Time Slips & Tax Thieves, page 10
part #4 of Time Travelling Taxman Series
They did, and the other two guards took up the rear. They walked in silence, winding their way down a series of cobblestone streets. Nancy took Alfred’s hand, and he tried to smile reassuringly at her. It was such a forced smile, though, he feared he would only contribute to her anxiety.
She squeezed his hand, though, and turned her eyes to their surroundings.
The village of Warwick-on-Eden was a pretty place. At least, the taxman might have thought so in less terrifying circumstances. The homes were quaint and well-maintained, and the styles so unique, so old-fashioned, that he might have thrilled to walk these roads.
At another time, in another place, at least. Now, he barely noticed any of it, and what he did see bore no charms at all. These homes with their medieval construction and their curious residents struck him as ominous. They reminded him that he was a stranger in a strange land, helpless and completely at the mercy of those around him.
And they were the ones lighting hospitals on fire and carrying swords.
The fact was, Alfred put little stock in the reason or decency of those around him. Sugar cookies. We are toast.
They were marched to a wagon and given a hand up into the back of the transport. Then, the guards got in after them, and the driver rolled on. Their queries as to where they were headed or why they’d been detained were ignored.
The cart rolled out of town and down a sunny lane. There were open fields here, though the forest was still visible in every direction. After a space, a kind of castle came into view.
“That must be the tower,” Freddo observed. “Rickman’s tower.”
Alfred frowned. “What?”
“Remember? Robert talked about the Rickman ancestral home, the tower?”
“Oh.” The taxman nodded, the outlaw’s words returning to his mind.
The tower was a great, stone structure, rising some few stories high. It was rectangular in shape, being longer than it was wide. It seemed a kind of keep, with battlements along the roof, and narrow windows lining its face.
Whatever this place might be at the moment – and Alfred was fairly terrified to find out – it seemed to have been constructed with war in mind.
The wagon rolled to a halt in the shadow of the tower, and this lent something of a grimmer aspect to their situation. The taxman gulped, staring up at the cut stone walls above him, the tiny windows peering down.
He remembered stories of prisons that looked an awfully lot like this one. He thought of the man in the iron mask, that mysterious, seventeenth century French prisoner. He thought of Rudolf V, the fictional king who was dragged off to confinement in Prisoner of Zenda. For that matter, he thought of Rapunzel, locked high in her tower. He thought of the towers and castles that separated these men and women from their families and lives. And he shuddered to think that he might well be a few steps away from becoming the next man in the iron mask; the next Rudolf V; the next Rapunzel.
“Let’s go,” the lead guard instructed. “Inside. Lord Rickman will be back soon, and he wants to speak with you.”
The taxman gulped. “Can’t we…uh…wait out here? In the fresh air?”
The guardsman frowned at him. “Move, stranger.”
“Yessir.”
They were ushered inside, and Alfred felt his blood go cold as the door opened. The walls reached a good seven feet deep, built of solid stone blocks. This place was a fortress. It would be impenetrable. A thousand armies, he thought, might siege it, and not get through.
This was far from true, but in his addled state, he believed it fervently. Our goose is cooked.
They moved deeper into the stone structure, out of a comfortably decorated foyer into a kind of sitting room. A fireplace blazed at one end of the room, and rugs and tapestries covered the walls and floors, obscuring the cut stone and giving the place a kind of homey feel.
At least, it might have, if the guards hadn’t left with a, “Wait here.” A moment later, the door closed – and locked – behind them.
“We are going to die,” Freddo wailed. “Oh my God, we are so dead.”
Alfred nodded bleakly, Justin sighed, and even Nancy allowed, “It doesn’t look good. Somehow, he must have figured out we were with Whod’s band.”
For the most part, they waited in grim silence. Now and again, someone would offer a suggestion. “We can plead ignorance,” or, “We can say we had no idea who Robert was,” or “We can throw ourselves on his mercy.”
But the mood of their party was too pessimistic to allow any of these ideas to develop. “Ignorance of the law excuses no one,” Alfred would remind them. Or, “Since when are tyrants merciful?”
The minutes seemed to stretch into hours before they heard the turn of a key in the lock. All four were on their feet at the same moment, as of one volition, when Lord Basil Rickman stepped in.
He stood a little taller, the taxman thought, in person, and looked perhaps a bit older too. He glanced at the four of them, then said, “I apologize for keeping you waiting. There was much to do at the hospital after the fire.”
Nancy frowned, and Freddo whimpered. “I don’t understand why we’re being detained at all,” Alfred declared, mustering every bit of bravado he could to stand tall.
The nobleman held his gaze impassively for a long moment, then gestured toward the furniture. “Please, take a seat.”
The taxman considered arguing, but Nance nudged his arm to signal that he should comply. And he did.
They sat in a half circle, and Rickman took a seat across from them. For a space, he considered them all. “You are strangers in Yngil-wode,” he said at length.
Nancy and Alfred exchanged glances. “Yes,” she said. “That’s right.”
“How the hummus do you know that?” the taxman wondered.
“I’ve never seen you before,” he said simply. “And I know everyone who lives in Cumberland.”
Alfred scoffed. “That’s not possible.”
Rickman studied him curiously. “What is your name?”
Here, the taxman’s bravado rather slipped. He swallowed, saying in a voice that, to his chagrin, shook, “Alfred. Alfred Favero.”
“You are not from Cumberland, Alfred. But this is my shire. I make it my business to know everyone who lives here.”
“Controlling much?” Freddo muttered.
Lord Rickman frowned. “You are brothers? Twins, I guess?”
“Uh, something like that.”
“What is your name?” he asked.
“Freddo,” the other Favero declared, head held high defiantly.
“Freddo and Alfred?” the nobleman mused. “I see. And who are you?” This was said with a glance at Nancy and Justin. They introduced themselves, with neither Alfred’s trembling voice nor Freddo’s challenging tones.
“And what brings you to Yngil-wode?”
“Uh…we kind of got lost,” Nancy said.
“I see. And where did you mean to go?”
“Not here.” She spread her hands. “What I mean is, we were just…walking. We didn’t have a destination in mind. And we got lost in the woods.”
“Ah. And why were you ‘exploring’?”
“We wanted to see more of the world,” Alfred put in. This was the story, after all, they’d spun for Robert.
“Off the beaten path, apparently, if you got lost in the woods? It seems a dangerous way to travel.”
“Yes,” Justin agreed. “It was not smart.”
“But not,” Freddo put in, “a crime, is it?”
Rickman shook his head. “No, Mister Favero. It is not a crime to be foolish.” Now, though, he sat back. “It is, however, a crime to associate with outlaws. It is a crime to burn down the people’s hospital.”
“We didn’t,” Nancy protested. “We helped put out fires.”
“So I’ve heard,” he nodded. “And yet you were with Robert Whod’s band.”
Alfred felt the blood drain from his face, as he wondered how in God’s name his lordship knew that. “I…we…we had nothing to do with that,” he said. “We had no idea they were going to burn the hospital.”
“But you admit you were working with his band?”
“No,” the taxman said quickly. “I admit nothing. Just, you can’t blame us for the hospital.”
“Do you deny you were working with Whod, then?” There was no change in Rickman’s tone, no edge to his words. But something about them gave the taxman pause.
It gave Nancy pause, too. She sighed. “No. We came into town with Whod’s men. But, look, your lordship, you have to believe us: we really were lost. Some men came along, they gave us food, they gave us shelter. They told us they were hiding from a tyrant.”
“A tyrant?” An eyebrow climbed the other man’s forehead.
She ignored it and the question. “They asked us to help them get some medicine.”
“Medicine? Ah, so that was their angle, eh? To rob the hospital?”
Nancy spread her hands. “That’s what they asked us to do. We heard what you said in town. We decided, whatever Robert’s grudge against you, this wasn’t our fight. We’d just leave town.”
“But you didn’t,” Basil pointed out. “You went into the hospital.”
“Yes,” Nancy nodded. “We did. We were going to disappear in the crowd, so Robert wouldn’t know where we went. I know it sounds strange, but that’s the truth, Lord Rickman.”
He scrutinized Nancy for a long minute, then nodded. “It does sound strange, Miss Nancy. But I do believe you. At least, I believe you weren’t involved in burning the hospital.” He frowned. “But I have a hard time believing you just wandered into the woods.”
The four friends exchanged nervous glances. “We had no idea who Whod was,” Nancy evaded.
He nodded again. “I believe that as well. But who are you, really? Where are you from? Why are you creeping around my woods?”
“We’re bards,” Alfred put in. “Traveling bards. That’s all. We wanted to see the world.”
“Bards, eh?”
“That’s right.”
“What instruments do you play?”
Alfred blinked three full times at the question. “Instrument?”
“Yes. What instrument do you play?”
“I…uh…I’m a vocalist, myself.”
“Me too,” Nancy put in.
“Same,” Freddo added.
“So no instruments, then?” Rickman asked incredulously. “Between all of you?”
The trio turned to Justin, who scowled at them. “I play the…uhh…flute,” he lied.
“Well, then play something for me, bard.”
“Me?” Justin wondered.
“You are the only one who plays an instrument in your curious ensemble.”
“Oh. Yes. Well, uh, the problem is…I lost my flute.”
“Oh. Now that’s unfortunate.”
The other man’s tone was dripping sarcasm, but Justin ignored it. “Yes. Very. That was, uh, my favorite flute.”
“Well, no matter.” Rickman turned to the other three. “I’m sure your vocalist friends can sing me something.”
The trio stared at him. Freddo was the first to speak. “You mean…sing? Out loud?”
“I am not myself a bard. But that is the generally accepted mode of song, isn’t it?”
“Yes, of course. Only…I…uh…”
“I’ve inhaled too much smoke,” Alfred said, inspiration hitting him. “My throat is…raw.” He was, he flattered himself, a passable singer, when there were enough voices to drown his. But his was not a voice suited to performance. He wouldn’t have got two syllables in, before giving himself away.
“Mine too,” Nancy and Freddo agreed in unison.
“Well.” Basil crossed his arms. “A quartet of bards, and not one among you can make music. What are the odds of that?”
“Not high, I suppose,” Alfred acknowledged.
“You must forgive us, my lord. It’s been a rough few days,” Justin said.
“Hmm.” The nobleman stood now and walked to a far cupboard. Alfred had a fleeting thought that now, perhaps, they should rush their captor, and overpower him. Here, they were four to one. Here, they likely had some chance.
Then, he remembered that those same guards who had brought them here likely remained outside. And he abandoned the scheme.
A moment later, Rickman opened the cupboard, and drew out a backpack. Alfred blinked. My backpack.
“The thing is, Miss Nancy, while I do believe some of what you told me…I think you’re not being entirely honest with me.”
“Where…how did you get that?” Alfred gaped.
“This? Ah, well that was easy. Robert is…how do I say this? Not a threat, exactly, but – if you’ll pardon my language, Miss – a huge pain in my ass. So I slip some of the men in his band a little gold now and then.” He shrugged. “And they tell me when interesting things happen.”
Now, he fixed them all in a steely gaze. “Like, when wizards show up in the camp.”
Chapter Eighteen
Alfred barked a laugh at that. He didn’t mean to. It just…happened. “Wizards?” he choked out, once he’d regained enough of his senses to speak.
Rickman wasn’t put off by this display of incredulity, though. “Yes, Mister Favero: wizards. You appeared from nowhere, dressed in strange clothing.” He reached into the backpack, and they all gasped when he withdrew the generator. “Carrying strange artifacts. Speaking in bizarre accents, claiming to be from realms that do not exist.” He raised a skeptical eyebrow. “The United States? Come now. There is no such place.”
“Your source is…well informed,” Alfred half-marveled, half-complained.
“We didn’t appear from nowhere,” Justin argued.
“My source says you did. And I believe him.”
“That’s…that’s not possible,” Nancy tried. “Your source is clearly lying to you.”
Lord Rickman smiled at her. “I have spent my entire life working with noblemen and politicians, Miss Abbot. I have encountered far better liars than you.” He shrugged. “Few as pretty.” Here, Alfred scowled at the other man, but was ignored.
“But I have gotten very good at telling when someone is lying to me. Even when they are good at it. My source was not lying. But you? You are.” He watched her curiously. “Why?”
Nancy fidgeted, and he sighed. “Well, if you won’t tell me, then perhaps your artifact will provide the answers I seek.” He began to tap buttons on the surface, and they all, of one accord, flinched with each press. He smiled at them. “So this is something of import, then? You fear what I might do with it?”
“No,” Nancy lied.
“Of course not,” Alfred put in.
Freddo shrugged, “It’s junk.”
Now, the nobleman laughed out loud. “Well, you may be good wizards – that has yet to be seen – but you are certainly terrible liars. The pack of you.”
“How did you get that backpack?” Nancy wondered.
“My source. He told me Robert was planning something, too, though he didn’t know what.” He cocked his head to one side. “I don’t understand. You know that I know what you are, Miss Nancy. If that is your name.”
“It is.”
“So why do you persist in lying?”
“We’re not lying,” Justin answered doggedly.
Rickman, though, held Nancy’s gaze. And she, in a minute, sighed. “Because you wouldn’t believe us if we told you the truth.”
He scoffed. “Try me. I do not think it can be stranger than bards who do not play music.”
She snorted. “Believe me, your lordship, it’s much stranger.”
He considered this, then nodded. “Alright. Tell me anyway. And call me Basil.”
“Wait, Nance,” Alfred said. “Don’t.”
“We can’t trust him,” Freddo put in.
“We don’t have much of a choice,” Justin argued.
“That,” Basil nodded, “is true. I’m perfectly within my rights to arrest you, after what you’ve done.”
Nancy frowned at him. “That sounds a lot like blackmail, Lord Rickman. You already said you believed that we weren’t involved with the fire.”
He considered, then shrugged. “You’re right. I do believe you. I won’t arrest you for that. And, if you’re telling the truth about not being up to no good, I won’t arrest you at all. You have my word, Miss Nancy.”
“So basically, it’s up to your discretion, whether we are arrested or not?” Alfred scoffed.
“It always has been, Mister Favero. I am magistrate as well as lord here.” He surveyed the taxman. “But I have no desire to fill my prisons with innocent people, if that’s what you mean. If you don’t pose a threat to Cumberland, I will not be a threat to you.”
This was good enough for Nancy and Justin, though not for the two Faveros. “We’re not wizards,” she told him. “We’re…we’re from the future. From a future, anyway.”
Basil’s eyebrows raised until Alfred was sure they were going to merge with his hairline. “From…the future?”
“I told you it was strange. Stranger than wizards.”
He nodded slowly. “You did. But…that’s not possible. Traveling through time? No. It can’t be done.”
“It is,” Nancy said. “We’ve done it before.”
“Well, you and Alfred have,” Freddo pointed out. “It was our first time.”
His lordship, though, was shaking his head. “No. No, that’s not possible. You’re lying. You’ve got to be lying.”
“Geez,” Alfred scoffed, “you were ready to accept that we magically appeared in the forest. You think we’re wizards, for God’s sake. But time travel is the bridge too far for you?”
It took a while, but eventually Basil Rickman came around. The taxman saw two factors behind his reversal. The first was the comparison to magic.
Basil had no good reason to accept magical transportation but not scientific, and, in the end, he seemed to conclude that their science was but magic by another name. They did not argue the point further, for fear of pushing him back to disbelief.
The second was Nancy, and here, the taxman found himself rather annoyed with the other man. More than once, Basil declared that he “could not believe Miss Abbot capable of perpetrating such a falsehood.” With a searching glance at her, he’d shake his head, concluding, “No. No, it must be true then.”
