“For God’s sake!” he said, gasping. He caught her hand. “Don’t pull it out yet.”
She drew her hand from his and felt down his arm. Her hair, rough and smelling of grass and woodsmoke, swung against his face. She knelt before him, and her fingers found his left wrist.
He was going numb in his arm. Maybe that meant nerves were torn. Maybe that meant shock or blood loss. He didn’t know or care. Right now, the absence of feeling was a relief.
She tugged at his arm. Thinking she wanted him to stand up, he pushed her weakly away.
“Let me rest,” he said.
She tugged again, harder. Dimly he realized the bracelet was slipping on his wrist. She was trying to take his LOC.
“Hey!” he said sharply. He shoved her back. “Leave that alone.”
She reached for it again, as silent and as determined as an android programmed to perform a task.
Leon, he thought.
The puzzle pieces fit together with a snap. Somehow Leon had planted the suggestion in her to steal the LOC. If he got the computer in his possession, there would be no going home for Noel.
“No!” he shouted.
Her fingers slid beneath the copper band. The light shock administered did not deter her. Noel drew back his right fist and socked her in the jaw. She toppled over and he nearly fell with her. He pushed himself up, out of breath and shivery. The fletched end of the arrow raked the ground, and the corresponding agony made him groan. He had to get the thing out, but not now. She might wake up at any moment, and in this condition he was no match for her.
With effort, he made it to his feet and stumbled downhill toward camp. The stars overhead that had sparkled so beautifully upon the velvet sky now spun and swooped at him, making him dizzy. He staggered into a bush, and its sturdy branches swayed beneath his weight but kept him from falling.
He had to get to camp… had to hide… price on him… bounty collectors… Leon searching…
Somehow he kept going. Sweat poured into his eyes. He paused, swaying, to wipe it away.
The tent loomed ahead of him, the d’Angelier pennon hanging limply from its top. He remembered then that Frederick had gone, but someone would be there to guard the horses and possessions. A measure of hope sent him staggering forward. His hand stretched out to touch the white expanse of canvas.
Someone tackled him from behind, pitching him forward on his face. He barely had time to register that his attacker was Elena before the ground drove the arrow clean through his shoulder and snapped the shaft.
If he screamed he did not know it. Blinding agony convulsed him, and he was helpless against it.
It took an eternity for the terrible pain to recede. He found himself lying exhausted and limp. He was alone.
Elena had gone, and the sounds of a piping flute in the distance floated shrilly above the laughter and noise of the crowd. He heard the wheedling calls of peddlers. He heard a woman’s voice raised angrily after a cutpurse, calling on people to stop the thief. He heard a groom crooning softly to a horse, which rumbled and snorted in response. Help was close, so close, yet he could not find the strength to call out.
Possessed, Sir Geoffrey had said. Noel hadn’t believed it. He should have taken it as a warning. He shouldn’t have let his attraction to her distract him.
Easy to say now what he should or shouldn’t have done. Easy to say next time he would be more careful.
He blinked, conscious of the ground pressing into his cheek, and thought he’d better move a bit. Squirming about finally enabled him to roll over onto his right side. He rested, clutching his left elbow for support. There was blood now, the smell of it thick in his nostrils. He could feel it, wet and unpleasant, sticking his tunic to his skin.
Elena must have gone to alert the guards. After all, she had a reward to collect. But it seemed odd that she should have attacked him like a cougar stalking its prey, then left him here unfinished like this.
A sudden sense of foreboding filled him. Noel swept his hand down his left forearm. The bracelet was gone. Disguised as a cheap band of copper, it was a trinket of little worth to the local merchants. The idea of Elena selling it to a pawnbroker made him ill. He struggled to sit up, carried more on fear than strength. The LOC was all the lifeline he had left. He had to get it back.
“Slow down,” he whispered aloud, sweat pouring off his face. The pain in his shoulder was brutal. His senses swam from the effort he was expending. “Think. You’ve got to think.”
She wasn’t going to sell the bracelet; she was taking it to Leon.
Come tomorrow night, Leon would wink back to the twenty-sixth century. He could take Noel’s place, and no one would ever know. He could travel again in time if he chose. He could wreak havoc elsewhere in history if he failed to do so here. He would be gone, and Noel would be trapped here forever.
‘ No,“ said Noel, scooting himself along.
He reached one of the tall tent stakes and gripped it, groaning loudly with the effort of pulling himself to his feet. The ground swirled around him. His head felt as though it floated miles above his body. None of that mattered, however. He had to find Leon, and he had to do it now before Leon accessed the data banks and learned how to really cause harm. The isomorphic design of the controls mightn’t stop him; after all, he was a duplicate.
Straightening his body took all the strength reserves Noel still possessed. He stared up the hill at the castle, its black crenellations outlined against the starry sky. An owl hooted nearby in the darkness, making a low mournful sound like an omen beneath the sounds of merriment and dancing from the town.
Noel told himself he could do it. He had to do it. But first he had to get his shoulder bound. “Cleope,” he said, thinking of Lady Sophia’s handmaid who had known about herbs and healing potions. “I’ll find Cleope.”
“Noel!” called Frederick from beyond the tents. “Where are you? Do come! I have found the most wondrous-there you are! Come and see the amusements offered. There is a knife juggler you must see, and a man who swallows flaming swords, and a… Noel? Is something wrong?”
He came closer, his footsteps hesitant, then quickening across the trampled grass. “Noel? Are you unwell?”
Noel realized that he’d started leaning over although he still clutched the waist-high tent stake for support. As long as he held on to it, he knew he could not fall. But having started leaning, he could not seem to stop. His chest hit the top of the stake like a pile driver, driving the breath from him. Then he slipped sideways and sank to the ground.
“Noel!” Frederick caught him and pulled him up against his knees. The boy’s strong hands gripped him hard. “What’s amiss with you? What’s happened?”
“Tobin! Armand! Fetch a torch, someone. Quickly!” Others rushed to join them. The torchlight spread across Noel, blinding him as he squinted up into Frederick’s face. He clutched the boy’s arm and saw the bloody smears he was making on Frederick’s sleeve.
“ Deus juva me,” whispered Frederick. He swallowed visibly, sorrow plain in his face. “You’ve been shot. Who-”
“Find it,” whispered Noel. The torchlight was growing dimmer. He struggled to see. “Promise me you’ll find it.”
“Find what?” asked Frederick in bewilderment. “ Noel?”
But the torchlight went completely out for Noel, and he could not answer.
CHAPTER 14
There was a lot of pain somewhere, and if he woke up he was going to feel it. Nevertheless, something compelled Noel to open his eyes. He saw nothing but dazzling brightness. Swiftly he shut his eyes again, but it was too late. A myriad of unpleasant sensations made themselves known, chief of which was a general state of sweaty, shivery weakness. He whimpered softly, shifting himself as though to escape the pain. Cool hands soothed him, and a soft melodic voice murmured in a language he could not understand.