‘Then why have you brought me here? I am a free man. And where is my comrade?’
‘He is a traitor who will face swift military justice.’ The dignitary took a sip of his wine. ‘I am Numerius Didius Agelastus, advisor to Emperor Constantius. At this moment, the Emperor lies on his sick bed, unable to govern. And so the task falls to me.’
‘Why have you brought me here?’
‘Why?’ Numerius’s eyes flickered with unease, as if the memory of his motivation was lost to him. He moistened his lips with a flick of a nervous tongue. ‘Because …’ Panic flared in his face. ‘Because—’
‘Because I told him to.’
Church started at the familiar voice. A man swathed in a thick cloak and hood had entered. The temperature dropped a couple of degrees as the Libertarian threw off his hood to reveal his glaring red eyes. ‘Brother of Dragons.’ The greeting was laced with sarcasm. ‘I never expected to see you again so soon.’
Church turned to Numerius. ‘You can’t work with him – he’s some kind of devil. Look at his eyes.’
Numerius shivered, but did not turn. The Libertarian came over and clapped one hand on Numerius’s shoulder before patting it in a patronising manner. Then he gently lifted the fold of Numerius’s toga that fell across his shoulder to reveal a black spider embedded into the skin.
‘My good friend Numerius Didius Agelastus may see the reason in your words, but I shall win the argument every time.’
‘You control him with that thing. How many others?’
The Libertarian pretended to count on his fingers, then gave up with a smile.
Church made the connection. ‘You tried to control me.’
‘You were doing so well at the Second Battle of Magh Tuireadh, lopping off heads and limbs like a fully trained butcher with that silly little sword-that-is-not-a-sword. One of those lumbering Fomorii cretins managed to impress a Gravix upon you. It removed you from the field of play, but sadly did not turn the course of battle. Nor did it weaken you enough to be slain.’
Church recalled Niamh telling him at their first meeting that he had fought in the battle between the Tuatha Dé Danann and their ancient enemies, but he had discounted it as one of her deceptions.
‘The Gravix tried its hardest to turn you, but that damnable fire burns too brightly inside you. Oh, if only we could have eliminated you at that point. Alas, it was not to be.’
‘So you control the Fomorii?’
The Libertarian laughed silently. ‘We work towards the same aims. You would not find us drinking in the same bar. Or even in the same town.’
Church saw his sheathed sword on a table across the room and weighed up whether he could reach it before the Libertarian intercepted him. The Libertarian saw his eye movement and divined his intentions.
‘Please,’ he said with world-weariness, ‘can we not have a simple conversation? It is very difficult to find in my line of business.’ He pushed Numerius out of the way and poured himself a goblet of wine. ‘Not the best I have tasted, but the best for this era.’
‘This era?’ Church repeated. He watched a spidery smile crawl across the Libertarian’s face, just as quickly removed. ‘Your language … it’s not archaic. You’re from the future, like me.’
‘The future?’ the Libertarian sneered. ‘Oh yes. The “future”. The “past”. The “present”. What a quaint way of seeing things.’
Church edged towards the sword. The Libertarian noticed, did nothing. Numerius moved his mouth in a sticky, troubled way as if he were paralysed.
‘Keep playing your games – I don’t care,’ Church said. ‘But if we are both from a different time, how can we operate here and now without changing what’s to come?’
The Libertarian mused. ‘Well, consider this, perhaps: time is a river. One may swim upstream, or downstream, if you like. Or: one throws a rock into that self-same river. The water hits it, flows around it, recovers its original course. There are eddies here and there, but it still continues to the sea.’
‘You’re saying we can make little changes around us, but nothing long-term.’
‘Or perhaps what your kind call reality changes all the time, but you are unaware of it because you change with it. You alter, and are reborn with new memories of your new reality so you presume it has always been that way. Yet ghosts invade your memories. Impressions of a different place, with a different you, fading even as they come. Dreams of other realities, so strange yet somehow real.’ His red, lidless stare grew more intense. ‘Everything is fluid. Nothing is fixed. Poor you! Poor Fragile Creatures! The curse of your existence.’