The Empire of Time by David Wingrove Read Free Book Online

him in an hour back.’
    ‘But …’ And then I laugh. Sometimes it’s easy to forget how elastic Time is here in Four-Oh. For though Seydlitz was with us only moments before, it’s an easy matter to wait a while, send him back a few hours, then send him back again, to a thousand years in the Past.
    ‘The platform was busy the next few hours,’ Hecht says, by way of illumination, which explains how he knew when to be at the platform to greet Kramer and Seydlitz.
    And the book?
    I look to Hecht, puzzled. It’s a collection of Russian folk tales.
    ‘Open it. To the title page.’
    I open it and stare, because there, on the title page, is a hand-written dedication, and beneath it, the same symbol the Russian wore around his neck … the lazy-eight with the facing twin arrows.
    I try to make out the signature, but it’s almost unreadable. ‘Who is it?’ I ask, but Hecht only shrugs.
    ‘Maybe we should find out.’ And he smiles. ‘Just in case.’
12
    That night I dream.
    I am back there, in the summer of 1236. Sunlight bathes the broad, flat rock on which we rest, laying a veil of gold upon the river below us and the trees beyond. There are five of us – Johannes, Conrad, Luder, Werner and I – brothers-in-arms, waiting there in the warmth of that July afternoon for Meister Dietrich to return from leading a scouting party into the forest on the far bank.
    He has been gone since early morning, looking for pagan settlements amid that wilderness of trees. It has been some time – almost a year – since we last raided them, and they have grown incautious once more. Or so the Meister claims.
    Johannes is the first to suggest it. He makes a comment on the smell of young Werner, and, laughing, roughly playful, Conrad helps Johannes strip the young man and throw him from the rock, naked, into the water. He surfaces, spluttering yet laughing, taking it in the spirit in which it was meant, then turns on to his back and floats there, treading water.
    ‘Come in!’ he yells, and splashes water up at us. ‘It’s wonderful!’
    No sooner is the invitation made, than Conrad jumps from the rock, a high, flailing jump that ends only feet from where Werner is treading water. Johannes and Luder follow moments later, and, reluctant but grinning nonetheless, I slip out of my clothes and, throwing my arms out, dive straight as an arrow into that golden sheet of dazzling, shimmering light.
    As I surface, there are cheers. Werner looks at me in awe. ‘Where did you learn to do that, Otto?’
    I gasp, gripped by the coldness of the water, but stay there, making no move to get out, determined to show no sign of weakness before my Brothers.
    ‘My father taught me when I was a boy.’
    ‘You were a boy, Otto?’ Johannes says, mocking my earnestness, and the others laugh. But not at my expense. There’s a kindness in their laughter. The mockery is gentle.
    I duck down and swim towards the river’s bed, thrusting myself down through the chill, clear water until I’m below them, their pale, strong legs kicking slowly in the pale greenness above me.
    I surface right between Conrad and Luder, surprising them both, and, placing a hand on each of their heads, thrust them down, ducking them.
    For a moment the three of us struggle in the water, laughing and gasping, and then Luder kicks back, away, shaking the water from his head as he does.
    My strength surprises them. I know they think me soft. Comparatively, anyway. For these are the toughest, hardest, most resilient bunch of men I’ve ever known. Their austere self-reliance – their ability to survive in any conditions – astonishes me. They seem to need so little.
    We climb back up on to the rock and sit there for a while, at ease in our nakedness, letting our bodies dry in the heat of the sun, enjoying the simplicity of the day. For a while all are silent, as if keeping to their vows, then Johannes stands and, after stretching, pulls on his clothes again. All but the armour.
    We