Time Slips & Tax Thieves, page 5
part #4 of Time Travelling Taxman Series
Chapter Eight
“So, what is the name of your realm?” Robert asked.
“The United States,” Justin said.
He considered. “I have never heard of this land. It must be very far away.”
“You could say that,” Alfred evaded. He was only just beginning to comprehend how far away, in time and space, they were. They’d landed in some manner of alternative universe that resembled old Earth history during the medieval period. But where and when they actually were, he couldn’t begin to guess.
“Is it a powerful realm?”
“Very.”
“It can’t be too powerful,” another of their hosts declared, “if we’ve never heard of it.” This was John Naylor, a giant of a man who carried a staff and wore a seemingly perpetual scowl.
Robert smiled. “You’ll have to excuse John,” he said. “He believes Cumberland is God’s land.”
Nancy glanced up sharply. “Cumberland?”
He nodded but seemed oblivious to the recognition in her tone. “He’s probably not much of an impartial judge, though. He’s never been elsewhere.”
Here, John Naylor snorted. “No need to. You wouldn’t leave Heaven to check into Hell, would you? When you’ve found perfection, you embrace it.”
Robert laughed, and Nancy whispered, “I think we’re in England, Alfred. Or some alternate version of it.”
He considered this. “So…we’re still on Earth, at least?”
“Yes. One of the Earths in the multiverse, anyway.”
Alfred groaned. Time travel was confusing enough. Introducing the multiverse into the mix only made it that much worse.
“What’s the matter, bard?” John asked. “You prefer your Unified States to Cumberland?”
The taxman blinked. “Well…yes, actually.”
“Then why’d you leave it?”
“We wanted to see the world,” Nancy put in.
John nodded sagely. “And so you came here.”
“Where is ‘here,’ exactly?” Freddo wondered.
“You’re in the Yngil-wode, bard,” Robert declared cheerily. “The greatest forest in the greatest county on God’s green earth.”
Nancy nudged Alfred, and he nodded. They were on Earth, then.
“And,” one of the woodsmen declared, “in company of the greatest outlaw in the North.”
“Outlaw?” The taxman frowned. “You mean, you’re criminals?”
Robert laughed. “So the lord of these parts tells us, bard. But the people tell a different story.”
His frown deepened. “But…what does the law say?” It seemed to him this wasn’t a question with much room for gray area. It was as binary as it got: either they were or were not lawbreakers.
“The law is just a construct,” a younger man declared airily.
Alfred frowned, trying to remember the fool’s name. Allan-something, he thought. “In the same way that gravity is a construct,” he sneered.
The other surveyed him with questioning eyes. “What?”
“I think you’re a few hundred years too early, babe,” Nancy whispered. “Newton hasn’t been born yet.”
It was Freddo who came to his aid, though. “What he’s saying, Squire Clare, is that the law is the framework of any civilized society.”
The younger man rolled his light eyes, but Robert shrugged, saying, “Perhaps in a civilized society. But in the hands of an oppressor, the law becomes nothing more than a tool of oppression.”
Here, Alfred found he had to cede the point. History – his own Earth’s history – was littered with examples that bore out the other man’s position. “That is true. Are you, then, ruled by an oppressor?”
“We are ruled by none,” John Naylor reminded him. “Yngil-wode is the Freemen’s Forest.”
“In here,” Robert agreed, spreading his hands to gesture at the trees all around them, “it is true: we are free. The forest is our mother, and her bounty sustains us, shields us; delivers us from the tyrant. But…in the cities and villages?” He shook his head. “Those are the domain of Lord Rickman. And a viler tyrant than Basil Rickman never blackened this fair land.”
“He calls himself magistrate here,” a dark-haired youth called William Gamwell declared. “And he commands a mighty force from Fletcher-in-the-Forest.”
“From what?”
“His ancestral home,” Robert explained. “His family lived here for generations. The old lords let us live in peace. They kept to the Tower and left us to manage our own affairs. But this young lord? He’ll grind us until there’s not a freeman left in the whole of Cumberland.”
They walked for another hour or so, and Alfred spent much of the time in quiet contemplation. All of his earlier optimism faded, and he found himself facing down an ever-bleaker set of prospects.
They were in the company of lawbreakers and rebels, in a world in which the law had been perverted and used as a weapon against the people. It was a world gone mad, with good turned to evil and evil to good.
That would have been bad enough. But the fact was, they were stuck here. These people didn’t even know about gravity yet. They carried medieval weapons, smelled like they hadn’t showered since birth, and wore tights. The chance of them having the kind of tech Nancy needed was approximately zero.
And as soon as he’d come to that realization, Alfred’s mind began to explore the implications of it. The people here wouldn’t have any understanding of modern medicine. This would be the era of leeches and bloodletting. They wouldn’t have books or television or decent food. There’d be no lasagna, no opera, no wildlife documentaries in his future.
And no Star Trek, his mind kicked in. He considered this for a moment, but then dismissed it. He couldn’t allow himself to focus on silver linings. The situation was too dire to be satisfied by trifles.
Nancy was meditative too. Unfortunately, no such compunction to think seized Freddo or Justin, though. They prattled away the entire last leg of the journey.
“I don’t suppose you have any food you could spare?”
“Does anyone have a canteen? I’m parched.”
“My feet are killing me.”
“God, I can’t wait until we reach camp.”
The complaints were endless. So, too, were their clumsy attempts at extracting information from their hosts.
“Are there any towns around here?”
“That Lord What’s-his-face…where did you say he lived?”
“So, on a scale of firm reprimands to a one-on-one with an iron maiden, what happens if this guy catches us hanging out with you all?”
“You live in the forest, then? Like, all the time? You must have lived in one of the towns at some point, though? Before Rickman took over?”
Even their small talk made him want to scream.
“So, you’re an archer? I was a pretty good shot myself, back in high school.”
“Must be pretty good game around here, though. I haven’t been hunting in years, but I’ll bet this place is crawling with deer.”
Alfred was ready to commit a murder or two by time they reached the outlaws’ encampment. The dismal sight that met him temporarily distracted him from these dark thoughts, though – but only to replace them with different but equally grim thoughts.
The camp was like something out of a nightmare, a cross between a trailer park and a campsite. Sloppy tents and shabby buildings were spread here and there, and harried women and dirty children paused their activities to glance up at them as they marched into view. In the center of camp, a great fire blazed. A set of carcasses hung over the fire on spits, turned by red-faced matrons whose countenances were soiled with soot and sweat. They glanced up long enough to take in the newcomers and wipe away perspiration. Then, they returned to their work.
“You see,” Robert said, “what we’re reduced to now. We live in squalor, our women and children forced to scrape by on the scraps we manage to put together.”
He shook his head darkly, and the taxman nodded. He did see, and he rather wondered how they’d endured this long. “It’s terrible. Rickman must be a monster.”
“He is. The worst of tyrants.” Now, the outlaw shrugged. “But, what little we have, we freely share with you, bards.”
Chapter Nine
They were seated in a large circle, trays of fresh-baked breads and roasted meats passing from person to person. Alfred recoiled at the unhygienic manner in which food was handled and consumed – in great, greedy handfuls – but he was too hungry to allow himself any particular degree of fastidiousness.
Yes, other people had touched his food. No, he was not going to think about that. He was just going to eat.
It was good food. The bread was hearty, with a whole-grain flavor and a coarse texture. The meat was a little gamey, but flavorful. Nancy in particular appreciated it. “Now this is camp food.”
“So tell me, bards,” Robert Whod said through a mouthful of food, gesturing at Alfred and Freddo, “you must be brothers, yes?”
The two men wrinkled their noses of one volition, with the latter saying, “He’s a clone, actually.”
At the same time, the former sniffed, “He’s a cheap knock-off.”
“They’re twins,” Nancy put in hurriedly.
“Twins, eh? Twins are bad luck. That’s what the friar says, anyway,” William mused. “One soul split between two bodies.”
Nancy’s brow raised, but she kept her tones neutral. “Well, uh, there’s plenty of soul in each of them. They’re just double trouble.”
“‘Double trouble,’” Robert repeated, then nodded his satisfaction. “I like that. You are a clever poet, Nancy.”
The taxman frowned. If that’s all it takes to wow these guys, wait until they hear nursery rhymes.
“And what of you? Are you a relative of the twins?”
“No,” she shook her head. “But Alfred and I are dating.”
This confused the outlaw. “You’re what?”
“Dating. I mean, courting.”
“Ah.” He nodded, glancing Alfred over. “It must be difficult.”
The taxman’s brow furrowed, and Nancy’s eyes widened. “What?”
“To court a twin. How would you tell them apart?” A few of the men nodded, as if they too were pondering this difficulty. “How would you know, when you marry, that you were marrying the right one?” Now, they laughed. “Would you establish a test beforehand, to prove that he is the right man?”
Nancy’s features relaxed as he joked, though Freddo’s wrinkled in distaste. She shrugged. “I can tell.”
“How?
“Well…my Alfred is…I don’t know…mine. We have a connection that runs deeper than words.”
Freddo rolled his eyes, and Justin snorted, muttering, “Not too deep. I mean, he still hasn’t married you.”
“Marriage is just a construct,” Allan Clare, who was sitting to one side of Justin, declared. “I told my girl as much: love doesn’t need artificial constructs to validate it.”
Justin stared at him for a moment, then shook his head. “I’m not afraid of a little commitment.” He turned an affectionate glance to Freddo. “We were engaged within three months.”
The other Favero smiled fondly at the memory. “Yes we were. And married inside a year.”
Alfred rolled his eyes. “Marriage is a lifetime commitment. Only an imbecile rushes into something like that.”
“Only a coward procrastinates.”
Nancy cleared her throat. “As you can see: they’re clearly different.”
Robert laughed. “Yes, I suppose they are.” He looked at Justin. “And you, you say, are married to the other twin?”
Freddo seemed to bristle at being referred to in such a fashion, by his relation to Alfred. Lyon nodded. “That’s right. This is our two-year anniversary. Well, technically, tomorrow is.”
He nodded. “Well, congratulations are in order. Let us have a toast.” He glanced around, his eye seeming to catch one of the women at the periphery of the group, still working over the fire. “Ethel, bring us some ale. We need to celebrate with our new friends.”
They drank and ate until night had given way to morning. Robert assigned Justin and Freddo a tent and was in the process of giving Nancy and Alfred separate assignments when she said, “We can share a tent.”
The outlaw exchanged scandalized glances with a few of his men. Then, he shrugged. “Well, alright then. I guess the pair of you can have this one.” He indicated the tent he’d already pointed out as Alfred’s. Then, he winked at the taxman. “I’d say have a good night, but I think you’ve already got that covered.”
Laughing among themselves, the woodsmen left. “Well, that was…awkward,” Nancy said in a moment.
“Yup.”
“Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything. Medieval morality, and all that. But they didn’t seem phased by Justin and Freddo being a couple, so I figured they must have been a little more openminded than people from our own history.”
“I don’t care what they think. I’d still rather be with you.”
She smiled, and her eyes glimmered in the dull light from the campfire as she leaned in to kiss him. “And I’d still rather be with you, Alfred Favero.”
“Good.” He pulled her to him and they settled onto one of the bedrolls. He made a deliberate effort not to look too long or too hard at what they were laying on. He was more than usually glad for his pants and long-sleeved t-shirt now.
He was a man who refused to succumb to the temptations of skimpy clothing, even in the heat of summer; whatever the benefits of staying cooler, they were not worth the risk of exposure to sunlight. And at the moment, his foresight was paying off better than he’d anticipated: it protected him against whatever might have taken up residence in this bedding before him.
Nancy, meanwhile, seemed oblivious to the concern. She snuggled up against him, saying in sleepy tones, “I love you, Alfred.”
“I love you too, Nancy Abbot.” He heard her breathing slow and he felt her slip into sleep in his arms. He tried to follow. He was exhausted, and the weight of the day wore heavy on him. A good night’s rest would clear the worries, and ale, from his head.
But sleep didn’t come. In fact, the longer he lay there listening to the quiet intake and exhale of Nancy’s breathing, and the longer he listened to the sounds of the camp quiet and eventually disappear, the more awake he felt.
He thought of their situation. He thought of being trapped here, stuck in this primitive world, with its kindly outlaws and its malevolent lord. He thought of the squalor that awaited him, and wondered with a shudder if someday he, too, would adjust to living in such a fashion without a second thought.
But more than anything, he thought about the woman in his arms. Alfred loved Nancy. He did not consider himself to be a sappy man, or much of a romantic. He wasn’t given to flights of fancy, and he didn’t indulge most superstitions. But on some level, he believed Nancy was the love of his life, the one woman on all of Earth for him; his soulmate. When he thought of how they met, how they’d begun as enemies and become lovers, he could see the hand of fate at play. He could see destiny, charting their course, bringing them to where they needed to be despite all their own missteps along the way.
Now, his love, his soulmate, was trapped here, in this terrible place. His fear for her well-being was intense.
But, selfishly perhaps, another thought burned, with a fierce, persistent pain at his heart. The truth was, Alfred didn’t know if Nancy was his soulmate anymore. He loved her more than anything. He felt he always would. But he’d seen worlds in which he was not a factor in Nancy’s life, in which she was not a factor in his.
Was the destiny, that careful, guiding hand of fate, he saw in their relationship just a coincidence? Was it blind luck that had them thrown together on the Futureprise case, where he’d first begun to develop feelings for her? Was there nothing more sacred, more deliberate, than random chance behind their bond?
The more he thought of it, the more his heart seemed to sink. He thought of the other two taxmen a few tents away, Justin and Freddo. Somehow, in their universe, fate had brought them together. And Nancy? Well, in their world, Nancy was married to that damned marine.
Was it fate, then, that brought Freddo and Justin together in that universe, that paired Nancy and Josh? Or was it just the soulless, unseeing wheels of chance, turning in their cold, impartial way?
He felt something like a caged animal, and he decided he needed to move, to clear his thoughts. Carefully, he slipped his arm out from under Nancy and crept out of the tent.
A fire still blazed in the central area, smaller than it had been earlier. After a brisk walk around the camp by its light, he began to shiver. The night was cold, and he set his steps toward the campfire.
A few men and a woman lay snoring by the blaze, passed out, he thought. One still held a flagon of ale in his hand, and a spilled mug and darkened dirt by another told its own story. He stood by the flames, letting the heat warm him.
Despite the vigorousness of his exercise, his heart was no lighter than before. As he stood there, staring into the fire, morose thoughts crept back.
“Babe?”
He started as Nancy’s voice reached him. “Hey,” he said, spinning around. She was standing a few feet away, shivering. She was, he realized, still in her shorts and tank. No wonder she was freezing. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”
She shook her head. “No. I just…realized you were gone. What’s wrong, Alfred?”
“Nothing. Hey, we should try to find you something warmer.”
She covered the distance between them, and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Don’t change the subject, darling.”
He blinked. He was, he supposed, trying to shift the conversation, but more for her benefit than his. “You look cold.”
She smiled. “I won’t be in your arms.” He smiled too, but there was a sadness in the expression. She seemed to pick up on it, because her brow furrowed. “Talk to me, Alfred. What’s wrong?”
He shook his head, repeating, “Nothing. Just…”
