Time Travelers Never Die (43 page)

“I had not intended it as a bribe, Eminence. I thought rather, in the tradition of the Faith, to share my own largesse. I have come recently into good fortune.”

“What kind of good fortune?”

“An inheritance. My father died and left his money—”

Cesare waved the story away with a gesture that was almost feminine. “I see.” The two muscular priests came to attention. “Who is paying you, Dryden? The French?”

“I’m in no one’s pay, Eminence. I mean no one any harm.” The Cardinal glanced at the priests. A signal. They came forward and took hold of Dave’s arms and did the equivalent of a patdown. It was not gentle. One came only to about Dave’s eyes, but he looked like a linebacker. The other was younger, trim, athletic, with a cynical smile. He was the type who, in a later age, would have been at the Y every day playing squash. The linebacker saw the converter attached to Dave’s belt and removed it. The squash player found the other one, hidden in Dave’s cassock. They held them out for Cesare, who took them, did a quick inspection, and placed them on the desk. They found his gold and gave that to him also. Then they stepped back.

Cesare smiled at the coins and dropped them on his desk. It was the converters that held his interest. He held one close to an oil lamp and examined it. “Father,” he said, “what
are
these things?”

Dave had a feeling the relic story wasn’t going to sell here. “They’re candlestick holders,” he said.

“Candlestick holders?”

“Yes, Eminence.”

“Show me how it works.” He gave it back to Dave, who thereby received another chance to get clear.

“It’s not completed yet. It still needs a saddle.”

“You are, I assume, referring to a
socket
.”

“Yes, Eminence. In Cornwall, we call them saddles.”

“I see.” He smiled. It was actually a benevolent smile. “May I ask why you are carrying two nonfunctional candlestick holders?”

“They were designed by my father. He died recently and—” He was flailing, and Cesare glanced at his associates, and they all roared with laughter. Cesare first, then the others.

When they subsided, Dave tried to finish: “—I was hoping to complete them. In his honor.”

The Cardinal signaled him to return the converter. He hesitated, gave it back. Cesare placed it on the desk, beside the other one. Then he opened a drawer, from which he withdrew a third unit. Shel’s. He laid it beside the others. “They seem to be three of a kind,” he said.

“He is my cousin, Eminence.”

“This one also has no socket.”

“Yes. It is the most difficult part of the project.”

“And you both carry these
things
, in honor of your esteemed father. I am touched.” His smile widened and snapped off. “David Whatever-your-name-is, let us be clear on one point. Unless you are honest with me, I will have to assume you and your friend are agents of a foreign power and beyond reclamation. If I am forced to that conclusion, I will then have no choice but to deal with you accordingly.” He came around the side of the desk.

“Where is Father Shelborne?” Dave asked.

Cesare stared at him momentarily, then turned his eyes toward the door. The squash player opened it, went outside, and returned with Shel. He was dirty, bruised, covered with blood. He sagged in the arms of two guards.

Dave started toward him, but the linebacker and the squash player got between them. Shel’s eyes opened. “You don’t look so good,” Dave said, still speaking Italian.

Shel tried to wipe his mouth, but the guards held both arms tight. “Hello, Dave. Good to see you.”

Dave turned back to Cesare. “Why have you done this, Eminence?”

The Cardinal’s eyes glowed with an inner light. “You have courage, Father, to come here and interrogate
me
. But I don’t mind. We know your, ah,
cousin
, is a heretic. He is probably also a spy and an assassin. A
would-be
assassin.”

“I tried to get an audience with His Holiness,” Shel muttered.

“That was stupid,” David said in English. “Why?” Alexander VI was the Borgia pope, a womanizer, a con man, a murderer, the father of Lucrezia and Cesare. “Why would you want to see
him
?”

“Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

The linebacker drove a fist into Dave’s stomach, and he went to his knees. “Please confine your remarks to
me
,” said Cesare. “Now perhaps you will tell us why you are here. The truth, this time.”

“Eminence,” Dave gasped, “we are pilgrims.”

Cesare sighed. “Very well.” He glanced toward the windows.

The squash player looked at Dave with a resigned expression. He went to the windows—there were three—and drew the curtains apart. Dave looked out onto a balcony, bordered by a low wall. The middle window was actually a door, which he opened. They were several stories high.

Shel could see out over a large section of Rome. The river wasn’t visible, but houses and streets were. And they were a long way
down
.

Shel’s guards dragged him across the floor and hauled him outside. “Wait,” Dave cried. “Don’t—!”

Shel yelped. The guards held his arms and lifted him onto the wall while Dave tried to get past the two priests. Cesare seemed not very interested. “Have you anything to say, Father Dryden?”

“Yes. You’re right, Eminence. We are French spies.”

He nodded. “As I thought. Now perhaps you will tell me who sent you?”

“Monte Cristo.”

“I’m not surprised.” Cesare’s thin lips smiled. “What was your purpose? To attempt the life of His Holiness?”

“No. Most certainly not. We hoped to sow political discord.”

They leaned Shel out into the air. “I don’t think I heard you correctly. Did you say you were here to kill the Pope?”

“Yes. Yes, that is why we were sent.”

“Very good. I’m glad you’ve decided to be honest.” Cesare gestured, and they brought Shel back inside. “I assume everyone here heard his admission?”

Shel glared at Dave. “Idiot,” he said in English. “They’ll kill us now.”

Cesare sighed. “Take them away,” he told the guards.

“Wait,” Shel said. “Perhaps Your Eminence would care to allow us to make a contribution to the Church.”

“In exchange for my intercession at your trial?” He looked interested. “You have more gold to bargain with?”

“I have access to a substantial sum.” Dave watched, certain that Cesare could not be conned. They would simply take everything, and they would still end in the hands of the Inquisition.

“And where is this substantial sum?”

“Nowhere, just now—” It was as far as he got. Cesare nodded, a barely perceptible movement of head and eye, and one of the priests knocked him to his knees.

“Please do not waste my time,” he said.

Shel struggled to speak. “I have no wish to do so, Eminence. You have the transmuters on your desk.”

“The
what
?”

“The transmuters. They convert lead to gold.”

The Cardinal looked at Dave to see how he was receiving this news. Dave tried to appear displeased, as if Shel had just given away a secret. He picked up one of the converters. “Such a device,” he said, “would do much to spur the mission of Mother Church.”

“Would you like me to show you how it works, Eminence?” Shel tried to get to his feet, but a guard held him tightly.

“I think not. I would prefer that your friend show us.” He motioned Dave to come forward, gave him a lead paperweight, and the converter. “Father Dryden, make us some gold.”

The lead weight was a disk-shaped stone, with an image of St. Gabriel appearing to the Virgin.

Dave set the converter to take him downstream one minute. He adjusted the lead weight as though he were positioning it. “That looks about right,” he said. Then he smiled at Cesare to be sure he had his attention and pushed the button.

The room and its occupants froze. They became transparent and faded out. When they reappeared, one minute later their time, the tableau had changed dramatically. Cesare’s face was twisted with shock. The guards had released Shel and were cringing near the door. The linebacker was blessing himself, and the squash player, eyes wide, had retreated well away from where Dave had been standing. Shel, finally, had gotten to his feet.

Someone screamed Satan’s name. The linebacker thrust a crucifix in Dave’s face. Dave pushed him away and turned to Cesare, who was equally aghast. “You abuse your power, Eminence,” he said. He scooped up the coins they’d taken from him and the remaining converters. He handed one to Shel. They were by then alone with the Cardinal, who did not seem to want to come out from behind his desk.

Dave reverted to English: “You all right, Shel?”

“Yeah.” He was shaking his head, trying to clear it. “It’s almost been worth it.”

Dave smiled nonchalantly at Cesare, whose pale expression contrasted sharply with his red robes. “I’ll see you in hell, Eminence.”

Shel clipped the converter onto his belt. “I just realized,” he said. “I didn’t get my sculpture.”

“Forget it. Let’s go home.”

One of the guards had recovered his nerve, gotten a poker somewhere, and came back into the office. Shel pushed the button and faded out. Dave followed a moment later. But when he materialized in the wardrobe, he was alone.

Go, Stranger, tell the Spartans that we lie here obeying their orders.

 

 

 

 

DAVE
kept looking. He tried Kitty Hawk, North Carolina, in December 1903, and watched the Wright Brothers launch their flying machine. Unfortunately, there was no sign of Shel. Moreover, neither Orville nor Wilbur had any recollection of being approached by anyone resembling Adrian Shelborne. Dave thanked them and, thoroughly intimidated, excused himself, making no effort to engage in the casual conversation that Shel had always tried to initiate. Well, they
were
busy. But that wasn’t the reason he hadn’t tried. It was frustrating. He’d faced down Cesare Borgia and his thugs, but he couldn’t find his voice with the world’s first pilots.

He’d learned from the hunt for Michael Shelborne that it was necessary to look for an event rather than a person. Other than the comet of 1811, which wasn’t going to do him any good, Dave had two events, but he wasn’t enthusiastic about going near either.

Leonidas and his Spartans.

And Socrates on his last day.

Thank God Shel had shown no interest in the Little Bighorn.

HE
found him on the road to Thermopylae. It was rough country, all cliffs and valleys, with scattered trees and occasional grass and lots of bare ground.

Shel looked good. Much better than Dave had expected. He was tanned. Fit. Almost a man on vacation.

“Shel,” Dave said. “How you doing?”

“Dave.” His voice was gentle, sober. East of them, armed soldiers were surveying the landscape. “Is that really you? What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you.”

“Why?”

“I wanted to make sure you were all right. When are you going to come home?”

He shook his head. Looked toward the soldiers. “They’re the Thespians,” he said. “They’ll die alongside the Spartans.”

“Shel—”

“Dave, I’m okay. But I’m not going back.”

“All right.”

“There’s nothing for you to worry about. I’m not going to do anything crazy.” The appearance of an overall well-being faded. A haunted look came into his eyes.

“Helen would want me to say hello.”

“Yeah,” he said. “I guess she would. How is she?”

“She’s all right.”

“She find anybody yet?”

Dave looked at him a long moment. “It’s only been a couple weeks. I think she’ll need more time.”

“You haven’t told her?”

“No. I brought her to the house the day you were there. When I
thought
you were there.”

“Oh.”

“I was going to let you explain it.”

“Dave, let it go, okay? Just let it go.”

“Shel, it’s not going to happen. You aren’t going to wind up in that grave. You know that as well as I do.”

“I
don’t
know it.” He took a deep breath. “Look, let’s just not talk about it, okay? I know you want to help, but the best thing you can do is leave me alone.”

“Shel, she misses you. If you can’t bring yourself to go back after her, you don’t deserve her.”

That brought a long silence. The wind blew. Soldiers, walking past, not really marching, but simply strolling, looked their way curiously.

“I’m trying to live my life,” Shel said. “Do you know how long it’s been for me since I watched the funeral?
My
funeral? Two years. Two years I’ve had to deal with this. Two years of wondering how it’s going to happen. I don’t even know for sure whether I
can
go back. There might really be some sort of cardiac principle. If I show up back in Philly,
your
Philly, I can’t be sure I won’t get hit by a lightning bolt. And I know how crazy it all sounds. But . . .” He couldn’t go on.