Then she had been thrilled to have escaped safely from the farm, with the Arabian under her, running hard, with a clear path home. The thought of what she had done never entered her mind. By simply taking this horse and riding off in the night she was changing every moment yet to come in the long river of Time. Though she knew in her bones that there were going to be major consequences for what she had done, that thought was not so easily connected to Lambert’s death as she rushed to make good her escape from the farmer. The surge of adrenalin chased those fearful thoughts from her mind. She was simply focused on getting away with the Arabian, and finding her way back to their entry point; back to the Arch complex in Berkeley; back to Kelly.
Now, however, as she stood by the low tree stump and stared at the ferry, she could clearly see the meaning of the riddle in the hieroglyphics the professor had translated. Here she stood, with the restless Kuhaylan at her side, hardly winded from the brisk ride and eager to run again. Her eyes were still glassy wet with emotion as she remembered the faces of the people she had fled from minutes ago. They were innocent, unblemished, and yet they must die this night. Each second that passed brought that moment ever closer. The man, the woman, the maid and the two children… five souls that she held now in the palm of her hand, in the hollow of her breaking heart.
Off in the distance she could already hear other riders approaching, their voices carrying in the cold night air, urgent and harried. A distant peal of thunder warned of a coming storm, drowning out the voices in the night, but she looked and spied three other horses, laden with several riders. One came in front, leading the others on with hushed encouraging whispers.
That would be Bishop Lambert, she knew. The cry of the young boy scored her heart again. They were obviously in fear for their lives, for behind them she could now discern another mounted group in the distance as they crested a hillock. Something gleamed in the moonlight, perhaps the glimmer of drawn swords, she thought. All these riders were converging on this one spot, a Nexus Point in the flow of Time that would now decide the future course of history for thousands of years to come.
So here was the place, where the horses were brought to gather, here by the river, she thought. And there before her she could clearly see the thin, weathered rope coiled about the tree stump. The barge that served as a ferry was already well floated in the shallows. She had only to loosen the twine to set the barge free and give it a strong push. The river would do the rest, heedless, unconcerned.
But now there was no doubt in her mind as to the consequences of her action. This was Lambert’s last hope of escape, and the men riding hard behind him would surely cut him down, slaying everyone they found here.
If I let slip this twine, I become an accessory to murder, she thought darkly. It was as if I held the sword myself and plunged it into that good man’s heart. But then one last thought asserted itself, pulsing hard at her temples as the seconds ticked away and the riders drew ever closer. She would most certainly become a victim here as well. Dodo would kill everyone, wanting no witness to his crime, and she would easily be perceived as just another servant of the bishop’s household.
Fear now joined the recrimination roiling in her mind, and the reflex to fight or flee hung in the suspense of this long distended moment. What should she do, remain unblemished in her own soul and accept death, yet another martyr slain on this dark night at the edge of a coming storm? Or should she loosen the twine and alter the stream of this river, and be forever changed herself by that single selfish act? She could simply flee if she wished, washing her hands of the whole matter, leaving Lambert and his family to their own fate…
What time was it? The retraction had been programmed for Midnight, though now she was miles away from the original entry point. Could Kelly and the others even find her here? Would she be doomed to live out the rest of her life in this milieu as a serving wench, a seer, a sage who claimed to know the course of fate itself, scorned as a witch when she darkly predicted all the days to come?
God’s will, she thought heavily, and decided.
Kelly was watching the time chronometer closely. “She’s moving again!” he shouted to Nordhausen. “Anything on the Golem alerts yet?”
“Nothing I can see,” said the professor.
Kelly watched the numbers change, seeing the latitude coordinates spinning away, and indicating Maeve was moving north. She had clearly reversed her course, and was now heading back towards the entry point. He called up a window and selected those original coordinates, then told the system to account for the distance between her current plotted position and the rate of change. Seconds later he had a reading that indicated her estimated time of arrival on the home coordinates.
“It’s going to be close,” he whispered. “It’s going to be very, very close.” Yet he was heartened by the thought that each moment he waited, Maeve drew nearer to a place where he could get a firm and sure hold on her, and bring her home. The closer she came to the home coordinates, the less strain it would put on the Arch as it tried to pry open the doors of eternity and bring her home.
Paul had been down in the garage, and returned, smiling with the news that he had managed to partially fill the number one backup generator with the last of the fuel from their autos.
“I lost suction on the Honda, so there’s probably another gallon or two in that tank, but the other vehicles bought us another hour if we need it.”
Robert looked up from the Alert Module, bleary eyed, and obviously needing sleep. He had a deflated look on his face, clearly unhappy.
“What?” asked Paul.
“I suppose we had better think about drawing those lots then,” he said. “Nothing seems to have changed. Maeve has reversed course. She’s heading north again, but I see no variation in the history.”
“There could be a lag in that system,” said Kelly, still watching the time closely.
“Right,” said Paul. “And remember—as long as Maeve is at large in that milieu, she’s a Free Radical. Time may be waiting on the final outcome of this mission before we see any definite effects in the data stream.”
“Well we’d better draw lots in any case,” said Nordhausen. “Just to be ready.” He looked in a desk drawer and found a box of new pencils. A moment later he had taken five out and began snapping them into various lengths. He closed his eyes, and rearranged them in his hand, extending a fist full of pencils to Paul. “Be my guest,” he said.
“Short man goes to the villa.” Paul reached out and pulled away one of the pencils, pleased to see it was a good length.
Robert still had his eyes closed, and was reaching for a pencil when a single tone sounded on Kelly’s board. He opened his eyes and saw Kelly shifting from one monitor to another, his hands adjusting systems in a blur. The low thrum of the Arch turbines began to build up strength.
“I’m taking the power up to 90%” Kelly shouted. You two put those silly pencils down and get busy. Maeve’s coming home!”
Paul moved quickly to take a seat next to Kelly. Robert cast a furtive glance and selected the longest pencil in his hand, tucking it into his pocket before dropping the others into a cup on the desk. Some things just should not be left to chance, he thought.
She stood in the shadows, breathless, heartbroken, tears streaking her face as she watched in agony. The cries of the bishop and his family clawed at her, and she could dimly perceive the gleam of swords in the moonlight.
Moments earlier she had set her hand upon the rope that tethered the barge, and gently loosened the twine. It had been the slightest touch, pulling at a knot that held all Time in its tortuous weave, and then letting it go. The barge had been drifting in and out with a gentle swell, held in place by this single coil of rope. Now, when the river pulled at it, there was no longer any resistance to tether it in place. She saw the knot fall away and the rope slip, falling to the sodden ground. At once the river had hold of the barge, easing it slightly away from the shore.