The Time Paradox

No time to pursue that thought now. The exchange was afoot.

 

Artemis tapped the touch screen with his index finger, expanding a section and closing in on a plinth at the center of the souk. The low table stone was grooved and curved from centuries of being piled high with hides. Wet henna glistened on its surface and dribbled down its sides like blood from a head injury.

 

“There,” said Artemis. “That’s where we agreed to make the exchange. Kronski lays the suitcase on the rock. I hand it over.”

 

“Him. The lemur is a male, and his name is Jayjay,” said Holly, making it real.

 

“I hand over Jayjay. Then we go our separate ways, simple as that. There were no complications.”

 

“Perhaps we should wait until after the handoff?”

 

“No. What happens afterward is an unknown quantity. At least now we have some foreknowledge.”

 

Holly studied the scene with a veteran’s eye. “Where’s Butler?”

 

Artemis touched another point on the screen. It rippled slightly, flexed, and enlarged his selection.

 

“In that window. Watching over everything.”

 

The window was a high rectangle in the flaking white wall, painted black by shade and depth.

 

“You think you’re invisible, don’t you, my friend,” Holly whispered, then highlighted the window with a thumb and activated a night-vision filter. In the sudden glow of body heat, a hulking figure appeared in the window, still as stone except for a beating heart.

 

“I remember that Butler wanted to make the exchange, but I talked him out of it. He’s up there right now, fuming.”

 

“Butler fuming is not something I want to see up close.”

 

Artemis laid a hand on her shoulder. “Then don’t get too close. A distraction is all we need. I wish there had been an LEP jumpsuit in that lockup. If you were invisible to man and machine, I would be more comfortable with this.”

 

Holly twisted her chin, calling her magic, and blobs of her disappeared until there was nothing left in the seat but haze.

 

“Don’t worry, Artemis,” she said, her voice sounding almost robotic because of the vibration. “I have been on missions before. You are not the only smart one in the souk.”

 

Artemis was not in the least cheered by this. “All the more reason to be careful. I wish there’d been a set of wings in the terminal. What sort of lockup doesn’t have wings?”

 

“Potluck,” said Holly, her voice floating through the expandable seal that operated as a doorway. “We got what we got.”

 

“We got what we got,” repeated Artemis, following Holly’s progress down the steps and across the courtyard with the infrared filter. “Terrible grammar.”

 

*

 

Ten-year-old Artemis felt as though he had been dipped in a jar of honey and left to bake on the surface of the sun. His garments had molded themselves to his skin, and a tornado of flies revolved around his head. Artemis’s throat was sandpaper dry, and he could hear his breath and pulse as though he were wearing a helmet.

 

And the stench. The stench was a hot wind gusting in his nose and eyes.

 

I must persevere, he thought with a focused determination beyond his years. Father needs me. Also, I refuse to be cowed by this odious man.

 

The souk was a confusing kaleidoscope of pumping limbs, splashing dye, and evening shadows. And from Artemis’s point of view, things were even more confusing. Elbows flashed past, urns rang like bells, and the air was shattered by sharp bolts of French and Arabic above his head.

 

Artemis allowed himself a moment to meditate. He closed his eyes and took shallow breaths through his mouth.

 

Very well, he thought. To business, Dr. Kronski.

 

Luckily the doctor was enormous, and as Artemis made his way through the souk, he quickly spotted Kronski on the opposite diagonal.

 

Look at that poser. A camouflage suit! Does he honestly believe himself a general in some war against the animal kingdom?

 

Artemis himself drew surprised stares from the locals. Tourists were not unusual in the souk, but lone ten-year-old boys in formal suits, carrying monkey cages, were rare in any part of the world.

 

It is a simple matter. Walk to the center and set down the cage.

 

But even walking through the souk was not simple. Workers bustled through the lanes between vats, laden with dozens of sopping hides. Strings of dye flew through the air, striping the clothes of tourists and other workers. Artemis was forced to tread carefully and give way several times before he eventually reached the small clearing at the center.

 

Kronski was there before him, perched on the tiny stool that folded out from the top of his hunting cane, puffing on a thin cigar.

 

“Apparently I’m missing out on half the experience,” he said, as though they were simply continuing a conversation. “The best part of a cigar is the aroma, and I can’t smell a thing.”

 

Artemis was silently infuriated. The man looked completely comfortable, with barely a drop of sweat on his brow. He forced himself to smile.

 

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