Agents Of Time: Chapter 13; A day at the market

The sun was warm, wrapping his body in a sleepy lull. All the while his mind buzzed from the rush of the past hour. Verena had at least a conversation to engage in, or well, he glanced back at them again. She was probably probing for more information on him under the guise of conversation. That women never stopped when she had a chance.

James, on the other hand had one too many thoughts and wanted to raze them all with a blowtorch.

It was possible that either of the princes could be heir to the throne. Neither was specially named, yet. There was a strange relief in that. He pressed a hand to his chest, like he could beath a little easier. Surely, they couldn’t be faulted for not completing the mission if the mission's purpose was not possible in the first place.

No matter how many times he argued with himself in his mind, he couldn’t shake the feeling that they’d been sent here as simple dirty assassins under the fancy wording of “for the sake of the world” of course the director had neither said the words, kill or for the sake of the world. But the more he thought about it, the more it’d been implied. Verena hadn’t exactly said otherwise either, generally she seemed able to read the director's intentions better. You’d think for a guy who was at the forefront of mission control, he’d speak a little more clearly and less cryptically. Especially if he wanted this mission to succeed so badly.

James gave another look over his shoulder at Julian and Verena, who had gradually drifted to walking side by side with the librarian. He’d offered the market for two reasons: he had been planning ongoing today. Amber's comment about it locked in his mind, and it was probably better to confront Julian about the notes in a public space. If he was leaving them cryptic notes, it was unlikely he didn’t want full frontal confrontation. Maybe he was unsure himself about their involvement, but needed to cover his bases. Regardless, this way he’d be less likely to cause a scene. He wrinkled his brow. He hadn’t even considered who Julian might be if he was the note sender? Was it possible that the Agency had sent another agent along, without telling them? Was it a test? A test to make sure they completed their mission?

“James?” a familiar voice rippled through his thoughts.

He snapped to attention, his body pulling out of the autopilot walk he’d unconsciously set, arms rising in defense, stopping midway when he laid eyes on the speaker. “Amber? Oh, Amber.”

She smiled sheepishly,” I didn't mean to scare you, you seemed… stuck in your head.

James took a deep breath and smiled.” Yeah, just thinking. Where did you come from?” I didn’t even hear her approach.

He hadn't even entered the market yet, standing on the cobblestones, enjoying a few warm moments of peace. A vain attempt to clear his head before entering the bustling market square.

Amber heaved up the basket she clutched with both hands. “This,” she huffed, “I got sent to get this.” She let the basket drop again, hanging from her hands. “And I saw you!”

James instinctively reached for it. “Well, since I'm distracting you, I’ll carry it.”

“Oh.” Amber sagged in relief once he took it from her. “Thank you.”

He shifted the basket in his arms. “What do you have in here?” He balanced it in one arm and lifted the cloth covering it.

“Hey!” Amber swatted at his hand. “No peeking!”

“What! Why?” A mischievous streak bled into his eye. “Is this, some sort of top-secret baking?”

“No, it's my mother's famous Bakewell tart! I don't want any bugs on it. Or a handsome thief to pirate a bite.”

“A tart? That's what’s so heavy? A tart.” he deflected the handsome comment.

“It’s famous for a reason, Chadwick.”

“If you say so. Now where am I supposed to be taking this oh so famous tart of your mother's. I’d like to meet her too.” He caught his tongue too late. He couldn't treat this like a regular fling. He didn't want too either. He wasn't supposed to be here. It wasn't his place to give hope. Not to mention Verena and Julian had come to a stop, lingering behind Amber.

“My mother?”

How could he fix this? “How else am I supposed to try some of this tart, of course?”

“Ah.” Amber hid her disappointment welk, but he found the spark in her eyes. “Come along then.” She turned, now coming face to face with Verena and Julian. “Oh!” Amber turned back towards James, before realizing her mistake and dipping into a clumsy curtsey. “Your ladyship?”

James took over, attempting to cover his own mistake. “Viscountess Parker, Master Liberian, this is Miss-” James paused as he realized he actually didn’t know Amber's last name. “Miss, uhm, Amb-“

“Miss. Watercott, of Betty's Cake Shoppe, at your service, Milady, sir.” Amber seamlessly recovered and introduced herself with another less wavering curtsy.

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss. Watercott, I have visited your mother's fine establishment on more than one occasion.” Julian smiled.

“Miss Watercott? I’m afraid I’ve yet to hear about you and your bakery.” Verena gave James a look, a look he didn't care to read, keeping his eyes on Amber. Who didn’t seem the least bit intimidated by Verena’s, save for her reverence for her title.

False title, even if she did act the part a little too well sometimes.

“Actually, we were just on our way to the booth in the market. James was helping me with this. Would you care to come? I’d love to offer you one of our signature cupcakes? On the house, of course.” Amber waved to the basket James still held.

Verena started to open her mouth, likely to refuse based on her expression. She probably preferred to drag James away from Amber and over to actually confront Julian and drag an explanation out from both. Julian, as was becoming a habit, beat Verena to speaking. “We would be honored. Please lead the way.”
Amber did, pulling James along with her. He caught a side-eyed glimpse of Julian with his head tilted as he spoke unheard words to Verena. Words that seemed to convince her to follow them all a bit more willingly.

The market was set on the outskirts of town, where the polish of the upper-class had yet to touch. The houses built of weathered wood and stone, simple but everything had a small personal touch. A skillfully crafted lantern swaying from a varnished beam above a doorway, a scattering of colour filled scarves weaved around widow frames, carts and barrels neatly arranged in a narrow alley, and dark refreshing garden boxed, with small buds and vines peeping out of fresh dirt adoring a wall.

The houses centered around a large square, which was framed by the taller buildings leading the eye towards the city center where James had visited a few days earlier.

There were shops set into the building's first floors, whose purposes were revealed with a quick scanning of brightly painted signs hanging above doorframes or posted to the lower walls of the buildings. A pub, a town hall, some sort of schoolhouse, a bank and a small library.

Within the town square, multiple stalls and carts lined it, some bleeding out in staggered lines into the streets leading out of it. Most of them were in various states of set up. Some merchants were sitting, counting their wears, or stock, and somewhere urged their craft in an appeasing way. Far above the stalls, weaved ropes hung with coloured squares of fabric or tassels, adding a festive touch to the bright blue sky.

As they pushed into the market centre, the crowd thinned out, gathering around the perimeter of the square, where the stalls were set in a circle. The centre left for milling back and forth, or like himself, to simply gape at it all.

“Does this happen every Wednesday?” He whispered to Amber.

Amber turned, still walking. “In a way, it changes with the season. We have dances, music, in spring and fall. The market gets better in the summer too-oh and big tree at Christmas, even! “

“Huh,” they still gathered, no matter the weather, even with the gossip and the uneasy claims of the archduke. Would they still, if his claim rang true? If they disposed of the heir? Or would that not only dismantle the course of history but also the surrounding livelihoods.

A history book would be useful now. He needed one that told how this train of events originally played out. What threat did Benedict or Darko pose? Who really did ascend to the throne in the distance future? Was it fought for? It often happened when it was sought by more than the chosen child.

“Here we are!” Amber said, throwing her arms wide towards a wide wooden stall with a striped pink and white canopy sheltering the small shelves and cases filled with colourful sweets.

A woman, her yellowed white dress covered with a large pink apron, was busily rearranging a cupcake stand. “Oh good Amber dear, you're back.” She straightened, dusting off her hands and catching sight of James. “Goodness, whose handsome legs have you got carrying my tart there?”

Amber laughed. James turned and winked” That’d be mine. I’d shake your hand, but,” He looked down at the basket in emphasis.

“Put it right here!” Amber’s mother patted the table between the middle of the cases, where she handled the customers.

James heaved the basket over and set it down on the counter, sending a shudder through the setup. He offered his hand, “Chadwick Rodsworth, at your service, Ma’am” He was getting used to introducing himself like this. It felt natural now.

Amber gestured a bit too enthusiastically towards Julian and Verena, who waited patiently a few feet behind to allow James to maneuver the large basket. “Mother, might I introduce the Viscountess Parker and the Master of the Archives, as well as Mr. Rodsworth who is her ladyship's chauffeur.”

“You can call me Betty, please. It’s an honor to have you visit,” Betty dipped into two half curtsies for both Julian and Verena. For James, however, she opted for reaching over the table. Clasping his hand in a firm handshake. “Rodsworth, eh? Amber told me about you.”

“Did she? And, please, call me Chadwick, both of you,” James corrected her.

Amber sheepishly ducked into the stall. “Well, if he just about set a record of impulse buying pastries! How could I not?”

“I set a record?” James braced a hand on the counter, carefully leaning on it.

“If we did keep records. I recon yes,” Betty's mother took one last look at the cupcakes. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to slice this tart up.” She picked up the basket with ease, transferring it to a sturdy wooden countertop set up at the back of the stall square.

Amber started to help her, but her mother waved her away.” Go have some fun in the market; I can manage for an hour or so just fine. And offer our guests a cupcake.”

Amber carefully pulled two delicately decorated cupcakes sitting in pink and white stripped wrappers and handed them each to the librarian and Verena. “Our specialty is a simple vanilla and orange zest cupcake with the whitest buttercream frosting, topped with a sweet cherry.”

James watched Verena suspiciously eye hers, like it was poisoned, and then take a small bite. Julian, on the other hand meticulously pulled the wrapper back before pulling off a chunk with his fingers.

Amber gently pried one of his hands out of the tight weave that they had crossed his chest in and pressed a cupcake into his hand.

“Now, I’d love to give you all a tour of the market myself. I’m sure you’ve already seen it yourself, Sir, but if you would permit me.” Amber.

“I would be honored; however, I don’t want to impose further on Chadwick's plans any further. You two can wander off on your own. I’d be happy to keep the viscountess company and show her around myself.”

“I’m sure it’s no trouble. She did offer.” Verena chipped in, eyeing James. She wanted them to spend, or maybe just him to spend as little time with Amber as possible. He should know better. The entire reason they were even here was because they needed an excuse to interrogate Julian, and he was turning it into a field day. Verena just wanted answers. He should too.

“Well,” Amber considered this slowly, glancing at Verena and then James.
“Of course, I mean absolutely no offense. Really, we are the once inconveniencing you two,” Julina reassured her.

“Alright, yes, I think that may be nice.” Amber smiled. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Viscountess.” Amber dipped into a curt curtsy. Julian bid them both farewell, and then he led Verena away, a fleeting glance from her a wordless goodbye.

Make it snappy

“Let’s see where to go first. We must visit the candy shoppes, stall, they have these adorable little bonbons, oh, and the blacksmith! I bet you’d like the blacksmith, oh I think the oh..what it's called, funny looking little old things, um Euro? Eu, something”

“The Europium?”

“Yes! That one!”

James hummed, “Yes, I think I saw that the other day when I escorted Her Majesty and the ladies into town. That’s quite further into town. Do the more exclusive shops display here?”

“Some do, yes. Goodness, I can't imagine being able to be around her Majesty so much.” Aber glanced behind them, trying to catch a glimpse of Verena and Julian

James let Amber guide him into a lineup for what he didn’t know. “It's not that much, only a handful. It's only when I’m there for formalities too, like with her ladyship.”

“Still!” Amber shuffled closer to him to avoid the crowd brewing. He peeked around the line; it looked like they’d made it to the blacksmith's stall.

The man behind the tables watched them as they approached. His appearance warm and ruddy. The crevices in his hands stained black. Rubbed away stains of coal smeared his simple brown shirt, with sleeves cuffed at his elbows. The whole out tire was finished by a thick leather apron wrapped around his sturdy body.

When they finally arrived at his stall, he was leaning, arms spread wide on the table, looking up at James with curious expectation.

Amber dropped a hand, gliding along the table and tracing her finger over the raised design on a silver mirror.

“Anything I can help you with, miss?”

Amber smiled, “Oh, I’m not looking for anything in particular, Chadwick?” She turned to James. He shook his head.

He smiled, revealing an uneven row of teeth, “enjoying the sun, eh?” He swept a hand over the cluttered array of sparkling metal, “I’ve been cooped up in my shop so much with the rain and gray clouds. I almost don’t have enough table space.”

They both chuckled, and he extended his hand, then retracted it at the sight of James' leather gloves. “You’d think after days of being around in the rain I’d be cleaner, better not soil your fancy gloves.

He nodded his head in greeting instead. “My name is Nickolas Barney. Barney, the blacksmith they call me.”

James shucked a glove, re-sparking the offer of a handshake. “Chadwick Rodsworth, Chaffur-”

Nick beat him to the rest of his sentence, “The big house's newest chauffer. I heard ya came with her new lady-in-waiting! Too. I was wondering why I hadn’t seen you before. Figured you were passing through.”

James’s attention was sagged back down to the table as the clouds shifted, light bouncing off the shining silver into his face. He stepped aside, out of its path swiftly, his hand knocked against a slim brass pocket watch. “So much for introducing myself then.”

Nickolas tilted his head in understanding. “We’re a nosey bunch. Not much new happens otherwise, anyway.” His voice traveled around him like a cloud.

The pocket watch was ticking quietly, the brass engraving on the lid quivering with it slightly. He traced his finger on it. It was a large tree, branches and roots both sprawled out and entangled in a weaved border that then encircled the tree itself.

A rough finger tapped the watch, his eyes quickly followed it back up its tanned arm, to where Nick was staring curiously at him. “Beautiful, isn’t it? It's got a muse.

Amber approached his side again, done her browsing. “ A muse?”

Nickolas, spread a hand, looking down on of the streets. “there's a lake, down there, and this big, spindly, old oak. Probably have been there since the start of time. Legend says it’s got magic in it. Have ye seen it before?”

James reached a hand up, shading his face as the clouds continued their way yet again. “I haven’t. It reminded me of a tree I’d play under as a child.” a joyful smile lifted the corners of the other mouth. “I’d pretend to be saving the world with my friend.”

His gaze returned to the watch; “How much for the-” he faltered. He only had the leftover change from what Verena had given him. “Actually, never mind, I already have one.” He pulled his sleeve up, briefly showcasing his false antique watch.

Nickolas crossed his arms and leaned back, studying him thoroughly, his eyes narrowed in thought. “You seem to have a connection to this watch. Take it, I will not charge you, nor force ye to part with those memories. They seem dear”

“It’s so pretty.” Amber studied the watch in his hand; they were moving to the next stall now. But he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

“yeah,” he murmured,” where are we going now?”

Amber tugged him out of the way of a child racing through the crowd. “The farmers stand. You said you needed food, right?”

Right, he did.

“Yes.” He considered the few coins in his pocket; would he even be able to get much? With the looming circumstances, he was no longer sure how long his stay here would be.

Amber managed to guide him through everting, she must have sensed his cloudy mind that he trudged through. He was grateful she never prodded him as to why.

He was introduced to a few farmers, who, as everyone seemed to, already seemed to know half of him. Working at the “big house” as they called it, seemed to earn him both respect and merit.

James sighed, the noise of the market starting to wind on his ears, and the weight of the basket he carried on his arms. How did he get the basket? He tried to remember. But all he saw was blurred faces.

It smelled good, refreshing, the nostalgic smell of grass and dirt.

Amber laid a hand on his arm, drawing him to the side, out of the crowd.

“I think that you should be set for a while.”

James frowned. “What?”

“The food.”

“Oh, right? Yes. Thank you.”

Amber hummed. She studied him for a moment. She had a question. He could see something brimming beneath the surface of her eyes.

“You should probably go rest. I can't take up all your Sunday, can I. I’m sure you don’t want to keep her ladyship waiting long.” She said instead.

James nodded quietly. In another life, it would be nice, just the two of them, without anything else to worry about. Without the lives of someone weighing on his shoulders.

But he should get back to Verena. He didn’t have the lives of someone lying on his shoulders. Maybe more than one. What would happen to these people if this plan went through? He shook himself out of his thoughts. He couldn’t keep Amber. “I should let you get back to your mother, too.”

“Oh goodness, yes,” Amber looked in the direction of the stall.” How long has it been?”

James shrugged” You'd think id know, having two watches on me.”

Amber smiled; it lit up his heart a little. She was still hesitating, hand on his arm. He tilted his head towards her mother's stall. “Go, I can manage.”

“Okay. “ Her hand slipped away.

James watched her wave and start off across the cobblestones.

“Amber,” He called; she turned around so fast, it was like she’d been waiting. “I’ll be okay.”

She smiled, a bit brighter this time, and scurried away. Her pale pink, skirts swishing as she disappeared into the crowd.

James flexed his hand, then pressed it into a fist. It was time to go back. To untangle his own mess. He didn’t belong here. No matter now, nice and peaceful and free it felt.

A breeze swept through, scattering hats, skirts, and flags. Paper skittered over the ground. He felt something tug at his pant leg; a newspaper had stuck to it. He shook it off, revealing a twisted headline I the paper underneath.

He stomped on it, stopping it from flittering about in the wind.

Royal Family Tree: Archduke.

James knelt, snatching it up from the ground. He’d check the family tree. The archduke wasn’t even remotely related, anyway.
His eyes raced across the headline again. Was it official then?

James rolled it up tightly, turning to scan the crowd, looking for Verena’s hat. Only to be greeted by the sight of nearly everyone wearing a hat.

He needed to be higher.

Ten minutes later, James shifted his stance, digging his shoes as far into the crevices in the wall, pinching his toes and scuffing the leather. Anything to steady himself from toppling what he’d estimated to be about twenty feet down a brick cliff. This is probably a stupid idea.

From here, the alley side of the shabby townhouse felt higher than it looked. But at least it offered a clear, nearly bird's-eye view of the square.

A breeze swept through, hurried by the narrow streets and buildings. With one arm still hooked around the brass water pipe, he used the other to try to stuff the newspaper further into his jacket.

As he pulled his hand out, satisfied it was secure, the paper lifted, accidentally tugged out by his own efforts. It snapped as it was swept away by the wind. He lunged after it, despite his own instincts not to.

His fingertips brushed the paper as it fluttered away, the layers splitting as the wind whipped it in violent snaps and swirls.

The pipe his other arm was hooked creaked. It wasn’t made to hold any weight.

Someone yelled from down below.

The newspaper had smacked right into a woman’s hat. She tore at it, trying to get it off her face as the wind pressed it on. James turned back to the pipe, pulling himself back into the building, preparing to climb back down the pipe.

“Hey!” An all too familiar voice yelled up at him as the wind died to a lull, satisfied with its mischief.

James was forced to abandon his attempt to descend. Two faces looked up at him, like a pair of moons. Julian, his brows smashed together in what looked like concern, at least from this distance it was hard to tell. Verena was very clear to read. Fury. She held the newspaper clutched in her fist. What on earth, Jameson, she mouthed.

A few other villagers cast curious glances in his direction, drawn by Julian's yell.

James tried to shrink further back into the shadows, but his efforts only caused the pipe to creak dangerously again. He shifted his weight, bringing one foot off the bricks and into the lip of the pipe, where one section bolded to another.

The pipe didn’t budge.

He brought the other foot onto it, which set off a series of creaks.

Could he jump? He tilted his head, trying to gauge the distance.

A bad judgment on his end.

The pipe creaked loudly, leaning outwards. He was probably drawing attention, to much attention. He was going to wreck these poor people's pipe. His hand was slipping, sweaty from the vertigo that was starting to spin his head. His arm still locked around the pipe, but copper and cloth offered no grip. James let one hand go, hoping to wrap his arm around the pipe.

But with the offset of balance, it simply meant the pipe groaned and tilted, dropping over the alley.

The upper end jammed into the brick of the building across the opening, the impact yanking his remaining arm free.

His chest compressed as his heart leapt to his throat, caught in a fall that didn’t even allow him to scream. He flailed, trying to twist, trying to find something to push off of. So at the very least, he could slow the descent.

I hope Amber can’t see me being a blumming idiot right now.