Time Travelers Never Die Part 47

His house was one of a group of nondescript structures crowded around a muddy courtyard. It was halfway up a low hill, just high enough to glimpse the Tiber, which also looked muddy.

A workshop was visible at the rear of the house. While Michelangelo retrieved the message, Dave stuck his head inside. It was damp and smelled of wet stone. Tables, benches, and shelves were made of planks. A small piece of Carrara marble with a child's head just emerging was set atop a pair of boards on the floor. It might be, he thought, the Sleeping Cupid Sleeping Cupid, long since lost.

He took more pictures. Children played in the courtyard, screaming and shrieking, and he wondered how it was possible for genius to function amid such bedlam.

Michelangelo reappeared and handed over a sealed yellow envelope with DAVID DRYDEN printed on it. "It does not indicate you are a priest," he added. "It is why I was confused."

"Thank you, Michelangelo. I've enjoyed talking with you." They shook hands, and it was one of those electric moments you get to enjoy if you're a time traveler. Then Dave gave him a gold coin and watched his eyes go wide. "See you finish his commission properly."

"Oh, I will, Father. You may be sure."

Dave waited until he was out of the neighborhood to open the envelope. The message read: DAVE, COME AT ONCE. I AM IN THE BORGIA TOWER. ACCUSED OF HERESY OR SOME d.a.m.nED THING. THE GUARDS CAN BE BRIBED.

SHEL.

SHEL'S converter must have malfunctioned. Or someone had taken it from him. Otherwise, the authorities could not have held him. So there was no point going directly after him. Dave had to make a stop first. converter must have malfunctioned. Or someone had taken it from him. Otherwise, the authorities could not have held him. So there was no point going directly after him. Dave had to make a stop first.

He went back to Shel's town house, about 1:00 A.M. on the night of the lightning strike. There was no particular reason for that time, except that he wanted to avoid running into Shel. Maybe that would create a problem in the time flow, and maybe not, but he thought it best to avoid any unnecessary twists in the sequence of events.

He emerged in the living room. The storm that had set in that night was raging. And it seemed odd to be standing once again in the house that, he knew, would become a smoking ruin in a few hours.

He walked into the den and went straight to the desk. It occurred to him that he should come back here later to find out who murdered Shel. But he wasn't sure he'd have the stomach to stand by and watch that. Still, it was hard to see how he could justify not not doing it. doing it.

Deal with it later.

The key to the desk was kept in a cup, along with some paper clips and rubber bands. The cup, with its Phillies logo, stood on one of the bookshelves beside a framed photo of Shel, Jerry, and their father.

Dave looked in the cup. No key.

Why was he not surprised? Nothing goes well when you're in trouble. But he needed to get the spare unit.

He dug through the clips and rubber bands. Stood on his tiptoes and checked the shelf.

d.a.m.n.

It wasn't on the desktop. Wasn't on any of the side tables. Wasn't on the floor.

He could have gone farther back, maybe a few weeks, but he didn't want to risk running into Shel and thereby setting up a paradox. So he went into the kitchen and searched the cabinet drawers, where he found bottle openers, bags, tacks, plastic clamps. And a hammer and a couple of screwdrivers.

He carried the tools back to the desk and pushed the larger screwdriver into the s.p.a.ce between the top of the bottom drawer and the frame. It was a tight fit, and he had to hammer it in. Outside, a siren sounded over the rumble of the lightning. It got louder for a few moments, pa.s.sed, and began to fade.

The drawer started to give way. He gave it a final bang, and the frame broke apart.

He started to replay his conversation with Lieutenant Lake: "The killer broke into his desk, as well. Pried open one of the drawers-Whatever the killer was looking for, he found it." "The killer broke into his desk, as well. Pried open one of the drawers-Whatever the killer was looking for, he found it."

"Why do you say that?"

"The other drawers were untouched."

He pulled the drawer out. And there was the third converter. The one that Michael had been using. The one he thought a thief had taken.

He slipped it into his ca.s.sock. Then, just to be safe, he used its hem to wipe his fingerprints from the hammer, the screwdriver, and the desk.

Then it was time to go.

THE Vatican, even at that remote period, was an architectural marvel. Pilgrims filled its courts and streets. The sacred buildings cl.u.s.tered behind crenelated walls and the Tiber, a sacred camp besieged by worldly powers. Dave looked up at Old St. Peter's, in which Pope Leo III had crowned Charlemagne; pa.s.sed San Damaso Courtyard, which still hosted jousting tournaments; and paused near the library to get his bearings. The Borgia Tower was an ominous fortress guarding the western flank of the papal palace, paired with its military-appearing twin, the Sistine Chapel. Guards patrolled the entrance. He went up to the front door, as if he had all the reason in the world to be there. A sentry challenged him. "Your business, Father?" he asked. He wore a blue uniform, and he carried a dagger and a small axe. Vatican, even at that remote period, was an architectural marvel. Pilgrims filled its courts and streets. The sacred buildings cl.u.s.tered behind crenelated walls and the Tiber, a sacred camp besieged by worldly powers. Dave looked up at Old St. Peter's, in which Pope Leo III had crowned Charlemagne; pa.s.sed San Damaso Courtyard, which still hosted jousting tournaments; and paused near the library to get his bearings. The Borgia Tower was an ominous fortress guarding the western flank of the papal palace, paired with its military-appearing twin, the Sistine Chapel. Guards patrolled the entrance. He went up to the front door, as if he had all the reason in the world to be there. A sentry challenged him. "Your business, Father?" he asked. He wore a blue uniform, and he carried a dagger and a small axe.

"I am the confessor," Dave said, "of Father Adrian Shelborne, who I believe to be a visitor here."

The guard was barely nineteen. "Have you been sent for, Father?"

His manner implied that if Dave didn't have an invitation, he would not be admitted. And his instincts told him that, despite Shel's a.s.surances, a bribe would not work. Not with this boy. He was too new. "Yes," he said. "The Administrator asked me to come." He was trying to remember influential names in this Vatican, but his mind had gone blank.

"Ah." He nodded. Smiled. Thought about it. "Good. Please come with me, Father."

They entered the Tower. He led Dave into an anteroom, asked him to wait, and disappeared through a side door. The anteroom was decorated with a Domenico Ghirlandaio painting. It was a scene from the Last Judgment. A G.o.d who looked much like Jupiter approached his throne in a sun-bright chariot, while angels sang and humans cringed or celebrated, according to their consciences. Dave was tempted to make off with it and come back later for Shel.

The sentry reappeared, trailing a sergeant. "You wish to see Cardinal Borgia?" he asked.

"No," he said quickly. That depraved monster was the last person Dave wanted to see. "No, I wish to visit Father Shelborne. To hear his confession."

"Ah." The sergeant nodded. It was a noncommittal nod, putting Dave in a holding pattern. He had cold, flat eyes, too close together. His teeth were snagged and broken. He had a broad nose, and a long scar ran from his right ear across the jaw to his lip, where it caused a kind of permanent sneer. Not his fault, Dave thought, but the man could not have managed a smile without scaring the kids. "Father, surely you realize where you are. Father Shelborne would not be denied the sacraments here here."

Dave pressed a gold coin into his hand. "If you could see your way clear, signore signore."

The sergeant slipped it deftly into a pocket without changing expression. "He must have very heavy sins, Father."

"I would like only a few minutes, if you please."

"Very well." He straightened his uniform. "Let me see what I can do." He led the way deep into the building. Walls were lined with fres coes and paintings, likenesses of figures from both cla.s.sical and Christian mythology, renderings of Church Fathers and philosophers and of the holy saints.

They mounted four flights of stairs and pa.s.sed into chambers even more ornately decorated than those on the lower floors. Then the sergeant deposited him in a room with an exquisite statue of St. Michael, wings spread and sword drawn. Not a good omen.

"I'll just be a minute," he said. He went back out into the corridor. But Dave had plenty of time to admire St. Michael, and he was beginning to think about looking for a.s.sistance when the sergeant returned. "Sorry you were kept waiting, Father," he said. "Please follow me." And they were on their way again, down a long corridor, up another flight of stairs, and through a chapel. Finally, they paused outside a paneled door. He knocked, and the door opened into a well appointed study.

A young man sat behind a large, ornate desk, making notes on a sheet of paper. A muscular priest stood on either side of him. He was about Michelangelo's age. But this this youth wore a Cardinal's red garments. And that revealed who he was. youth wore a Cardinal's red garments. And that revealed who he was.

"Thank you, John," he said to the escort. The sergeant withdrew, closing the door softly. The wall behind the Cardinal was dominated by a variant of the papal seal. And a crucifix. Several thick books were stacked on a table to his left. One lay open. The only light was provided by a set of windows hidden behind heavy drapes, and a pair of oil lamps.

This was Cesare Borgia. Don't drink the wine. Don't drink the wine. Appointed to the College of Cardinals by his father, Pope Alexander VI. My G.o.d, what had Shel got himself into? Appointed to the College of Cardinals by his father, Pope Alexander VI. My G.o.d, what had Shel got himself into?

Borgia smiled pleasantly, crooked his index finger, and signaled Dave to approach. "Good afternoon, Father . . . ?"

"David Dryden, Eminence."

His lips were full and sensuous. The eyes were dark and detached, the nose straight, the jaws lean. He wore a constant smile, rather like a ca.s.sock, something to be taken off and put on. "Dryden." He tasted the name. Let his tongue roll around on it as if he might swallow both it and its owner. "Your accent is strange. Where are you from?"

"Cornwall, Eminence." Good a spot as any. "I am a poor country priest."

"I see." He placed his fingertips together. The hands were long and thin and had not seen the sun recently. "Somehow you do not look the part." Dave bowed slightly, as if he'd been complimented. "You wished to see Father Shelborne?"

"If possible, Eminence. I am his confessor."

His teeth were straight and white. "And where did you take orders, Father?"

"St. Michael's." David inserted pride into his response. Good old alma mater.

"In Cornwall?"

"Yes." He tried not to hesitate. What sort of priest has no idea where his seminary is?

"We've had other visitors from St. Michael's recently," Borgia said. "It has a magnificent view of the Umber, I understand?"

Where in G.o.d's name was the Umber? "Actually," he said, "it is the rolling hills of Cornwall that attract the eye."

Borgia considered the response. "And how do you stand on the matter of the Waldensians?"

The Waldensians were men who gave away all their money and traveled the roads of southern Europe helping the poor. By their example, they had embarra.s.sed the more powerful members of the Church and had therefore been branded heretics. "They should commit to Mother Church," Dave said.

"Quite so." Cesare's tone sharpened. "Obviously, you are a man of piety, Father. But tell me, where does a country priest get gold with which to bribe my guards?"

"I had not intended it as a bribe, Eminence. I thought rather, in the tradition of the Faith, to share my own largesse. I have come recently into good fortune."

"What kind of good fortune?"

"An inheritance. My father died and left his money-"

Cesare waved the story away with a gesture that was almost feminine. "I see." The two muscular priests came to attention. "Who is paying you, Dryden? The French?"

"I'm in no one's pay, Eminence. I mean no one any harm." The Cardinal glanced at the priests. A signal. They came forward and took hold of Dave's arms and did the equivalent of a patdown. It was not gentle. One came only to about Dave's eyes, but he looked like a linebacker. The other was younger, trim, athletic, with a cynical smile. He was the type who, in a later age, would have been at the Y every day playing squash. The linebacker saw the converter attached to Dave's belt and removed it. The squash player found the other one, hidden in Dave's ca.s.sock. They held them out for Cesare, who took them, did a quick inspection, and placed them on the desk. They found his gold and gave that to him also. Then they stepped back.

Cesare smiled at the coins and dropped them on his desk. It was the converters that held his interest. He held one close to an oil lamp and examined it. "Father," he said, "what are are these things?" these things?"

Dave had a feeling the relic story wasn't going to sell here. "They're candlestick holders," he said.

"Candlestick holders?"

"Yes, Eminence."

"Show me how it works." He gave it back to Dave, who thereby received another chance to get clear.

"It's not completed yet. It still needs a saddle."

"You are, I a.s.sume, referring to a socket socket."

"Yes, Eminence. In Cornwall, we call them saddles."

"I see." He smiled. It was actually a benevolent smile. "May I ask why you are carrying two nonfunctional candlestick holders?"

"They were designed by my father. He died recently and-" He was flailing, and Cesare glanced at his a.s.sociates, and they all roared with laughter. Cesare first, then the others.

When they subsided, Dave tried to finish: "-I was hoping to complete them. In his honor."

The Cardinal signaled him to return the converter. He hesitated, gave it back. Cesare placed it on the desk, beside the other one. Then he opened a drawer, from which he withdrew a third unit. Shel's. He laid it beside the others. "They seem to be three of a kind," he said.

"He is my cousin, Eminence."

"This one also has no socket."

"Yes. It is the most difficult part of the project."

"And you both carry these things things, in honor of your esteemed father. I am touched." His smile widened and snapped off. "David Whatever-your-name-is, let us be clear on one point. Unless you are honest with me, I will have to a.s.sume you and your friend are agents of a foreign power and beyond reclamation. If I am forced to that conclusion, I will then have no choice but to deal with you accordingly." He came around the side of the desk.

"Where is Father Shelborne?" Dave asked.

Cesare stared at him momentarily, then turned his eyes toward the door. The squash player opened it, went outside, and returned with Shel. He was dirty, bruised, covered with blood. He sagged in the arms of two guards.

Dave started toward him, but the linebacker and the squash player got between them. Shel's eyes opened. "You don't look so good," Dave said, still speaking Italian.

Shel tried to wipe his mouth, but the guards held both arms tight. "h.e.l.lo, Dave. Good to see you."

Dave turned back to Cesare. "Why have you done this, Eminence?"

The Cardinal's eyes glowed with an inner light. "You have courage, Father, to come here and interrogate me me. But I don't mind. We know your, ah, cousin cousin, is a heretic. He is probably also a spy and an a.s.sa.s.sin. A would-be would-be a.s.sa.s.sin." a.s.sa.s.sin."

"I tried to get an audience with His Holiness," Shel muttered.

"That was stupid," David said in English. "Why?" Alexander VI was the Borgia pope, a womanizer, a con man, a murderer, the father of Lucrezia and Cesare. "Why would you want to see him him?"

"Seemed like a good idea at the time."

The linebacker drove a fist into Dave's stomach, and he went to his knees. "Please confine your remarks to me me," said Cesare. "Now perhaps you will tell us why you are here. The truth, this time."

"Eminence," Dave gasped, "we are pilgrims."

Cesare sighed. "Very well." He glanced toward the windows.

The squash player looked at Dave with a resigned expression. He went to the windows-there were three-and drew the curtains apart. Dave looked out onto a balcony, bordered by a low wall. The middle window was actually a door, which he opened. They were several stories high.

Shel could see out over a large section of Rome. The river wasn't visible, but houses and streets were. And they were a long way down down.

Shel's guards dragged him across the floor and hauled him outside. "Wait," Dave cried. "Don't-!"