Of course I couldn’t just zap back to my mansion in Chicago. No. That would’ve be too easy. For me and also for whoever psycho-chic happened to be working for. So after Evonne and I had ducked into an alley way, well, not an actual alley way, because Rome didn’t exactly have those. This was a close space between two large structures, I had punched in a date and hit enter. Then I grabbed Evonne’s shoulder and watched his feet begin to vanish.
My feet were also disappearing, this being what always started going first. It took a good awesome ten to fifteen seconds for our whole bodies to slip from Rome.
Let me point out that I have never, to this day, let the feeling of jumping from one time to another become common to me. Especially when we jump from a good eighty degree weather into a almost freezing climate.
The weather was what changed mostly because we hadn’t jumped to another place but simply just another time.
The Holy Roman Empire, year of our Lord, 1228. Right at the start of the sixth crusade which was led--well, not really, because it took him years to get off his lazy royal butt and actually accompany the troops he had sent--by Frederick II, Holy Roman Emperor and quite the troublemaker.
He did most of his crusading back about eight years ago during the fifth crusade. But he was also at diplomatic war with the papacy. Big no-no for a Roman Emperor, let me tell you. 1220 was the date of his actual coronation but he was really leading the country before that. No, history will tell you otherwise. But I know different.
The streets were covered with snow as we made our way across it, shivering in our white robes. “What is the date, Master Johnson?” Evonne inquired while trying to keep his teeth from chattering.
“Late Ja-January, 1228.” I told him, trying, to no avail, might I add, to keep my own teeth from clacking together. “C’mon, Mi-Mitch. Pull yourself… t-t-together…” I somehow at the time found our current situation extremely hilarious and began laughing as we walked along the white streets.
“I’ve been dr-dreaming of a wh-white Italy,” I crooned through my drumming teeth while smiling like a maniac. “Not far now, Mitchy. I know a guy we can get some gear from. And if a guard happens to ask you anything about the Emperor, be sure to answer him back that the pope was right to excommunicate him and rocks for it. Again.”
Evonne nodded. Not that I needed to remind him that the good Frederick II had actually been excommunicated on four different occasions and was even referred to as the antichrist by Pope Gregory IX.
The streets were pretty much deserted. Good thing, too. I forgot that after the riots due to the second (or was it the third?) excommunication a curfew had started. So after ducking behind abandoned carts and into dark alleyways, which Rome had decided to apparently adopt sometime later, to avoid the patrols we reached our destination.
Our safe haven.
A semi-small hovel of sorts right off the street. Though it was late, even by partying Chicago standards, the place was bustling with activity. The only window flickered brightly from the many candles and considerably large fireplace.
I had discovered a long time ago just how very safe taverns were. I mean, these lowlife places had it all, man. Not only that, but it seems that the only thing that has changed since the first caveman bar is the installment of a television somewhere in the 1900s. But the overall atmosphere hasn’t changed one bit.
“You cheat!” Screamed a man, leaping up from his chair at a table and pulling a dagger. “I will cut your tongue out.”
See? Later on down the road they’ll be threatening the same thing about the TV…
Evonne was right behind me as we entered the warm tavern. I’ll go ahead and let you know that we stuck out like a sore thumb. Two guys wearing senate robes, in the middle of winter, walking into the un-holiest place this side of the holy city. Not only that, but there hadn’t been a senate in over twenty years or so. Geez. How do I get into these things? Oh, that’s right. I’m the one and only time-traveling ba-jillionaire.
Who also happens to pride himself on being quite the talker.
“Evening, guys,” I said, giving them all a little wave. “We robbed these from a couple of shmucks by the south gate. Get a load of these things,” I added while grabbing a handful of white to show the bunch. This seemed to do the trick because the whole lot of them fell over laughing and sir dagger-a-lot even put away his weapon with a smile.
Evonne and I received slaps on the back all the way to the bar where a smirking man who was missing his left eye and a couple of fingers stood behind it wiping what was left of his hands with a rag.
“Jericho, Jericho…” he said, still smirking. “To what do I owe this honor?”
I sat on a stool and exchanged fist-bumps with him. “You know me, Seth. I was just in the neighborhood and thought I’d drop by and see how things were getting along on your end of the world.”
Seth smiled, then cut his eyes (or, eye, I guess) at Evonne who had just sat next to me. After a second or two of inspection he raised an eyebrow at me.
“He’s with me,” I reassured him. “Evonne, meet Seth. The one-eyed, seven-fingered phenomenon of the Roman empire.”
Seth bowed dramatically. “At your service.”
Evonne nodded grimly and glanced around the rest of the room. “Charmed.”
“Ignore him, Seth.” I said, “He’s a tad nervous right now. What with all the riots and curfews and whatnot.”
“Yes it seems our liege has gone and got himself cast out by the church once again.” Seth chuckled. “So what kind of trouble are you in this time, boy?”
“Hey,” I said, “One, don’t call me boy. Two, what makes you think I’m in trouble?”
The Roman’s eye had a glint in it when he smiled. Poor lighting in the hovel, I was guessing. “Do you ever drop by for anything else?”
I watched him closely. “The Papal States need a little insight at times, buddy. Which brings me to the reason I pay you.”
Seth shrugged that off. “I suppose. Follow me.” He lifted the bar entrance so we could follow him to the backdoor. A backdoor that led to a frozen walkway, which led to a snow-covered cabin-like object, which we entered.
The one-eyed man lit a candle. “Sorry for the cold. Had I known you were going to be spying right in the middle of complete anarchy I would have lit the fire.”
“No worries, Seth,” I said, rubbing my hands together and ignoring the man's sarcasm. “We’ll need some new clothes as well.”
“Swords?”
“A battle-axe would suit me better. If you can’t find a good one a gladius will do. With a wooden handle, though, not that ivory junk. Evonne will have the longest sword that these short-sword-loving Romans have around here.” Seth was nodding, making mental notes.
“No shields, then?”
“Maybe--if you guys didn’t use shields the size of a Hummer.”
Seth gave me a confused look. Oh yeah. I always forget. “Er… the size of a chariot.”
“Well, they are rather large…”
“I know. We’ll make do without them.”
Seth left us in the cold shack to go collect our list. We ended up both sitting close to the candle, holding our hands next to the flame. Not that it warmed us any but it made us feel better all the same. I took this time to explain our standings in the Year of our Lord, 1228. We were spies for the Papal States and Seth was our traitor accomplice who was aiding our goals. I had started this charade a while back and returned every so often, mainly just check up on Seth.
And to hide from crazy psycho-chicks trying to kill me.
It took Seth about two hours to grab our gear, of which, might I add, contained not one battle-axe. The one-eyed man apologized more than once for this and kept saying he hadn’t seen a good axe in years. To which I pointed out that if the Papal States won the war there would be battle-axes for all.
I tested the balance of my gladius. Romans. You never had to worry about the lack of glamour with these dudes. It was still an awesome short swo
rd to be sure, though. Seth had somehow managed to uproot a long broadsword from somewhere for Evonne.
“Had I known that you had such a variety of weaponry, I would’ve put an order in for a claymore or two.” I muttered.
“Sorry, Jericho,” Seth said, shrugging. “That was left by some traveler many years ago. Figured it’d do better service with you two than letting it rust in a corner.”
The clothes he scored were black wool and pretty comfy, for wool, I mean. Once we shucked our robes and donned the new get-ups we said goodbye to Seth and departed with our new weapons in tow.
I know what you’re thinking. What? He said that he almost died on that day, didn’t he? Where’s the bloody chaos, man?
See? Told you I knew what you were thinking. I am pleased to inform you that it never came down to bloody chaos just then. And by ‘just then’ I mean making it back to the street and walking for almost five minutes to the city gates. No action to speak of in that peaceful, snow-covered walk.
Only after we exited the city did the bloody chaos hit.
And you thought you were reading a kid’s book…
Psycho-chick saw us before we saw her, if the crater in city gate the size of a watermelon was anything to go by. The blue streak of lightning tore the hole when it missed my melon by almost three feet.
Evonne dashed to my left, leaving me. Smart guy, that one. Thinking back on it, I could see that he was splitting up hoping that two targets was better than one if you happened to be rooting for the said targets, that is. Of course right then it took me a few seconds to get over the initial shock of my pal leaving me before I kicked into action.
I darted the opposite direction and hit a button on my glove. So she wanted to play with electricity, huh? Psycho-chick was about thirty yards ahead of me when I swung my hand up to return fire. My bolt struck home. That is to say that it struck her but she jerked up her own glove and my bolt was deflected off of… was that a force field?
Great. And just when I thought my day couldn’t possibly get any worse.
“Cheater,” I called automatically.
Psycho-chick laughed and snapped her gloved fingers. Sparks shot everywhere from the friction. “Where is your friend?”
I guess she figured that I wouldn’t fire anymore bolts because she started glancing around looking for Evonne. Guess no one told her how trigger happy we full-blooded Americans were. Shield or no, I wasn’t about to just sit there. I rushed her, firing a bolt and holding the blue stream on her stupid shield which she had thrown up.
Holding a steady flow of the blue electricity had a downside as well as upside. The down being that, in the event that I were to hold the stream for more than twenty seconds, my glove would start smoking. Not a good sign at all.
The upside though is that I look totally wicked while doing it.
Psycho-chick watched my mad dash but I’m thinking she really couldn’t do anything about it. Partly because she didn’t do anything and partly because of how mad she looked when I stopped the stream just before I barreled through her shield, which, might I add, wasn’t designed to keep out loads of testosterone, adrenaline and pure awesome, into her.
When I say I went through her shield and my rushing body hit her, I’m not saying I performed a beautiful hurricane kick to her face. Not saying that at all. You need to get with the program, whoever you are. I mean what I say.
All thoughts of finesse abandoned, I leaned into my dash and planted my shoulder right into Psycho-chick’s stomach. I also made a mental note never to tackle someone like that again because I’m pretty sure that we were both equally hurt in the whole ordeal.
Evonne had been planning some kind of sneak attack on her, or something, but to be honest, I think my lineman maneuver through a monkey wrench in that whole plan. He found the two of us writhing on the ground in pain. Me clutching at my shoulder while Psycho-chick held her stomach with one hand and tried to hold up her gloved hand to attack. I was also starting to think she had on some kind of body armor, or something, because I was really aching after our bout.
Evonne Mitchells, being the ever-gentlemanly man that he was, planted a boot on her glove and crushed it into the snow. “Who are you working for?” He inquired.
Wow, but that guy gets to the point. Not only that, but he was being pretty calm about that whole shenanigan. Don’t get me wrong. I pride myself on being among the most cavalier of dudes, but not when someone was trying to kill me. All my cavalierliness (yeah, pretty sure that’s not a word) went out the emotional window when Psycho-chick showed up with all her threats to my well-being.
Summed up I guess you could say Jericho lost his cool for a few seconds.
“Yeah, who?” I shouted too loudly while I struggled to my feet, still holding my shoulder. “Tell them I want to put in an order for your annoying force field and body armor.”
Psycho-chick glared up at me while she grabbed at Evonne’s boot with her free hand. She wasn’t trying to get away so I’m thinking that human reflex was to blame. I also figured that if some ex-hitman had my hand smashed into the snow I’d probably grab aimlessly, too.
“I’m not wearing body armor, fool…” She muttered.
I decided then and there that a change of subject was in order. That’s all I needed was my curiosity as to why her abs felt like a brick wall to be discussed in the freezing elements.
“Grab her, Mitch. Let’s take her back to the safe house.
Chapter 7