Timeline

Marek looked up, glanced at his wrist counter as Chris hurried over to the cage to insert the key. The key went right in, but it wouldn’t turn. At first he thought the mechanism was stuck, but after thirty agonizing seconds of effort, he was forced to conclude that this was not the key, after all. Feeling helpless and angry, he flung the key to the ground. He turned to the Professor, locked behind the bars.

"I’m sorry," Chris said. "I’m really sorry."

As always, the Professor was unruffled. "I’ve been thinking, Chris," he said, "about exactly what happened."

"Uh-huh . . ."

"And I think Oliver had it," the Professor said. "He locked me in himself. I think he kept the key."

"Oliver?"

Across the room, Oliver continued to fight, although he was now obviously losing. Arnaut was a better swordsman, and Oliver was drunk and winded. Smiling grimly, Arnaut drove Oliver back with measured blows to the edge of the pit. There Oliver, gasping and sweating, leaned on the railing, too exhausted to continue.

Arnaut gently put the point of his sword to Oliver’s neck. "Mercy," Oliver said, panting. "I beg mercy." But it was clear that he did not expect it. Arnaut slowly pressed harder with the sword. Oliver coughed.

"My Lord Arnaut," Marek said, stepping forward. "We need the key to the cage."

"Eh? Key? To the cage?"

Gasping, Oliver smiled. "I know where it lies."

Arnaut jabbed with the sword. "Tell us."

Oliver shook his head. "Never."

"If you tell us," Arnaut said, "I shall spare your life."

At this, Oliver glanced up sharply. "Certes?"

"I am no treacherous, two-faced Englishman," Arnaut said. "Give us the key, and I swear as a true gentle of France that I shall not kill you."

Panting, Oliver stared at Arnaut for several seconds. Finally he stood once again and said, "Very well." He threw away his sword, reached under his robe, and brought out a heavy iron key. Marek took it.

Oliver turned back to Arnaut. "So: I have done my part. Are you a man of your word?"

"In deed," Arnaut said, "I shall not kill you . . ." He moved forward swiftly, and clasped Oliver’s knees. "I shall bathe you."

And he flipped Oliver bodily over the rail, into the pit. Oliver landed with a splash in the black water below; he came up sputtering. Cursing, he swam to the side of the pit and reached toward the rocks to get a handhold. But the rocks that lined the pit were dark with slime. Oliver’s hands slipped off. He could get no purchase. He treaded water, slapping ineffectually at the surface. He looked up at Arnaut, and swore.

Arnaut said, "Do you swim well?"

"Very well, you son of a French pig."

"Good," Arnaut said. "Then your bath will take some time."

And he turned away from the pit. With a nod to Chris and Marek, he said, "I am in your debt. May God grant you mercy all your days." And then he ran quickly away to rejoin the battle. They heard his footsteps fading.

Marek unlocked the padlock, and the cage door creaked open. The Professor stepped out. He said, "Time?"

"Eleven minutes," Marek said.

They hurried out of the dungeon. Marek was hobbling, but he managed to move quickly. Behind them, they heard Oliver splashing in the water.

"Arnaut!" Oliver cried, his voice echoing from the dark stone walls. "Arnaut!"

00:09:04

The big screens at the far end of the control room showed the technicians filling the shields with water. The shields were holding up fine. But nobody in the control room was looking at the shields. Instead, they stared silently at the console monitor, watching the undulations of the shimmering, computer-generated field. During the last ten minutes, the peaks had become steadily lower, until now they had nearly vanished; when they appeared at all, they were just occasional ripples in the surface.

Still, they watched.

For a moment, the ripples seemed to grow stronger, more definite. "Is something happening?" Kramer said hopefully.

Gordon shook his head. "I don’t think so. I think that’s just random fluctuations."

"I thought it might be getting stronger," Kramer said.

But Stern could see it wasn’t true. Gordon was right; the change was just random. The ripples on the screen remained intermittent, unstable.

"Whatever the problem is back there," Gordon said, "they still have it."

00:05:30

Through the flames that leapt up in the central courtyard of La Roque, Kate saw the Professor and the others come out of a far doorway. She ran to join them. They all seemed to be okay. The Professor nodded to her. They were all moving fast.

Kate said to Chris, "Do you have the ceramic?"

"Yes. I have it." He brought it out of his pocket, turned it to press the button.

"There’s not enough space."

"There’s space . . . ," Chris said.

"No. You need two meters on all sides, remember?"

They were surrounded by fire. "You won’t find that anywhere in this courtyard," Marek said.

"That’s right," the Professor said. "We have to go to the next courtyard."

Kate looked ahead. The gatehouse leading to the outer courtyard was forty yards away. But within the gatehouse, the portcullis was up. In fact, it didn’t look as if the gate was guarded at all; the soldiers had all abandoned it, to fight the intruders.

"How much time?"

"Five minutes."

"Okay," the Professor said. "Let’s get moving."

They moved at a trot through the fiery courtyard, sidestepping flames and battling soldiers. The Professor and Kate were in the lead. Marek, wincing with the pain in his leg, followed behind. And Chris, worried about Marek, brought up the rear.