The Time Travel Directorate (9 page)

“Quill took on the alias of a serf of the lowest variety,” Chief Smiley said. “His, er, habitation is placed within the castle walls. No one associates with those kinds of people. They won’t notice if you look slightly different. Read the case files and try to match his appearance and mannerisms,” Chief Smiley said, waiting for Vin to respond.

“
Assuming you have someone there who reported the sighting, how will I get in touch with him?” Vin asked, seething.

Vin
was the only person available to travel and Chief Smiley was treating him like an outsider. It felt like a betrayal.

“
You’ll have instructions on your web’s reading pane when you land,” he said, staring at Vin, “Well, what are you waiting for? Get going.”

Vin
landed just outside the castle walls. The costume he found in the wardrobe department hadn’t been washed in months. His woolen hose were caked with dirt, and layers of tunics did little to block the wind that whipped around him. Vin did his best to dirty his face and hands to match Quill’s profile, but it hardly felt convincing.

He
surveyed the area, shaking off the static from the web, before checking the reading pane.

Meet contact in
brewhouse.

Vin
looked at the terse description and felt himself growing angry again. Here he was, ready to apprehend an international criminal as a common serf. How was he to get his hands on a weapon? Or even to get close enough to capture Julius?

Tucking the web neatly under his tunic,
Vin tried to remain calm, walking in the direction of the castle looming before him.

As he got closer, he saw signs of horses, travelers, and the wayward rumbling wagon
—all headed towards a gatehouse. None of his fellow companions paid him much attention, and Vin grew more confident of his disguise.

One thing about smells
, he thought,
they keep curious people at a distance.

As he approach
ed the outer wall of the castle, he quickly found himself in heavy traffic, all moving with the same methodical pace. Passing easily through the first garrison, Vin continued across a causeway paved with stone, surrounded by a deep moat on either side.

Vin
could see another garrison about several yards ahead of him—behind which rose a tall castle. It was within these confines that Julius Arnold enjoyed great privilege as Lord—or, so Chief Smiley indicated.

Up until that point
, traffic consisted of farmers and laborers. As Vin passed the garrison, he noticed what looked to be castle guards, swords affixed to their sides as they roved around in packs.

Walking behind a slow moving wagon,
Vin located a low-level structure which, from the smell, had to be the brewhouse. Without any other leads, and wary of attracting attention, he went inside.

Moving into
the dark interior, he took in the crowded atmosphere, letting his eyes adjust. The air was thick with body heat, which strangely felt comforting after walking in the brutal cold. As Vin began to move towards a vacant table, he felt pressure on his arm. Turning, he froze, his eyes level with a castle guard. Panicking, Vin tried to pull away when the man spoke.

“Vin? I’m Inspector Habit,” he said in a low voice.

“
Ah, you must be the informant,” Vin replied in a whisper.

Inspector Habit gestured for
Vin to follow, moving through the cramped tavern to a private table near the back.

Vin
took a seat, studying his companion. The bags under his eyes were pronounced, and his dark eyes shined like polished steel balls. Several tankards of ale were placed on the table before them. Vin took a long drink from the beverage, feeling the alcohol sooth his nerves. 

“
So what’s the plan?” he asked.

Inspector Habit
smiled, leaning forward to slap Vin on the shoulder.

“I thought you were th
e star inspector, aren’t you supposed to tell me?”

“You heard about that
, did you?” Vin asked, feeling a wave of embarrassment.

Though
his celebrity status was growing tedious, Vin didn’t want to lose face in front of another inspector.

“Of
course I have a plan,” he responded, the alcohol fueling him with confidence. “Since you’ve been undercover all this time, what have you learned about Julius?”

“You mean Lord
Cornwallis? He’s looking to expand his lands—given the right opportunity. Men like him prosper in times like these.”

“So I’m told
,” Vin responded succinctly.

“
He is throwing a festival tomorrow. Executing criminals as entertainment—how’s that for a celebration?”

“What does he think he’s
doing?” Vin asked, disgusted.

“I should think he’s winning the goodwill of the people, seems a smart way of approaching it
,” Inspector Habit responded, taking a sip from his tankard before motioning for the plump waitress.

“The food
sucks here, you’ve been warned,” he said, not bothering to lower his voice as she walked over.

Vin
blinked at his brashness, but went along with it as he arranged for their meal.

“You’ll stay in Quill’s
humble abode tonight,” Inspector Habit said after the waitress left. “It’s about a mile from the southern gatehouse. I’ll meet you tomorrow at the festival.”

“This all
feels very impulsive,” Vin cautioned, which Inspector Habit dismissed with a shake of his head.

“
When you see an opportunity, you take it. I’ve been building this case for it for quite some time.”

“Oh?”
Vin asked, confused, “How was it that you were here just as Julius arrived on the scene?”

“
Don’t blame Chief Smiley for leaving you in the dark,” Inspector Habit replied, as plates of brown mush were deposited in front of them.

“So there was a plan all along?”
Vin asked, wondering what exactly his role was.

“Don’t feel
bad,” Inspector Habit commented, breaking apart a dark loaf of bread. “You did a fine job rescuing Kanon Hay. But catching Julius requires a bit more planning.”

“
So what do you need me for?” Vin asked.

“I need you to keep an eye on a particular
castle guard, he’s loyal to Julius and I’m concerned he’ll impede our plans.”

“
What plans are those?” Vin asked, wondering why he was so quickly relegated to the lookout. “No, let me guess,” he said, his frustration growing.

“That information is c
lassified,” Inspector Habit replied calmly, toasting Vin obnoxiously before taking a long drink.

After waking with a stinging hangover,
Vin’s mood dipped further. There was something about his current deployment that didn’t sit right. His situation wasn’t improved by the filthy surroundings. Quill’s hideout, if one could call it that, was a one-room shack located at the edge of the castle’s agricultural pastures. Unable to get a fire started, Vin spent a cold and restless night with all manner of nightlife. Scratching his head nervously, Vin realized some visitors still remained from the night before.

Hurriedly dressing
, he tucked the web underneath his tunic, eager to depart for the festival. This was where Inspector Habit intended to capture Julius Arnold. Vin was only able to get the barest amount of information from him the night before. He claimed to have weapons, and rouge guards in his employ. Vin knew nothing other than to trust Habit, though it felt like his position had been relegated back to an analyst.

Pulling himself together as best he could, he
began the journey towards the castle. As he approached, he noticed crowds swarming the gatehouse like a colony of ants. Grateful for the cover, Vin moved easily through the checkpoint, and headed towards the looming castle ahead. Not knowing exactly where he was going, he blindly followed the mob of people around him—hopeful they were all headed to the same place.

It took
nearly an hour, but he finally reached the inner bailey of the castle. The residences in this area were very fine indeed—Julius had been generous. Every windowsill was decorated with flowers—ribbons were affixed to doorways and posts. Music streamed from wandering musicians, supplying a general feeling of revelry. Ale was flowing freely, located at several stands along the progression to the castle keep, looming above them like a grey ghost.

Vin
decided on breakfast first, eating his fill of a bland tasting pie and washing it down with several gulps of ale. Turning, he followed the crowd as they proceeded directly in front of the stone keep. Directly below the castle’s colorful, stained glass windows was a large wooden platform—cordoned off from the pressing curiosity of the crowd. Vin swallowed heavily, finding the scene eerily familiar. Next to it was a well-constructed pen, as one might house an animal.

It was now clear where the executions were taking place.

Vin felt pressure on his shoulder. Turning, he watched as Inspector Habit appeared through the mob of people.

“
Fine day for a beheading, don’t you think?”

“Keep your voice down,
” Vin cautioned, looking around nervously.

“Oh
, don’t be ridiculous. None of this impacts Standard D.”

“That doesn’t sound like the
attitude of an inspector,” Vin shot back, eyeing Inspector Habit nervously.

“Oh
, relax. You should enjoy yourself in the past, let loose a bit.”

“Yeah,
thanks, maybe I will. Where is this guard I’m supposed to lookout for?” Vin asked, his anxiety growing.

“
Julius will probably begin the proceedings soon. See that?” Inspector Habit said, pointing to the stained glass windows.

“He lives
in the castle?” Vin asked.

“
Yes, he’s a Lord, after all,” Inspector Habit responded succinctly. “This all belongs to him. He owns the land, and the people.”

“
Tell me more about the day’s festivities, the man I’m supposed to watch for?” Vin asked, shifting his weight.

“See those people there?”
Inspector Habit said, ignoring his question.

Vin
looked closer at the pen placed next to the platform, detecting the slightest of movement.

“There are people in there?”

“Local peasants who started an uprising a few weeks ago.”

“Uprising over what?”
Vin asked, horrified.

“
There are always those who complain they don’t have enough. One must make an example of them, to dissuade future disturbances.”

Vin
looked into the depths of the pen. He thought again of Inspector Habit’s comments about enjoying oneself in history, suddenly he felt sick.

“Come on, let’s take
a look,” Inspector Habit said casually, taking Vin by the arm and leading him over to the pen.

It was then
that Vin realized Inspector Habit was armed, a large sword swinging at his side. Vin wondered whether or not he should be similarly outfitted. He felt the lowliness of his costume keenly, in fact, he looked more like one of the imprisoned peasants.

“What was their crime
again?” Vin asked, taking a good look at the scaffolding erected alongside the pen.

As he got a closer look, he caught sight of a large axe casually placed next to a wooden block
.

Inspector Habit didn’t seem concerned with their
situation. He inserted a key into the lock, turning it quickly.

“
Some stole bread—another killed a knight,” Inspector Habit said, opening the door.

“Who killed the knight?”
Vin asked, reeling back as the smell hit his nostrils.

“You did
,” Inspector Habit said.

He
reached under Vin’s tunic, ripping his web away, before tossing him in the confines of the pen. Vin fell heavily against the bodies packed within as they quickly descended on him—like crabs in a barrel. Inspector Habit closed the gate, locking it firmly.

“
Inspector Damato, it was a pleasure meeting you.”

Vin
pushed off the hands of the peasants, trying to wrap his mind around his dramatic reversal in fortune. Forcing his way to the front of the pen, he shook the locked gate.

“Inspector
Habit! Inspector Habit!” Vin cried, panicking.

Inspector Habit turned
from him, striding onto the platform. Stretching, he took a seat on the executioner’s block. Making sure Vin was watching, he took an axe in one hand, sharpening it against a rock.

Vin
kept screaming, his voice quickly growing horse as he struggled to free himself.

Inspector Habit motioned to one of the castle guards, gesturing to the musicians that had encamped in front of the scaffolding.
While Vin yelled for help, the musicians took up residence directly in front of the pen, drowning out his cries with rollicking music.

Pushing away from the gate
in frustration, Vin forced his way to the back of the pen—searching for any weakness in its structure. Every seam was stiffly constructed, and its frame barely shook as Vin brought his shoulder down heavily on one side. Wincing, he sunk to the ground, mud squelching under him.

From this vantage point, he
watched the crowd anxiously, looking for anyone that might help. Minutes turned to hours. Vin held his head in his hands, feeling his power over the situation slip away.

It was now clear who
was helping Julius Arnold—though judging from Vin’s current situation, it was of little consolation. With Vin incapacitated, there was no one left to stop them. If only he could get a message to Central Computer! But with his web stolen, Vin was effectively a sitting duck.

Several
long hours passed before Vin’s attention was drawn to commotion within the castle keep. Peering outside the pen, he watched as a procession of knights exited the castle. A man in finely colored tunics and an ornate hat rounded out the demonstration. With a sinking feeling, Vin realized who it was.

Julius
Arnold took his place on the scaffolding—motioning for silence. Smiling at the crowd, Julius turned to the pen, giving it a mock salute. In carefully accented Old English, Julius thanked the crowd for attending his festival, while alternately berating the peasants for their treachery. Wagging a finger at the pen, Julius turned to the crowd.

“Such
treachery should not go unpunished!”

The crowd roared
in response, with some throwing rocks at the pen.

“One of these men even killed a knight!”
Julius crowed, holding his hands high above his head.

His
reedy thin legs jutted out from sagging wool hose, and the tassels falling from his robes shook with his emotion. As Julius droned on, the crowd seemed to grow in agitation. Soon they were calling out for blood.

Vin
must have missed the signal as one of the castle guards unlocked the pen, pulling a prisoner at random onto the scaffolding. Gripped with horror, Vin watched as Inspector Habit drew up the axe, showing it to the crowd.

Forcing himself to the front,
Vin wracked his brain for a solution to his current predicament. Chief Smiley and Director Hay were the only ones who knew about his mission. Will they ever know the truth about what happened? His mind reeling—it wasn’t long before the guard came back. Vin looked outside the pen, watching as the body was loaded into a cart behind the scaffolding—an eerily familiar scene.

Vin
motioned for the guard.

“
Take me next,” he said to the man, not bothering to disguise his accent.

Momentarily confused, the guard stood there for a few moments as
Vin presented himself at the open gate.

“
Ahhhhh!” Julius cried, his face beaming with recognition.

The guard
tied Vin’s hands behind his back and closed the pen, leading him to the scaffolding.

Vin
got a good look at him as he was forced to his knees. Julius had been enjoying himself. The paunch that Vin had noted in the French revolution had grown into a striking maternal belly.

“So,”
Vin began, “this is how you treat visiting inspectors?”

The clamor of the crowd
enhanced Julius’ confidence, and he responded in plain English.

“You are a brave man,
Inspector Damato, I’ll give you that. Much more so than darling Inspector Hay. You wouldn’t happen to know . . . ” he began, taking a knife from his belt and balancing it on his palm, “where she is, would you?”

“She’s safe.”
Vin replied succinctly. “Why should I tell you anything,” he added. “You’re just going to kill me anyway.”

“Not true!” Julius
said, his voice low and grating.

He nodded at
Inspector Habit, who stood in front of them, blocking the boisterous mob.

“I am in need of more webs.
” Julius growled. “And guess who has one?”

Inspector Habit smiled, patting
the web tucked under his tunic.

“What are you using them for?”
Vin asked.

“Just think what someone would pay to
travel through time unregulated—to take part in this glorious event.” Julius waved his hand towards the crowd.

“I’m not buying it
,” Vin said resolutely, holding his gaze.

Inspector Habit snickered, but
Julius seemed challenged by Vin’s cool demeanor.

“You
have no idea what I’m proposing. Imagine if our desires could be fulfilled in the past. If we time traveled for vice, there would be no present-day crime,” he paused, a glimmer in his eye, “I can deliver world peace!”

“You would unleash
such cruelty into the past? Your victims are no less innocent!” Vin cried, slowly understanding Julius’ true intentions.

“Don’t be
so naïve,” Julius snorted. “You may be judiciously straight laced, but take it from me, a dark streak exists in the soul of man.”

“What about Standard
D?” Vin cried.

Julius
rolled his eyes heavenward.

“I curse the
day I ever heard that word,” he said, exchanging a knowing glance with Inspector Habit. “And that, my son, is the biggest lie the Directorate ever told you. It is this falsehood which holds us back the most. Tyranny is not specific to the past. It manifests itself in all the things the Directorate prides itself in—the illusion of control, when really, it’s a mechanism of fear.”

“You really believe this,” Vin said, suddenly feeling very calm about his predicament. “Well, I won’t help you. You’ll have to prove your theory without me.”

“I wonder if Inspector Hay is so
resolute?” Julius asked, twirling his knife ominously.

Vin
couldn’t help but flinch at the mention of her name. He hoped Julius didn’t notice.

Julius
shifted his weight, looking as if he wanted to say more, but the furor of the crowd was growing. They resumed throwing things at the pen, and now the scaffolding.

Inspector
Habit leaned towards Julius, whispering something in confidence. Turning back to his captive, Julius sighed heavily.

“Ok, Inspector
Damato. You’ve made your play for all that is good and ignorant. No one has anything to reproach you with, you enter heaven through the grand staircase,” he said—eyes dulling with evil intent.