Free The Ocean of Time by David Wingrove

he’d want to know who she was, and whether I’d checked her out properly. And knowing Hecht, he’d sniff me out, discover my true reasons.
    And if it came to a choice, I know for a certainty that Hecht would view her life as a trifle, as merely a single piece in the greater game, to be surrendered –
sacrificed
– if necessary.
    And if he found out that she was
my
woman …
    I daren’t think of it. And so I can’t jump back. Not unless her life’s in danger. Not unless there’s really no alternative.
    I look down at the
staritskii
and sigh. It’s not one of ours, of course. I took it from a Russian agent – from Pelshe, the little snake – shortly before he coughed his last bloodied breath. But it’s a handy weapon and I’ve used it often since.
    I turn and look to Bakatin.
    ‘Fyodor,’ I say, my voice ringing with command. ‘Let’s get the boat ashore and see what damage has been done. It would be good to be away from here before nightfall.’

172
    For the next few hours we barely talk. We shipped a lot of water in the collision and there’s considerable damage to the cargo. We sort out what can be saved and, after making repairs, set up camp among the trees. We’re all tired and miserable, and I can see that all they want to do is get some sleep, but I decide to confront the issue head-on, there and then. I call Bakatin and his sons to me and, standing there, explain what’s happening.
    By now it’s getting dark, and in the light of the fire I can see how uneasy they are. Their eyes watch me warily, their body language defensive.
    Katerina won’t come off the boat. She hasn’t moved from beneath the cart since I tried to touch her, and though it worries me, I know I’m going to have to take my time and win her trust back slowly. But first, Bakatin and his sons.
    ‘All right,’ I say, deciding that a kind of brutal frankness will serve me best. ‘You want to know what happened back there. It must have looked to you like magic, only sometimes magic isn’t what it seems …’
    I take a silver coin from my pocket and, closing my hand and quickly opening it again, make it ‘disappear’. The three sons give a little gasp. Bakatin himself stares, interested suddenly.
    For the next ten minutes I show them tricks with cards and coins – things I learned as a child from old Molders, back in the Garden. Then, to take the mystery away, I show them how each trick was done, and see how they relax.
    ‘So it was all a trick?’ Bakatin says.
    ‘In a way.’
    He stares at me thoughtfully, scratching at his great black beard, while his sons look to him, and when finally he shakes his head and grins, so they too grin.
    ‘Okay. So you’re not a sorcerer,
Nemets
. But will you show me the weapon? Let me study it myself?’
    ‘Of course. But you must be very careful, and do exactly as I say.’
    ‘It won’t destroy me, then, like it did Krylenko and his eldest?’
    I smile. ‘Not unless you point it at yourself.’
    ‘Like a wand,’ Bakatin says, narrowing his eyes.
    I go to the boat and, trying not to notice Katerina crouched beneath the cart, her dark eyes staring up at me fearfully, I unwrap the
staritskii
again and carry it across.
    ‘Here. It’s safe right now.’
    Bakatin stares at it long and hard, turning it in his hands, then looks back at me. ‘Safe?’
    I hesitate, choosing my words. ‘It’s …
asleep
, if you like. When it is, it’s perfectly harmless. But when it’s awake …’
    I take it back from him, then turn and, squeezing it gently – activating it – I aim it across the river and let off a bolt.
    In the twilight the flash of searing laser-light is much brighter than it was earlier, leaving an after-image on the retina, but it’s the explosion that awes them. The tree is practically up-rooted, splintering into matchwood which, in the great ball of heat from the explosion, ignites in a shower of flaming leaves and branches, which fall hissing and sizzling into the water.