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“I can see why!” I said. “But I kind of get the impression that he can look after himself.”
“Oh, he certainly can,” agreed Gideon.
I wondered whether I ought to tell him what the count had done, but I decided not to. Gideon wasn’t just a polite acquaintance—the way it looked to me, he and the count were bosom buddies.
Trust no one.
“You really traveled to see all those people in the past and take blood from them?” I asked instead.
Gideon nodded. “Counting you and me, eight of the twelve time travelers have now been read into the chronograph again. I’ll find the other four, too.”
I remembered what the count had said and asked, “How can you have traveled from London to Paris and Brussels? I thought the length of time we can spend in the past was limited to a few hours.”
“Four hours, to be precise,” said Gideon.
“You couldn’t possibly get from London to Paris in four hours back then, let alone with spare time to dance the gavotte and collect a drop of blood from someone.”
“Quite right. So we traveled to Paris with the chronograph first,” said Gideon. “And then I went to Brussels, Milan, and Bath on separate occasions. I was able to track down the others in London.”
“I see.”
“Really?” Gideon’s smile was ironic again. This time I ignored it.
“Yes, really, I’m beginning to get the hang of this.” I looked out the window of the coach. “I’m sure we didn’t drive past these meadows on the way to Lord Brompton’s, did we?”
“No. We’re in Hyde Park,” said Gideon, suddenly wide awake and on the alert. He leaned out. “Hey, Wilbour or whatever your name is, why are we driving this way? We have to get back to the Temple by the shortest possible route.”
I couldn’t make out what the man on the box said in reply.
“Stop at once!” Gideon ordered. He looked pale when he turned back to me.
“What’s going on?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “The man says his orders are to take us to a meeting place at the southern end of the park.”
The horses had stopped, and Gideon opened the carriage door. “There’s something wrong here. We don’t have much time left before we travel back. I’ll take the horses’ reins and drive us to the Temple.” He got out and closed the door again. “Whatever happens, stay in the coach.”
At that moment, there was a loud bang. I instinctively ducked. I knew that sound only from films, but I recognized it at once as a shot being fired. I heard a soft cry, the horses whinnied, and the coach jolted forward but then came to a halt again, rocking.
“Get your head down!” shouted Gideon, and I threw myself flat on the seat.
A second shot was fired. The silence that followed the noise was more than I could stand.
“Gideon?” I sat up and looked out.
On the grass outside the window, Gideon had drawn his sword. “Keep down, I told you!”
Thank God, he was still alive. Although maybe not for much longer. Two men had appeared as if from nowhere, both dressed in black, and a third was riding a horse out of the shadow of the trees. A silvery pistol gleamed in his hand.
Gideon was fighting the other two men at the same time. They were all silent, and except for their gasping and the clash of their swords, there was nothing to hear. For a few seconds I watched, fascinated, admiring Gideon’s skill with a sword. It was like something out of a film, every thrust, feint, and leap was perfect, as if stuntmen had been working on the choreography for days. But when one of the men in black cried out and fell to his knees, with a jet of blood shooting out of his throat, I came to my senses. This wasn’t a film, this was for real. And though the swords might be deadly weapons (the man who’d been hit was now lying on the ground twitching and making horrible sounds), there didn’t seem to me much they could do against pistols. Why wasn’t Gideon carrying a pistol? It would have been easy to bring a useful weapon like that from home. And where was the coachman? Why wasn’t he fighting beside Gideon?
By now the mounted man had come up to them and got off his horse. To my surprise, he too had drawn a sword and was attacking Gideon with it. Why didn’t he use the pistol? He’d thrown it down on the grass, where it was no good to anyone.
“Who are you? What do you want?” asked Gideon.
“Only your life,” said the man who had been the last to arrive.
“Well, you’re not having it!”
