“We got into a fight about this girl,” I said. “Where’s she from and so on?”

  He blinked at her, touched her with long skinny fingers, tilted her head this way and that. She moaned again and shrank close to me. Finally he began to talk to her, trying this language and that. At one, she brightened a little, under the dirt and tears, and began to jabber back.

  He nodded, rubbing his hands together with a dry scaly sound. “The daughter of a Babylonian merchant,” he said. “Seventeen years old, carefully brought up. Some of our men snatched her during Assurbanipal’s sack and brought her here. She resisted the attentions of the ‘one in gray’ as she calls him—a Nazi?—broke out of his house, and ran in terror. Then you rescued her. That is all.”

  “The poor child,” said Don Miguel. There was a world of pity on his face. “I fear I shall burn a long time for belonging to the Nest.”

  “What’s her name?” I inquired.

  “Oh—that.” The Wisdom asked her. “Inini. Is that important?”

  “Yes,” said Don Miguel stiffly. “She is a human soul, not an animal.”

  “There is a difference?” The Wisdom shrugged. “Was there anything else?”

  “No,” I said. “No, I guess not. Thanks. Let’s go get some chow.”

  Don Miguel was still biting his lip. He got those guilty spells now and then, though why he should blame himself, I don’t know. He’d been in trouble with the Governor of Mexico when he was located by one of our recruiters, and it was as much as his handsome head was worth to go home.

  Now I don’t mind a good healthy fight at all. When we took Knossos—yes, we were the ones who did that—or helped in any of several times from Brennus to Charles V, or worked in a hundred other wars, it was good honest battle and we earned our loot. You could say that when we lifted that Prussian city just ahead of the Soviet soldiers, we deserved its loot more than they. And my year of hijacking in Prohibition America—the only time I was ever allowed to carry a real firearm—was just clean fun. But in nearly ten years of the Nest and the Rover, I’d seen a lot of other things that turned my guts. Like this.

  “Come on, Inini,” I said. “Thou’rt among friends now.” She managed a small trembling smile.

  We were going out when the door opened before us. Captain Olga Rakitin stood there. Her gun came out as she saw us. “There ye are,” she said, slowly. Her lips were drawn back, and her face was very white.

  “Uh-huh,” I answered. “What of it? Been looking for us?”

  “Yes. Drop that ax! Drop it or I’ll shoot!” Her voice rose high.

  “What the holy hell—”

  “Thou knowest who thou killed, Trebuen?” she asked shrilly.

  “Some damn Nazi,” I answered. My spine prickled, looking down the barrel of that gun. It threw explosive shells.

  “No. Not a Nazi. Just a young fellow who admired them, liked to strut around in their costume. He didn’t rate a gun yet, but his birth—Trebuen, that was Reginald du Arronde! A grandson of the Duke!”

  There was a long thundering silence. Then Inini shrank back with a little scream, not knowing what went on but seeing death here.

  “Nombre de Dios!” muttered Don Miguel.

  “Judas priest!” I said.

  It felt like a blow in the belly. Duke Hugo had some first-class torturers.

  Olga’s voice was still wobbly. I’d never heard it that way before. “Come on,” she said. “The others will find out any moment. Thou mightest as well come quietly with me.”

  I shook myself. My hands were cold and numb, and I had trouble talking. “No,” I said. “Nothing doing, iceberg.” I took a step toward her.

  “Back!” she screamed. “Back or I’ll shoot!”

  “Go ahead,” I answered. “Think I want to be boiled alongside my own stuffed skin?”

  I took another step toward her, very slow and easy. The gun shook. “Gospody!” she yelled. “I will shoot, me Hercule!”

  I sprang then, hitting her low. The gun went off like thunder and tore a hole in the ceiling. We fell with a crash. She hit me with her free hand, cursing in Russian. I wrenched the gun loose. She tried to knee me as I scrambled away. I got up and stood over her. She glared at me through tangled ruddy hair and spat like a wildcat.

  Don Miguel had his sword out, the point just touching the Wisdom’s throat. “Make one sound, señor,” he purred, “and I trust you will be able to find a suitable guide into the lower regions.”

  The gun felt odd in my hand, lighter than the American rods. Those Martians built them good, though. I went to the door and peered out. A sound of voices came from below.

  “They heard,” I grunted. “Coming up the stairs. Gives merry hell now.”

  “Bar the door,” snapped Don Miguel. He pricked the Wisdom’s neck a little harder. “Dog of a heathen, I want rope. Swiftly!”

  There was a trampling and clanking outside. The knocker banged, and fists thumped on the door. “Go away,” quavered the Wisdom at Don Miguel’s sharp insistence. “I am working. There is nothing here.”

  “Open up!” roared a voice. “We seek Trebuen and de Utrillo for the Duke’s justice!”

  The Wisdom was pulling lengths of cord from a chest and knotting them together. From the edge of an eye, I saw Inini creep timidly forth and test the knots. Smart girl. She didn’t know the score, but she knew we had to take it on the lam quick.

  “Open, I say!” bellowed the man outside. Other voices clamored behind him. “Open or we break in!”

  I took my ax up in one hand, held the pistol in the other, and stood waiting. The door shook. I heard the hinge-rivets pulling loose. “Hurry that rope up, hidalgo,” I said.

  “It’s not long enough yet—a frightful jump down to the courtyard— More rope, thou devil, or I’ll see thy liver!”

  The door buckled.

  There was a green-gray blur beside me. Olga’s fist came down on my arm. I’d forgotten her! She yanked the gun from me and jumped back, gasping. I whirled to face her, and looked down its barrel. Inini screamed. Don Miguel ripped out a cussword that would cost him another year in Purgatory. I looked at Olga. She was crouched, shaking, a blindness in her eyes. My brain felt cold and clear. I remembered something that had just happened, when I took the gun from her.

  “Okay, iceberg, you win,” I said. “I hope you enjoy watching us fry. That’s your style, isn’t it?” I said it in French, and used vous though we’d been tu before like the other warriors.

  The door crashed down. A tall Norman burst in, with a tommy gun in his hands and hell in his face. I saw spears and swords behind him. Olga gave a queer, strangled little noise and shot the Norman in the belly.

  He pitched over, his gun clattering at my feet. No time to pick it up. I jumped across his body and split the skull of the Papuan behind him. As he fell, I smashed down the sword of a Tartar. A Goth stabbed at my back. I brought the ax around backhanded, catching him with the spike.

  “Get out!” yelled Olga. “Get out! I’ll hold them!” She fired into the mass of the men. I sent another head jumping free, whirled the ax around, and hit a Pickelstaube. My blade glanced off, but bit into the Uhlan’s shoulder. A Vandal hollered and swung at me. I caught his blade in the notch I have in my haft, twisted it out of his hands, and cut him down.

  They backed away then, snarling at us. There’d be men with guns any second. “Go, Trebuen,” cried Don Miguel. “Get free!”

  No time to argue with his Spanish pride. I had to be first, because only Olga and I really knew how to leap, and she had the gun. The rope was dangling out the window, knotted to a gargoyle. I took it in my hand and slid into the big darkness below. It scorched my palm.

  When its end slipped away, I fell free, not knowing how far. I dropped the ax straight down, relaxed cat-fashion, and hit the stone flags hard enough to knock the wind out of me. About fifteen feet of drop. Staggering up, I yelled to the lighted window.

  A dark shape showed against the tower wall—I could barely see it. Inini fell into my arms. Real smart girl—she’d snatched up that tommy gun. But it smashed across my mouth.

  Olga came down under her own power. We both caught Don Miguel. Ever catch a man in helmet and corselet? I groaned and fumbled around for my ax while Olga shot at the figures peering out the window.

  “This way,” I said. “To the stables.”

  We ran around the high keep, toward the rear. The yard wasn’t lit, it was all shadows under the stars. But a party of cops was coming around the other side of the donjon. I grabbed the tommy gun from Inini and gave them a burst. Just like hijacking days. A couple of javelins whizzed wickedly near me, then the cops retreated.

  To the stables! Their long forms were like hills of night. I opened the door and went in. A slave groom whimpered and shrank into the straw. “Hold the door, Olga,” I said.

  “Da, kommissar.” Was it a chuckle in her voice? No time for laughter. I switched on the lights and went down the rows of stalls. The place smelled nice and clean, hay and horses.

  But it was good old Iggy and his rank alligator stink I was after. I found him at the end of the stalls, next to the Duke’s armored jeep and his one tank. I wished we could take a machine, but the Duke had the keys. Anyway, a dinosaur can go where a tank can’t. I thumped Iggy on his stupid snout till he bent over and I got the special saddle on his back.

  Olga’s gun was barking at the entrance. I heard other shots, rifles. When they brought up the big .50-caliber machine-guns, that was the end of us. Don Miguel had saddled his Arab by the time I was done.

  His face was pretty grim. “I fear we are surrounded,” he said. “Can we break through?”

  “We can try,” I said. “Olga and I will lead on Iggy. You take Inini.” I wished he could use the tommy gun—it was easy enough, but his stallion would bolt. The brute’s eyes were already rolling. Praise be, dinosaurs are too dumb to know fear.

  I led Iggy toward the door, where Olga was firing through the crack. “Hop on, icicle,” I said.

  Her face was a dim shadow and a few soft highlights as she turned to me. “What will we do?” she whispered. “What will we do but die?”

  “I don’t know. Let’s find out.” I scrambled into the saddle while she slammed and bolted the door. She jumped up in front of me; the seat was big enough for that, and we crouched there waiting.

  The door shook and cracked and went down. “Whoop!” I yelled. “Giddap, boy!”

  Iggy straightened, almost taking my head off as he went through the door. Olga had holstered her pistol and grabbed the tommy gun. She sprayed the mob before us. Iggy plowed right through them, trampling any that didn’t get out of the way in time. Spears and swords and arrows bit at him, but he didn’t mind, and his tall form shielded us.

  Across the courtyard! Iggy broke into an earthshaking run as I spurred him with the ax spike. Don Miguel’s horse galloped beside us. The moon was just starting to rise, shadows and white light weird between the high walls. A machine-gun opened up, hunting for us with fingers of fire.

  They were closing the portcullis as we reached the main gate. Don Miguel darted ahead, the iron teeth clashing behind him. “Hang on!” I yelled. “Hang on! Go it, Iggy!”

  The dinosaur grunted as he hit the barrier. The shock damn near threw me loose. I jammed my feet into the stirrups and clutched Olga to me. A ragged piece of iron furrowed my scalp. Then the portcullis tore loose and Iggy walked over it and on down the Street of St. Mark.

  “This way!” cried Don Miguel, wheeling about. “Out of the Nest!”

  We shook the ground on our way. Turning at Zulu House—Lobengula’s exiled warriors still preferred barracks—we came out on Broadway and went down it to the Street of the Fishing Cat. Across Moloch Plaza, through an alley where Iggy scraped the walls, through an orchard that scattered like matchwood, and then we were out and away.

  The Oligocene night was warm around us. A wet wind blew from across the great river, smell of reeds and muck and green water, the strong wild perfume of flowers that died with the glaciers. The low moon was orange-colored, huge on the rim of the world. I heard a nimravus screeching out in the dark, and the grunt and splash of some big mammal. Grass whispered around our mounts’ legs. Looking behind me, I saw the castle all one blaze of light. It was the only building with electricity—the rest of them huddled in darkness, showing red and yellow fire-gleams. But there were torches bobbing in the streets.

  Don Miguel edged closer to me. His face was a blur under the moonlit shimmer of his helmet. “Where do we go now, Trebuen?” he asked.

  We had gotten away. Somehow, in some crazy fashion, we’d cut our way out. But before long, the Normans would be after us with dogs. They could trail us anywhere.

  Swim the river—with the kind of fish they had there? I’d sooner take a few more Normans to hell with me.

  “I think—” Olga’s voice was as cool as it had always been. “I think they will not start hunting us before dawn. We are too dangerous in the dark. Perhaps we can put a good distance between in the meantime.”

  “Not too good,” I answered. “The horse is carrying double, and Iggy just won’t go very far; he’ll lie down and go on strike after a few more miles. But yeah, I do think we have a breather. Let’s rest.”

  We got off, tethered our mounts to a clump of trees, and sat down. The grass was cool and damp, and the earth smelled rich. Inini crept into my arms like a frightened little kid, and I held her close without thinking much about it. Mostly, I was drawing air into my lungs, looking at the stars and the rising moon, and thinking that life was pretty good. I’d be sorry to leave it.

  Don Miguel spoke out of the shadow that was his face. “Señorita Olga,” he said, “we owe our lives to thy kindness. Thou hast a Christian soul.”

  “Tchort!” She spoke coldly. I sat watching the moonlight shimmer on her hair. “I’ve had enough of the Nest, that’s all.”

  I smiled to myself, just a little. I knew better, though maybe she didn’t herself.

  “How long hast thou been with us, iceberg?” I asked. “Five years, isn’t it? Why didst thou enlist?”

  She shrugged. “I was in trouble,” she said. “I spoke my mind too freely. The Martian government resented it. I stole a spaceship and got to Earth, where I was not especially welcome either. While I was dodging Martian agents, I met one of Hugo’s recruiters. What else could I do but join? I didn’t like the 22nd Century much anyway.”

  I could understand that. And it wasn’t strange she’d been picked up, out of all the reaches of time. Recruiters visited places where there were pirates and warriors, or else where there was an underworld. Olga would naturally have had something to do with the latter, she’d have had no choice with Soviet assassins after her. And she’d be wanted here for her technical knowledge, which was scarce in the Nest.

  “Has the Duke or his men ever explored beyond thy century?” asked Don Miguel idly. A proper caballero wouldn’t be thinking of his own coming death, he’d hold polite chitchat going till the end.

  “No, I think not,” she answered. “They would be afraid that the true owners of the Rover would detect them. It is in the anarchic periods where they can operate safely.”

  I wondered, not for the first time, what those builders were like, and where they were from. It must have been a pretty gentle, guileless culture, by all accounts. Some twenty historians and sociologists, making the mistake of dropping in on the court of Duke Roger of Sicily. But even though Roger himself had been off in Italy at the time, they might have foreseen that one of his illegitimate sons, young Hugo, would suspect these strangers weren’t all they seemed. Just because a man is ignorant of science, he isn’t necessarily stupid, but the time travelers overlooked that—which was costly for them when Hugo and some of his bravos grabbed them, tortured the facts out of them, and knocked them off. Of course, once that had happened, anyone could have predicted that those few Normans would take the Rover and go happily off to plunder through all space—on Earth, at least—and all time—short of some era where the Builders could find them; and that they’d slowly build up their forces by recruiting through the ages, until now—

  “I wonder if the Builders ever will find us,” mused Don Miguel.

  “Hardly,”said Olga. “Or they’d have been here before now. It seems pretty silly to hide out way back in the American Oligocene. But I must say the operations are shrewdly planned. No anachronistic weapons used, no possible historical record of our appearances—oh, yes.”

  “This era has a good climate, and no humans to give trouble,” I said. “That’s probably why Hugo picked it.”

  Inini murmured wearily. Her dark hair flowed softly over my arms as she stirred. Poor kid. Poor scared kid, snatched out of home and time into horror. “Look,” I said, “are we just going to sit and take it? Can’t we think of a way to hit back where it’ll really hurt?”

  It was funny how fast we’d all switched loyalties. None of us had even much liked Duke Hugo or the company he kept, but the bandit’s life had been a high and handsome one. In many ways, those had been good years. Only now—It was, somehow, more than the fact Hugo was out to fry our gizzards. That was just the little nudge which had overturned some kind of mountain inside us.

  Olga spoke like a machine. “We are three—well, four, I suppose—possessed of two working guns, a sword, an ax, a horse, and a dinosaur. Against us are a good thousand fighting men, of whom a hundred or so possess firearms. Perhaps a few of our friends might swing to our side, out of comradeship or to sack the castle, but still the odds are ridiculous.” She chuckled, a low pleasant sound in the murmuring night. “And as a Martian, I am Dostoyevskian enough to enjoy the fact a trifle.”

  Inini whispered something and raised her face. I bent my head and brushed her lips. Poor little slave! I wished she’d been mine from the start—everything would have been so much simpler.