The River of No Return

her.”
    “Why do you think we haven’t told you any Guild secrets?” Arkady growled.
    Penture held up his hand, silencing the Russian. “So this is why Arkady calls you his priest. You are belligerently pure.” He shrugged. “So be it. I cannot force you into her arms. And perhaps you are correct that she would not sing her secrets in the midst of passion. You are wiser than I thought. But however you go about it, your assignment is to infiltrate the Ofan and learn Alva’s secrets. Let’s see . . .” He looked around the room. “What skills does our friend Mr. Davenant have besides womanizing? Cheese making? Will he perhaps succeed in gaining Alva’s trust with a fine wheel of Cheddar?”
    “Actually, he’s good at farm management in general,” Marjory Northway said brightly. “He owns a couple of other organic operations in Vermont.”
    “Well, there we are.” Penture turned to Nick. “I’m sure the most intriguing woman in a glittering era of fashion and romance will be transfixed by your tales from the tilth. Anything else?”
    Nick scratched his head. “That is about the best of it. Of course I can also kill Frenchmen in hand-to-hand combat. . . .”
    Penture’s eyes gleamed. “Ah!” He flexed his hands, cracking his knuckles.
    “Boys . . .” Alice let her exasperation show. “Please, play nicely.” She turned her shoulder to Penture and addressed Nick, as if he were the only person in the room. “Please listen to me. However unsavory you find the job, I’m afraid we must insist. If you can do it without sleeping with her, all well and good. None of us cares.”
    “I care,” Arkady said, finally looking up from his clasped hands. “Do it for me, Nick!”
    “It must be you, Mr. Davenant,” Penture said.
    “Ah.” Nick turned and pointed at the Frenchman. “Now we are getting somewhere. This isn’t about sex, and it isn’t about killing. It isn’t even really about Alva. It’s about me. Why? Why must it be me? Why drag me out of my happy complacency to do this small job for you, a job you could get anyone to do? Why me ?”
    Penture’s eyes flickered. “Because,” he said, softly. “Just because.”
    Nick shook his head. “You’ll have to do better than that.”
    “Don’t push it to this, Nick,” Alice said.
    “To what?” Nick rounded on her, his anger finally taking over. “Empty threats and noninformation, that is all you have offered me. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t just join the Ofan myself.”
    Alice thinned her lips as she looked at Nick, her own beautiful face grim with disappointment. Then she turned to Penture with a weary sigh. “We are in your era, Alderman. Not mine. How do you want to proceed?”
    Penture narrowed his eyes. “There are times, Nicholas Davenant, when you must choose sides. Times when, even though you do not have all the information, you must decide to act for one cause or for another. Now is one of those times. I am going to help you make your decision. The right decision.”
    Penture nodded to Saatçi and the tension in the room mounted. They were all suddenly anxious—he could feel their shared emotion spread like an oil slick through the room. And then it changed, moved . . . shimmered from simple feeling to a fully active manipulation of time. The air around him seemed to be thickening—it was the depth and breadth of time compacted into space. The others were all getting to their feet. What were they doing? Ah—Saatçi had an ornate silver pistol in his hand, worthy of a Hollywood cowboy. He passed it to Penture, who calmly raised it and aimed between Nick’s eyes.
    “Oh, my God.” Nick scooted back in his too-small chair and spread his hands. “This is a farce. What is that thing, something out of a Wild West show?”
    Penture pulled the trigger.
    In the same instant, time hardened around Nick. He was frozen, but he was horribly conscious. The others stood beside their chairs, and he could feel the force with which they were each directing their talent at him, keeping him motionless. The gunpowder flashed as it ignited, and bright smoke mushroomed slowly. Then the bullet emerged and began to move through the air toward Nick’s head. Penture laid the gun down on the table and spoke. His voice was chillingly regular in its speed. How did he do that?
    “As you can see,” he said, “this bullet is traveling toward your head, Mr. Davenant. If we do not pluck it from its course, it will kill you.