Child of Time Read online

  The three of them sat together around the campfire, waiting. Honoré had already tried to look deep into Maria's timeline, but to no avail. She wasn't as closed a book to him as Emily was, by any means, but neither was she easy to decipher. Her timesnake was a twisted, complex thing that he couldn't unravel. It warped and bifurcated, allowing him nothing but brief snapshots of her history. Her bones had shown a much clearer progression of her life. Perhaps, he mused, because at that point it had already ended.

  When the time came, they were ready. The air around them filled with a charge of blue light. To Honoré, Maria looked beautiful, wrapped in a halo of energy, a web of prickling light. She blossomed, suddenly, her timeline opening up like a vortex, a clear path to navigate through hundreds of years. He grabbed for Emily's hand, clutched it tightly and prayed that they weren't heading straight into yet more danger.

  The Children of Venice

  Venice 1586

  1

  Dawn was breaking as the three travellers arrived in Venice. The streets were alive with activity; people bustling on the jetties to buy passage on the boats and street traders haggling with patrons over trinkets and food. Birds wheeled high overhead, and below, the canals lapped at the sides of the walkways with a mesmerising rhythm. Tall buildings seemed to rise from the water like stone monoliths, but were dappled with windows and archways and little doors, balconies adorned with fresh flowers and smiling faces. It would have been almost idyllic if it hadn't been for the stench; the constant heat had caused the foetid water to fester, giving rise to a rotten, sulphuric reek that seemed to permeate the city.

  Honoré, Emily and Maria found themselves standing on a bridge. Honoré, a little disorientated, grasped hold of the railing, trying to steady himself. He looked out over the canal, which stretched away from him in both directions. Boats – multitudes of gondolas – glided gracefully across the surface of the water, passengers sinking back into their heaps of perfumed cushions, enjoying the sun. The stink didn't seem to bother them in the slightest, whereas Honoré could quite easily have vomited his entire breakfast over the edge.

  The richer Venetians were dressed in colourful finery, while in contrast the street vendors and peasants were attired mostly in rags. Emily and Maria looked only a little out of place in their black coveralls and combat trousers, but Honoré, dressed in his leather coat and hat, couldn't have been more conspicuous. Thankfully, the locals seemed entirely engrossed in their own business, and nobody paid them the

  slightest bit of attention.

  Maria put her hand on Honoré's shoulder. She looked radiant, as if the return to her own time period was enough to revitalise her, to endow her with strength. Either that, or seeing her in the daylight for the first time, he was struck by her strange, arcane beauty. He knew Emily didn't appreciate it quite as much as he did – and, to be fair, he could see her point – but he just couldn't help looking at her, seeing how the runes on her face seemed to glow and sparkle in the sunlight.

  She grinned under his dazed scrutiny. 'Come on, we can't stay here. Someone might spot us. I've got somewhere we can go.'

  She led them across the canal bridge and down onto a busy street. Dodging traders, who appeared to be setting up a small market, they wound their way through the crowd and out into a small square on the other side of the water. It was noisy and bustling with people. Children were chasing a small dog by a tree, teasing it with a piece of meat. It yapped loudly, running in circles, causing passers-by to smile and wave. The young girl, who must have been its keeper, finally gave in and dropped the meat to the ground. The dog busied itself grubbing around in the dust, while the other children clapped and cheered. The girl tried to wipe her hands clean on her dirty knees.

  On the far side of the square, an old man was welcoming people into a chapel, herding them through the doorway like sheep, his wizened face friendly and warm. But Honoré was still feeling dizzy from the journey, and the putrid stench of the canal was making his head spin. He stumbled, missing his footing and trying desperately not to fall over. It was Emily who rushed to his side and caught hold of him, taking his weight, and he held onto her gratefully as Maria guided them into a small lane around the back of one of the houses. Here Emily was able to prop him up against the wall, and he could hear her gasping for breath at the exertion.

  He closed his eyes while the world continued to spin all around him, with its gaudy harlequin colours. Someone was singing in the distance and he wished they'd stop, as the nausea was rising now, threatening to take control. Through narrowed eyes, he saw Maria, scuffing her feet on the dusty flagstones and looking at him curiously.

  'Does it usually have this effect on him?'

  'Pretty much,' Emily shrugged. 'Me too. Although perhaps having you along made a difference this time. I feel fine.'

  Definitely Emily. He smiled to himself, touched by her concern. 'I'll be fine in a moment. It's just the smell of this place.'

  'What smell?' Maria seemed genuinely puzzled. 'Come on, if we each take an arm we'll be much quicker.' She heaved Honoré's right arm up over her shoulder, and Emily took his left. 'It's not far.'

  A few more corners and they were in a maze of narrow cobbled streets with open gutters running down the middle that did nothing to alleviate the smell. Maria moved like a cat navigating its territory, confidently finding her way through the warren and finally stopping outside a small building that nestled amongst a row of other, similar houses in an alley that was so narrow, the first storey overhanging windows on either side practically touched each other. As Honoré looked up, trying in vain to find the sky up there somewhere, he could see washing lines hung between the buildings, sheets draped across the gap like giant sails on delicate wooden spars. It was claustrophobically suffocating, the billowing laundry restricting what little breeze there was and trapping the canal stink securely between the buildings.

  He leaned back against dirty plaster, fanning his face with his hat, and tried not to look down at the gutters. He had to admit that this was probably as safe as safe-houses could get, and he had no idea how he'd ever find his way back out to civilisation.

  Maria produced a key from her combats and the old wooden door creaked alarmingly as it swung open. There was a scent of cinnamon and spices from within – anything to compete with the stench of the open sewers would be a blessing – and Honoré didn't need inviting through into the cool dark interior. He exhaled noisily, realising he'd been holding his breath outside, and was about to take a lungful of hopefully cleaner air when it was knocked out of him completely as he landed on his back on the stone flags. There was a small wiry man on top of him, attacking him, and he just didn't have the energy to fight.

  'Roberto! Stop it! Leave him be!'

  Honoré's assailant froze at Maria's voice and clambered off him sheepishly, but he wasn't backing down, even as he retreated into a corner fingering his moustache with one hand while warding the intruders off with the other.

  Honoré's eyes adjusted to the gloom while he remained lying on the cool flagstones. He was in no hurry to get up – the air was definitely clearer down here. The room was tiny, over-furnished, with a table, a fireplace and a number of chairs. A small bookcase leaned up against one wall, and an old tapestry hung crookedly on another. The rug the others were standing on was good quality, but old; the once-deep colour had now faded to a washed-out red. Aside from the spicy scent, there was a musty odour that suggested the house was mostly unused, unlived in. It was a bolt-hole, Maria's safe-house in a city teeming with millions of people and nobody to trust.

  Honoré was lying on the only unoccupied bit of floor, and he pulled himself up to his feet, holding onto the edge of the table for support. Maria was still stood in the doorway to the street and his attacker was edging towards the other door that led deeper into the house. Honoré gave him a look and he raised his fists in retaliation, obviously prepared to defend his territory to the death.

  Maria stepped between them, putting her hand on Honor
é's chest. She looked him in the eye. 'Honoré. Roberto is an old friend of mine.'

  The short, wiry man nodded enthusiastically at this, his dark hair bobbing with the gesture.

  Honoré looked down at the hand splayed out on his chest. 'Then why did he attack me as soon as I stepped through the door?' He glared over her shoulder at the smaller man, who was blinking nervously as if someone were shining a bright light in his eyes.

  Emily stepped in. 'Honoré? He was just defending his friend's house.'

  Maria removed her hand, a fraction of a second before Honoré did it for her. 'Actually, his motives were probably not as selfless as that,' she said lightly. 'More than likely he assumed you were the police.' She turned to Roberto and smiled. 'I'm right, aren't I, Roberto? What have you been up to while I've been gone?'

  Roberto was twitching again, uncomfortable. 'It's happening,' he muttered, before clamping his lips closed once more.

  'Happening? What's happening?' asked Maria.

  Roberto continued to peer warily at Honoré and Emily. Maria sighed. 'Excuse me,' she said, and steered her friend off through the archway and deeper into the house. Honoré and Emily looked at each other and then, in unison, smiled.

  Emily spoke first: 'So, that's not too bad then for one day... We've found a body, travelled into the far future, met a woman who can't exist, and then travelled with her back to Venice in the past... Wonder what we can get up to after lunch?'

  Honoré wandered around the room, trailing one hand across the various pieces of furniture. These were antiques even in this time. He was worried about the future, about what was to come, but intrigued as to how this whole jigsaw puzzle fitted together. Then he looked at Emily, his Emily, back travelling with him again and as bright and enthusiastic as ever, and he knew he didn't want to be anywhere else.

  Maria returned carrying a tray with three cups of steaming liquid. Roberto followed, pulling on his cloak. He grinned at the pair of strangers, scooted over to the door, pulled it open and vanished out into the streets.

  'Tea,' announced Maria. 'To calm ourselves.'

  'Where's he gone?' asked Honoré, gesturing at the door.

  'Roberto has gone on an errand for me,' said Maria. 'Seems that since I was last here, events have escalated, and now the talk is all of a masked ball taking place soon. Roberto has gone to see what he can discover from his... contacts... about what is happening, where and when. He may be a little simple, but he's loyal and has a network of informants to

  rival that of the King.'

  'What was all that about when we arrived?' asked Emily, sitting down beside Maria and taking a cup.

  'Oh, he's jumpy. He's always been jumpy.' Maria took a sip of tea. 'He's a thief you see, and his first instinct is to flee, and his second to attack... When you entered the room, there was nowhere to flee...'

  '... so he attacked,' finished Emily with a smile. 'Good thing it was you, Honoré... Someone could have been hurt.'

  Honoré shot Emily a look and pursed his lips.

  'Sit down, Honoré. Have some tea. I'm only joking.'

  He sat facing them. 'How long do we wait?' he asked.

  Maria made more tea, not sure what else to do. Had it been a mistake bringing Honoré and the girl back here? She still wasn't convinced that the girl – Emily? – wasn't one of the Sodality's agents; and if she was, then Maria had probably just invited death into her home. If you could call this place a home. She could barely remember her first home, or her parents; she could just picture a low, whitewashed farmhouse, with olive trees outside and goats grazing beneath them, but her parents were shadowy, faceless figures, and she didn't even know if they were still alive. She'd come across this little place by accident – the mother of one of the guards who'd befriended her had lived here and taken her in when she'd escaped. It had cost him his life.

  But the visitors were the first people she'd talked to – really talked to – in such a long time. It couldn't be wrong to want company, could it? She was lonely. And if they really could stop the Sodality, then perhaps some of it was worthwhile.

  She took the tea back into the tiny front room. Emily and Honoré were deep in conversation and stopped as she entered. She wondered if they'd ever trust her enough to tell her everything.

  Placing the tray on the table, she busied herself with clearing away the used cups, then stopped, hearing footsteps outside. The front door opened, and Roberto came in, hustling another man ahead of him. The newcomer was dressed somewhat more expensively than Roberto and carried himself in the manner of someone used to doing business with strangers.

  Honoré and Emily both stood up nervously as the pair entered. Maria saw their discomfort and smiled. 'It's all right – this is Marco, one of Roberto's contacts.'

  She walked to Marco and greeted him, kissing him on both cheeks. 'Welcome, Marco, and thank you for coming at such short notice.'

  Marco smiled at her. 'Maria. You are as lovely as ever.' He gently brushed her cheek with his fingertips. 'Despite what those devils did to you.' He strode across the room. 'And these are your new friends? Greetings to you as well.' He shook Honoré's hand firmly, and bowed briefly to Emily.

  'What news do you have, Marco?' asked Maria. 'I fear time may be short.'

  Marco frowned. 'Indeed, my dear. Only yesterday, I received a commission from the Comte Di Meglio. A lucrative proposition, but only if I could deliver on time...'

  As he spoke, Maria leaned across to Honoré and whispered that Marco ran a tailor's shop in the city and specialised in the making of masks and costumes for the frequent balls that were held by the city's gentry.

  '... one hundred masks, of the finest silk. But the strangest thing...' Marco leaned forward conspiratorially. 'They are all to be devil masks... evil visages... nothing fanciful or beauteous. All in dark colours: royal blues, scarlets and blacks... and with inlaid bone... Certainly not like the normal requests that I receive.'

  'When are these to be delivered?' asked Honoré.

  'Tomorrow night. No later. I have my boys working on them as we speak, creating these works of horror for the ball to end all balls.' Marco sniffed. 'They say... they say that this masque will be patronised by some very special visitors... the highest of the high... the Grand Master and the Chancellor of the Sodality themselves!'

  At mention of the Sodality, both Honoré and Emily stiffened, and Maria sensed the change in the atmosphere.

  'What more do you know, Marco?'

  Marco strode around the room, apparently oblivious to the effect his words were having. Roberto was cowering in the background, his weasel eyes flicking between Honoré, Emily and Maria as Marco spoke.

  'Well... there are the children...'

  'What about the children?'

  Marco seemed to be relishing every moment – it was obvious he considered himself something of a raconteur. 'The ones like you, my dear... The ones they take from the streets, because they are special...'

  'Special?' Emily could not help but echo the word. 'What do you mean, special?'

  'Ah, my dear, special in that they can make things happen. Why, only last week one of my boys saw a group of ragamuffins chase after one of these special children. He reported that after only a few paces, the pursuers became confused, lost sight of their quarry – though he was standing in plain view of them, looking at them with a quizzical smile on his face – and began to squabble among themselves about something nonsensical. At which, the child turned and walked away seemingly without a care in the world.'

  'It's true,' confirmed Maria. 'When I was first taken and held, the cells were full of these kids, some as young as eight or nine, all taken from the streets after they were seen or reported to be able to work miracles with their minds. Most were kept subdued by drugs mixed in with their broth, but occasionally I saw something extraordinary happen.'

  There'd been one time, she recalled, when she'd been taken back to her cell after a session with one of the experimenters and she'd seen a boy, maybe 12 years
old, walking out from one of the other rooms with a calm expression on his face. From inside the room there had come the sound of weeping, and as she had passed by, she had glanced in, and seen – something – on the floor. A pile of quivering flesh and protruding bone. And it had had eyes, and a small mouth inset in the flesh... She'd caught the gaze of the boy and – the way he'd looked at her... She'd known instantly. He'd done it. He'd been pushed so far that his mind had snapped and he'd exacted a form of revenge that she'd never thought possible... She'd often wondered what had become of him – and of what was left of his tormentor.

  She realised that she was shaking. The memories were as red raw as they had always been. Why couldn't she forget, the way she'd forgotten her early childhood? God knew, she'd tried for long enough.

  Emily was speaking, a dawning realisation in her voice. 'The children... Honoré, do you remember the children?'3