Tack glanced up at the man lying comfortably along a wide bough, his feet wedged against the trunk.
‘What did you say that thing was?’ Tack gasped, continuing upwards until he was higher than Traveller.
‘Andrewsarchus. You’ve just evaded the largest carnivorous mammal ever to roam the Earth. Don’t you feel privileged?’
Tack gazed down at the monster sitting doglike at the foot of the tree, its head tilted to one side as it observed them.
‘Oh, I can think of better ways to pass the time.’ Tack then clammed up, remembering how Traveller’s tolerance of him was only slightly greater than Coptic’s. Traveller seemed unperturbed, though. His eyes were dead and his expression weary as a result of vorpal travel, but he seemed quite relaxed.
‘Can you summon the mantisal to us up here?’ Tack asked hopefully.
‘Now why should I do that?’
Tack gestured to the andrewsarchus. ‘So we can escape him, and those two lunatic umbrathants, and continue our journey.’
‘Ah, you are learning. However, sometimes one’s plans must remain protean to accommodate opportunities.’ Traveller paused to gaze at an instrument propped on his stomach. ‘You know, arriving in a time like this, and observing the evidence of predation scattered all along the beach, the seasoned traveller should first locate a handy tree as a refuge. Such caution is only sensible, yet Meelan and Coptic have not bothered to do so, which is a sign of both inherent arrogance and stupidity. That neither of them has bothered scanning the hardware inside your head is another sign.’
The andrewsarchus, growing bored with sitting waiting, was now up and prowling around below them. Many metres above it they might be, but if the mantisal could not be summoned up here, then at some point they must climb to the ground. Tack did not find the prospect inviting.
‘What might they have found in my head?’ he asked.
‘Let me put it this way,’ said Traveller. ‘No matter where or when you are, I’ll always be able to find you. Though I might not have the required energy to get to you.’
‘You put a bug inside my head.’
‘Not quite what I would call it but, in essence, yes.’
‘So now you’ve found me shouldn’t we continue our journey to this Sauros place?’
‘No, because of those protean plans I mentioned. Now, detail to me what has happened to you since I last saw you.’
Tack told him about the brief journeys, and that strange communication with the woman in the rock.
‘Iveronica: the leader of an Umbrathane cell that has been a thorn in our side for too long,’ Traveller explained. ‘They seem to follow no coherent plan, so are not amenable to prognostic apperception. We have never been able to predict when they will strike, nor to locate their home base. Her hostility ably demonstrates how Coptic and Meelan are not entirely trusted or accepted by her. It seems those two have never been allowed to that base, but that now you are their ticket there.’
‘You seem to know a lot about all this,’ Tack observed.
Traveller showed him the screen of the instrument he was holding, and on it Tack saw the woman again as he had earlier seen her through his own eyes.
‘You see what I see,’ Tack stated.
‘I see a recording of what you’ve seen—and I’ve only just been going through it.’
Tack stared at him and guessed what was coming.
Traveller continued, ‘Iveronica has supplied Coptic and Meelan with an energy feed to track back to the Umbrathane base. I have availed myself of the opportunity presented and will continue to follow—parasitic on the same feed.’
‘But you cannot follow them unless I am with them?’ added Tack.
Traveller shrugged. ‘Should you escape, Iveronica might learn of it and cut off that feed. You stay with them.’
Tack felt that the andrewsarchus said all he himself wanted to say by approaching the bole of the tree, cocking its leg, and pissing like a waterfall before finally sauntering away.
‘You must not leave us,’ Berthold implored Polly, after taking his nth draught from the second jar of strong beer he had opened, then wiping his foam-covered beard on his filthy sleeve. He had not even bothered to change out of his jester’s suit, which smelt strongly of stale sweat and chicken grease—not the most appealing combination.
‘As I already told you, it’s not something I have much choice about. I cannot explain why, Berthold, and I’m not sure I need to.’
Anger flashed in the man’s expression, as it had done more and more frequently since Mellor had relayed the bad news before himself slumping into drunken slumber.
‘Think of the coin! Think of the excellent food we receive!’
The coin was irrelevant to her, but Polly was thinking more and more about the sackful of bread and pies and shrivelled apples, for indefinable power now networked her body from the scale, hooking into unlocatable places in her and pulling taut. Soon, she knew, she must again travel through time. Presently she might have the choice of when this would happen, but if she left it any longer, that choice would be taken away from her. She had hoped Berthold would drink himself into a stupor, so she could quietly take her leave along with the food sack. But he had passed through the mournful weary stage of drunkenness, and was now growing ever more insistent and aroused.
‘You must stay!’ he repeated, staggering towards her and grabbing her arm, eyes glaring bloodshot in the lamplight cast from a nearby tent.
Polly merely shook her head. But this suddenly became too much for Berthold, for he put down the jug and grabbed her by both arms.
‘My Lady Poliasta.’ He pinned her back against the wagon, pushing his face to hers. She turned her head aside, to avoid a mouth that smelt as if its tongue had died and putrefied inside it. Undeterred, he groped inside her greatcoat, first fondling her breasts then trying to find access to her crotch. When her clothing defeated him, he started trying to tear it away.
‘Well, this doesn’t exactly convince me to stay with you,’ said Polly.
‘I will wed you. You’ll be both my wife and exotic companion. Together we’ll travel the country and people will marvel at your beauty and at my skill!’
Worse offers than this had been put Polly’s way—as had better ones. She didn’t really need to consider further, since she knew she was out of choices anyway. Swaying her hips closer to his hand as if to encourage him, she brought her knee up hard.
Doubled over, Berthold staggered back clutching his codpiece, and made a sound like a duck being flattened by a steamroller. He collapsed onto his side, still coiled up tight. The things he said between agonized groans were a revelation to Polly—she hadn’t realized such words had such a history. Quickly she ducked under the wagon’s awning and grabbed up the food sack from where it rested by the snoring Mellor. Stepping out again, she saw that Berthold was up on his knees now, his face lowered to the ground as he clutched his testicles.
‘I’m sorry. I have to go now,’ said Polly quietly, turning and walking away into the night.
The grass was already dew-covered and her breath misted the air. Shortly she reached some trees and turned to look back. The King’s hunting lodge looked warm and welcoming, with lights in its windows and smoke billowing from its chimneys, as did the encampment outside it, where the raucous party showed no signs of flagging.
Time to go—and to go into time.
‘I always felt that you were full of wit,’ she told Nandru, aloud. ‘Or was I thinking of some other word?’
‘Poliasta!’
Berthold.
‘Damn,’ she said. ‘Doesn’t he know when to give up?’