Lock & Key Read online

  He got up, moving quietly in order not to disturb the others, and pushed his way through the flap. The air outside was chilly and damp, and he immediately began to shiver. There was a thin pale streak on the horizon. It was perhaps an hour to sunrise. He estimated the time at five AM, but at this latitude, who could be sure?

  He unzipped and thought about time. Who really needed to worry about it so much? Here, no one cared. There were no watches or calendars. You simply did what you did, every day, all day, and the seasons came and went and you let them. No worries about opening the store at ten AM and closing it at nine PM. No worries about seeing tax day looming. No worries about Christmas shopping or preparing a huge meal for Thanksgiving. No weekends. No weeks, either. Just time, stretched out ahead and behind, like a long road with no detours.

  He finished up, rezipped, and considered returning to the hut, but instead went out toward the beach, found a rock, and sat down. The salt smell was strong, but it was cleaner and more pleasant than the BO fumes in the hut. Better to be a little cold than to lie there trying not to retch.

  He’d likely get used to it. He hoped so. No telling how long he’d be here.

  And, now that he came to think of it, how long was he expected to stay? There’d been no discussion of that point. Fischer had simply waved his hand, and he had vanished in a swirl of ectoplasm. At least that was how he pictured it. Or maybe something like the sparkly transporter thing on Star Trek. But how much before the event in question had Fischer sent him to Scotland? The computer screen had shown that the divergence occurred on the 16th of August, 903, but who knew how many days away that was? Malcolm had referred to the time as being “a beautiful summer afternoon,” but that could just as easily apply to June as August.

  “I do not want to stay here for months,” he said under his breath. “Stay here, looking around, waiting for something to happen, being expected to fix that something, and then getting home who-knows-how. Although I expect that if Fischer can whisk me away, he can bring me back.”

  He looked out over the restless whitecaps, now vaguely visible in the widening band of gold on the horizon.

  “If he remembers to, that is. He acted like I was some kind of major inconvenience. I hope he doesn’t forget about me or decide to leave me here.”

  He sat, gazing out to sea, watching the light spread, turn orange, and finally the sun peered over the edge, and a shimmering crimson pathway glittered on the surface of the ocean, reaching toward him.

  Okay. It’s pretty here. But damn, it’s cold. Winters here must be a bitch.

  He heard a noise, and turned to see Malcolm coming up towards him, smiling broadly.

  “It is a fine morning,” he said, sitting next to Darren on the rock. “No rain or fog. A good omen for your hunt.”

  “I’m not looking forward to it,” Darren said.

  “Why not? Your heart should be joyous at the thought of vanquishing your enemy.”

  “Well, it’s not,” he said flatly. He looked over at the young man. “Have you ever killed someone?”

  “Me? No.” Malcolm looked out to sea. “I would do it, though. I was too young when the Vikings came last, three years ago. My father fought, though. We drove them away.” His face darkened. “Five islanders were killed. But they took none of our belongings, and took no slaves. This was a victory for us.”

  “Slaves?”

  “They scour the islands for slaves,” Malcolm said. “Did you not know that? Men and women. Men for laborers, and women for wives.” His brow furrowed. “They are no better than pigs.”

  They sat silent for a while. The long rays of the sun warmed his skin, and chased away at least a little of the night’s chill.

  “There are no Vikings in Seattle?” Malcolm asked.

  “Well, sort of,” he said. “A lot of that area was settled by people from Norway and Sweden. So I suppose they’re sort of Vikings. They don’t hurt anyone, though.”

  “You live peaceably with them?”

  “Sure. As far as I know, Norway and Sweden are now two of the most peaceful countries in the world. The Vikings have settled down, I guess.”

  Suddenly he looked over at Malcolm. Should he be telling the islander this? What if by telling Malcolm things about his own time he was changing the future? In all the time travel stories, they made a huge deal about not changing the past by telling people things they shouldn’t know. Or changing anything, for that matter. Maybe he could cause all sorts of havoc by stepping on a bug, or something.

  “When you leave,” Malcolm said, interrupting his thoughts, “I want to go with you back to Seattle.”

  “Oh, lord,” he said, horrified that his thoughts had come to life so quickly. “That’s not a good idea.”

  “Why not?”

  “You have no idea what kind of changes you’d have to deal with, if you were to go a thousand years in the future.”

  “I would not mind!” he protested. “I would pee in the house, like all of you do, and I would not complain about the smell!”

  He waved his hand impatiently. “It’s not that. It’s all the other things. It’s crowded and noisy. You have to spend your time indoors, working at doing things. Pointless things, most of them.”

  “Do you not want to go home?” Malcolm looked puzzled. “The way you are speaking of it, it sounds as if you were unhappy there.”

  “Well, yes. Yes and no. There are things I miss. But I don’t think that our way of doing things is the only way. Or the best, even. And you…” He paused. “I don’t think you would enjoy it very much.”

  “I do not want to spend my entire life on an island, and never see the world.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  He scowled. “I don’t have any choice. My grandfather raised sheep. My father raises sheep. I think my fate is to raise sheep.”

  “It’s not the worst thing in the world.”

  “Nor the best,” Malcolm said.

  He studied Malcolm’s open, honest face, and suddenly felt the same protectiveness he had felt the previous evening for his sister. He wanted to save them, to shield their world from Lee and all he represented.

  And himself as well. It was his world, too. He was as much an intruder here as Lee. He was poisoning this place as surely as Lee was.

  A shudder of alarm vibrated down his spine. What if the change happened because of him? What if it wasn’t Lee at all, but because he came back here and changed something, and it ended up destroying the human race?

  Now wait. The human race got wiped out before he got here. Well, it was actually eleven hundred years after he got here, but whatever. He ended up in the Library and found out about all this stuff beforehand, so it couldn’t have been him that caused it. Right? He squinted in intense concentration. The whole thing was too much to comprehend. He didn’t even know what before and after meant in this situation. Probably a good time to stop thinking about it.

  “You look like you’re in pain,” Malcolm commented.

  Darren glanced over, and saw that the young man was staring at him.

  “I sort of am,” he said. “I’m trying to figure all of this out.”

  “Do not worry,” Malcolm said. “You will find your bravery when you see your enemy. Do not doubt yourself.”

  “I’m doubting everything, at the moment.”

  By this time, blue had spread its way across the sky, interrupted by only a few high, wispy clouds. It looked to be a fine day, although still too cool for his expectations of summer. He rose, and Malcolm followed, and they went back to the hut, where they found Caitlin already up and turning the penned sheep loose into the fields. Dugal sat by the fire, which had been regenerated from the coals and was now crackling with flame. He was eating from a wooden bowl, and it was the same nondescript gruel they’d had the previous night.

  Okay, here was number four on the list of things he’d never thought about. Gruel for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. It probably wasn’t worth asking for a couple of eggs over easy
and a cup of coffee.

  Malcolm helped himself to some of the porridge from the pot hanging over the fire, and seeing that no one was offering to serve him or waiting for him to ask, he did the same, and sat down with his bowl near the fire, attempting to maneuver himself upwind of the smoke.

  “Today we will circle the island, and see what news there has been,” Dugal said. “There are several whom I would like to ask for news. Niall, for one. He knows everything that happens on the island, and much that is going on elsewhere.”

  “Niall is a busybody,” Caitlin said, walking toward the fire and wiping her hands on her skirt.

  “That he is, but useful nonetheless,” Dugal said. “The more eyes and ears, the better. If there is a stranger on the island, Niall will have heard. He talks to everyone, and keeps in his memory even things that others would not remark upon. Rest assured, if your enemy is here, he will know.”

  Time to confront it. “I have no weapon.”

  “You came after your enemy with no weapon?” Dugal’s face betrayed astonishment. “That is either an act of great courage or great foolhardiness.”

  “Well, neither, actually. I didn’t know I was coming, I got sent. Fischer sent me away after Lee, and I didn’t have time to grab a weapon.” He didn’t add that he probably wouldn’t have in any case, but he thought it.

  “I can provide you with a spear. We only have one knife that is suitable to be used as a weapon. But a spear is as good as any, from a distance, as I doubt you plan to discuss terms with him. I think in this case, a spear through the heart would serve your purpose. There is no need to talk with your enemy, and none will think you the less brave for having struck him down so, not after they hear what he did.”

  “I do want to talk to him,” he said. “I want to find out what he knows.”

  “But surely such a man does not deserve to be given a chance. You do not intend to spare him in any case, do you?”

  “I guess not.”

  “Then what need for talk?”

  “I want to understand.”

  “You are a strange one, Darinauld.”

  “It’s important. When I go home. For me to understand what happened. You see, Lee was once a friend of mine. He and I were children together. And I do not know why he tried to kill me, or why what he did killed so many people. I know I may have to kill him. But I don’t want to do it until I find out what he knows, and why he did what he did.”

  • • •

  They readied themselves to leave at what seemed a snail’s pace. Darren found it increasingly irritating that he didn’t know what time it was. He hadn’t realized how tied to his wristwatch he’d been. Everything in what he was now increasingly thinking of as his “old life” had been tied to time, sometimes down to the minute. Here, none of that mattered. There were only three times that mattered—the past, the future, and now. There was a vague sense of morning and afternoon, and certainly an awareness of night. Seasons changed, years passed. But the minuscule attention to the passing of time that had been part of his life for as long as he could remember simply didn’t exist here.

  “When are we going?” he asked Dugal as a spear was thrust into his hand.

  “When we are ready,” Dugal said.

  Which, he reflected, was the only answer that was meaningful in this place.

  • • •

  It was shortly before they left that Maíre came up to Darren, while he was idling by the fire. Dugal had disappeared behind the house, and Caitlin and Malcolm were a little way off, salting fish and hanging it on racks to dry in the chilly wind. Maíre sat down next to him, and gave him a thoughtful look.

  “It is probably not my place, Darinauld,” she said, “but it is in my heart to speak.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “I would ask you… if you can… perhaps after this enemy of yours has been vanquished, you would wish to stay here with us.”

  He looked at her in some surprise. “That’s kind of you. But I’m not sure I’ll be allowed.”

  “This Fischer, he will bring you back home, then?”

  “I expect so. Either I’ll find Lee, and probably have to kill him, or else he’ll find me, and kill me. Either way, I don’t think I can stay here.” He gave her a shy smile. “I’d like to, though.”

  “I know we have not known each other long, but something in you… when I saw you, I thought that I would wish nothing more than to have you stay here on the island. Stay with us. Stay with me.”

  “But… I’m not one of you. I’m not an islander.”

  “Pfft,” Maíre gave a dismissive gesture with one hand. “The island boys are dull. They have no spirit. All they want…” She looked away, out toward the sea. “All they want is what every man wants. It is not wrong, that, but… that is all they want. When they talk to me, it is only in the hopes that I will allow them the use of my body. Nothing more. With you… you speak to me as if I were more than an empty vessel. I did not even know I wished for that, until now. To be spoken to as an equal. It is a rare gift.”

  “Any man should consider you his equal,” he said. “Or his better. Do not let anyone condescend to you. You deserve more than that.”

  She reached out and touched his hand. “You are kind and brave, Darinauld of Seattle. Will you not… will you ask your god, this Fischer whom you serve, if it may not be possible for you to stay here, once your task is completed? It cannot be such a big thing, to ask it.”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “Me staying here… well, it could further mess things up. Change who knows what. I’m sure he would say no.”

  She bowed her head for a moment. “I understand. But at least I ask this much—do not forget me.”

  “I never will,” he said.

  “Then I am content, and we will speak no more of it.” Her blue eyes met and held his. “Go, and vanquish this evil man who wishes you harm. You will surely prevail.”

  “I hope so,” he said. “Although how I am going to do this is beyond me.”

  • • •

  After a span of time that could have been one hour or three, Darren and Dugal took off on foot on the path over the hills. Each was carrying a leather sack with food and water. Niall’s house was on the other side of the island, and they would not return until near sunset. Dugal walked with a steady, certain pace, using the butt-end of the spear as a walking stick. Darren followed suit, trying not to appear self-conscious.

  They walked in silence for some time, the only sound the incessant hiss of the wind in the dry grass on the hilltops. Finally Dugal spoke.

  “I have been considering the words you spoke yesterday.” His deep voice sounded thoughtful. “And it occurs to me that there is a question that no one has asked. Have you any certainty that the one who sent you here, this Fischer, is perhaps not the one who has evil designs on our time? That perhaps Fischer and your enemy Lee could be in league against us? It seems odd, does it not, that the two of them are the only ones who can fly back and forth from the future to the past like gods, and yet are not allies?”

  “I hadn’t thought of that,” he said. “But Fischer seemed honest to me. I felt sure that he was telling the truth.”

  “Thus did you feel about your friend before he attempted to kill you, did you not?”

  “That’s true.”

  “Therefore,” Dugal said, “it may be that when Lee’s attempt to kill you failed, Fischer seized the chance to do away with you by sending you here.” He paused. “I am only a simple man, and I do not know that what I am saying is correct. It only seems to me that there is more here than we are seeing.” He gave Darren a shrewd look. “I think that you are a man who trusts easily.”

  “I suppose so.”

  “It would be prudent, then, to be aware that not everything is how it seems, and when men speak, it is never certain that they are speaking the truth.”

  “I still don’t think Fischer was lying,” he said.

  “Not speaking the truth is not the same thing as lying. Per
haps I am wrong about Fischer and Lee being in league against you. Even so, you should not necessarily trust that what Fischer has said to you is the truth. A man may tell the truth to the best of his ability, and still simply be wrong. Remember that.”

  “He seemed to know what he was doing. And at the moment, I don’t have any better explanation for what happened than the one Fischer gave me. If he was lying, or wrong about things, I’m damned if I know what direction to go. I don’t see that I have much of a choice, other than to operate under the assumption that Fischer was right.”

  “Then let us speak no more about it. I will only say, you should not start out from the assumption that everyone is telling the truth. It is better to start out with no assumptions at all. And second, knowing one’s failings is the greater part of overcoming them.” He gestured with the point of his spear. “But here is Niall’s house. I do not doubt that he is at home. Work does not agree with him. How he manages to feed himself, I do not know, but he never seems to lack for provisions.”

  He followed Dugal up to a small hut, built of stone and turf, with an animal skin hanging across the opening. The remnants of a fire, long since burned down, smoldered nearby, and a wooden rack stood alongside, downwind of the smoke, with filleted fish hanging by their tails from the crossbeams.

  “Niall Dubh,” Dugal said in a loud voice. “If you are here, come out. Dugal Gillacomgain has need of words with you.”

  A moment later, a hand pushed aside the animal skin, and a tall, very fat man ducked through the door and stood blinking in front of them. He wore a rough brown shirt and a plain kilt, tied at the waist with a rope belt, and was barefoot. His hair was black, long, and in wild disarray, and he had a scruffy mustache and beard. He looked like the product of an unholy union between a Scotsman and a grizzly bear.