The Art of Stealing Time: A Time Thief Novel

“I wouldn’t call a bloodred sky brighter.” My attention was momentarily distracted by the fact that the sky was, in fact, deep, dark red and striped with dirty gray wisps of what I assumed were clouds. Smoke, thick and dark, wafted upward in long, lazy curls from some unknown—but nearby—source. Every now and then, a little rumble of thunder sounded in the distance, and twice my peripheral vision caught the sudden flash of lightning.

  There were no clouds in the sky.

  I took a deep breath, one of several that I had taken during the last ten minutes since we had been released from our prisons. We’d been given more water (which again was fresh and cold and almost sweet, it was so good), thick slabs of bread, a little pottery bowl of butter, and rough-cut slices of the best cheese I’d ever had. Three young-looking dogs who could have been siblings snuck in after breakfast was delivered and waited patiently outside my cell until I couldn’t stand their hopeful eyes any longer and handed over bites of bread and cheese. Two apples completed my food allotment, both of which I stuck in my hoodie pockets for later.

  Luckily, I’d just finished using what could only be described as a camping toilet, discreetly located in the corner and hidden behind a long blue curtain that was hung from the bars across the ceiling of the cell.

  “Say what you will about the accommodations,” Mom Two said as they settled in to their breakfast. I noticed somewhat jealously that they had also been given plump, juicy-looking grapes. “The food is delicious. Gwenny, don’t give those hounds any more cheese. It will give them wind. Is there more butter, Alice?”

  Mrs. Vanilla made happy little noises as she ate grapes.

  It was a good thing that we were all hungry, because we were given only a few minutes to eat before a new contingent of guards appeared and herded us out of our prisons.

  “Who exactly are we being taken to see?” I asked my guards. I noticed with irritation that I had two of them, while my mothers and Mrs. Vanilla had only one each. The morning sun glinted off the armor they wore, which appeared to be made of pale golden-plated pieces, bound together with mail of the same color. Men and women alike wore the armor, I was somewhat gratified to notice. At least wherever we’d ended up, women weren’t treated like inferior beings. “Hey, I asked you guys a question, and I expect an answer!”

  “Gwen, I don’t believe an antagonistic attitude is going to benefit us,” Mom Two cautioned from behind me.

  I could have told her that I was fully aware it wasn’t the way to make friends and influence people, but that, at the moment at least, wasn’t my goal. I wanted information, and if being obnoxious was the only way to get it, then I could be VERY obnoxious.

  “Dude,” I said, dragging my heels and jerking the guards on each of my arms to a halt. “I am not taking another step until someone tells me what’s going on!”

  The guards picked me up with a hand under each of my armpits and simply carried me forward.

  “Dammit!” I yelled, kicking my legs and trying to be as dead a weight as possible. “Put me down! Why the hell won’t you speak?”

  “They are not allowed to speak to spies,” a man answered. The guards stopped and set me down in front of him, which was at the opening of a purple-and-white-striped tent. The man was also in armor, although his had fancier bits of embossing and little round medallion plates on it. Obviously, he wasn’t just an ordinary soldier. Next to him, on the ground, lay an elderly version of the dogs who had hit me up for part of my breakfast. She lifted her head when the man spoke, her tail thumping on a dark purple rug.

  “We are not spies,” I said, straightening my clothing with exaggerated gestures. “I am an alchemist. My mothers are Wiccans. The old lady is just an old lady. She doesn’t talk much. Who are you?”

  “Your name?” the man asked, his long, mobile face not at all what I would have pictured as someone in charge of soldiers. He looked goofy, like a young Hugh Laurie pretending to be someone he wasn’t.

  “Gwen Owens.”

  “I’m Gwenny’s mother, Magdalena,” my mom said as she came forward. She gestured to the right. “This is my partner, Alice Hill. Mrs. Vanilla is our client.”

  The man bowed with a metallic rustle. “Colorado Jones.”

  I stared at him for a minute. “You mean like ‘Indiana Jones’ but with ‘Colorado’ instead?”

  He blinked somewhat vacant blue eyes at me. “I’m not acquainted with Sir Indiana, my lady. Is he with Lord Aaron’s army?”

  “OK,” I said after a moment’s pause, “I think for sanity’s sake we’re just going to let that go and move forward. Who do I speak to about this patently ridiculous claim that we’re spies? I don’t even know who we’re supposed to be spying against, or for, and why, but I can tell you that it’s all wrong. We just got to Anwyn about ten seconds before we were captured.”

  “You’re not spies?” the man asked (I made an effort to think of him by the name he’d given, but it was difficult). Relief flooded his face. He gestured toward the guards, dismissing them. “It’s all been a terrible mistake. I will inform Lady Holly that these damselles are here to help us, not harm us.”

  I started to protest, but my mother grabbed my arm and gave me a look that had me biting off the words. It was better to be thought a friend than a foe.

  “Witches are most welcome to Lord Ethan,” Colorado was telling my moms. “Most welcome. As for your compatriot—” He eyed Mrs. Vanilla. She weaved a little, making a creaking noise as she did so. “Yes, I’m sure we’ll find something for her to do. Everyone must have a use, that’s what the Lady Dawn says. She isn’t in Anwyn at the present, but we must still abide by her rules. You ladies may have Mistress Eve’s tent. She has returned to her home, and needs it no longer. My squire will take you there, and then to the apothecary so that you might procure whatever you need to weave your magic.”

  “Oooh, an apothecary,” Mom said, looking pleased.

  “Now, hold on here a minute,” I said, jumping a little when Colorado bellowed, “Branwyn! Front and center! And see that you’re suitably garbed—ladies are present.”

  “We’re not going to go anywhere until we find out exactly where we are and what’s going on.”

  He looked surprised. “Why, you are in Lord Ethan’s encampment.”

  “Who’s Lord Ethan when he’s at home?”

  “Gwen!” Mom Two scolded me, then said apologetically to Colorado, “You have to forgive our girl. She spends most of her time in the States.”

  “Lord Ethan is Lord Ethan,” Colorado said, his hands flapping helplessly. “He is our lord and master.”

  “I got the relationship basics, but who is he, exactly? And why does he have an army in Anwyn? Wait, we are in Anwyn, aren’t we?”

  “Yes, this is Anwyn.” He gave me a look filled with pity, as if I was the one who was a sparerib short of a barbecue. “This is the battleground, my lady.”

  “Why do you keep calling me—no, never mind. I refuse to be distracted by minutiae. Who is Lord Ethan battling?”

  “Lord Aaron, of course. Ah, here comes Branwyn.”

  A stout young man of about sixteen burst out from a nearby tent, bright freckles dotted across a face that was almost as red as his hair. “You bellowed, Sir Colorado?”

  “Aye. Take Lady Alice and Lady Magdalena and . . . er . . . Mistress Vanilla to Mistress Eve’s former tent, and then hence to the apothecary’s. And do not dally. They are powerful witches and will bespell you should you waste their time.”

  The boy’s eyes widened as he looked from me to my moms.

  “Hold your horses there, Hopalong Cassidy,” I said, putting up a hand to stop him. “We’re not going to anyone’s tent until I find out exactly what’s going on.”

  “Oh, you are not to go to Mistress Eve’s tent,” Colorado said with a sunny smile. “You are young and comely and mightily built. Lady Holly would have my head if I didn’t bring you to her.”

  “We’ve already met Holly.” I bristled a little at the “mightily built” comment, tug
ging down my hoodie so that it covered the expanse of what my mother referred to as “child-birthing hips.”

  “I’m sure we’ll see you shortly, Gwen,” Mom Two said, taking Mrs. Vanilla by the arm. “After we see what stores the apothecary has.”

  “I think we should all stay together,” I told both mothers as they urged Branwyn forward.

  “Don’t be silly, dear. We’re safe now, and Mrs. Vanilla clearly needs to rest. We’ll get her settled in our new tent so she can replenish her strength.”

  “But—”

  “You know how your mother and I dearly love a visit to a well-stocked apothecary’s shop,” Mom Two added. “We’ll see you later. You go off and meet with that young woman again. Perhaps she’ll lead you to the people in charge. Give her our best wishes. Young man, do you know if the apothecary has wortsbane in stock? We’ve been out for the last two centuries and unable to find a reliable source for more . . .”

  “This way,” Colorado said, gesturing in the opposite direction. The old dog started to get to her feet. “No, Rosemary, you stay there. I won’t be long seeing this lady to her destination.”

  I bit my lip, watching my mothers wander off, part of me feeling it really was better for us all to stay together, but the other part of me wanting them out of the way in case the situation turned dicey. I didn’t like the look of that woman Holly, so all in all, it was best that I confront her on my own.

  Colorado chatted about nothing in particular as we wound our way through the camp toward the far edge, most of which I didn’t listen to because it was something about trees and plants and how he had an affinity to aspens, or something of that ilk, and I had more important things to chew over. Like whether the Holly woman would throw me back into a cell and how I was going to convince her that we weren’t spies.

  I kept my eyes peeled as we walked, not only so I could retrace my path if necessary, but because I wanted to get a better idea of why there was a battle going on in Anwyn and why it wasn’t being fought with modern weapons.

  Men and women moved busily through the camp, some people clearly employed as blue-collar workers, hauling buckets of water, trays of food, armor, bedding, and sundry other items. On the outer edge of the camp, visible down one of the aisles, a parade of horses marched past, on their way to or from a stable. And everywhere there were dogs, dogs, dogs.

  “—of course, what was I to do but to answer the call of Lord Gideon?”

  Startled, I realized that Colorado had been talking to me about something other than his love of trees, and I’d missed it all in my musings. “Um. Sure, why not?”

  I glanced around, noticing something. I expected that with so many dogs around, there would be a lot of dog poop. But there was nary a pile to be seen.

  He nodded. “That’s what I said. It was my duty to answer the call. I was honored when Lord Ethan chose me to be one of his knights.”

  “That’s got to be a big honor,” I said, hoping that was true.

  “It is indeed.”

  “Who is Lord Gideon again?”

  He shot me a startled look. I made a little face. “Sorry. I was thinking of something else and must have missed that bit.”

  “Lord Gideon is a magician of much power and breadth. He is responsible for all of this,” Colorado answered, gesturing toward the camp. “He is also Lord Ethan’s younger brother.”

  “Ah. Gotcha.” I had a feeling that “magician,” in this case, didn’t mean the guys in Vegas who pulled off the kind of illusions that made tigers and elephants disappear. No doubt it was a reference to the Otherworld version, the kind of mage who performed public feats of magic . . . real magic. “You guys must really like dogs. And have them really well trained, because I don’t see any obvious signs that so many live here.”

  “We all must take a rache, yes.”

  “Rache?”

  “Hunting dog. All that you see here are the spawn of Lord Ethan’s bitch, Ergo. She is long dead, but as you see, her progeny live on.”

  “They do indeed.” And I had to admit, all the dogs I saw looked happy and healthy. There wasn’t a single dog that had that air of skulking around hoping for a bite to eat or a friendly pat; they were all glossy-coated, well fed, and apparently well cared for. “You must have someone pooper-scooping on a full-time basis.”

  “Naturally, we make prisoners attend to their droppings. It is suitable punishment.”

  That surprised me. “You have other prisoners? Other than my mothers and me, that is?”

  “A few that we’ve taken over the centuries. Here we are. Lady Holly, I bring to you the lady Gwen.”

  We stopped in front of two people, one of whom was the pale-skinned bedaggered woman from the night before, the other of whom was a man in armor who sat on a wooden stool, holding out his arm.

  “It’s an RSI,” the man was saying, the words giving my brain a moment of trouble resolving a modern acronym for a repetitive injury with the anachronism of armor. “I can’t even grip the hilt of the sword without my entire arm burning in pain. Lo the healer says the MRI shows I need time off so that the herbs and physical therapy can heal the injury.”

  “Injury, schminjury,” Holly said in a disgusted voice. “We don’t have a spare soldier, so you’re just going to have to get out there and do your job.”

  “But Master Lo said—”

  “Lady Holly!” Colorado said loudly, tapping her on the shoulder.

  She spun around, her hair whipping like little blades of black silk. “Do not touch me!”

  “My apologies, but I did not think you heard me when I said that I was here with Lady Gwen.”

  Her dark green eyes shifted to me, narrowing as they raked me over. “This is the spy from last night, isn’t it?”

  “I am not an it, nor am I a spy,” I said, meeting her gaze. I’d never been one to let someone intimidate me, and I certainly wasn’t going to start with this thin, prickly woman.

  “Who are you?”

  “Gwen Owens. I’m an alchemist. I came to Anwyn last night in the company—”

  “Suit her up,” Holly interrupted before striding off. “She can take the place of the injured soldier.”

  “Suit—whoa now!”

  I stared at her back for a second as she marched off, then ran after her, grabbing her arm to stop her.

  She whirled around, a dagger in her hand that was at my throat before I could so much as blink. “Are you deaf as well as stupid? I said not to touch me.”

  “You didn’t say that to me, and I’m not deaf, or stupid. Nor do I tolerate being pushed around,” I snarled, shoving her hand (and the dagger) away from me. “Not by you, not by anyone. Got that? Good. Now, I don’t know what you think I am, but I’m not a spy, I’m not one of your soldiers, and I’m not going to allow you to push me around.”

  She watched me with glittering green eyes while I spoke, and when I finished, she was silent for a few seconds before saying, “Brave words from a woman who spent the night in a cell.”

  “I just told you that I’m not stupid. Fighting ten armed men while in the company of my mothers and an elderly mortal isn’t a bright idea.”

  “That is possibly true,” she said, sheathing her dagger. “Regardless, you have two choices: you can be executed as a spy or you can replace the injured soldier and take up his banner on the field of battle.” She glanced at her watch. “His shift started twelve minutes ago. You have thirty seconds to decide.”

  “You have got to be out of your mind!” I said, shaking my head. “I’m not going to make that sort of a decision! I’m an alchemist—”

  “And now you’re either a spy or a fighter. Fifteen seconds.”

  I stared at her openmouthed for the count of five until I realized I was wasting time. I was between a rock and a hard place, and I knew it. I couldn’t fight her, not with all the soldiers around us, and I wasn’t willing to risk my mothers’ lives by attempting an escape. Not at that moment, at least.

  “Fine,” I said, glari
ng at her. “I’ll pretend I’m a soldier if it gives you your jollies. But I’m going to suck at it.”

  She made a dismissive gesture. “That matters not.”

  She strode off again, leaving me damning my life, damning my decision to bring my mothers here, and most of all, wishing they hadn’t abducted Mrs. Vanilla in the first place.

  I turned to go back to where the soldier was, and bumped into Colorado, who was standing right behind me with an anxious look on his face.

  “I assume you heard what was said.”

  His eyes widened. “Yes, but only because I was worried that Lady Holly might . . . er . . .”

  “Stab me?”

  He made an apologetic little wave of his hand. “She doesn’t suffer fools well.”

  “Uh-huh.” I straightened my shoulders and headed back to where the RSI soldier was being assisted in the removal of his armor. “Neither do I, as a matter of fact. I’m not a soldier, Colorado.”

  “Well, so far as that goes, none of us were before Lord Gideon called us up,” he said, lifting the newly discarded breastplate and eyeing it before turning his gaze to my chest. “But you are most sturdily built, and I’m sure you will have no trouble lasting two hours.”

  “Two hours?” I crossed my arms over my breasts despite the total absence of sexual interest in his eyes as he considered my torso. He discarded the breastplate and went into the tent, coming out with two others.

  “That is the length of each shift. It goes quickly, I promise you.” He held up a chest piece, squinted at my boobs, then dropped it in favor of the other one. “I believe this will offer the best fit. There’s no time to have armor made to your specifications, but once your shift is over, we’ll have the armorer get to work on a set so that you’re equipped for tomorrow. We have a very good armorer. She makes Lord Ethan’s armor and has a wonderful touch with the blacksmith hammer.”

  “Back up a sec,” I said, obediently holding up my arms when another teenager, this time a slight girl with a pixie haircut who held an armful of chain mail, instructed me to do so. “What’s this about a shift? You guys fight in shifts?”

  “Of course,” he said, assisting the page or squire or whatever she was called to slip the chain mail over my head. A few strands of my hair snagged on it, making me wince. Surprisingly, the mail was very light, and although it hung down to mid-thigh, it didn’t seem to be overly large. “If we fought longer than that, we’d get tired.”