“There is no manual. If our enemies ever figured out everything we can do, they would be much more successful in opposing us. And time isn’t all that easy to screw up any—”
She paused as, somewhere on the far side of the gunpowder room, a
key turned in a lock. Agnes drew her gun and pushed it into the mage’s temple hard enough to dent the skin. “Say one word—make one sound—and I swear . . . ,” she whispered. He looked conflicted, ideology warring with self-preservation, but I guess the latter won because he stayed silent. Or maybe he couldn’t talk with her fist knotted in his collar.
The three of us peered through the missing door and caught glimpses of fire. A dark-haired man stood at the far end of the room. He sat a lantern that looked a lot like the mage’s well away from the casks, which he started shifting around. He was dressed like the mage, too, except for a long dark coat, and he had boots on. The spurs chimed softly in the quiet.
“Fawkes,” Agnes whispered. She nudged the mage with the barrel of her gun. “Did you change anything?”
He stayed silent.
“Answer me!”
“That’s not how it works,” he said irritably. “You can’t say you’ll shoot me if I talk and then ask me a question!”
We froze as the man paused, looking our way but not seeing anything. It was pitch-dark at our end of the cellar. We’d left the mage’s lantern behind when we took our stroll with the bomb and it must have gone out, because the only source of light came from Fawkes’. He paused, sniffing the damp air, where the acrid smell of the explosion still lingered. But after a moment, he went back to work.
“We’ve got to hurry this up,” Agnes whispered. “Where was I?”
“You said time is hard to mess up. But hard isn’t impossible. Some things can make a difference.” On a recent trip through time, I’d accidentally changed one little thing, merely meeting a man a few hundred years before I was supposed to, and the results had been insane. The results had almost gotten both of us killed.
“Of course they can,” she said impatiently. “That’s why we’re here.”
“But how do I know what can safely be changed and what can’t?” I asked desperately.
Agnes frowned. “What is this?” she demanded, her voice suddenly going flat and hard. It matched the icy color of her eyes. “Some kind of elaborate hoax?”
“What? No! I—”
She jerked the mage down to the level of her face. “Did you recruit a woman to try to fool me? Was that was this was all about?”
He glanced at me and then back at her. “Yeah,” he said slowly. “You got me.”
“I should have known! I knew the power wouldn’t allow two Pythias to meet!” she hissed, and turned her gun on me.
I stared at her. “He’s lying!”
“If he was lying, you wouldn’t have asked me that!” she spat. “No Pythia would.”
“Asked what? All I want is some help!”
“Oh, I’ll help you!” she said, and lunged for me. The mage took his chance and ran into the gunpowder room while Agnes and I went down in a flail of limbs, her trying to cuff me while I attempted to get free without either of our guns going off. It wasn’t easy. I swear the woman had an extra arm, because she somehow managed to hold both my wrists while a tiny fist clocked me upside the jaw.
“The mage is with Fawkes!” I gasped as another pair of cuffs clicked shut around my wrists. “They’re going to set this whole place off and we’re all going to die!”
“Yeah, and if I let you go, we’ll die faster!”
“I’m not going to help them!”
“I know you’re not. You’re staying tied up here until I deal with this.”
I glared at her. “I’m Pythia! I don’t really need you to release me!”
She sat back on her heels, surveying me mockingly. “Okay, Pythia.” She waved a hand. “Do your thing.”
“Okay, I will!”
“Okay, then.”