After the Storm (10 page)

decided. Until the outlaw showed up and spoiled—

She smiled into the darkness and scratched and patted the anxious dogs. "It's okay, Luke, Leia. I'm fine. And it wasn't a dream. It was a dream, but it was also another memory. I remember when the sensors broke down—only it wasn't Bastien that showed up, of course." The outlaw's sudden appearance had definitely been her subconscious's way of trotting out yesterday's traumatic events for examination. "So it was partially a dream. I remember the yurt and the sensor failure and that someone was supposed to show up to fix it." And why did she keep remembering things that happened to her in Mongolia?

She pushed off the warm cocoon of the sleeping bag and got to her feet, not with any help from Luke and Leia. In fact, it took a great deal of effort not to trip over the big, affectionate animals as she struggled into a pair of canvas shoes and pulled a long sweatshirt on over the underdress she'd slept in. She hadn't brought the deerhounds with her from Passfair; following her the few miles to Lilydrake had been their idea. They seemed to have gotten used to the sleeping arrangement they'd developed with her at Passfair and weren't about to give it up. They accompanied her now as she made her way outside.

The hall was a burned ruin, and all the outbuildings were in equally bad condition. The thatched roofs had gone up in smoke, their wattle and daub walls had disintegrated in the winter weather. The castle's wooden outer wall had been breached and the inner gate was gone. All that remained standing were the interior defensive walls and two towers. One tower stood next to the empty gate, the second in the center of the bailey. The destroyed wooden hall had been connected to the tower. When the hall had burned the three-story stone tower had remained, but not in very good condition. Ed and foe had settled in on the tower's top floor, even though it lacked a roof. She and Marj had each claimed closet-sized quarters on the second floor. Fortunately for the horses the paddock Sizemore, Susan - After the Storm

fence had been easy to repair and the paddock itself was full of sweet, spring grass.

She picked her way carefully down the narrow, twisting staircase with the help of the beam of a flashlight and no help at all from the dogs. Once outside she found that dawn was pushing its way up the sky and that it was actually warmer outside than in. The thick stone walls held the darkness and the chill very well.

Ed and Joe were already up, sitting by a small cook-fire near the tower entrance.

She went to sit with them the instant the smell of fresh coffee reached her.

"Thank God for a few amenities at last. Thanks," she said as Joe handed her an earthenware cup full of strong black coffee.

Joe Lario was a strong-featured, muscular man with a bald spot and artist's hands. Ed Feldshuh was shorter and rounder than Joe, puckish and playful. She had no idea how long she had known them, or how well, but she liked them in the here and now. She and Joe exchanged looks over the tops of their coffee cups.

"Remember anything?" they asked each other.

Libby looked around at the stone walls tinged with gray shadow and pink sunlight. "I remember how this place looked when I was a kid. And Mongolia. I keep getting images from about three or four years ago. I guess that's a start. You guys remember anything?"

"The place does look familiar," Ed said. "I think that's a good sign."

"I think the closer we were to ground zero the worse the effects," Ed suggested.

Libby felt a chill go through her despite the fire and the warm sweatshirt.

"Ground zero? That's a grim way of putting it."

"People did die, Libby," Ed said. "Just because we don't remember them doesn't change how bad the accident was. Joe and I were luckier than you were. We weren't so close, so we didn't get as badly hurt. The aftereffects have faded, but I Sizemore, Susan - After the Storm

still want to know what happened."

Joe tossed the last few drops from his cup into the fire. As the liquid sizzled away on the hot wood he sighed and said, "I want to remember those people, so I can mourn them."

She shivered again as a knot of anguish tightened in her stomach. Though the day was growing bright with morning sunlight and the fire was a heated glow before her, her world was going dark around the edges. Ghosts of people she couldn't recall lurked in that darkness.

"I wonder what their names were?" Ed asked.

She shook her head, or would have if a wave of dizziness hadn't stopped her. She got the impression of a crowd of frightened people filling the courtyard. The images were all twisted and distorted. She could tell that the people were all dressed in medieval clothing, but she couldn't make out any faces. "Locals?" she questioned. "Were there locals here that day?"

"Maybe," Joe said. "I don't
know
, but my instincts tell me that we weren't alone."

"The one thing I remember clearly," Ed said, "is going up to the top of the outer wall to check the holographic programs." foe stood up and slowly turned, studying the bare stone of the outer wall. "That's right, the program had gone down. All the simulated images of guards and castle folk had disappeared."

Libby nodded. "Yes. But there were villagers or a group of pilgrims, or something, who wanted in." She pointed at the empty gate as confused impressions crowded into her brain. "There were some people who shouldn't have been here. At the gate—there was a woman—and I—" Her head was beginning to hurt. She closed her eyes, hoping to bring the distorted images into focus, but all she got was blackness and dizziness instead. "Damn," she said, helpless to stop what was coming, and passed out.

Sizemore, Susan - After the Storm

"Well," Marj said when she opened her eyes, "that was an exciting little adventure. Fortunately Ed and Joe were able to put you out before you went completely up in smoke."

Libby had no idea what the woman was talking about. Then she smelled burnt cloth. "I fell into the fire?"

"You fell into the fire."

Libby sat up slowly, and got enthusiastically licked in the face for her trouble.

After she'd pushed the dogs away she looked around to discover that she was back in her room, lying on her bedding. Somebody must have carried her inside.

She would have preferred being outdoors to the dim, musty dampness of the tower. She was distinctly uncomfortable with the dark closeness of medieval buildings. She stood up and stretched and said, "Oh, boy. Must have been the coffee."

"Yeah. Right," was Marj's caustic reply to her lame joke. She planted herself in front of Libby, with her hands on her hips. "You three were gossiping about the accident, weren't you?"

Marj's worried tone grated on Libby's nerves. She took a few steps toward the doorway, wanting to get out. "Yeah. So?"

"So, how many times have you been warned to take this whole thing slowly and carefully and not try to force the memories back?"

She gave Marj a hug. "I bet that if the stupid TDD project hadn't been so secret the shrinks wouldn't have been so close-mouthed about telling us what we don't know." She laughed again. "I bet the shrinks don't even know what was going on, and Dad wouldn't tell them. You've no idea how tight he keeps Time Search security."

"Oh, yes I do. I feel like I'm walking around blindfolded."

Sizemore, Susan - After the Storm

"He'd keep it all in the family if he could."

"I bet. Libby, honey," Marj added worriedly, "will you please take the rest of the day off from trying to get your memory back? You gave me one hell of a scare a few minutes ago."

Libby touched her temples. "I've got quite a headache," she admitted. It's worth the pain, she added to herself. She felt a little tired and a lot scared, but hopeful as well. As disjointed as they were, the memories were stirring. She was willing to ride the pain and confusion down the long, dark tunnel of her missing past.

She'd do anything she had to to reach light and understanding at the end. "You're right," she said to the historian. "I won't push it any farther today. Today," she added with a smile, "I have an outlaw to go after."

Marj looked like she was going to protest, then after a few thoughtful seconds said, "Well, that is the research you're supposed to be doing. I assume that after yesterday you've lost all interest in Sikes?"

Libby brushed her fingers across the already healing cut on her throat. The image of a green-eyed brigand filled her mind. "Oh, yes."

"And just how are you going to track this Bastien down?"

Libby went to the pack she'd left sitting next to her bedding. She pulled out a pale yellow kirtle, a belt decorated with jewels and gold filigree medallions, a white silk veil, and Bastien's dagger. She held the dagger up in one hand and the belt in the other to show Marj. "There's enough miniaturized sensor equipment in the belt to track the man down over a hundred-square-mile area. After it gets enough readings off something he's been in contact with, that is. It's been taking readings from his dagger quite long enough."

"Ah, an electronic bloodhound," Marj said as she took the belt to examine.

"What a clever family you Wolfes are."

Sizemore, Susan - After the Storm

"Yes," Libby agreed.

But a Wolfe hadn't developed the sensing equipment, she recalled even as she answered Marj. Not a Wolfe, but—. The memory slipped away before she could grab it. She couldn't recall who had once proudly handed the gold belt to her, and she had a sudden, bone-deep certainty that she should.

He'd had a wife once, Bastien knew, and she died at Lilydrake. That was all he did know. He lay in the darkness of his hut and tried to capture some old truth as he came fully awake. Confusion was all he got for his efforts, and a dull fading throb from the headache. He'd dreamed through a night of pain and hunted through his dreams for the answers that never came. Now he was awake, alone on a narrow pallet in a hut that bore no resemblance to a home, and he still didn't have his wife.

"I can't remember her face."

"I know, lad," Cynric spoke out of the hut's darkness. "I've heard it before."

The old man sometimes watched over him when he slept. It was meant kindly, so Bastien didn't reach for his dagger to emphasize that he'd rather be alone. He couldn't reach for his dagger anyway, he recalled. She'd knocked it out of his hand. For some foolish reason he found himself smiling at the memory of those last desperate seconds spent in Isabeau's company.

Lady
Isabeau, he reminded himself bitterly as thoughts of yesterday replaced the unknown past in his mind. Isabeau was the Lady of Lilydrake. Lady Isabeau of the strong, clever hands, and odd, hard-to-understand way with the Norman's language. He had no reason to smile at anything any of that noble household did.

It was their fault. Her fault even if she had never set foot in her father's castle before it was destroyed.

He sat up and ran his hands through his tangled hair. The pain and the dreams Sizemore, Susan - After the Storm

had left him sticky with sweat. "I need a wash."

"And some new weapons," the old man added. He shoved a sheathed dagger and an oak quarterstaff toward Bastien. "Don't know why you won't use a sword, lad."

Because he didn't know how to use one, Bastien admitted to himself. "I'm no nobleman trained to fight other noblemen."

"I'm no nobleman either, lad, but I'm good enough with a sword."

"You were a castle guard."

"Before I was turned out for being too old to fight." Cynric cackled. "I've shown

'em who's too old to fight. I've trained many an outlawed peasant to use a sword," he reminded Bastien. "You'd be easy to teach, as good as you are with every other weapon that comes to your hand."

Bastien shook his head. "A bow, a staff and a dagger's all I need." He unsheathed the blade Cynric had brought him. The hilt was finer than he would have chosen for himself, made of carved ivory and studded with jewels, but the double-edged blade was serviceable enough. "Who'd we steal this from?" he wondered.

"A bishop, I think. Hardly a proper toy for a churchman to be carrying."

"I remember him," Bastien said as he got to his feet. "The forests are full of thieves. Even churchmen need to be prepared for battle when they travel. This one wasn't prepared enough." The roof of the hut was too low for him to stand completely upright, so he went past Cynric to stand outside and stretch. When the old man followed him out he said, "I'm going to the stream to bathe. Have the men assembled for a little chat when I get back."

After a bit of consideration, Libby had decided that the yellow dress wasn't suitable attire for surveillance work. So she'd changed into a camouflage jumpsuit made of material that automatically changed colors to match any Sizemore, Susan - After the Storm

background. She'd brought as much gear from her own time as she could requisition for her outlaw observing purposes. A matching hat covered her hair, while a little judiciously applied dirt on her face and hands served to complete the ensemble.

Marj and the men were back at the castle, and she was up in a tree across a stream from the outlaw camp, a pair of powerful but very miniature binoculars held up to her eyes. The tracking equipment from the belt was stuffed into a voluminous hip pocket, unused at the moment, because she had slipped unseen past several sentries and found her quarry.

He looked like he was getting ready to take a bath.

She'd spotted him as soon as he emerged from a shaky looking stick structure that she didn't quite want to dignify with the term hovel. She'd watched him look around the campsite, and even from a distance she'd noted the disapproving look on his sharp, raptor's face. When he'd started walking in her direction she'd nearly jumped out of her tree and ran for it. She'd relaxed slightly when he stepped off the main path and headed for a pool in the stream that was shaded by a gigantic willow tree. A new tension that was more anticipation than fear filled her as he reached for the string that fastened his tunic at the neck.

Libby let herself look at Bastien of Bale while he took off his overtunic, but then she trained the binoculars toward the huts in the nearby clearing. She had come here
not
to play voyeur, but to work. Besides, she'd already been clutched to his nicely furry chest and didn't need to take a look at it again. And she had no intention of looking any lower than his chest. She wasn't that sort of woman. At least she had no recollection of being that sort of woman, though she had to admit there was a certain temptation. She took a deep breath, forced the glasses to hold steady on the distance, and concentrated on her work as she heard him splash into the water not too far away.