TW01 The Ivanhoe Gambit NEW (24 page)

Bobby, here's a .45 for you, too. If things get really hairy, I brought back a few pyrogel grenades, Mark Fours. Here's a bunch of magazines—"

"Are you kidding?" Bobby said. "This stuff's prehistoric!"

"Not in the 12th century it ain't, pilgrim. Listen, I had a hell of a time just getting those grenades.

What do you want, a GE/Krupp four-barrel pulser? I almost got myself fried getting my hands on these.

TC ordnance isn't exactly just lying around for the taking, you know. I'm not putting my ass on the line for anybody. If you can't do the job with this stuff, you just can't do the job, so hang it up."

"Okay, okay," said Bobby. "So what's the plan?"

"The plan is to move fast as hell," said Hunter. "Lucas is right. You don't know which of those jokers is Irving, so Bobby, old friend, you just take one of these pretty little Swedes and you open up on
all
of

'em."

"If Irving's wearing nysteel, a submachine gun isn't going to do the trick. It might beat his armor all to hell, but it's going to be pretty iffy."

"Right. But you can bet your ass it's going to knock him down," said Hunter. "It'll kill anybody who isn't wearing nysteel. The guy who gets back up is your man.
Then
you can use one of your fancy arrows on him. Right?"

"Great," said Bobby. "Give me that thing." He took the grease gun and quickly checked it.

"You all still got the PRU's I gave you?" Hunter said. "Where's Delaney?"

"He's up with the assault force," Lucas said. "Yeah, we've all got'em."

"Good. They're all slaved to this unit." He indicated the chronoplate. "I'll stay back here and try to keep my eye on you. Like I said, I'm not going to lay my ass on the line if I can help it. If I see you're in trouble, I'll yank you right back here. Likewise, if you're in a jam, the PRU will bring you right back to this spot, so we've got a double safety, your control and mine. Any questions?"

"No," said Bobby. "Let's do it."

"Get a move on. Those knights are coming on fast."

They moved back forward, Bobby using his body to shield the "K." As the knights rode up to the scene of battle, the barbican fell to the outlaws and the Norman men at arms began to sally forth from the castle to defend the postern. Hunter bent over his chronoplate and, seconds later, Finn Delaney stood in front of him.

"What the hell?" Finn said.

"I used the PRU to snatch you back here," Hunter said. He tossed Finn the other grease gun, then handed him a Browning nine-millimeter and a satchel of grenades. "Now listen up. We could be in deep shit unless we find Irving's chronoplate. You can bet your ass he hasn't got it with him."

"How the hell are we going to do that?" said Finn. "We haven't got enough manpower to institute a radius search—"

'"We don't have to. It's a gamble, but I think his plate is in Nottingham Castle. I scanned Hooker over there just before he died. I could still be wrong, but it's the best guess I can make right now. I'm going to clock you over there. Now there will be people in your way, but you've got them at a disadvantage now. You go through that castle and you
find
that damn plate. There's some plastique in that satchel. You find it and you blow it, got it? And then our friend won't be able to getaway."

"That's assuming that you're right and the plate is there," said Finn.

Hunter shrugged. "You got a better idea?"

"No. Okay. Clock me out."

"Good luck."

Finn disappeared.

Irving rode at the rear of the formation, his nysteel armor relacquered from its original black shade to one of green. Up ahead of him, the sheriff rode at the front of the formation, wearing the three lions of Richard Plantagenet. Some of the other knights had unlacquered armor, others, who held lands, wore the colors they were known by. Irving had no doubt that if the temporal agents were to strike, they would move first against Sir Guy. He would have to remain on his guard, watching out for them. Once he had them spotted, he could move to neutralize them. He kept his hand on his PRU. As they approached the battle, suddenly there erupted from the outlaw ranks a staccato clattering and Sir Guy and the two knights immediately to either side went down. Irving looked wildly about the scene. The formation was broken up when the first three knights were hit. Three more died before Irving had the man spotted.

It wasn't hard to spot him. He stood all alone, firing a submachine gun. A submachine gun!

Incredible! They must have reached total desperation. All around the man, the outlaws were drawing back in panic, fleeing from the noise and the destruction that they could never understand. Even as he watched, more men went down in front of him as the man kept firing in short, steady bursts, and then bullets were ripping into him. It had all happened so fast, he barely had time to think. He hit the ground hard, caught his breath and struggled to his feet, thankful that he had kept his grip on the PRU.

"Bingo!" said Bobby, tossing the grease gun to Lucas, who came running up beside him. "The green knight! Cover me!" He nocked his warhead arrow and drew back his bow. "Game's over!" Bobby said.

As Irving got up, he hit the PRU and clocked himself back to Nottingham. He reappeared inside his chambers in the castle. The temporal agents were desperate men and they had resorted to desperate tactics. Well, the game wasn't over yet. He still had his chronoplate and that was where he had them, superior firepower notwithstanding. He could still outflank them. He quickly made the necessary adjustments on the plate, then clocked himself back onto the scene of the battle, in a different location, seconds before he had clocked back to Nottingham.

Bobby had drawn his bow and was aiming at the green knight, but even as he let the arrow fly, Irving disappeared. At that same instant, Irving appeared behind him. Even as the Irving Bobby was shooting at was clocking out, the Irving who had clocked in behind him plunged a dagger into him.

"Bobby!"
Lucas shouted. He swung the grease gun around and fired, but Irving was no longer there.

Instantly realizing his error, Lucas spun around and only had enough time to hurl himself sideways as Irving brought his sword down in a vicious arc. The sword missed him, but just barely.

Suddenly, Lucas was on the ground at Hunter's feet. Hunter had used the PRU to yank him away.

"Son of a bitch is playing fugue games,'' Hunter said.

"I've still got the gun, give me some grenades," said Lucas.

"Forget it, man. You don't want to go filling the air with slugs when you might be clocking right into

'em. We're just going to have to play that game ourselves. No other way."

"I've got no armor!" Lucas said.

"I've got some mail and half-plate. It ain't nysteel, but it's the best I can do. Throw it on and get back out there."

"This is crazy!"

"Tell me about it. Only two ways it can end like this. One of you dies or Finn finds that plate. Better cross your fingers, pilgrim."

He clocked Lucas back into the action, at a point just before he left.

Even as Irving was bringing his sword down on Lucas, Lucas appeared behind him. Before Lucas could strike Irving, another Irving appeared behind
him
and Lucas felt a momentary shock as Irving's sword glanced off him even as he was clocking once again. Irving had the advantage in that his armor was effectively impregnable. Lucas made up for his disadvantage in that he did not have to worry about clocking himself out or in. Hunter was at the controls. The only thing he had to worry about was that Hunter would stay on the ball. The action began to accelerate with amazing speed. There was no chance to use the weapons Hunter had brought back. He was right. In a fugue situation, the last thing you wanted to do was to fill the air with bullets, cutting through space into which you might be clocking. Given the speed with which the combat took place, it was only possible to fight with the weapons at hand.

To the outlaws and men at arms observing the action, the world seemed to have gone mad. One moment, there was one knight fighting another. The next, two knights fighting two. Three knights fighting three. Four knights fighting four.

Each of the antagonists used their PRU units to return to their respective chronoplates again and again, where quick calculations and recalibrations would be made as they fought to catch their breath.

Then they would clock back into the battle, materializing on the scene in their own immediate past, seconds or minutes before they had departed. The pressures of the temporal fugue were immense. One error in calculation, one slip in concentration and it would all be over. As the cycle progressed, those not involved in the fugue were confronted with a dizzying reality. Events happened at a much faster pace for them than for the combatants. In an instant, there were suddenly dozens of green knights and dozens of Ivanhoes hacking away at each other, more appearing as others winked out as though they had never been there to begin with.

Many of those who observed the phenomenon came to a gaping halt, mesmerized by the impossibility of what they were confronting. Not a few were killed as they stood staring in shock. It was an eerie scene: the fugue combatants going at each other for all they were worth, those around them either fighting, oblivious to what was happening around them, or simply standing with their weapons in their hands, staring uncomprehendingly. Many simply dropped their arms and ran.

Finn materialized in the courtyard of Nottingham Castle. It took perhaps a moment before anybody noticed him. By the time they did, he had quickly taken stock of his surroundings and was already on the move, firing as he ran. He wasn't taking any chances. His weapons gave him a devastating superiority, but all it took was one archer who would not panic and he would become just another statistic.

Fortunately, most of them did panic. They had no reference for gunpower or lead projectiles fired too fast to be seen. Some of the guards stood frozen on the battlements, watching in disbelief as the bodies of their comrades literally came apart before their eyes. Those who survived the initial burst of firing fled, screaming with terror. By that time, Finn had already aimed and thrown one of the pyrogel grenades. The courtyard became a place of havoc, filled with the sounds of submachine gun fire and men screaming in agony as they fled from a horror they did not understand. Those who had survived the blast of the pyrogel grenade, but were still near enough to catch the fury of the explosion, became wreathed in flame and were consumed in seconds. Walking corpses in a halo of fire, charred crisp as a cinder, vocal chords seared away so that screaming was no longer possible, they made several halting steps and fell into a pile of ashes on the ground.

Finn didn't waste time with the door. He hurled a grenade and dived through, rolling and firing as he came up. Those who died didn't even have enough time to draw their swords. There was a brutal simplicity to Finn's tactics. He simply had to slaughter everyone in sight before he could take time to search for the plate. He only hoped that Hunter had guessed right and that it was here. As he ran down the corridor, slipping in a fresh magazine, a group of men came running to meet him, responding to the alarm. He cut them down to the last man, then reached for another clip. He jerked as a crossbow bolt hit him from behind, entering his shoulder from the back and coming almost completely through the other side. He dropped his grease gun. Throwing himself to the side, he came up with the 9mm Browning.

Three quick shots dropped the archer even as he was drawing back his crossbow to fire a second quarrel.

For a moment, all was silent, save for the sounds of running footsteps somewhere close by, echoing all around him. Finn glanced quickly at his wound. He left the quarrel where it was. Removing it meant risking a flow of blood, since it could be the only thing holding a blood vessel together. The wound didn't look fatal unless, possibly, it became infected. There was no point to worrying about that now. He didn't even feel any pain. He retrieved his SMG and loaded another clip, then took off at a run down the corridor, staying close to the wall and keeping an eye on what was behind him. He couldn't risk being surprised again. He had to clean the castle out and find the chronoplate.

It could be anywhere. He had to search the entire castle for something the size of a briefcase.

Andre ran directly to her quarters, oblivious of all the commotion around her. The castle was under attack and its commander lay dead or dying beneath her in the dungeons. She had only three things on her mind. She had to get her armor, she had to take steps to protect Marcel, and she had to find a way to dispose of Bois-Guilbert. She was what the black knight had called his "inside man," and her duty was to defeat the defenders of the castle from within by depriving them of their leaders.

She had resented his remark at the time he made it and she had said so, protesting that she was not at all a man on the inside and that she had no desire to be a man; then he had told her that the term was used to describe someone who attacked a force from within their own ranks, a spy, one who pretended loyalty until the time to act was ripe.

"You mean a traitor," she had said.

"Treason is defined purely subjectively," he had told her. "I could have called you an 'inside woman,'

but seeing as how you are a man on the outside, within the walls of Torquilstone you will... oh, never mind. You can't see the humor in it, can you?"

"I see no humor in being asked to play the part of a traitor," she replied.

"You will be treasonous to John if you do as I command. If you do not, then you will be treasonous to me. I ask you to consider which of the two you would prefer. It seems contrary to your profession to speak of treason. You are a mass of ambiguities, de la Croix."

"Of what?"

"Never mind. I'll make the matter of your honor simple for you. As a mercenary, your loyalty rests with your paymaster. Since I have outbid the competition, your course would seem to be quite clear.

Does that satisfy you?"