Page 32 of No Place in Time

The vagrant tightened his grip.

Finn’s voice cut through the open door. “Get your hands off her.”

The man turned his head, blinking, as if he were trying to bring his eyes into focus.

Finn stepped into view, hauling something behind him, an uneven wooden trolley bound with rope. Tied to it was the iron-and-wood bulk of the time machine, mud-streaked and battered. Finn’s face was red with the strain, and his breath came hard through his teeth.

He let go of the trolley handle and stepped forward.

“I said,” he repeated, his voice low, “get your hands off her.”

The vagrant laughed, sloppy and defiant. “Found her first. She be mine.”

Finn’s eyes flicked to Cecily’s face, to the man’s grip on her. Her eyes were round.

“Last chance,” Finn said.

The man spat on the floor.

Finn moved. He lunged, snatched the knife from the floor, and came up in one motion. The blade flashed in the pale winter light.

The vagrant shouted and scrambled back into the snow, but then turned and charged, a wild cry tearing from his throat. Finn met him, stumbling back under the man’s weight. There was no room for skill, only a desperate shove, the knife held between them. The man’s cry choked off as his own momentum drove the blade deep.

Finn shoved him away, and Cecily saw blood on Finn’s hands.

The vagrant staggered, clutching his chest, then he fell to his knees and tipped sideways into the dirt, his eyes staring.

Panting, Finn turned to Cecily at once.

“Did he hurt you?”

She shook her head. She pressed her lips together and could not make herself speak.

Finn crouched in front of her. “It’s me,” he said. “It’s Finn.”

Her knees gave way. She slid down the wall and pressed her hand over her mouth, fighting for breath.

“Cecily,” Finn said, gently easing her down onto the floor and covering her with the blanket. She looked up at him with wide eyes. Her breathing was steadying. “Rest a moment,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”

She clutched at his arm. “No. Don’t leave me.”

“I have to do something with the… the body. I won’t be long.”

She sank back and nodded.

Finn dragged the body out into the biting cold. He returned minutes later, his face pale, his hands streaked with dirt and melting snow. He didn’t look at Cecily as he spoke.

“I covered him,” he said, his voice rough. “He’s hidden for now.”

The throbbing pain in Cecily’s arm was making her feel weak. She watched as Finn lit a candle. The small flame steadied the space, pushing back the dark.

“Let me see your arm,” he said.

Cecily eased it free of the sling. The scuffle with the man had caused the wound to reopen, and it oozed blood and purulence. The skin was red and swollen. Heat radiated from it.

Finn stared, then looked up at her. He ran his hand over her forehead. Despite the chill in the air, she was sweating.

Finn dressed her wound in silence. His hands were gentle. He did not look at her face.