Twisted Time Read online

Chapter 5

  Whumph! We landed on another cobblestone street. This one was quiet, though, and Zack did not roll into anyone. It was getting close to dusk and the distant sun was nearing the horizon. This area did not appear as clean and cheerful as the street in Italy. No street vendors with colorful items. No women laughing on the sidewalk. No open shops lining the street. And of course no angry men to chase us. We peered down both sides of the road. We saw shops, but the doors were locked tight. A few stores had windows or doors that were boarded up. Not a sole was visible. The roads were lined with dust and dirt. The once freshly painted store fronts were caked with dust from the street and the colors appeared dingy and cold. This city seemed dark and sad, and I think we were all a little apprehensive of our new endeavor.

  “Look,” Zack whispered, “way down there on the right. I see a light in a window. What do you guys think?”

  “Let’s go.” I replied. “The sooner we meet people here, the sooner we can leave. I’m kind of scared. I wonder what that book has in store for us.”

  P spoke up. “Emma, do you know what city or country we are in? That may help us figure out why we are here?”

  “I don’t know P, It all just looks dark to me. Once we talk to some people we should know.”

  We sent Zack out in front and we followed him down the street towards the light. As we neared, we could hear a murmur of voices. The sounds were flowing out of a doorway that seemed to be the opening to a tavern. We saw a large man open the door, nod at two smaller men dressed in black, and stand back so they could walk into the bar. Then he closed the door. What had we gotten ourselves into?

  I spoke up first. “Maybe if we wait until another group of people come, we can sneak in behind them?”

  Zack nodded in agreement, but he was quiet and I could see he was trying to think of another plan to keep us all safe.

  Just then a group of three young men, possibly teenagers rounded the corner and approached the door. Zack looked at me and nodded, and we snuck up behind them hoping we could quietly follow them inside.

  The tallest of the three caught sight of us and turned toward Zack. “Are you with the Resistance? Traitors for the monarchy are not allowed in there. Your friend is rather young to be fighting for us.” He pointed at P.

  Zack was at first surprised that he understood the man. He had to think up a good response quickly. “Um, yes we are with the Resistance. We are here to help you fight for your freedom. This is my sister Emma, and brother James. Um…. We are alone. Our parents were killed in a battle against the monarchy. Please let us bring our young brother into your meeting with us.”

  The three boys nodded and as the large man discussed things with them we were allowed to follow them into the tavern.

  As we entered, I whispered to Zack. “I think I know where we are…”

  We were ushered to the back of the crowded room as the leader of the small group of fighters began to speak. Before any words came out of his mouth, I heard utterings of “Oui” and “Merci” from amongst the crowd.

  I quickly whispered to Zack with my eyebrows raised. “We are in France and this is the French Revolution! We are in a lot of danger!”

  I was sharply silenced by an older woman sitting nearby. I kept my mouth closed and began to listen to the speaker as his thick French magically became English to my ears and I was mesmerized.

  The tall man with chiseled cheek bones and wavy black hair stood confidently behind a table at the front of the crowd. He made wide gestures with his hands to emphasize each point. “We must put an end to this tyranny! We cannot be oppressed any longer. We must join forces and strength to fight the evil monarchy!”

  The crowds cheered and took swigs of their dark brown beer in thick glass mugs. A barmaid had asked us if we had wanted any. Zack and I shook our heads “No!” They had no non-alcoholic beverages in this place. We were so engrossed in the speaker that we didn’t notice what P was doing beside us. A generous man had given him a small mug of beer. He had been sipping on it through the speech.

  I turned to P and my mouth dropped open. “Stop!”

  P had finished about half of the glass. “What Emma? I was thirsty!”

  “Oh P,” I exclaimed. “Now you are going to be sick!” I scooted his chair close to me so I could keep a better eye on him.

  Just then, a middle aged gentleman approached us from the right. He stared straight at Zack. “Are you him? You must be! But why are you so quiet at the back of the room?”

  Zack stared back at the man. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Ahh, you are him. You are the spitting image of those wanted posters. You are Pierre Lefleur!”

  Zack shook his head, “No sir, my name is Zack. I am not sure who you are talking about.”

  The man replied, “Oh, I see you are in hiding. But we are on your side here. We will not tell anyone!”

  As they conversed, the speaker was winding down his speech. Cheers and clapping arose from the crowd. The man winked at Zack and walked off to join another group. Zack stayed there speechless.

  “Zack, who are they talking about? Do you have any famous ancestors we should know about?” I asked.

  “Not that I know of.” Zack replied, as he shook his head no.

  By this point, P was getting sleepy. The beer was starting to take effect. We needed to get him out of that place. But where could we go. We slowly shuffled out with the crowd. Luckily we ran into the group of boys that helped us get in.

  The tallest boy spoke to us. “Do you have anywhere to sleep tonight?”

  Zack took charge. “No, we have been wandering for a few days trying to stay closer to the revolution. We feel we have to carry on our parents’ legacy.”

  I gave him a sideways glance, where did he come up with that?

  The tallest of the boys offered his hand up to Zack to shake. “I am Henri.” He pointed to the other boys. “This is Jean Claude, and that little squirt over there is Francois. We would be honored if you, Pierre Lefleur, would stay at our home. We have just a small room above a shop down the street. You may stay with us tonight.”

  Zack nodded, “Why thank you, but I am not who you think I am. I do believe this is a case of mistaken identity. I am not this Pierre Lefleur. My name is Zack.”

  Henri looked disappointed and his eyes turned toward the cobblestone street. After a moment he smiled and looked back at Zack. “Anyone who is a fighter for the revolution is welcome in our home.” And he waved us to follow him.

  We began to follow the boys home. At this point, P was really beginning to feel the effects of the beer. As we walked, he started to lag behind. He would veer to the right off our path, then catch himself being out of place and veer back to the left, then he stumbled over a small rock in the street and I had to catch him. He began to stammer about his toy cars, then bits and pieces about the book and our travels to Egypt, England and Italy.

  P was blabbing, “And I said, Zack, you are the strongest kid I know. I knew you would win that joust. And, Mr. Leonardo, I think you should paint that cloak red…”

  Luckily the boys did not seem to understand anything P was saying. We were glad. Then P really began to slow down. It was so much that the three of us were lagging far behind the boys in front. Zack took action, swept him up off the street and threw him over his shoulder.

  We continued to follow the trio around a bend in the road until we came to a small door that opened onto a narrow staircase. We followed the boys to a room at the top of the stairs. It encased three small beds pushed up against the walls. No kitchen. No living room. No other rooms attached. The boys were kind and gave each of us a blanket to use. We accepted graciously and each one of us curled up on the floor and slept soundly.

  We were so exhausted after our travels that we all slept well that night. The blankets were warm and I did not want to awake as the sun streamed through the small room. I looked around to see the boys all sleeping peacefully, and hoped P would be feeling
much better this morning.

  I was still in my groggy state when a very loud persistent rapping on the door jolted me upright. Suddenly three large men dressed in uncomfortable looking uniforms, with tight white pants and elaborately tailored blue and red jackets, barged into the room demanding the “one they call Pierre.”

  “We want the traitor now!” yelled the man on the left, and lunged toward me.

  I quickly slid to the right and avoided his grasp. I ran to the other side of the room where the boys slept as they awoke and started clamoring out of the beds and off of the floor.

  “There he is!” screamed another man, and reached toward Zack. “I would recognize him anywhere. Ah, you look just like your “wanted” posters that are hung around the city. We received a tip last night that you were in town. Now we can put an end to your revolt! We are taking you to the king and queen.”

  With that they grabbed Zack by both arms and twisted them behind his back so he couldn’t move his upper body. He tried to kick them but lost his balance and fell into one of the officer’s arms. The man held him tightly as they paraded him out the door and down the stairs.

  I could hear Zack yelling, “You have the wrong man. I am not Pierre!”

  The officer replied, “Stop the lies, we have you now. You cannot hide any longer!”

  The boys and I chased after them down the stairs. We were all yelling, “No, stop, you have the wrong man. That is not Pierre. He is innocent.”

  We ran after them down the street. As we caught up to them, the two men without the captive in their arms pushed Francois and Jean Claude onto the cobblestone street and drew their swords as P and I drew nearer. “Do not interfere in this or you will lose your lives also.”

  We stopped. What else could we do? I turned toward Henri. “Where are they taking him?”

  He replied, “They will take him to the prison at the eastern most edge of the city. A few years ago they would have taken him to the Bastille, a huge stronghold where the political prisoners would be held. That is, anyone against the king, but our rebels invaded it and destroyed the entire building. If we have our way, the new prison will soon be filled with the nobility themselves!”

  “What will they do to Zack?” I asked anxiously.

  Henri paused and scanned the ground. He was avoiding making eye contact with me. “Um, Emma, they will probably hold him in a cell for a few days. Then they will put him on trial for his deeds. Then they will set him free if he is found innocent.” Then he paused again and stared at the ground.

  “What if he is found guilty?” I quickly interrupted. “What will happen to him?”

  Henri then looked me straight in the eyes. “They will put him to death by guillotine.”

  “Noooo!” I screamed. “We can’t let that happen! We have to save him! He is my best friend.” I started to sob.

  P came up and held my shoulders. “Zack is my best friend too. We will save him!”

  Henri hugged both of us. “I know some people that may be able to help. Come, we must go talk to Jacque. He owns the café where we were last night.”

  We again followed the boys down the winding street. The café was empty and quiet at this time of the day, but a few women were straightening chairs and sweeping the floor. Henri walked past them and approached the man behind the bar. We saw him whispering in his ear.

  The man paused and thought a moment, then nodded. “I will see what I can do. Meet me here tomorrow morning just before sunrise.”

  The next day, P, and I waited for the man outside the café. The boys accompanied us to learn the plan. The air was cold before dawn and I felt a chill. Just as I shivered, a thin man dressed all in black emerged from the front door. It was not the heavy set man we had seen the night before. This man was much younger and I could see the sinewy muscles in his arms beneath his flowing blouse-like shirt. His head was bowed down at first but he lifted it slowly as he passed through the doorway. It was Zack! I drew in a deep breath of excitement only to have my hopes dashed.

  The man opened his mouth. “Hello, I am Pierre Lefleur.”

  He held out his hand. I shook it in stunned silence. He had Zack’s bright blue eyes and his welcoming smile, and when he smiled small wrinkles formed in the corners of his eyes. He could be Zack’s twin. His hair, however, was much longer and he kept it tied back from his face with a white silk ribbon. And poor Zack never had muscles like these.

  I stepped back as Pierre extended his hand to P. “I am sorry little man and fair lady, I am the reason your friend is being imprisoned. I only learned of this last night. Thank you for meeting me here in secret. You see, I do much for the resistance and would be arrested myself if I was seen in public. Do not worry, though, I will make things right. I will devise a plan and help save your friend. There is little time. Meet me tomorrow outside the prison gates!” And he disappeared back into the café just as the sun was coming up behind the building.

  As we walked back to the small room, Henri gave us directions to the massive prison. “We will stay here in case something goes wrong and you need to be saved.”

  Just before dawn the following day, P and I met Pierre just outside the prison gates. Henri had given us directions. We watched from behind a large tree and could see two men standing guard in front of a giant iron door.

  Pierre nodded in their direction. “That leads straight to the courtyard where they hold the beheadings. The King’s guards watch the area like hawks. They allow the crowds to come in to watch but there is very little chance of a prisoner escaping, especially from the platform that holds the guillotine.”

  I was taken aback. “I can’t believe they kill those innocent people as the crowd watches. This is inhumane.”

  A shiver moved down my spine, and P just stood there shocked. Suddenly, Pierre started walking around the side of the high wall surrounding the prison.

  He motioned to us with his hand, “Come, there is another way we can get to your friend.”

  We continued to follow him away from the guards. We stopped at a place along the wall that looked different from the rest. A few bricks were a slightly different color that the rest of the wall. Pierre gently moved his left hand over one of the bricks then pounded the opposite edge with his right fist. The brick popped out at an angle. He slid the brick out of its slot then started taking the surrounding bricks out of the wall one by one. P and I helped him complete the task. When the bricks were all in piles on the ground, we peered into a dark hole.

  Pierre winked at me, “Okay let’s go!” And he disappeared into the hole.

  I grabbed P’s arm and we followed him. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dark. We had entered a narrow corridor. The walls were slick with moss and felt damp. We had to feel our way along in the blackness.

  “Gross!” came from P. “This is so slimy.”

  “Keep walking!” I insisted.

  Finally, we could see a faint light ahead and we approached it. Pierre crouched down and ran his fingers along four metal rods at the base of the wall. We heard a quiet clanging as his fingers tapped on what appeared to be a grate in the wall.

  Pierre whispered, “Monsieur Zack, please come to the outer wall of your cell. I have your friends here. Be very quiet and do not draw attention to yourself. You do not want to disturb the guards.”

  We heard shuffling feet then a whispered voice close to the grate. “Who are you?”

  “I am Pierre Lefleur, sadly, the reason you are in this predicament. I am so sorry, but I am here to help.”

  “Zack, it’s me Emma.”

  I heard a sigh from the prisoner, then, P chimed in “Do you know what they are going to do to you?”

  “I don’t know the whole story,” replied Zack in a whispered voice, “but I heard the guards talking last night. It seems my offenses, or that is Pierre’s offenses are so extreme that they are foregoing a formal trial and have already decided my fate.” He paused, then added, “Pierre what did you do to make the King so
mad?” He continued before letting Pierre answer, “I am scheduled for the guillotine tomorrow at noon.”

  We heard a quiet sniffle and I knew Zack was trying to hide his tears. At that point, I could feel hot tears running down my cheeks. I gripped P’s hand more tightly and he squeezed back.

  “I am sorry Monsieur Zack. I will fix this. Here is the plan. You must go through with everything they tell you to do. They will take you to the guillotine. Do not cause any trouble. I will save you tomorrow.” Pierre nodded commandingly.

  I grabbed Pierre’s hand. “Can’t we just get him out of here now? They will kill him!”

  “No,” Pierre shook his head. “We cannot get him out tonight. The timing is not right.”

  At that moment we heard a guard speak harshly. “Prisoner, come to the front of the cell where we can see you!”

  “I have to go,” whispered Zack.

  I crouched down and tried to speak, “Um, Zack, I, er, that is, I, um…” I couldn’t say what I felt. I love you just wouldn’t come out. “I, um… that is… we miss you. I won’t let anything happen to you. We will see you tomorrow. We will save you. I promise!”

  Zack shuffled away from the grate and moved towards the guards at the front of the cell. Pierre ushered us back through the corridor. After we emerged from the passageway we carefully replaced each brick into its designated place in the wall.

  Pierre turned toward me, “You must come to the event tomorrow and stand with the crowd. I will be there with my men.” He nodded his head, smiled slightly and was gone.

  P and I spent the night in the boys’ apartment. I was awake before dawn, worried and scared. When it came time to leave for the beheading, Henri, Jean Claude and Francois accompanied us through the prison gates and into the morbid mass of people. My heart was beating fast. We crawled through the crowd to get closer to the platform.

  Murmurs arose from the men and women surrounding us. One woman said, “I heard that man was a thief and marauder. He conned people into following him. He is an outlaw!”

  Another said, “No, he fights for the people. The king wants him killed because he is a threat.”

  I wanted to say, “But he is innocent. They have the wrong man!” But I remained silent for fear that we would be caught before Zack was saved.

  Henri beckoned us to follow him closer. “Pierre wants us as close to the platform as possible. He will come at the precise moment.”

  P and I followed him. I shuddered as we approached the guillotine. “So now we wait?”

  Henri nodded and I pulled P close. P looked at me and smiled gently, “Emma it will be okay. I have faith. We will save Zack and get out of here!”

  I nodded in agreement but really couldn’t get any words out. Oh to be young and trusting.

  A drum sounded from in front of the crowd. The five of us pushed our way through towards the wooden platform at the center of the throng. We saw a tall gaunt man dressed all in black standing on the right of the platform. His long black hair was tied back with a black ribbon. I felt goose bump on my arms as I watched him prepare.

  To the left was a large wooden contraption. At the base was a wooden board with a semi-circle cut out at the center. On both sides long wooden slats lead upward to a wooden bar. Beneath that bar rested a gleaming piece of metal. It was cut at an angle and came to a point at the right side of the machine. The bright sun reflected off of the blade, and the metal glowed as if it was full of power. I knew it was the guillotine.

  The executioner raised a piece of rope up to the sharp blade. It easily split in half and two pieces fell to the ground. The crowd roared. I cringed as the sound grew louder. Fear gripped me as I looked up at the machine of death.

  The drum began to beat slow and loud. The crowd grew quiet and I knew it was time. We took our places among the crowd and watched in stunned silence as Zack was marched up to the platform. His hands and feet were bound with thick rope. His head was covered with a black silk cloth. He walked slowly up the stairs and past the executioner under guidance of the guards. They positioned him at the center of the platform for all to see.

  The executioner yanked the cloth off Zack’s head and exposed his face to the crowd. Cheers and boos came up from the crowd. At first Zack stood there with his eyes turned downward then he began to scan the crowd for us. His eyes landed on me and I smiled as well as I could. I could see a faint smile of recognition on Zack’s face.

  The executioner spoke, “It is time for this traitor’s final judgment. Let his death be a lesson for you all!”

  He pushed Zack toward the dreaded guillotine. As he shuffled along, I heard a cry from the back of the crowd, “Not so fast sir! Do you want to kill an innocent man?”

  As I looked up, I saw Pierre sliding along a rope attached to a banner on the east wall of the courtyard. With swift movements he swooped through the air like an acrobat and landed gracefully on the platform between Zack and the executioner. He quickly drew his sword and aimed it at the tall man. The two guards also drew their swords. As they did this, Zack broke loose from their grasp. Pierre lunged forward and a sword fight began.

  Henri turned to P and me, “Now is the time, get Zack!”

  We rushed to the platform as fast as we could. Zack saw us and inched his shackled feet toward the edge. Just then, one of the guards noticed he was trying to escape and came toward him.

  I screamed, “Nooo!” and in my distress almost did not feel P tug my shirt.

  “Emma, Emma, use the book!” He stopped to get it out of the bag I still had slung over my shoulder.

  I stopped screaming and helped him grab the book. We pulled it out of the bag so violently that we lost control of it and it flew through the air. When it landed on the ground it sat upright on the spine for a few seconds. As it teetered a word began to form on the face of the book. “FAITH”.

  We felt a slight breeze blowing through the crowd. The book fell to the side and exposed the inner pages. The slight breeze grew into a strong wind. The pages shuffled in the breeze. As they came to rest, letters started dancing on the open page. They maneuvered themselves into place shifting and growing as they had before. “When danger lurks and fear takes over, have faith in those who aspire to help. Remember their sacrifice as you travel away, and learn from your experiences.”

  The wind became a gale, and leaves and dust swirled up from the ground. The banners on the courtyard walls twisted with the force. Men lost their hats. Women pulled their cloaks to cover their heads as their hair blew across their faces. Then we all saw the growing swirling circular mass of mist just in front of the platform.

  I screamed over the loud din, “Zack jump!”

  Zack had shuffled to the very edge of the platform as close to the round portal as possible. I grabbed P’s hand so tightly that he squealed and cut his eyes at me.

  “Let’s go!” I yelled.

  The crowds had parted, in fear, away from the mist and a clear pathway was available. We quickly ran towards the portal. I almost forgot the book but scooped it up just before we made that final leap. I looked back to see Zack wobbling on the edge.

  “Go!” he yelled. “I’m right behind you!”

  P and I jumped through the gateway into the abyss. “Dear lord please let Zack make it.” I could barely see his body through the mist as we passed over. His knees bent, then he was in the air and that was all I could see of my dear friend before the blackness took over.

  The weightlessness was like it was before. We floated blindly in silence. When I finally started to become comfortable with this feeling I heard the whirring noise that usually begins as we near our destination. I knew we were close to a new adventure.