Agents of Time: Chapter Eight; The plot fog

Verena sighed. Finally free of anyone else’s attention. She could reminisce and put together the information she’d gathered from the day's events. She glanced at her watch, maybe she could figure out this agency contact thing too.

After locking her door and testing the handle. She reached under her mattress and pulled out the pale orange envelope, organized with all the papers retaining to the mission in.

She’d have to hide it somewhere else. The downside of having a cleaning maid, meant that true privacy was hard to come by. If anything, it may just be best to hide it among the stationery supplies in her desk. At least that should remain untouched by the Ana. Whether she trusted Ana not to rifle through her things was another issue entirely.

The tea party with the lady’s-in-waiting had proved insightful, a deep pool of gossip and news, disguised under fluttering fans and sly comments in-between genteel sips of tea. She’d learned two main things. There was some half-buried history between a high-ranking Duke and Queen Cordelia. An affair that had been brushed under the rug of society yet still made itself seen in glances. Glances shared between those who were in the room where it happened.

An ordeal that had been bad enough that it set the woman off kilter when the up-and-coming gala was mentioned. A gala that the Duke was to attend.

The second piece of information was that there was a second son. This gala was a homecoming for him, having spent the past few years away from the public eye in boarding school, he was now returning and regaining his full rights as a Prince. Whether that included the right of an heir, or birthright, or him being the firstborn, had not been mentioned. The topic skipped around, nit-picked for only the interesting bits.

One might compare it to the chicken served with dinner. That conversation hadn’t yielded much fruit, aside from the- Verena paused.

Why am I using food metaphors? What, am I James now?

Maybe he had had some meaningful conversation after the queen had dragged her off. Of course, what would a chauffeur, King and Prince have to converse about? Horses and cars? Sounds like the beginning of dad joke.

Pulling the desk chair out she organized the papers into neat piles, the papers from the information packet, the case files, and she set her alias paper in its own spot.

If three are two sons, what are the inheritance laws, or traditions that apply? Tradition ruled often in place of law.

Traditionally and lawfully, it was likely that the first-born son would inherit the throne however sometimes that could be overruled for one son being underqualified or disable

But why weren’t both sons mentioned in the file?

Verena paged through the papers, looking for the short histories of each main family member and the country itself. Spying the Queens name she pulled it out, scanning the paragraphs.

The floor creaked, she froze. The handle twisted one way and ten the next, yielding no results.

A tap knocked at her door, and then another, some short some long.

Morse code.

Verena tapped her watch, now closer to resembling a silver jewel encrusted analog creation, than a smartwatch. It was far past ten o’clock. At least he’d waited until the staff have retired for the night.

She tapped back on the door warning James, before she unlocked it, opened the door and pulled James through before locking it again, leaving the key lodged in the door.

“Oh good, right room. Why’d they have to make all the doors identical?” James did a little spin, examining the room. He’d left his coat behind, his shirttails loose, hair askew

Verena scoffed.” And what was your plan if it wasn’t the right room? Play the drunkard card on your first day?”

James fixed his hair. “That or hope it was empty. Are the other ladies staying up here too? I’d hate to have gone in and scared the daylights out of them.”

“I’d have a hell of a day rescuing you from that potential scandal. But then again, you’re a man, so maybe it’d be smoother regardless.”

James sauntered over to Verena’s desk. “What do you know of an up-and-coming ball?”

“A bit. The Queens not looking forward to it, something to do with a Duke. Duke Mavros? I believe, can’t remember his last name. It’s for their son.”

“Benedict? What’s the occasion. I presume your going?” James said

“Obviously, and no, there’s a second son.”

James looked up.” What? But that wasn’t- did I miss-?” He picked up the papers on the desk and started sorting through hem.

“I don’t remember him mentioned either. From what I’ve gathered there are some gaps due to some less documented, or possibly erased bits of history during this time.

Anything from carelessness in handling, to fires keep historical records from ever making it past a few decades.

“You won’t find much in the paperwork.” Verena peered over his shoulder. “He’s coming back from school, so it’s also likely that there’s simply just less known about him, societal wise. With the way news travels and is disrupted, the channels are more limited, and yet,” Verena frowned, “due to that, more rumours spread and less truth is known.”

“Does that mean he could be the heir? If they’re trying to keep it on the downlow? What do we know about the political tensions right now? Is there peace, what’s the threat to the crown, or how do the people regard them?” He sighed. “Too many holes. Can we ask?” James gesture to her watch.

“You tell me. And no, I haven’t tried yet.”

“I’m starting to wonder if this should be a much longer mission than was planned.” James mumbled, brushing his hands through his hair again. “When did you say that, what was it, the ball or gala, or whatever, was?”

“The end of the week, Saturday.”

“Alright, well, since it’s happening here, I doubt I’ll be busy. I’ll see if I can attend. Invited or not.”

Verena nodded. “I’m sure it’ll help answer some of our questions. Tends to happen with these types of events, regardless of the time or period.” She eyed him. “What happened after I left?”

“Left? Oh, during the meeting. Nothing really. There was no reason for me to stick around, and they didn’t keep me.”

“I was hoping maybe you’d have a reason to get closer to Benedict, find out more about him.”

“That I can try. If anything, you’d have a better chance of getting closer to him. This class thing will be tricky to work around. But I have a feeling I’ll hear lots of things down in the servant halls.” James yawned. “Oh, I met someone interesting at dinner today.” He spread his hands out dramatically. “The Keeper of the Archives and Master Librarian.”

Verena frowned. “Are you sure you're not confusing that with a fantasy novel?”

“No, he’s real. His name is Julian, doesn’t really seem to like me. But he may be able to get me some information about the noble circles and probably some more on the history of the royal family. If they’ve chosen an heir, it’ll be recorded somewhere in the archives.”

An archive? Well, that’d be a treasure trove of information. If they couldn’t get any further information from the agency at least, they could access current and past historical records here. She’d likely have a better chance at accessing any important information than James, given her position and status. But if he was able to buddy up to Julian, maybe he could pull some strings.

“Well, let me know what you find. I’ll see if I can pay a visit sometime myself. In the meantime, I’ll see if I can send a message to headquarters tonight and.” she watched James’s yawn again. “You should get to bed.”

“I mean, I could sta-” James glanced at his watch. “Oh. Shoot. I think I have a curfew. One that they do enforce an hour after.” He spun towards the door, waving goodnight as he slipped back out.

Verena listened until his footsteps disappeared, then plucked the key out of the door, putting it on her bedside table where it would be obvious if it'd been moved.

Now, what to tell the agency. She held her finger to the watch face until it faded back to a screen and a hologram sprung up.

“Send message to mission handler.” She said. A loading screen popped up, displaying a rotating gear. A few seconds later, a new window sprung up, a message box.

“Reporting to the Director of Agency. “Verena spoke. “Mission initiation successful. We are within the castle and have been welcomed well. Requesting more information on the children of Queen Cordelia and King Aldrick.” She paused as her message loaded in.

Should I add anything else? I have no idea what today's date is either. They must have calendars or, something I can use to track the days.

Probably better to just leave it as a short message. They didn’t quite know if this would work. They were playing with unknown variables on an astronomical scale. Could their technology scale the gap? Obviously, they had. Only one way to find out.

She tapped the screen, sending it off and set her watch back to its silver form. Well. That was that. Hopefully, she’d have a response by morning. She rubbed her hands over her face and curled up under the heavy comforter.

What did she have on the schedule tomorrow?

She hazily recalled shopping for something, dresses maybe. A tailor? Her mind had wandered during the tail end of the tea party; the chatter had become a mushed fuzz of noise. Where it had wandered, she couldn’t recall.

Was jetlag a thing with time travel? Of course, nobody would know. She sighed, pulling her legs up to her chest and nuzzling her face into her pillow. Regardless, they really needed to make pillows like they did in the nineteen hundreds again.

…

Despite the sluggish sleep her body was lulled into, her mind didn’t seem to agree. More times than she could count, she found herself staring at the ceiling, her body too restless to lie still.

The duvet seemed to cling to her every time she arose. Head full of thoughts, swirling questions, as she tried to piece together her existence in time. In-between a query of questions that repeated across a billboard screen in her mind, all needing the same amount of attention. All the while she was fighting the same thought that seemed to seep under the door of her confidence.

There's no way home if you fail.

You’ll be lost in time.

There's no way home. No way home. No home.

You already failed by losing your gun, you can’t fail again.

At one point during the night, she could have sworn screams wandered through the walls. But moonlit windows made everything seem a bit more fictional. She would return to bed with the same resolve, reminding herself that she was simply over-tried and it would pass in the morning.

The morning, which was set by Ana pulling the curtains wide, came too soon.

Sunlight spilled in, chasing the heavy blue shadows away. Everything was normal. Verena sat up, staring at the maid who stood at the foot of her bed. Well, except everything looked like it was from the nineteenth century because it was.

“Good morning, Milady.” Ana reached for her silk robe.

“What time is it?” Verena swung her legs over the side of the bed, Ana slipped the robe on her.

“I believe its about nine. Are you excited?”

“For?” She hugged the robe around her.

“Shopping for the gala, Milady.” Ana said with far more enthusiasm than Verena replied with.

“Oh. Right. Yes, that will be, fun.” Verena smiled.

“Now I’ve brought your breakfast up here, milady. I guessed you’d want a private first morning, especially with the outing later. But you're always welcome to go down and breakfast with the rets of them. I’ll be back to dress you in a bit.”

A bit turned out to be a little over an hour later, and Verena soon found herself elegantly stuffed in the back of a car, dressed, hatted, and frilled up, along with the other ladies-in-waiting.

James, who was doing his dutiful duty of being an excellent driver and an even better eaves dropper, given by the way that he tilted his head a little to the side when the conversation got interesting.

She looked down at her watch. She’d still received no reply or addition information from the Agency. Either it was delayed, or the transmission hadn’t gone though.

They were pulling into town now, past the outskirts of farmhouses built of rough worn stone and gravel paths, to the cobblestoned streets boarded by elegant townhouses peering down at those who passed.

With the sunshining everyone must be out and about. Or last least everyone who could afford to be out and about a few hours before noon. The car bearing the royal crest drew a few stares, but they wandered away once they realized that neither the Queen nor King was sitting in it. Only a few lingering stares of curiosity followed the car as it turned down another street.

“Ah, here we are!” Fiona examined as James pulled the car aside the sidewalk. The youngest of the four of them, with blonde curls, a strong bias towards the colour orange, and an affinity for conversation, the Countess Fiona Ausley needed a mute button.

At least she tended to draw attention to herself, and away from Verena.

James swung out of the driver’s seat and opened the door in one fell swoop, offering a hand to each lady who stepped out, until they all stood on the sidewalk examining the shops on the street like birds of prey.

“We won’t be long.” Countess Rodina, the only married of the two, addressed James, who stepped back into the automobile with a fleeting look at Verena.