The Time Travel Directorate Page 2

  Chief Smiley glanced at Vin sharply before turning back to Director Hay. Forming his hands into a pyramid, he delivered his final pitch.

  “My other analysts are not what you would call inspector material. Vin Damato is athletic and determined. I think, given the circumstances, he’s our best bet.”

  Vin had never heard Chief Smiley talk about him, or anyone else for that matter, in this way. He assumed it was a description of convenience, as there was, quite literally, no one else to send. Vin had only come in to collect his furlough notice. Now he was here, in Director Hay’s office—about to be sent on the mission of a lifetime.

  Director Hay lapsed into a thoughtful silence. After several charged moments, he looked directly at Vin.

  “Vin Damato?”

  “Short for Vincent, sir,” Vin said, his voice cracking.

  “Ok, short for Vincent, let me explain something to you. This congressional deadlock has not only put me in an unpleasant mood, it has put my daughter at considerable risk. Now, Chief Smiley tells me you are good, and I believe him because if I didn’t, he wouldn’t work for me. You kids think the sun fucking rises on you—now’s the time to prove it. Bring her back. Are we clear?”

  “Yes, sir,” Vin heard himself say, his stomach twisting with equal parts excitement and fear.

  “Good, now get out,” Director Hay finished, taking Chief Smiley’s reading pane for himself.

  “Time to go,” murmured Chief Smiley, rising quickly.

  Stunned by the abrupt dismissal, Vin lingered in his chair. His wildest dream had just come true.

  Vin Damato was an inspector at the Time Travel Directorate.

  2

  Countess de la Motte stood with her good friend, the Duchess du Lac at her annual Parisian masquerade ball. They had ensconced themselves in a cozy corner to study the new crop of arrivals. As the richly dressed ladies sauntered by, waving their masks and laughing, the two women eagerly analyzed their outfits.

  “Terrible,” the Duchess commented at one, nudging her friend.

  Now in her forties, the Duchess held onto a considerable beauty. Her wig was decorated with sugared flowers, matching the papier-mâché mask she held in front of her. Her curved shoulders were on display in a daringly low-cut dress, the plump display stopping guests in their tracks.

  Her companion, the Countess de la Motte, wore a glittering silver gown. She had her blonde hair powdered with bits of gold flake. They floated down into her champagne as she began laughing, trying to hide her mirth as the Duchess smiled mischievously.

  Holding her silver mask to her face, the Countess, otherwise known as Inspector Kanon Hay, gazed upon the scene before her. Kanon built the identity of the Countess after arriving in Versailles and securing herself within Marie Antoinette’s inner circle. To do this, she utilized a toolkit from her sorority days—find the highest-ranking woman and make her like you. That person was the Duchess du Lac.

  The Duchess was a favorite of Marie Antoinette’s, and enjoyed making friends with up and coming ladies at the Versailles court. Kanon readily identified this, and placed herself in the Duchesses’ path with her conservative, yet tasteful court attire. What began with a few complements about clothing and accessories grew into a devoted friendship. From this illustrious perch, Kanon could keep an eye out for any time interlopers, while enjoying the lavish lifestyle of the Louis XVI court.

  Kanon turned to admire the sugared accessories in her friend’s hair.

  “Will you feed those to the puppies?” she asked.

  Painfully versed in the formalities of court life, Kanon had been careful to perfect her accent. Marie Antoinette was roundly criticized for her poor dialect, and Kanon did not have the convenient explanation of being an Austrian Archduchess to fall back on.

  The Duchess giggled in response.

  “I do love my dogs. Much more entertaining than any man and so much better to sleep with. They don’t snore and fuss like those brutes do.”

  Kanon acknowledged this with a nod, turning back to the woman they had been discussing. Raising an eyebrow, she ventured an opinion.

  “The bright blue is, perhaps, not the best color for a woman of her age.”

  “Cécile!” the Duchess cried, softening the exclamation by using Kanon’s pet name. “It matches the color of my gown exactly!”

  Kanon exploded in laughter. Teasing the Duchess was one of her favorite pastimes.

  “I need more punch—can I get the Duchess any?” she asked, still smiling over her little joke.

  “Non, dearest, I shall sit here in this corner thinking of how to get back at you!” the Duchess responded, swishing her mask at her.

  Kanon nodded at the challenge, moving towards the obscene spread of food and drink. Adapting to court life was easier than she imagined—however, there were drawbacks. Small in stature and petite to boot, Kanon eyed the rich food with a sigh. She needed to stay trim—denying herself the delights of French cuisine had become a matter of course.

  Turning towards the crystal punch bowl, Kanon paused, spotting a man cowering in the corner. He was dressed as a conquistador, his helmet and spear leaning against the wall. Kanon spotted a flash of white, quickly realizing he was not cowering—rather, he was fully embracing one of the Duchess’s young cousins, who had outfitted herself as the Greek goddess Diana. What’s more, she didn’t appear to be enjoying the embrace.

  Walking firmly towards him, Kanon grabbed the man by the shoulder. He must have been leaning at an awkward angle or Kanon’s grasp was firmer than she intended—he toppled over to one side while the young woman made her escape. Smelling alcohol on his breath, Kanon enlisted her filthiest French to make sure he knew her high rank, and the fact the woman was a cousin of the Duchess—their hostesses for the evening.

  The man looked at her queerly from under dark eyebrows—their color contrasting ominously with his pale skin and icy blue eyes. Slowly, he pulled himself up to full height, standing just over six feet.

  Now towering over Kanon, who only cleared five feet four and a bit, she slowly put the features together in her mind and arrived at a startling conclusion.

  Julius Arnold, a wanted time travel fugitive, was at the Duchesses’ masquerade ball.

  In shock, Kanon dropped the mask she held in front of her face. Julius looked at her carefully before taking her hand, giving it a wet kiss.

  “Countess de la Motte. You have no idea how long I have been waiting for this moment.”

  His voice was low and grating—Kanon felt her fingers prick with the intensity of his gaze.

  She quickly detached herself, mumbling an excuse as she fled. Finding the Duchess where she left her, Kanon attempted to throw herself back into the revelry of the ball. But as her heart regained its normal beat, she knew she had made a mistake in removing her mask. Not only was Julius Arnold in her restricted area, he knew who she was—for when he addressed her, he spoke in English.

  Her eyes scanned the party, locating several men dressed in conquistador costumes. They formed a neat circle around Julius, who gestured a few times at Kanon—his eyes locking with hers. After several charged moments, he turned towards the front of the large ballroom, exiting as quickly as he appeared.

  The Duchess tapped Kanon’s forearm gently.

  “Cécile, who is that? Another one of your secret lovers?”

  “Ha!” Kanon laughed hollowly. “No, my friend, just a visitor from far away.”

  “I have never seen him before, is he from England do you think? He is so tall—he might very well be a giant!”

  “I’m not sure, Duchess. Ah! But I am overextending myself, maybe I should rest a bit,” Kanon replied, feeling herself flush.

  I must warn headquarters immediately, she thought.

  “Be sure and come back, Cécile—Monsieur Pen has promised us fantastic stories of the Orient,” the Duchess said, squeezing Kanon’s arm in a kindly manner.

  Fighting to stay calm, Kanon murmured a response, departing directly for h
er suite. Weaving through the revelers, she freely admonished herself.

  Here it was, her first real piece of action and Julius Arnold had not only identified her, he had departed without a backward glance! It was frightening to see him so sure of himself—especially with so much at stake. Inspectors had authority to bring in wanted travel criminals dead or alive. Julius Arnold most certainly fell into this category. However, he had not looked overly concerned to see Kanon that evening. Quite the contrary, it was almost as if he was looking for her.

  After locking the door to her chambers, Kanon walked toward the ornate desk in her sitting room. Removing the web from its hiding space between her petticoats, she placed it gently on the desk—positioning its small reading pane in front of her. Wasting no time, she immediately dispatched a note to Central Computer. She kept it succinct, saying that she spotted Julius Arnold in her area of responsibility.

  After hitting the send button, she tapped her fingers on the table—sitting there for what seemed like hours.

  Checking the time, Kanon realized what a perfect storm embroiled the Directorate. Until that moment, she didn’t think much of the government shutdown, figuring she would have more time to party with the Duchess before assuming her official duties. Now, everything had changed. After alerting headquarters to one of the world’s most wanted time fugitives, she had effectively received a busy signal.

  Kanon spent the rest of the night reading more articles about the government shutdown and tossing in her bed. Lying awake for what seemed like an eternity, she finally gave up. With nothing to do, she paced the room, consumed with thoughts about her time in Versailles.

  Kanon enjoyed court life, perhaps a bit too much. Her routine consisted of strutting around with the Duchess, and enjoying close contact with the Queen. She knew her placement in this paradise was her father’s influence. He wanted her safe and protected. And now, having risen to the illustrious position of inspector and positioned in one of the most sought-after locations, Kanon realized she had peaked too early.

  She knew other inspectors did real work, building identity after identity in some of the most notorious time zones—each one more dangerous than the last. Alas, it was never Kanon’s intention to be the next celebrity inspector. However, it was blatantly obvious that the extravagance of court life had corrupted her. When real work interrupted, she didn’t know how to react.

  Exhausted, Kanon returned to bed, finally succumbing to sleep in the early morning hours.

  After rising the next morning and finding no new messages, there was nothing to do, but return to Versailles. With the coach piled high with fabrics, gifts and those treats one can only obtain in Paris, she set off for the journey home in the Duchess’ grand coach. The trip would take several days, hopefully enough time for Kanon to get a response from headquarters.

  They were barely out of Paris when the Duchess slipped into a slight doze. Though equally exhausted, Kanon could not sleep. She was alert and on edge, devoting her thoughts to what was going on at headquarters.

  Chief Smiley and her father were the only two essential employees working during the government shutdown—how could either let her down? Her only option would be to send another message, requesting endpoints to return as soon as possible. But Kanon could not use the web until she was completely alone. She would have to steal away later, during one of their stopovers.

  Kanon was listening to the Duchesses’ heavy breathing when the coach suddenly halted. Hearing sounds of another carriage drawing near, she realized the stop was unexpected.

  Robberies were not unheard of on the road to Versailles, but the aristocratic markings on the Duchess’ carriage had thus far prevented any serious attempt. Perhaps their luck had run out.

  Feeling a rush of fear, Kanon heard raised voices from outside the carriage, followed by a sickening crunch. This woke the Duchess, who sat upright, stammering in French.

  Moving to the door, Kanon threw it open, revealing their coachman lying face up, head neatly smashed in.

  The Duchess screamed, as several armed men pulled them from the carriage. Kanon kept silent, holding her friend while trying to look away from the ghastly remains of their loyal coachman.

  Blessedly, they did not search her garments. The web was safe, for now. They appeared to have other things on their minds, and Kanon and the Duchess watched helplessly as the thugs fell upon the carriage, removing jewels and rich furnishings with the relish of children searching for sweets. Kanon shuddered to think what they would have done if they did not find such items of value. She decided she would feel better if she did not think about it.

  After securing their plunder on an adjacent coach, they turned back to the women, huddled together on the roadside.

  “Get back in,” one snapped, clearly enjoying the sheer terror exhibited by his victims.

  Wordlessly, Kanon pulled the Duchess into the carriage, who turned to yell at their captors.

  “Who are you, what do you want!” the Duchess cried, as Kanon secured her inside.

  “Hush!” Kanon cried, trying to understand what was happening.

  This was no ordinary robbery. Their captors intended on abduction, perhaps for ransom. What could Kanon do to stop them? Dressed to the hilt in court attire, she could not fight, even if she knew how. Besides, she had gotten so fond of the Duchess, what would they do to her if she got away?

  “Oh, Cécile, what do these men want?” the Duchess wailed.

  Kanon felt like she was drowning—her breathing grew labored as the Duchess continued.

  “Do they want money? They do not tell us. We are not completely unprotected—do they know who we are?”

  “I am not sure, Duchess,” Kanon said, wracking her brain for any plausible action.

  She could send another message using her web, but doing so in front of the Duchess would surely threaten Standard D—the sensitive regulator of all time travel. Such an act might save her own skin, but could put future lives in peril due to its unintended consequences. Besides, every inspector took an oath never to reveal the web, or any future event. Kanon looked grimly upon her options, all of which lead to her certain demise.

  “This is an outrage—they do not know who they are dealing with!” the Duchess complained loudly.

  The coach lurched forward, making a semi-circle. It could only mean one thing—they were returning Paris. Kanon’s heart thudded in her chest, as she understood how badly she misjudged the situation. She did not take Julius’ impromptu meeting to heart. It was clear he was behind her current dilemma.

  What on earth was he planning?

  Eyes glued to the window, Kanon watched as they entered the city limits, rumbling towards the public square of the Place De la Concorde. Straining to look, she thought she recognized an object in the square—something large.

  Pushing the Duchess out of the way, she got a closer look. A wooden platform loomed before them. On top of it, a tall object rose like a beacon—its glittering razor ominously situated. Swallowing hard, Kanon looked on in dismay.

  Julius Arnold had erected the guillotine.

  He must have been manipulating the past for quite some time, creating a powerful identity. Kanon admonished herself for positioning her identity too close to the French revolution. She would soon pay the price, as Julius clearly intended to begin the bloodbath of the terror.

  Sitting very still, Kanon listened to the slow sobs of the Duchess.

  “What will they do with us, Cécile?” she asked, gripping Kanon by the arm.

  “I do not know, Duchess—let us try not to worry about it. As you said, we are not totally unprotected.”

  “Do they know who we are?” the Duchess asked frantically, as the carriage moved past the square.

  “Where are they taking us?” Kanon asked, as they proceeded to the west end of the city.

  “It is the Conciergerie,” The Duchess indicated, pointing as they approached the castle-like structure.

  “So it is,” Kanon responded, watc
hing as the carriage ground to a halt. “We don’t even get a trial,” she finished, her breath catching.

  “A trial? What are we accused of!” the Duchess cried, nearing hysteria.

  Kanon didn’t respond, knowing the ancient prison from her history book. This is where they would be held, until the guillotine was ready for them.

  “Why would they bring us to the square first?” she asked aloud, to which the Duchess responded, hyperventilating.

  “They wanted us to see our fate, so we are consumed with fear. Oh! Cécile! Why is this happening? Is there no justice? We have done nothing wrong!”

  Just as the Duchess’s anxiety reached its peak, the carriage door flew open. The Duchess gave a little screech as their captors pulled her from the carriage. Kanon followed next, not uttering a word as they were led to a large courtyard.

  The immense stone structure of the Conciergerie loomed before them. Moving like trained marines, their captors led them into the prison, forcing them into the bowels of the medieval dungeon.

  They were hastily shackled, before being forced into adjacent cells.

  Kanon fell in a heap on the stone floor. Finding her way to the door, she whispered through the keyhole.

  “Duchess,” Kanon hissed.

  She heard a whimper in response.

  “Don’t lose hope! I shall find a way out of this!”

  Pushing away from the door, Kanon removed her web.

  Frantically, she checked for any messages, before sending several desperate missives—ending with the most direct.

  Help!

  She waited, hands trembling in fear.

  There was no response from Central Computer, which meant no one was coming for her. It was as if someone had shut down the Directorate, leaving the inspectors in the field to perish in time.

  3

  “What happens now?” Vin asked, speaking quickly as his mind ran through various different scenarios. “I mean do I leave immediately, where do I look for her? What . . . ” he trailed off, as Chief Smiley walked directly past him, clearly not interested in answering his questions.