Page 77 of No Place in Time

“We’re in the year 1301, then? That’s all?”

“Yes, that’s what the machine says.”

They grabbed it, each taking a side. It was heavy and awkward. They dragged it through the rubble of the cave deeper into the forest, where Finn found a dense thicket of brambles and young growth.

“Here.”

They pushed the machine deep into the brush, covered it with fallen branches, leaves, and loose rubble. When they were done, it was nearly invisible.

Finn memorized the surrounding trees, the angle from the cave ruins. They’d need to find it again.

“Now what?” Cecily asked.

“We need shelter.” He looked toward the road. “Faversham isn’t far. We can get a room there. Do we have money?”

She had the coins Isabel had pressed into her hand before they fled, and her own purse securely tucked inside. “Yes. Some. But it won’t last long.”

They kept to the edges of the fields as the sun bled across the horizon. Every step seemed to take a monumental effort. Cecily’s torn dress caught on brambles, and Finn’s ribs ached with each breath, a dull throb that mirrored the fear in his gut. They moved in a heavy silence, the unspoken questions about the year they’d lost, and the one they’d stumbled into, hanging between them.

∞∞∞

When Faversham’s buildings came into view, the sky had gone purple with dusk. Smoke rose from chimneys. They smelled cooking, and Finn’s stomach gave a groan. Voices and laughter erupted from a tavern.

They found a modest inn near the market square. The common room was warm and crowded with diners. A fire burned in the hearth.

The innkeeper looked them over, at Cecily’s torn dress, Finn’s muddied tunic. Cecily paid for the room. The innkeeper pocketed the coins without comment and led them upstairs. The room was small but clean, with one narrow bed, a washbasin, and a single window overlooking the street.

“Evenin’ meal’s in the common room if ye want it,” the innkeeper said, and left them.

Cecily sank onto the bed. Her hands were shaking.

They were a year ahead. Only a year.

“We should eat,” Finn said.

They washed the worst of the dirt from their hands and faces, then went back downstairs.

The common room was even busier now. Serving girls moved between tables with plates and cups. Finn found them a spot in the corner, away from the fire but with a view of the room. A girl brought stew, cold mutton, bread, and ale.

At the next table, two men were talking business over their wine. Finn paid them no mind until a single word cut through the tavern’s noise:

“Veyron.” He froze, his own thoughts silenced.

“—prosperous,” one of the men was saying. “Lord Julian pays on time, least nowadays he does. Which is more’n I can say fer some.”

Cecily’s hand stilled on her spoon.

Finn was listening intently, his face carefully neutral.

“Surprised, that,” the tradesman said. “Heard he was drownin’ in debt a year back.”

“Was. The lady’s dowry, no doubt.” The merchant tore off a piece of bread. “He’s buyin’ the best now. Imports from France, even.”

“And his lady? They say she’s a beauty.”

Finn glanced at Cecily. He watched her color drain away.

“Aye, the fair-haired lass. Brought a good dowry from her uncle at Malethurst.”