Page 82 of No Place in Time

“London, 1290.” That didn’t make sense either. In 1290 Julian’s father, the former baron, was still alive and Julian was living the life of a hard-drinking young man, barely past his youth. There were other similar entries showing profits too large, too convenient.

She inspected more records. More impossible dates. Entry after entry showed deals made just before fortunes turned, lands bought just before prices rose, ships avoided just before storms sank them. The pattern was unmistakable. They had known what was coming.

Then she found a smaller bundle of parchments tucked beneath the ledgers. Julian’s private notes, written in his own hand.

“The device is invaluable.”

“Three trips this month alone.”

“Must be careful with the timing.” He had underlined that with ink that had pooled and dripped down the parchment, making it more noticeable.

References to “the machine” appeared throughout.

There was only one machine, one device, Cecily knew of.

She kept searching. She found a small, locked chest beneath a stack of documents. She tried the lock but couldn’t open it. She sighed. What was he hiding?

Then she heard voices in the corridor. She went still. They were back too early. She looked around frantically. The door. She’d never make it. They were too close.

The window alcove. Heavy curtains hung there, concealing a small space. She moved as quickly as her weak legs would allow and slipped behind the fabric.

“Here, I’ve got my key,” Benedict was saying.

Of course Benedict would have his own key.

The door opened.

“I still think we took too great a risk.” It was Julian’s voice.

“You worry too much.” Benedict’s voice was calm, dismissive. “The device continues to serve us well.”

Cecily pressed herself against the wall behind the curtain. Her breath came in shallow pants.

“But if anyone suspects what we’ve been doing—” Julian said.

“Who would believe it?” Benedict cut in. “A device that moves through time? They’d think us mad.”

The time machine. The time machine she and Finn had traveled in. They had it.

“Three trips in one month seems excessive,” Julian continued. She heard wine being poured.

“And three fortunes made,” Benedict replied. “Stop fretting. We appear, take what we need, and disappear. No one can trace us. And do you know why? Because we’re not there anymore. We’re not then anymore.”

Benedict laughed, but Julian remained silent.

Then Julian spoke, his voice lower. “Are you certain it’s well hidden?”

“Completely certain. We’re the only ones who know.”

“What about that man who was working on it? At the widow’s cottage.”

She held what little breath she had.

Benedict’s voice was icy. “The soldier? He’s dead.”

Cecily’s gut tightened. She pressed her hand to her mouth to stop the scream that wanted to escape.

“At least he got it working before we dealt with him,” Benedict continued.