waited.
Casey called on his well-known control. “Was that your car, Mr. Lowell?”
“Don’t have a car. Walk or ride the cable cars. Better for the earth.”
“Do you know who took the car?”
“Say, does this have anything to do with that former tenant you were asking about?”
“Lucy Rossano, Mr. Lowell. Don’t pretend you don’t remember who we were looking for. And yes, it does.”
Jake shook his head. “Well . . . maybe the car was hers then and it’s wherever she is.”
Casey turned his back so Lowell wouldn’t see his frustration. How did you break someone who had probably played this game a thousand times?
After a minute Lowell said, “So, anything else I can do for you? It’s getting late.”
Casey took a moment before he replied. He didn’t turn around. “No. You can go. I wouldn’t leave town if I were you.”
Casey heard the man stand. The chair scraped back. “You seem to have extra help, so feel free to set a tail on me. Better get some good walkers, though. I’m spry for my age.”
The door opened and closed. Casey stood for a long minute more. The guy was a spook, or had been. He’d either blackmailed somebody or been paid off with a lot of cash and a new identity for very dirty work. He was involved in the Lucy Rossano mess up to his eyeballs.
But did you ever retire? Did anyone ever let you? Maybe Lowell was working for a rival agency.
The CIA would kill for a time machine. Maybe the NIATF had a leak. Or maybe Casey’s bosses were only pretending not to believe him about what it was. Maybe they didn’t trust him to bring it home and were running a shadow operation. One thing was certain. It was too much of a coincidence that Lucy Rossano was living in an apartment building with an ex-spook.
“Hey, Colonel, did you mean to let Lowell go?”
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“Of course I meant it,” Casey snapped without turning around. “We can pick him up again whenever we want.”
“Right.” Evans did a disappearing act.
Casey wanted Lowell in the worst way. Nobody was going to get that machine but him. But it was more than that. Jake Lowell thought he was better than Casey at his own game.
So Jake Lowell was going down. But first Casey had to find out what he was up against, who Lowell was working for. Time to call in some very old chips.
By the time Lucy and Galen got back to the marina, the clouds had spilled over the coastal range and were racing, dark and low, across the bay. Lucy took out her key and fumbled at the lock. Galen loomed close behind her. The electric feeling in the air echoed some feeling inside her. Down the dock, the hard guy was out on his deck screwing down something. Boats took a lot of maintenance. The
Camelot
was impeccable. Jake must hire a service to do it. How did he pay them without leaving a trace?
The father and his son were out on the deck of their old Catalina, too.
“Goddamned dog,” the father slurred, his voice loud enough so she and Galen could hear him clearly over the creak of boats rocking in their slips. “Get him up here, Kevin.” The father had a lined and pinched face, his eyes narrow, whether from squinting against the sun or just because he didn’t want to take in very much of what he saw she didn’t know.
“He didn’t mean nothin’ by it, Dad.” The kid was surly, his hair brush-cut like his dad’s, his jacket worn out at the elbows. “They was my socks. I didn’t care nothin’ about them.”
“Him or you,” the father threatened. “Leavin’ crap all over where he can get at it . . .” The father’s fists were balled up at his sides. “You think money grows on trees?”
The kid took a couple of heaving breaths, thinking about rebellion before he slumped and disappeared down the hatch. The man looked around and stumbled over to a stout stick with a hook on it used for hauling in big fish like marlin or tuna and picked it up. Lucy had a horrible image of spurting blood until he grabbed it by the hook end and stood there, tapping the long handle against his palm. That was bad enough.
Lucy’s pulse raced. The boat loaded with impending violence was several down to the right. She and Galen should be turning left to get to the
Camelot,
but Lucy couldn’t just walk away. She glanced to the hard guy, maybe five boats farther down from the boat in question, but he studiously turned his back. He’d seen this before.