Far Edge of Darkness

Charlie finally looked over at Aelia. She lay with her back to him, huddled down between the spare sail and the cubicle wall. She'd wrapped both arms around her head. Aelia apparently hadn't moved since he'd dropped her. Charlie cursed Xanthus under his breath and crawled closer.

She was weeping. But Aelia was also muttering softly to herself between shaky, watery breaths, in a language that sounded strange to his ears. He leaned over to listen more closely—

"—just don't get it, my God, how did he do it, this is crazy, nobody's got time travel..."

Charlie forgot about the bruises, forgot about the blood on his face, forgot his swollen eye. He even forgot to breathe.

She was speaking English.

With a Deep South accent he'd heard before, from native "crackers" who called home "North Florida, USA."

"Uh," he said, intelligently.

She rolled quickly and glared up at him.

"Omigod!" She bolted upright. One hand came up, as a horror-stricken expression darkened her eyes. She touched the swelling along the side of his face. He winced back from her fingers.

"What happ—" She broke off abruptly. Then blurted, "Oh, dear God..." Something in his eyes must have clued her that she wasn't speaking Latin, because she swallowed and said in that language, "Xanthus beat you because of me. Didn't he?" She touched his bleeding mouth. Fresh tears welled up in anguished green eyes. "I'm so sorry... ."

Charlie had to look away. He couldn't talk for a moment. No one, not even his mother, had ever cried over him.

"Yeah," Charlie said heavily, aware that he was taking a gamble he might not be able to afford. He didn't care. English felt as strange on his tongue as it sounded in his ears. The only times he'd used English over the past four years was to curse without being understood—and therefore punished. He used more, gauging her reaction. "The bastard gets a real kick out of it."

For a long moment, she didn't register it. When she did, her eyes widened. Her lips parted over soundless air.

"And my name's not Rufus Mancus," he added bitterly. "It took me a while to figure out what the name Xanthus had given me meant. I... had a different name before that one." Red the Cripple. How appropriate.

She blinked a couple of times, but still said nothing. The color of her eyes had deepened to the shade of the Emerald City. Charlie suspected from the curious depths in them that her mind was racing well ahead of her expression. When she finally did manage to say something, it wasn't at all what Charlie expected to hear.

"It's not the theft, it's the anachronism! Of course he had to get rid of me. One way or another—" Before Charlie could comment on that, she looked directly into his eyes. A steel-hard core had sprung into existence. "Obviously someone thought you were dangerous," she said, with a chill like New Jersey snow. "Or you wouldn't be here. Care to tell me what happened?"

Charlie managed a laugh, a grating, harsh sound. A delicate shudder rippled through her. "That's a good question, lady. They drugged me. Last thing I remember was Carreras' laughing face." He watched narrowly for any hint of recognition, but saw none. He added, harshly, "I woke up... here. In chains. You already know the rest."

"Carreras? Who's Carreras?"

Despite the sudden rush of wanting to share everything, Charlie just couldn't risk it. Not yet. Not until he knew exactly who she was and why she was here.

Charlie shook his head. "We'll get to Carreras later." He winced and wished for a piece of raw steak, or an ice cube. Or an aspirin. "I, uh, take it your memory came back?"

She shuddered. "Yeah. Nearly threw up, it hurt so bad. It was, uh, hearing the name Herculaneum did it."

"Oh?"

She sat up and rubbed her nose with the back of one hand, like a kid would. "I... I spent some highly interesting time there recently. You know, this is begi

Charlie snorted knowingly. "Yeah."

She looked up, her eyes hooded. "Oh? You've spent time in Florida? You sound more like New York."

The native Floridian's deep-seated distrust of Yankees—particularly "Goddamn Yankees" who came to stay—colored that dour observation.

"New Jersey," he corrected unhappily, aware that the distinction probably wouldn't improve his standing in her eyes. "And yeah, you might say I've spent some time in Florida. Go on."

She hesitated. Charlie waited.

"I... drove through a hole in the air. Lightning was shooting out of it. I tried to back up, but something went wrong with the car. I lurched forward, instead, right into it. I have really distorted memories of what happened next." Her eyes narrowed as she concentrated. "I remember Bartlett"—her voice took on a vicious edge when she said the name—"and someone else I'd never seen before. I think they must have hypnotized me, maybe under the influence of drugs. I seem to recall needles... ."

Christ, which branch of the Carreras family had she gotten mixed up with? And why?

Charlie nodded grudgingly. Her guess made sense with her symptoms. "Drug-enhanced posthypnotic suggestion might account for the memory block and pain."

But again, why? He knew only too well why he'd been marooned here. Charlie tugged at the chains on his wrists and thought about the relationship he was probably killing with every word he uttered, then said it, anyway. "And? None of what you've said tells me why you were so dangerous they hadda dump you here."

Her expression darkened into a scowl. "Neither have you."

Fair was fair.... But he wasn't ready to trust her that completely just yet. An agony of indecision kept him silent.

She glared at him, like a wolverine ready to spit ten-pe

Great. Make me feel worse than I already do.

But she'd started to talk. "Tony Bartlett tried to frame me for something he did. Something he stole." Her eyes glittered, angry, hard-cut emeralds. "No one suspected him or believed me, not at first. But Professor Clarke convinced the Italian authorities I couldn't possibly have had the co

"Good thing for you."

She really did resemble a furious wolverine with her back up. "Too right," she growled. "He was the only person who stood up for me. Everybody else just tossed me to the wolves."

Charlie wouldn't have wanted to be the wolf on the receiving end of that wolverine glare. Then she shook her head and the glare faded into an expression slightly less lethal.

"Anyway, there were other inconsistencies in the whole setup, once the police started looking for other suspects. Things like Bartlett's nonexistent background. And that anachronism in the grid sector where Bartlett and I found the stuff he stole. The lowlife creep tried to convince everyone it was my mistake, that I'd somehow contaminated the site, cast doubt on the genuine antiquity of what we'd just unearthed."

Slim jaw muscles had clenched. Her eyes flashed again. "Bartlett and I had quite a fight. It was one reason the police were willing to believe I was guilty, at first. I had this supposed motive..."

Then she glanced up at him and actually blushed. She looked mortified that she'd had to air such sordid laundry. Did she actually care that much whether or not he believed her? She's young and scared, idiot. Of course she'd care that much.