Chapter Eighteen

 

 

J.B. was catching a quick catnap when the intruders tried to break into the room where he guarded Tarragon. He sat in the corner of the room, across from the small bed where the boy lay, wrestling through a fever that had turned him burning hot.

 

The scratching at the window didn't carry far into the room, warring with the noise of the three-piece band below and the yelled encouragement of the men as they watched the dancers.

 

J.B. had already turned down two women who'd offered to entertain him, not only because Milly was his woman and because he was watching over the boy, he also hadn't missed the angry stares of the men who'd watched him walk the boy up to the room with Krysty.

 

Ryan and Krysty were next door. The companions had been offered two rooms and had taken them both.

 

The Armorer pushed himself into a standing position, taking up the shotgun he'd been holding across his knees. He adjusted the fedora, reseating it. Personally he was glad for the action. The last while he'd spent too long thinking about Mildred.

 

He'd positioned a mirrored chest of drawers across the room from him, angled so that the reflection covered the room's only window.

 

A grizzled bear of a man with a yellow-orange beard drooping down to his chest was working the heavy blade of a bowie knife under the window. He slipped the knife through as quietly as he could, then started pulling up.

 

J.B. figured they were standing on the narrow walk outside the rooms. He'd noticed it earlier and had closed the window in spite of the heat because of it. Glass might not keep an intruder out, but it made a good alarm system.

 

There were three men behind the bearded guy, and all of them were armed.

 

With a creak and a splintering that left fracture lines running across the glass, the window rose inches at a time.

 

J.B. wanted to make a positive and direct statement. None of the men seemed inclined to use a gun, and the boy wasn't in direct line of fire. The Armorer had seen to that.

 

Moving more quietly than one of his bulk should have been able to, the big man started easing into the room, turning his head from side to side.

 

J.B. let the guy get just a glimpse of him. Not enough time to move out of the way. Then he swung the shotgun around in a hard, tight arc that caught the man full in the face.

 

Blood exploded from the man's nose, cascading over his face. Propelled by the blow, as well as his own efforts, the big man went stumbling back, crashing through the balustrade and going over the edge of the roof with a piercing scream of fear.

 

The Armorer dropped the shotgun at waist level, covering the other three men while they froze in surprise. "Easy or hard," J.B. said in a casual voice. "You hum a few bars of it, and I'll join right in."

 

The three men raised their hands and put them on the tops of their heads. All of them declined, then started moving back down the way they'd come.

 

J.B. shut the window again. He picked up the broad-bladed knife the big man had dropped and used it to jam the window from being opened from the outside again.

 

Ryan and Krysty came through the door of the adjoining room, both with their blasters in hand.

 

"Problem?" the one-eyed man asked.

 

"Overly interested parties," J.B. said. "I convinced them to find new hobbies."

 

"The boy?"

 

The Armorer nodded.

 

"There's no love lost in this ville," Ryan said. "That's for sure."

 

"I'm beginning to think there's none to be had," J.B. stated. "Seems like Gehrig has taken a shine to our company, though."

 

"Mebbe so," Ryan said. "But that's one commitment I'm not interested in."

 

Krysty crossed the room and placed a hand against the boy's forehead. "Burning up with fever."

 

"I know." J.B. removed his glasses and wiped the blood spatters away on the tail of his shirt. When he'd hit the big man with the shotgun, blood had sprayed in all directions. "He was awake a little while ago. Got a pouch around his neck. He took something from it, swallowed it down, then asked for a glass of water." He hooked a thumb at the pitcher and basin sitting on the floor. "I've been giving him a drink every so often and been wetting his face down with a cloth."

 

"Even if this place had a medic," Krysty said, "I don't think it would be in the boy's best interests to call him up."

 

Ryan shook his head. He walked forward and took the pouch from the boy's neck. When he loosened the ties, he poured the contents out into his palm. "Gehrig showed me some stuff downstairs, when he was making his pitch to me. Stuff he called dreamsand. Some kind of drug. But this isn't it."

 

Krysty poked among them with a forefinger. "These look more like herbal medicines."

 

"Could be he's doctoring himself," J.B. said. "He even put some kind of powder on the wound last time he was conscious."

 

"Infection doesn't look as bad as it could be," Krysty said. "Only problem seems to be the fever."

 

"He mentioned something called the Time of the Great Uprooting when we first saw him," Ryan said, looking at J.B. "Has he said anything else about it?"

 

"He's mumbled a few things about it," the Armorer replied. "Mostly he sounds like it's something he's afraid of. Talks like it's going to be the end of everything."

 

"Kind of what Gehrig said about it downstairs," Ryan said. "But he thinks it's just an old wives' tale. However, I also found out Boldt has got his hands on some predark tech back in his underground fortress. Mebbe even a mat-trans unit."

 

J.B. glanced out into the street. Two of the big man's friends had him by the arms and were pulling him out of the street while a couple dozen people looked on. "When are you planning on heading out that way?" he asked.

 

"Tonight," Ryan said.

 

"Gehrig's going to be on the lookout for that, lover," Krysty told him.

 

"Yeah." Ryan put the pouch back inside the boy's blouse. "So we'll need a diversion. In a ville like this, it shouldn't be too hard to arrange. We stay any longer, it's going to be harder to make the break. And Gehrig, he doesn't appear to be a man to wait around for answers long. He left a question sitting on the table when I headed up here." He glanced at the Armorer. "Why don't you go take a bath? Some of the women brought up heated water. There's a tub in our room."

 

J.B. glanced down at his blood-spattered and dirty clothes. "Mebbe I'll do some laundry while I'm at it."

 

 

 

THE GLOBE THEATRE was in the bottom floor of a crumbled building near the center of New London. All of the windows were boarded over, and even though it was mid-afternoon drunks were sleeping off benders on the cracked and ruptured sidewalks.

 

A sandwich board, the crimson letters faded and hand drawn with only a little care, announced The Globe Theatre And Repositery Of Fine Arts.

 

It jarred Doc a little to see repository spelled incorrectly, even more so than the crude lettering. Still, he straightened his frock coat in an effort to make himself more presentable, then knocked the travel dust from the material.

 

Four men in greasepaint lounged near the entrance to the theater. As Doc watched, patrons chatted briefly with the men in greasepaint, then dropped coins in the water bucket hung on the wall just beside the entrance.

 

Inspecting the contents of his coin purse, Doc found a couple silver coins that he felt certain would pay his entrance fee. He would probably be overpaying the fee. But this was a play from the Bard, and surely worth the expense.

 

He plucked the two coins from the purse and put it away. Without turning around, he lifted his voice. "Jak, be a good lad and come out from hiding, please." He heard no sound, but a heartbeat later the albino stood beside him.

 

"How you know I there?" Jak asked. "Know you didn't hear me."

 

"No," Doc agreed. "And that's how I knew you would be there, lad. Ryan, I daresay, is a tad overprotective of his little band. With Mildred already numbered among the missing, it would only stand to reason that he wouldn't let me simply go away on my own. No matter how good they are, I'd have seen Krysty or John Barrymore. And Ryan wouldn't have put himself away from the crux of the action or the boy."

 

"Left me."

 

"Precisely." Doc moved the coins so they caught the light. "What I'd like to do, my fine, young friend, is further your education somewhat and broaden your horizons if I may."

 

"Too many men in building, Doc."

 

"Nonsense. It's only for a short time. Why, the show's probably halfway over." Doc gestured toward the sandwich board, where another hand-lettered sign hung from a hook. Rome and Juliet was emblazoned on the second sign, in blue letters this time, but in the same crabbed style. "One of the Bard's most poignant dramas ever written. How can you miss something like this?"

 

Jak looked uncomfortable already.

 

Doc eyed him squarely. "I am not just here on a lark, young Jak. There is a man inside I must see if I am able. Mayhap he will be able to help me locate the descendants of some dear friends. But he is a dangerous man, as well. I would appreciate your watching my back."

 

Jak didn't appear any happier with the situation, but he gave a short nod.

 

Throwing his arm around the youth's shoulders, Doc headed them in the direction of the theater. The coins were more than enough to gain entry into the building. Doc didn't like the lustful glances the greasepainted men gave him.

 

The stage area was in the basement of the building. The upper floors were still pretty much wreckage, filled to overflowing with garbage that looked as if it had been trucked in from other buildings.

 

Torches hung on the walls and threw out a weak pallor that barely illuminated the large room. Most of the three hundred or so seats available were filled, the audience sounding raucous and bold as its members called out to the actors.

 

Doc found five seats together in the back of the room and led Jak that way. "Sit back, boy," Doc urged. "Let yourself get caught up in this passion play of unrequited love and familial pathos." In terse sentences he brought Jak up to speed regarding the story line. As he did, though, he noticed there were some inconsistencies with Shakespeare's original drama. The story progressed faster, the philosophical soliloquies were cut to bare bones and the audience roared with laughter each time one of the characters stepped to the forefront of the stage and delivered the lines.

 

"Women ain't women, Doc," Jak said.

 

And it was true. Doc had already noticed that, as well. "In the playwright's day, acting wasn't a respectable profession for a woman. Evidently these people are conforming to the spirit of those days."

 

"Mebbe so," Jak replied. "But you look around, you see mostly men in here."

 

Doc did look and found the albino's observation uncomfortably on the nose. Then the play took a very sadistic bent, becoming more and more violent. Romeo and Mercutio massacred the guards that came at them. Crimson blood spurted from the swords, covering the actors, victors and victims. The iron-based smell of the crimson liquid told Doc that the blood was real. He sat stunned as the play wound down to its conclusion, which was entirely different from Shakespeare's version.

 

With flashing moves, Romeo cut the pants from Juliet, then bent the man roughly over the bed. The actor's pale rear end jutted up. Using his free hand, Romeo whipped the man's butt in feverish excitement.

 

"Enough," Jak said, leaning back and looking away from the stage.

 

Doc couldn't take any more, either. He looked away and saw the man who could be no other than Long Johnson, the pirate captain. The man stood nearly seven feet tall, and was broad across the shoulders. His full beard hung to nearly midchest, balanced by his long, flowing hair that spilled down his shoulders. The hair and beard were both glazed with oil of some type, adding a shiny luster to them that was further emphasized by the slow-burning fuses twisted up in the curls. The fuses spit and sparked from the orange coals at their centers.

 

The pirate captain was dressed as a dandy, the suit he wore evidently the work of an accomplished seamstress. He carried a thick briarwood cane. His face, even in the gentling of the shadows, was a harsh canvas depicting decades of hard living. A livid purple scar nearly bisected his left cheek, looking like a fat worm laid just under the flesh.

 

"Long Johnson!" Doc bellowed through his cupped hands.

 

The pirate snapped his head around, tracking the voice. His eyes narrowed in the gloom. Around him the half-dozen men and women wearing sailors' loose clothing produced weapons and took up defensive positions.

 

"Do I know you?" Long Johnson asked.

 

Doc pushed himself up out of his seat and strode across the room. He knew Jak would be behind him. "No," the old man answered, "but I'd like a word with you if I could."

 

"About what?"

 

"You're a collector of books?" A few feet farther on, Doc had no choice but to pull up, unable to ignore the menace of the pistols in the hands of Long Johnson's lackeys.

 

"Yes. You think you have something that might interest me?"

 

Doc shook his head. "Captain, I believe the interest may well be going the other way."

 

Long Johnson remained within the protective enclosure of his people. A sawed-off double-barreled shotgun was in one huge fist. "Do I know you?"

 

"No, sir, you do not. My name is Theophilus Algernon Tanner. I come to you"

 

"Tanner!" Long Johnson's voice was rolling thunder inside the room. "I know you, you spawn of the devil!"

 

Doc didn't back off. "Then you have the advantage of me, sir, for I know you not at all."

 

With a mighty sweep of one oak-sized arm, the pirate captain moved the man and woman in front of him. "But I know much about you. Operation Chronos ripped you from your time, from your family."

 

Doc stared at the man, trying to see any indications of why the man would know what he did.

 

"Don't try to deny it."

 

"I am not."

 

"Never," Long Johnson declared with passion, "had I thought I would have this opportunity."

 

Jak stepped in front of Doc protectively.

 

"What opportunity?" Doc asked.

 

"For revenge."

 

"For what?" Doc asked. "I do not even know you."

 

"Not me," the pirate captain said. "But someone else. Did you really think that after the taskmasters at Operation Chronos had their success with you that they would quit?"

 

Doc looked at the man. "Are you suggesting that you were plucked from your own time, as well?"

 

Long Johnson laughed insanely. "You don't even know. Or are you lying?"

 

"No," Doc said in a steady voice.

 

"It doesn't matter," Long Johnson stated. "Everyone else is already dead. But you were the catalyst for her pain and suffering. You shall pay!" He brought up the double-barreled shotgun.

 

Doc couldn't believe what was transpiring. He stood in frozen shock. Then Jak whirled, grabbing the lapels of the old man's frock coat and pulling them over a line of seats.

 

The double-aught blast cut through the air where they'd been standing. Men and women behind them went down, screaming in pain and fear.

 

Two of the pirate captain's bodyguards started forward, pistols at the ready.

 

Jak moved as fast as heated quicksilver. His right hand flashed forward twice.

 

Doc watched the two bodyguards go reeling back. One of the albino's blades had sunk deeply into the woman's left eye, while the other had buried itself in the hollow of the man's throat.

 

The theater crowd was up in open rebellion, weapons appearing as if by magic. Bedlam ensued. Unsure as to where the shotgun blast had originated, dazed by drugs and alcohol, the theatergoers fell on one another in a fierce bloodletting.

 

"Come on, Doc," Jak said. "Not good place to be."

 

"No," Doc said fiercely. "I must find out what he means."

 

"You and yours, Tanner," Long Johnson said over the din. "I'll have my vengeance and hers on you and yours."

 

"Wait," Doc cried.

 

The pirate captain brought up the sawed-off shotgun again and ripped off another blast that blew the top from the seat to one side of the old man. He broke open the shotgun, and ejected the spent casings, then thumbed fresh shells into the chambers. "Your family, Tanner! I'll find them wherever they are, and when I do, they're going to die!"

 

Anger galvanized Doc, not in his own defense, but for his family. He wasn't sure what Long Johnson was talking about, but the threat was naked and certain between them. Perhaps the information existed and was already in the pirate's hands. Doc had no way of knowing from Long Johnson's words. But there was no mistaking the intent in them.

 

He brought up the Le Mat blaster and fired. The .63-caliber pistol rocked in his fist. A heartbeat later a pellet cut locks from Long Johnson's hair and very nearly caught his left ear.

 

Then the crowd of theatergoers became a raging tide, sweeping toward the two exits.

 

Doc tried to stand his ground, batting aside a screaming woman with an ice pick who tried to drive the weapon into his chest. He squeezed the Le Mat's trigger again, watching as the pirate captain grabbed one of his men by the back of his shirt and used him for a shield.

 

The .63-caliber shotgun spread exploded the man's head, throwing blood and gore over Long Johnson. In three quick strides the pirate captain had gained the exit on the other side of the room.

 

"Another time, Tanner," he bellowed from cover, whacking down a thin man who tried to scramble past him. "Make no mistake that I'll find you. Wherever you hide." Another step, and the pirate was gone, along with most of his band.

 

"Got to leave," Jak said.

 

"Yes," Doc said, feeling the fear dawn in him. "Get us outside, dear boy. There's a chance we could catch that rogue." He didn't know if he had family out in what was left of the world or not. Maybe it was only wishful thinking, a delusion pursued by a desperate old man. But the fact remained that Emilyand he prayed it wasn't so could have remarried and raised their children without him. She would have had no choice. His children could have had children, and their children after them. And just maybe one of them had emigrated to England.

 

Generations had passed since then. But perhaps something yet remained of the Tanner family even after it had been sundered by Operation Chronos.

 

Jak led the way out of the building, heading for the doorway they'd entered. The albino kept a blade in one hand, using it to menace anyone who got in their way. Twice he brought down men who tried to turn on them.

 

In seconds he and Jak were out on the street, gasping for breath. Doc glanced up and down the road, but there were so many alleys, warrens and shadows even in the light of the closing afternoon that it was impossible to know where Long Johnson and his crew might have gone.

 

"Got stay moving," Jak said. "Mebbe someone care about this, mebbe not. Can't take chance."

 

"You're right, lad." Doc kept the Le Mat blaster in his hand, tucked under his frock coat.

 

"Mebbe go see Ryan and others. Safety in numbers."

 

"You go on ahead if you wish, dear boy, but I have to find that wicked man and put a bullet through that hard stone heart of his if I'm lucky. The game's afoot." From his earlier excursions, Doc knew in what direction the port had to be. He headed west, certain he had to run into the sea before long.

 

 

 

"IT'S GOING TO BE dark before long." Ryan sat in the claw-footed bathtub in the other room. J.B. had already finished his bath and laundry, and was sitting back with the Celtic boy in the adjoining room.

 

"I'm getting worried about Doc and Jak," Krysty said, stepping out of her pants and shrugging out of her shirt. "They've been gone a long time."

 

Ryan watched her appreciatively, noting the lithe muscle. He'd run his hands over his lover's body countless times, knew her the way a blind sculptor would know one of his works, and he never tired of looking at her.

 

She reached behind her and loosened her bra, bending forward slightly to drop it from her breasts. Hooking her thumbs in the waistband of her panties, she lowered them as well. She stepped toward the tub.

 

"They're all right." Ryan shifted in the tub, enjoying the feel of the water against his skin.

 

Krysty stepped into the water cautiously. Steam still rose from its surface and it took some getting used to. Gradually she lowered herself onto Ryan's thighs. "And what makes you so sure, lover?"

 

"If something had happened to them, Gehrig would have told me." Ryan reached out to run his hands over her breasts, feeling the nipples tighten in response. His erection broke the water surface between them. Krysty closed a fist over it, tight enough to get his attention, but gentle enough to draw an involuntary spasm of desire from him.

 

"What makes you so sure?"

 

"Because he's trying to make points with me," Ryan said. "And because him knowing so damn fast would be mebbe intimidating, too. He'd hope."

 

"Why would he know?"

 

"Because he sent a couple men to tail them."

 

"Did they know?"

 

"Jak, probably. I don't see how he could have missed them. They were good, but nothing like him."

 

Krysty slid forward, moving her mons into contact against the underside of his erection. She smiled at him as he bucked gently against her. "Do you think they're safe?"

 

Ryan nodded. "For now. Gehrig has a lot of pull in this ville. He'd want them safe for a while, until he figures what he wants to do with us."

 

The red-haired woman kept her hand moving on him, working his lust up to its most potent. "The boy's fever felt like it was breaking when we left."

 

Ryan nodded, dropping a hand between them to return the direct stimulation favor. He felt the firm, wet bulge of her against the softer tissues, his efforts drawing a gasp.

 

"Hope so," Ryan said. "We'll have to move in a couple more hours. By tomorrow night Gehrig will know more about what he wants to do with us, and the security will be tighter than ever."

 

"What if the boy's not ready to move?" she asked.

 

"Then we leave him."

 

Krysty's mouth became a hard line, but she didn't release him or turn away. "He's about Dean's age."

 

"Yeah, but he's not our concern. Boy would have already been dead if it wasn't for us. And if he's got no home where he came from, and staying here isn't safe, I don't think taking him along with us is going to be any kind of answer."

 

"I know."

 

"And if he does go with us tonight, we're going to be heading right back into territory he was trying to get away from."

 

"What about the rebellion Gehrig told you about?"

 

"Guess that's the boy's only chance," Ryan answered truthfully. "Mebbe Mildred's, too."

 

Krysty tugged on him. "You didn't get much sleep last night, lover, and it's been a busy day. You could get in a couple hours before dusk."

 

Ryan grinned up at her, putting all the doubts of the upcoming dangers out of his mind. If the dangers weren't the ones he was expecting, there'd have been others. There was no other way for him to live life. No other way for any of them.

 

"Mebbe after," he said, pulling her close and kissing her throat. He nipped at her flesh, just hard enough to feel her pulse beat in her jugular while she reached between them and joined them.