TW01 The Ivanhoe Gambit NEW (22 page)

"I still don't see what kept him from moving in on us," said Lucas.

"A couple of things. First off, he wouldn't know
exactly
where you were or
who
you were. Not unless he was right on top of you and scanning. That still puts him in a good position to take you out, but what happens then? Remember, put yourself in his place. Suppose he takes you prisoner. The other ref still reads you. He can get a rough reading on you and figure a fairly close location with a little time. He might figure out that you were taken. If Irving wastes you, your implant sends a KIA signal. If your signal winks out, that means a probable KIA with implant damage. See, that's why they didn't bother to brief you. They knew Irving could read you, but
they
had to read you, too, because if the adjustment team fails, what happens then?"

"They try to get another team," said Lucas, dryly.

"Right. Insurgents are easier to neutralize if you can identify and isolate them. So long as you're not a direct threat to Irving and he's got some idea where you are, he leaves you alone and the scenario progresses in a roughly linear fashion. Irving's either got to try and effect a change that's radical enough to throw the mission out or he's got to get to your mission commander."

"So what happens now?" said Lucas.

"Now, he probably figures you got killed somehow. These are dangerous times, after all. What we do is rendezvous with Johnson and Delaney and put our heads together. The outlaws might prove useful, too."

"I've got to pick up Hooker," Lucas said.

"I'm afraid that's not going, to happen," Hunter said. He passed Lucas the bottle. "I had him scanned in Nottingham Castle somewhere. While I was taking the reading, his implant sent a KIA signal."

He had made an unforgiveable error in judgment.

It had taken him a long time to break Hooker, much longer than he had anticipated. He had hated having to do the work himself, but he had not been able to delegate the responsibility. What he had to say to Hooker and what he had hoped the man would tell him were things he did not want anyone else to overhear.

Hooker had yielded up only one piece of useful information, but it had taken far more effort than Irving had expected. He had kept the work up steadily, had spoken in a soft and pleasant voice, repeating over and over again how it was all unnecessary, how all Hooker had to do was to cooperate and it would all be over for him. Yet, the man had resisted with an astonishing force of will.

He had been wild with fear; he had blubbered pathetically; he had screamed with pain, but he had held on. There was a moment when he finally broke, when Irving thought that he was ready to go all the way, but something within him had galvanized and he screamed with rage and passed out. He had escaped, temporarily, in the only way left open to him.

Irving had freed him then. He had called the sheriff, who had entered the torture chamber and unfastened the manacles holding the unconscious Hooker to the wall. The look on Sir Guy's face had been difficult to read. Irving tried to imagine what the man was thinking, what had gone through his mind while he stood in the upper level of the dungeons, listening to the screams coming from below.
That's my
king down there, torturing some escaped bondsman.

The sheriff had picked Hooker up and carried him to Irving's chambers.' Irving told him to place Hooker on the bed and leave. Sir Guy complied without a word. Let the man rest, Irving had thought.

Let him wake up in more pleasant surroundings. Allow him to accept that there was an alternative to the stinking dungeons. Irving left him alone, first taking the precaution of activating the safety field on his chronoplate and removing all the weapons from the room. But he had committed a serious error. He had underestimated Hooker's resolve and he had forgotten to take away the gauntlets that lay on a chair, unnoticed.

Irving stood looking at Hooker's corpse, cursing himself.

The man had taken one of the gauntlets and pulled out the garotte, looping the wire around the torch sconce set into the wall and then around his own neck. It was a grisly sight. The man must have gone mad. No rational human being would ever have committed such a horrifying act. Fighting his nausea, Irving took him down.

Perhaps there was still a way to turn this to his advantage. Hooker had revealed to him the identity of one of the adjustment team. So Ivanhoe wasn't really Ivanhoe in this scenario.

He was a temporal agent named Lucas Priest. He should have guessed when he had seen the man's performance in the melee, but the real Ivanhoe was a deadly fighter and Irving had expected that the adjustment team would have been infiltrated into the Norman camp, where they would at least have some protection. He had suspected De Bracy and Bois-Guilbert, for which reason he had recruited Andre de la Croix to stay close to them. At least he was certain of her.

Who could the other two men be? There were only two implant signals remaining, which meant that one of them was probably dead, but which one? Chances were that it was Priest, since he had been teamed with Hooker and Hooker had obviously run into trouble before falling into his hands. Hooker hadn't known about the missing signal, Irving was sure of that. Two signals left, both somewhere in Sherwood, in outlaw territory.

An outlaw archer had split a Norman arrow during the tournament at Ashby. A guided arrow? It was certainly possible for such a shot to occur naturally, but the odds against it were incredible. Still . . .

hadn't there been a story in the legend of Robin Hood about... of course! What better way to use the outlaws against him than to infiltrate into their midst men who would be in a position of leadership? He wished he could have seen that archer from a closer distance. It could have been Locksley. On the other hand, it could easily have been one of the others and the act later attributed to Locksley. For that matter, it could have been a woman. Marion? Why not? He would proceed on the assumption that anyone in a position of leadership among the outlaws could be a temporal agent. He could clock back and observe the contest once again. For that matter, he could clock back and observe Priest and see whom he came in contact with.

They would be proceeding with extreme caution, knowing full well how inferior their position was.

Irving smiled. What if he was to shake them up a bit?

Hooker was already dead. Very well, then let him know in Minus Time that he would die. Throw them for a loop. If he could avoid splitting the timestream, at that point he could reinforce his present position. He would clock back and observe the contest and his own part in it. Then he would ascertain which of the pavilions belonged to Priest, clock forward to his present position, pick up Hooker's body and drop it off with them. He would have to watch himself, but the effect on them would be devastating.

They would know that he had penetrated at least two of their identities and most likely the others, as well. Hooker would be forced to face the prospect of his eventual demise. The alternative would be a paradox. Considering that, he understood why he had not been able to break Hooker easily. Perhaps he had already done as he was planning and the only way to preserve the timeline was to go ahead and do it now.

He was getting a headache. The migraines were coming more and more frequently now. He
had
to stop the game. It was wearing him out. He rubbed his head, trying to make the pain go away. What if he killed Prince John? Would the other referee be able to split the timeline, creating an alternate scenario in which his action would be canceled out somehow? He didn't know. He had to seize the throne. He knew that he was most vulnerable until he accomplished that goal. The other referee would not want to resort to setting up a parallel timeline. That would prove dangerous. Once he was firmly entrenched as Richard, King of England, nothing short of a major historical disruption would stop him, since Richard died at Chaluz, near Limoges, and Irving had no intention of setting foot anywhere near the place. Still, the game was making him more and more uncertain. If only they hadn't discovered his departure before he had been able to act....

"God, when will it end?" he moaned, holding his head. He looked down at Hooker's corpse. "How many more of you will they send against me? How many more must die?"

He had to keep going. He had to keep struggling, forever hoping that some action he would take would result in a future scenario in which they did not send a team back after him. Meanwhile, he had to play it carefully. Sooner or later, he would prevail. The demands upon him were enormous, but he accepted that. Great men had to overcome great obstacles.

All right, he thought, time to bring things to a boil. Andre de la Croix was, by now, already at Torquilstone, in a position to move against De Bracy and Bois-Guilbert. That would deprive John of his two strongest allies. The Saxon leaders were in his hands, he could now clock them directly into De Bracy's dungeons. He reached under his bed, first deactivating the safety field on the chronoplate with his remote unit. He opened the case and began to assemble the border circuits. He wasn't quite through with Hooker yet.

Hooker would, indeed, be in a unique position. After all, how many men would ever know the exact manner of their death?

Lucas and Hunter materialized in the exact center of the camp, so near to Alan-a-dale that he jumped a foot and promptly passed out.

"Ooops," said Hunter. "That was a little close, wasn't it?"

Lucas was too busy upchucking to reply. He was still a little weak and his stomach had reacted badly to the chronoplate.

"Sorry about that," said Hunter. "I would've floater-clocked us in, but I don't want to pull out any technology that might alert our friend. Someone might've spotted us coming in that way."

"Suppose I had clocked in right in his space," said Lucas, wiping his mouth and looking at the unconscious minstrel.

"Hey, you gotta bring some to get some, pilgrim. I'll try to be more careful from now on."

"I would appreciate that."

Within seconds of their dramatic appearance, they were surrounded by the merry men, who gazed at Hunter with a mixture of awe and fear. Delaney and Johnson, accompanied by Marion, pushed their way through. At the sight of Hunter, Finn's jaw dropped.

"What the—
"

"Silence!" Hunter took out his .45 and fired into the ground at Delaney's feet. Finn jumped back, eyes wide. "Any insolence will be severely dealt with," said Hunter.

"Holy shit," said Bobby.

Hunter pointed the weapon at him and Bobby quickly raised his hands.

"What do you demand of us?" said Marion.

Finn and Bobby exchanged quick glances. They were profoundly relieved to see Lucas alive, but who in God's name was the guy with the automatic?

"Some of you know this man," said Hunter, scowling at the outlaws. They were clearly terrified of him. "He is the white knight, Sir Wilfred of Ivanhoe. You are to give him shelter. You are to obey him as you would obey me. You are to say nothing of his presence here to anyone. You know the consequences."

They were all deathly silent.

"You. And you," said Hunter, pointing out Finn and Bobby. "Come with me." To Marion, he said,

"See to it that we are not disturbed. The rest of you go on about your business."

"A deserter with a chronoplate," said Finn. "Man, you must be living the life of Riley."

Hunter grinned. "It suits me."

"These men obviously know you," said Bobby. "If I was really Robin Hood, I suppose I would have known about you, too, but how is it that we've never even heard anyone mention you?"

"Fear," said Hunter. "It makes for an effective deterrent. It's not hard to preserve your anonymity in an age where there isn't much mobility, but I couldn't hope to hide from everyone. I put the fear of God into these people, or fear of the devil, if you prefer. I value my privacy, so I told them that there was a spell protecting me. Anyone who speaks of me aloud will be struck down, unless they're addressing me personally. And just to keep them in line, to remind them of the consequences of giving in to temptation, every so often I waste a couple of them. Something showy like laser beam decapitation or a pyrogel grenade."

"I guess that would do it," Finn said softly.

"You mean you just . . . kill a number of them
. . . at random!"
said Bobby, shocked.

"I told you, they killed my boys," said Hunter. "Why should I care about their lives? Besides, I've got a strong streak of self-preservation."

"Seems to me I've heard that phrase before," said Finn, glancing at Bobby.

"It works," said Hunter. "I always make sure the hit is witnessed, so the horrible story gets back to the others, ten times exaggerated. It reminds them that I have magical powers and I always take care that I'm not seen, so they simply assume that the poor deceased must have spoken about me."

"That's crazy," Bobby said.

"No, it is, perhaps, a bit draconian, but that's not out of line in these times. I'm just taking advantage of Clarke's Axiom. Any sufficiently advanced technology is going to seem like magic to those who don't understand it. If that offends your moral sensibilities, tough shit. Besides, considering your line of work, that would be splitting hairs, wouldn't it?"

"You sure you want this guy on our side?" Bobby said to Lucas.

Hunter laughed. "Listen, pilgrim, without me, you're dead meat and you know it. Besides, you haven't got any choice. Our friend Irving is threatening me as well as you, by his very intervention in this period. If you're going to stop him, you'll need all the help you can get."

"Look, arguing amongst ourselves isn't going to help us any," Finn said. "He's right. Irving presents a threat and we've got to neutralize it."

"What about the threat
he's
presenting?" Bobby said.

"I'm not stupid," Hunter said. "I've taken steps to keep my presence here from affecting history. So I bring some artifacts from the future. So what? You think any of these people know what the hell an automatic pistol is? Obviously, there's no guarantee that my presence here will remain a secret. Again, so what? These are superstitious times. What's another story about a sorcerer with deadly powers?"