Chronometer Brotherhood
by Floyd Looney
“What be you goin' on about now, eh?”
The old man with few teeth asked the hag of a woman whose hair poked
out under a cloth cap like straw. Both dressed in dirty rags like
everyone else in this fetid city.
“I
seen it!” She insisted, with a hiss and wide eyes as if she had
seen an apparition.
“You're
making it up. Dreamin, I'd say,” the man told her. He looked back
and forth to see if anyone else was out and about and saw hardly a
soul, no one else paid them any mind. He almost made a start at
seeing a dead horse farther up the block.
“No,
I seen it. I saw a room with lights and buttons...” She was saying,
the man grabbed her arms roughly and pulled her inside the shack.
“Now
you listen, witch,” he told her, “Don't you be spreadin' these
stories, you hear? They
be the dragon people, you never talk about the dragon people. They
know if you talk about them, they'll find you and make you
disappear.”
The
womans face bunched up into a hideous smile, “I not care if I
dis-pear. Life ain't worth nothing no way. If'n you want me to not
talk, you gives me food!”
Dorgan
closed his eyes and sighed. Sure, he could give her some spuds and
maybe a couple turnips but she'd only be back for more in a couple
days. The old bat didn't know nothing about the Brotherhood, but she
had seen something she shouldn't have. Eventually, she was going to
have to be put out of action.
Just not today.
“I give you some food, you forget
about the lights and the dragon people. If you be telling anyone,
they take your life away,” Dorgan told her, she didn't care. She
was just wanting the food, it was hard to come by these days.
He grabbed some spuds, turnips and an
ear of corn from the cupboard. Dorgan watched her stuff everything in
her pockets. She seemed happy as a clam. That night she would make a
stew of it and eat her fill. Dorgan pitied her, times were hard for
everyone, but it didn't make anything easier.
“Just don't be looking happy when you
leave! You'd be robbed before you walk to corner,” he told her as
he untied the rope and pulled the door open for her. After she left
he tied it up again. Then he went back to the kitchen and opened
another small door near the cupboard. It had a combination lock, he
set in the numbers and pulled it open.
Inside there was a ladder that went
down. He climbed down the forty rungs to the bottom and turned
directly around toward the only door that wasn't impending death. It
was barely lit, but there were eight doors all around the tiny
chamber. Only one wouldn't kill you.
He pulled it open and found himself in
the antechamber and needed a different code for the door he found
there. After he punched it in, he opened it and entered the hive.
There were six members of the Brotherhood at the display units, one
of them looked up.
“Dorgan, you could have just slit her
throat and been done with it,” The clean-shaven younger man said
with a grin, “You might have to do it in a few days anyway.”
“We won't miss a few potatoes.”
The man laughed, “Of course not. Now
get out of those stinking rags and get in uniform, we have a meeting
soon about the situation in London. It seems one of the little
princes is about to be killed in an attempted regicide by an uncle
seeking the throne.”
Dorgan shook his head. “Can we fix
it? If we save the boys life,
does he grow up to kill his brother for the throne?”
The
young man shrugged, “Not my call. Whatever makes more future
profit, I guess.”
The conference room was full of blue
short-sleeves and white name-tags. Dorgan was the oldest one present,
his job as Topside Liaison brought him into contact with outsiders,
where age brought a certain amount of respect.
“Prince Hubert, brother of the King
who is about to kick the bucket, is going to make a play for the
throne as soon as the death is confirmed. He has one of his loyal
swords working in the royal dining room, this man is instructed to
kill Prince James and Prince Charles at the signal,” The mid-30's
Chief told those gathered, a large screen behind him had images of
the people he named, or “players” as the Brotherhood called them.
“We know that he'll have time to kill
only one and that he kills Charles in most of the time-lines that we
have surveyed. Which normally leads to King James who almost always
rules pretty wisely, but not always. This time we want to try
something new. Instead of seeing James killed, which never worked
well, we want to see both boys survive.”
The people around the room muttered to
each other and some people were nodding their heads.
The man opened a folder, “I think it
would be best to send Lester to work at the castle, we have an “in”
of course. Lester is trained in sword fighting and since he knows
what is about to happen, he can get the drop on Hubert's assassin and
pin the blame on Hubert as well.”
Lester hadn't been topside before.
Dorgan stood up, “Isn't he a bit green to be sent on such an
assignment?”
The
Chief nodded slightly, “Well, that is true, and we have recognized
that. This is why we aren't sending him alone.”
Dorgan
didn't like where that was going.
“Which
is why you are going with him.”
And
there it was. What rotten luck. Dorgan wished to spend as little time
up top as necessary but now he would be away for an extended amount
of time. This was not a good thing, the longer you were outside of
the stasis, the harder it was to get back in.
The
King was ill and the retinue and courtiers were waiting hand and foot
for their ailing master, while gossiping about the future. Very few
paid attention to the boys who were woken, dressed and escorted
downstairs by their personal attendants.
“Good
morning Charles,” A sunny James told his brother as they entered,
seeing each other for the first time since the previous breakfast.
“Hello,
James.” Charles answered. Both boys were worried about their
father, the King, but Charles was having a harder time putting up a
brave face. Dorgan could tell from all the way across the room as he
started stirring the porridge again. Several other servants scuttled
about, and there was Lester near the window in a ridiculous uniform
with frills about the neck, Dorgan thought it looked clownish.
Suddenly
there was a shout upstairs and the sound of a breaking vase. One of
the guards moved away from the door and strode quickly toward the
boys who were still surprised by the noises, thinking it had to do
with their father. The guard pulled out his sword as he walked, then
Lester did the same moving from the other direction.
“Get
down!” Dorgan shouted and both boys suddenly became alert and
climbed under the table just as Lester and the guard swung their
swords at each other. It was Lester who took the brunt and lost his
balance, then the other man took advantage and slashed Lester on his
sword arm at the shoulder, causing him to drop his sword.
“Stop!”
Dorgan shouted and threw a container of hot porridge at the
swordsman, which hit him in the face as he looked for its source. The
hot stew burned him too and he screamed as he dropped the sword to
try and wipe it off of his skin. Dorgan swiftly moved and shoved a
large knife into the mans gut, upward toward the vital organs.
The
man collapsed and Dorgan helped him fall slowly and soon laid the
body on the floor.
Young
James and Charles, still preteens were out from under the table when
many of the courtiers and servants ran into the dining hall.
“Oh,
good heavens!” A school-marmish woman yelled and ran to the boys.
“What
happened here?” An officer in the royal guards demanded.
“That
man on the floor attacked us, these men saved our lives,” Young
James told everyone. Lester! Dorgan moved to where he was lying
against the wall cradling his bloody right arm.
“This
man is injured, he needs help.”
Several
servants swarmed over and carried Lester away.
“That
assassin was working for Prince Hubert,” Dorgan told them, “I've
seen them together.”
Then
James and Charles got a good look at the dead man, “It's Taro!
That's Prince Huberts right-hand man!”
The
newly crowned King James declared Dorgan as “Savior-Protector”
which came with a weighty medal around his neck and a pension of 20
pound a year. The King also asked Dorgan to stay, to act as a
surrogate father. Prince Hubert, who should have fulfilled such a
role, was set to be executed the next morning.
“You,
as Regent, can help rule the kingdom until I'm old enough!” The boy
told him.
“Me?”
Dorgan asked. He was going to reject the offer, he had to really, but
he saw a look swiftly cross Charles' face and vanish. Something about
that fleeting face made him think about it.
“If
I may be of service, your majesty, I will do as asked. I do not know
how long I can remain in your service, but I shall obey.” He said,
kneeling.
“Splendid!”
The boy king said, cheerily.
Dorgan
had sent Lester back to the Brotherhood. There had to be some way to
fix this, he didn't want to spend too much time away from Stasis. He
was too old for this stuff and what did he know about being Regent
anyway?
“Parliament
will approve, I think,” said one of the King's officers, then to
Dorgan, “I'll have some documents for you to look at before the sun
sets, Lord Regent. Do you wish to witness the execution of Prince
Hubert?”
“Not
particularly. No. Unless it's one of my new duties, of course.”
Lester
had one message for the Brotherhood, “Get me out of this mess.”
----
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