“Once back in Mera, he’ll heal in a few days,” he said. “But even that doesn’t matter— it wouldn’t matter if it were a year. If the Oracle can find us, it can put Killer right back here at the right time.” He hoped.
The others looked at one another and then at their surroundings. “Then Mr. Howard, I think we do not need longer,” Carlo said, raising the gun two-handed. “I have a score to settle.”
“Now, wait!” Gillis shouted.
The swarthy youth did not take his eyes off Jerry. “No longer your business,” he said. “He mashed my face, and now I kill him.”
“No!” Ariadne shouted.
“Not in front of the children!” Maisie begged, pulling them to her. Now there was a kind thought.
“Go, then!” Still holding the gun on Jerry, Carlo jerked his head. “You all go down the road. I will join you afterwards.” It would be a shame to be killed so soon after having expected it and escaped. Jerry took a deep breath and said, “You realize that Killer may need me to home in on?”
“Another good reason,” said the gun holder, with obvious satisfaction. He would be in no hurry to meet with Killer, who would likewise have a score to settle. That had been an ill-advised remark, J. Howard.
“Graham!” Ariadne said. “You’re not going to let this man shoot him in cold blood?” Gillis’ hand fingered his swollen face, where Killer had struck him, the nose broken when he fell from the cottage. “I don’t think I can stop him. Come, Maisie.” He scooped up Alan, put a hand behind Lacey to urge her on, and the four of them started along the road.
Jerry was back on the high board and this time he was going to be pushed— unless… He looked at Ariadne. “What time is it?” he asked.
She glanced at her wrist. “It’s stopped,” she said.
Ah! Jerry felt all his taut muscles relax in a rush. He turned on a confident smile and directed it toward Carlo, who seemed to be enjoying the anticipation and was apparently in no hurry.
“Go ahead,” Jerry said. “I dispense with the blindfold and waive the cigarette.” You think I snow you, Limey? Think I can’t shoot you? Think I don’t have the cojones?”
“I’m sure you do,” Jerry said. “You’re a very effective young man, and I’ve been underestimating you. Go ahead, though. Try it.”
Carlo’s eyes narrowed. Obviously he wanted to see his victim cringe. “I think in the gut, like your friend. That hurts most.” Jerry lifted his cape, pulled his belt down a fraction, and pointed at his navel. “There’s the bulls-eye, then.”
Click. Click again.
Phew! Jerry stood up. “Strange!” he said. “It worked for me a moment ago. Would you like me to try? No?” He held out a hand to Ariadne. “Come on, let’s stay with the others.” Carlo snarled oaths, expertly cracked open the weapon, checked the ammunition, then put it back together. He pointed it at Jerry once more and…
Click
Hold it, though. Jerry had overlooked something else back at the cottage and somehow he did not think Carlo would have missed it. Yes, he had underestimated this kid— he was incredibly fast and obviously not overly troubled by scruples. “Try your knife and see if that works.” Carlo grabbed inside his jacket and produced the switchblade— but the blade itself did not leap into sight. Now that was interesting! Carlo glared with one and a half eyes at his tormentor and looked about ready to use fists and feet— and Jerry no longer believed he could snap this deceptively weedy youth.
He held out a hand. “Truce?” he said.
He got more obscenities, and this time certainly in Arabic, familiar to Jerry from his tour in Transjordan. Carlo was a curiously proficient linguist.
Jerry shook his head. “You need me to tell you what’s going on,” he said. “I can’t afford to have you edging around behind my back all the time. You have a score to settle. So has my friend Killer. I’ll make a deal with you— I’ll keep Killer off you if you’ll stay off me.”
“I see no Killer!” Carlo snapped.
“I told you,” Jerry said, trying to be persuasive without being too humble, “you need me to tell you what’s going on. I’ve had more experience with this… er… guff than you have. Now— until we’re back to Mera or back to civilization, we’re all in deep fertilizer, Carlo my friend, and we’d better work together.” Reluctantly Carlo nodded. “Truce, then.” He tucked knife and gun inside his coat.
He did not shake hands.
The three of them set off after the Gillises, who had vanished around a bend.
Ariadne was giving him a wondering look. “How did you know that the gun wouldn’t work?” she demanded.
“Because of your watch.” But he had not been quite certain; firearms were earlier than whatever technology they were using in watches in her time. Fairly certain, but not quite.
“And why did you send Killer back that way?” she asked.
“It seemed like the best thing to do,” Jerry said. “He needs Mera to recover and then he’ll bring help. I’ve been lousing up everything.”
“You could have gone with him.”
“And go crawling back among my friends with my mission a shambles like this?” he said, avoiding her eye. She put her hand in his and said no more.
She had said she would not go without her children, and apparently it was the children who had been denied access to Mera. He could have returned and reported a refusal. He knew that. The Oracle would know that. He could visualize Killer raging and storming and the Oracle forbidding any attempt to recover such an idiot. What would Killer do then, go out on strike? He might threaten to do just that— no more rescues before Jerry— and the other field men would certainly support Killer. But this was no ordinary industrial dispute. Probably the Oracle could make them all forget that they had ever known Jerry Howard.
Time would tell— and very little time, too.
And what exactly was going on, anyway? He needed to prepare some sort of story for the others.
For a few minutes he thought that the others had vanished— which might have simplified things considerably— but around two bends and up a steep slope the party was re-united. The Gillises were drooped on a fallen tree, taking a rest. The temperature had risen dramatically, and discarded coats and sweaters lay in a heap beside the stump. Maisie was wearing a filmy blouse over a clearly visible bra, Graham had unbuttoned his shirt to show that he grew fur under it. The woodland was thinning out into parkland, but they seemed to be on a hill, with nothing but sky visible beyond a close horizon. The road ahead continued to climb.
The newcomers flopped down on the grass. Jerry asked the time; both Maisie and Graham confirmed that their watches had stopped. They seemed mildly surprised to see him still alive, but offered no congratulations. Now he remembered the calculating machine he had stolen from Gillis and brought that out, but it would not work for either of them.
“Carlo and I have a truce,” Jerry said. “I suggest you join it. We need to work together.” Of course a lawyer had to set out specific terms, but eventually it was agreed that the parties of the first, second, and third parts would all stick together until further notice. Gillis was understandably worried and trying not to show it before his wife.
Now the job was to try and establish some sort of leadership.
“First hypothesis,” Jerry said, stretching out and leaning on one arm, “would be that we’re in Mera, because of the gun and the watches not working. Discard that because of my accent and Carlo’s.” And both Alan and Graham had black hair, not blue.
“Second hypothesis would be that we’re in the real world, but we’ve gone back in time. If that’s the case, then we’ve gone back a jolly long way, because even the spring in Carlo’s switchblade doesn’t work.” Then he had to explain about technology not working downtime.