Time Slips & Tax Thieves, page 13
part #4 of Time Travelling Taxman Series
It wasn’t quite that dire for the Freemen, but Nance confirmed that there were more missing than they’d realized in those early morning hours.
“That’s disappointing,” Justin said.
“No, it’s great news,” Nance argued.
“Oh, I know. I mean, it’s disappointing that they kicked us out before we got to see their reactions.”
Here, they laughed conspiratorially, and Nancy nodded. “True.”
Alfred’s mood took a sharp decline, though, when they met Lord Basil. They’d gone to the hospital, at Nancy’s urging. “You have to let someone take a look at that, babe.”
Grumbling, he’d acquiesced, protesting all the while that they should be figuring out shelter. “We need to find a place to spend the night. I’m a grown man, darling. I can handle a little scrimmage.” He laughed lightly, as if the motion of speaking didn’t send waves of pain through him.
Justin, meanwhile, rolled his eyes. “Yeah, by definition, men who use the word ‘scrimmage’ can’t handle them.”
“Well, you know, you can always kiss my buns, Justin,” Alfred shrugged. He was feeling a little too heroic to let the other man’s words register.
“Oh God,” he shivered. “Buns? You know that sounds so much worse than ass, right?”
The taxman wasn’t sure how, but finding a place in queue at the hospital took his attention. Due to repairs and an influx of patients – here, Nancy found a fresh wave of women and children she’d met in Yngil-wode – the lines were long, and they were cautioned that it would be awhile before Alfred was seen.
So they waited in the atrium, with dozens of other people. They’d been waiting a good half an hour when Basil Rickman’s voice greeted them. “Miss Nancy?”
Alfred frowned at the nobleman, who was headed straight for them, but who seemed not to notice the Faveros or Justin.
“One of the staff told me you were here. Are you alright?”
“Basil,” Nancy greeted meanwhile. “What are you doing here?”
“Repairs.” He shook his head. “But why are you here?”
“We had an argument with Robert.” She turned, now, to the taxman. “I’m here with Alfred.”
Basil’s eyes widened, and the taxman was about to demur, “Oh, it’s nothing,” when the other turned back to Nance.
“My God, Miss Nancy, are you alright? That madman’s gone too far this time.”
Alfred blinked. Not that he didn’t appreciate concern for Nance, of course. But it was him, and not her, who had absorbed the full force of Robert’s fury. With my face, no less.
“I’m fine, Basil. Alfred’s the one who got hit.”
Still, the nobleman looked her over carefully. “Are you sure?”
She laughed. “Of course I’m sure. Hell, it’s probably half my fault that poor Alfred got hit at all. I pissed Robert off first.” She turned to the taxman, smiling tenderly at the memory. “And he stood up for me.”
“Oh.” Basil’s expression changed at that, and he glanced between them. “I see. Well, I’m, uh, glad you’re alright Mister Favero.”
Alfred hadn’t said that he was alright, but he nodded. “Thanks.” And, just for good measure, he put his arm around Nance.
“Actually, your lordship,” Justin piped up, “we kind of got evicted from the forest earlier. For standing up for you and the city and all that. So, we don’t really have a place to stay.”
“Oh.” Basil’s brow furrowed. “Oh, well, you’re more than welcome to stay at the tower, if you like.” He glanced back at Nance. “All of you.”
“I don’t know,” Alfred said. He didn’t have an alternative in mind, but, on the other hand, he found himself disliking Lord Basil a little more with every passing moment.
“We’d be obliged,” Justin cut in quickly.
“Of course. I’ll send word ahead, to make sure rooms are ready. And I’ll get a carriage, so you don’t have to walk.”
He stayed for a few minutes longer, but once he’d assured himself that Nance – and all of them, of course – wanted for nothing, he took his leave.
“Well,” Justin declared, a hint of amusement in his tones, “he’s very helpful.”
Alfred snorted. “I don’t know. I don’t like him.”
“Really?” the other man grinned. “Why?”
“He was very upset that Robert hit you, darling,” Nance said.
Justin’s grin broadened. “Oh, he was, Nance. That was obvious.”
The taxman just scowled at him.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The weeks moved quickly after that, but, oddly, time seemed to stand still. Alfred joined the hospital repair workforce. So did his friends. So did Nance, and her engineering skills wowed the locals.
They wowed Lord Basil, too, who was only too eager to grant whatever help or supplies she needed. “Anything, for Cumberland’s wizards,” he’d smile.
Alfred did not care for the other man, but, as they were residing in his house and living on his hospitality, he tried to conceal the feeling. Anyway, Nance was convinced he was a remarkable leader, and as much as he wanted to argue the point, he did seem to put the people of Cumberland first.
As the repairs wound down, Alfred tried to help with her projects where he could. His forte was numbers, not engineering. Still, he did what he could, and Nance was always glad to work with him.
So when Nancy managed to rig up a series of wind-powered pumps to bring running water to the hospital, he was there with her the day they finished. “Good job, babe.”
“It’s genius, Nancy,” Basil told her. “It will save our staff so much time every day.”
“It’ll also help if there’s ever another fire. You won’t need bucket brigades running from wells and rivers.”
He’d hoped, at first, to convince her to move on from Cumberland. But with no promise of better things outside the shire, and an amenable host here, it was a doomed effort. Nor could he rely on Justin and Freddo for help. “Hell no, man,” the former had said. “You think I’m leaving a castle to go exploring in some whacky version of medieval England? You’re out of your mind.”
The other Favero hadn’t been much more reasonable. “It’s not like there’s a portal back home, Alfred. We’re stuck here. And even though they met us, they still like us. I’d say we lucked out, all things considered.”
The taxman didn’t have a good counter to this either. So he tried to adjust his mind to life in this world, where time passed slowly, where one day was much the same as the other.
He didn’t much miss the things Nance would mention now and again: social media, the internet, video games and all the comic books and television shows she loved. Sure, he loved settling in for a good show now and then. But he could live without it, too. And he knew they brought her an immense amount of joy, so for her sake he missed them.
But for his own, he found good books and quiet walks to and from the hospital with Nance more than made up for anything the television might have provided.
Oddly enough, it was work that he missed. He missed the thrill of the chase, the feeling of doing good, the knowledge that he was making the world a fairer, more equitable place by rooting out tax cheats, one fraudster at a time.
He did not, though, particularly miss his coworkers. He regretted that he’d never see Director Caspersen again, and now and then he’d think fondly of some of the people around the office. But for the most part, he was indifferent. When it came to Justin, he was almost relieved.
Sure, he was stuck in this world with a version of Justin. But this one was less obnoxious and more personable than the Justin he knew. This one was almost likeable.
He even came to like the idea of spending time with another version of himself. Freddo was like a kind of mirror, and there were times when that admittedly made him uncomfortable. There were times, too, when he wondered how they could possibly be versions of the same human being – like when he revealed his abiding love of cauliflower.
Still, Freddo was an incarnation of Alfred Favero, and though he might not match the original, there was a lot to like. He was sharp, and clever, and more often than not agreed with him.
Alfred had a brother, Tony Favero. But Freddo was more like the kind of brother he might have chosen, if he’d been given the choice. He had always considered his real brother the human equivalent of a braying donkey: big, loud, stubborn and rather stupid.
Freddo was the wise owl, to Tony’s braying donkey: intelligent, aloof, and a little irritable.
He was, in short, very much like himself. And Alfred, not being the humblest of men, considered that to be an excellent character recommendation.
Spring made way for summer, and the harvest was nearing. Nance had poked around the generator now and then, but she’d always shake her head, or sigh, “It’s no use. This whole section needs to be rebuilt,” or, “There’s no conductive material left here. It’s all burnt away,” or, “We’re stuck. Why can’t I accept that, Alfred?”
He had no good answer, and though he’d do what he could to comfort her, he knew it was a source of disappointment all the same.
On other fronts, though, she was much more successful. Nance had worked her magic – he was half convinced she was a wizard too, now – on the town, and managed to bring running water and rudimentary electricity to Warwick-on-Eden. She’d drawn up plans with the city’s engineers for improved waste removal and treatment. Her designs were spreading throughout the shire, too, to other villages and towns.
She would allow herself no praise, though. “I haven’t invented a thing, babe. All I’m doing is bringing what I know of our world back here. Hell, if I’d paid more attention back home, who knows what good I could do.”
Basil and the people of Cumberland saw it differently. She was a wizard, who was introducing the magics of a new age to them.
Aside from making life easier, there was another benefit to Nance’s innovation. That was the increasingly steady trickle of defectors from Yngil-wode. It began with the mass exodus of wives and children.
Some women remained, and word got back that they were celebrated as heroes, lauded for their loyalty. Praise, though, was all it earned them. Those who stayed found their workload increased exponentially, with little help to ease their burden.
Surprising only the outlaws, it seemed, this proved to be an untenable situation. Not a morning went by without new faces appearing in town, until there was not a woman left in the forest.
Then, left to their own devices, the men began to return too. They were lean and gaunt-faced and complained that the rations of elixir had run out. Robert, word got around, had taken to drink, and there had been no more runs to get more of the draught they all required. What remained, he hoarded for himself.
Lord Basil decreed that outlaws defecting should be granted a pardon, on condition that they completed the addiction treatment. One by one, the men of the forest returned, and one by one they grumbled their way through the process.
All, that is, but Robert Whod. Even John Naylor, in the end, abandoned his friend, and took “the tyrant’s cure.” But Robert remained in the Freemen’s Forest. Gwen would deliver letters for him every week, and every week wait for a reply.
It never came.
Alfred learned of this primarily from Nancy, who had grown to be good friends with the other woman. She was, he decided, probably better off without him anyway.
“Still, I am sorry he won’t see reason,” Nance would say.
“Well, at least the rest did.”
“That’s true.”
“And with all you’re doing for this city, no one’s going to want to live in the woods forever. I’m sure we’ll see him eventually.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Alfred hadn’t been sure. He’d said it to ease Nance’s concern, but the truth was, he didn’t have a clue what was running through the outlaw’s mind.
Still, it proved to be a lucky guess.
They did see Robert Whod again, near the start of the harvest. It was a clear day, bright and crisp, with a wind that left a chill in the taxman’s bones. Nancy was consulting with the hospital staff about an electric lantern design, and he had tagged along to keep her company.
He was well into his routine of nodding sagely, as if he understood what was being discussed, and deferring to Nance when questions came up, when a nervous orderly ran into the room. The young man stopped by Lord Basil’s seat, whispering something to the nobleman.
“Damnation.”
“What?” Nancy asked. “What’s wrong?”
“That fool Whod is marching into town.”
“Whod?” Nancy repeated. “Here?”
Basil nodded. “And he’s armed.”
Alfred felt his heart skip a beat. He hadn’t seen the outlaw in months. He could only imagine what such a solitary length of time might do to anyone. In Robert’s case, it would be accompanied by feelings of betrayal, as his family and all his cohorts vanished.
This might well, Alfred knew, be the other man’s last stand. Had he come to challenge Basil, to pick a fight with the town’s militia? Had he come to die on his own terms rather than live alone in the woods, like a feral dog?
The taxman felt a wave of guilt, strong and inescapable, as he pondered this. He’d taken part in the unraveling of Robert’s fortunes. He’d encouraged Nance, he’d celebrated the disbanding of the Freemen. They were right to do it, of course. Robert had nearly killed, he’d thought about deliberately killing. He was a tax cheat. He would have stolen the shire’s tax revenue, to fund his own habit. He had been a threat to Yngil-wode. He’d menaced the people of Warwick-on-Eden.
Still, Robert Whod had saved them when they were lost. He’d offered them food and shelter when they had nowhere to turn. He’d demanded nothing in return.
And the idea that that hospitality might prove his undoing, the first step on his fatal journey, rather sickened the taxman.
It was too late for regrets now, though. Basil was on his feet, heading outside with a contingent of guards in tow. Nancy and the hospital staff followed. Alfred accompanied her.
They marched outside, until they stood before the entrance of the hospital. Robert Whod was visible now, a lone figure marching down the suddenly emptied cobblestone streets. A blade hung in the sheath at his belt, and he walked with a deliberate measuredness, one step at a time, one foot in front of the next.
His eyes locked on Basil’s, and the nobleman seemed to answer an unspoken challenge. He left the hospital grounds, making his own slow, steady way toward the outlaw.
Alfred’s pulse hammered as the two men neared each other. The morning was still, and though eyes peered out from houses all along the way, Robert and Basil stood alone in the town square. They came to a halt a good twenty feet from each other, their hands hovering on the hilts of their swords. And for a long moment, the two men stared at one another.
Robert’s clothes were dirtier and more tattered, his frame leaner, and his eyes colder than the taxman remembered. But there was a tension in his posture that promised a long and bloody fight if it came to that.
For his part, Lord Basil seemed ready to respond in kind. He planted his feet firmly in place and stood with an unflinching determination.
The taxman was reminded of the dreadful westerns his mother loved when he was a child, and the thousand and one Mexican standoffs he’d suffered through. He wondered if either man would make it out alive today.
Then, Robert spoke. “I’ve come to reclaim my life, Lord Rickman.”
“And how do you propose to do that?”
The outlaw broke the other man’s gaze, now, to glance at his own hand – the one that hovered over his blade. Slowly, he drew the sword.
Basil’s hand tightened on the hilt of his own weapon. “I advise you to think your next move through very carefully, Mister Whod. It may be your last.”
Robert didn’t seem fazed by the advice. He finished drawing the blade, and then he threw it, not at the nobleman, but toward him. It landed with a terrible clanging a few feet in front of Basil, the sound of metal on cobbles echoing throughout the still square. “You say you have a cure. Well maybe you do, and maybe it’s poison.
“But I’ve lost everything. Maybe you took it from me. And maybe I lost it, fair and square.” The outlaw shook his head and seemed confused by the sentiments. “I don’t know. But I do know, I’ve nothing left in the forest.
“So if you’ve got a cure, then give it here. And if it’s poison, well, dammit, I’ll take it too. For I’ve run out of better options.”
Alfred feared a scheme of some sort, a last-ditch, mad effort at revenge. So, he thought, did Basil.
But Whod had no ace up his sleeve. He surrendered his sword and started the treatment.
It was not always a smooth road.
Robert suffered withdrawals – and when Robert suffered, so did those around him, for he flailed and raged and threatened like a bear caught in a trap.
Still, as the days turned to weeks, and the weeks to a month, the outlaw’s symptoms lessened. He was reunited with his family, and even joined one of the work crews.
He didn’t talk to Alfred much. When they did bump into each other, the meetings were brief and awkward. The former outlaw seemed to want to forget what had transpired in the forest, and the taxman had no desire to keep those days alive.
So Robert Whod resumed his old life, and Basil Rickman let him. “He’s a damned fool,” he confided one evening, more to Nance than Alfred, “but at least he had the sense to leave Yngil-wode before winter.”
“I wish we could leave before winter,” Freddo sighed.
“I can’t believe it’s going to be six months,” Justin agreed. “Who knows what my mom thinks.”
“She probably thinks we got eaten by bears,” Freddo nodded. “She was always warning you about bears, remember?”
The other man smiled, a bittersweet smile. “Poor mum.”
Here, Basil cleared his throat. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that, Nancy.”
“About what?”
“About your artifact. You say you do not have the tools to repair it.”
