"I'm surprised at you. Why do you Agents make all that fuss about time-tinkering? There's no telling what might happen if history is changed--it's never gotten out of hand yet. But change its flow in the mid-twentieth century and we could be in for a mess of trouble. Maybe there's an alternate time-stream, perhaps we'll be thrust into it. I don't know--and neither do you." What she said was perfectly true. Mulid Ruscar had always been very strong on that point. _Don't wait to find out_, he always said. "Okay," Tedor told her. "All right, you win. We'll take this tour of yours. But remember this: I still think you know more about Fornswitthe's death than you're telling me. If you try to get away, I'll kill you. On the other hand, if you prove your point I have a month at my disposal. I can help you." Laniq grinned happily. "I could kiss you, Barwan. Here, let me at those controls." Tedor stepped aside and waited with mounting impatience while she set the time-conveyor for their first stop. Would Ruscar approve? He doubted it. Still, he was on vacation and he sensed a ring of sincerity in what Laniq had told him. He wondered how much her breathless beauty had to do with his decision, then found himself snorting again. He'd never lacked women, not as a Century Agent. But they'd always come to him, whining his name, begging almost. Laniq he would have to go and fetch. And then Tedor felt the familiar sensation as the conveyor purred off into the time-stream. * * * * * "Turn of the century," said Laniq when they had stopped. "Eighth and ninth centuries A. D. Did you ever hear of Charlemagne?" "Of course," Tedor nodded. "Ruler of the Franks, later of Germany, Italy; first emperor of the Holy Roman Empire." "He needed help," Laniq said. "Come." Tedor followed her outside into a murky summer night. The torch-lights of an ancient city pulsed and throbbed off to their left. "His capital, Aix-la-Chapelle," said Laniq. "Charlemagne got help from the monopolist, Barwan. Fortunately, when Charles the Great died his Paladins couldn't hold the Empire together. Despite Papal acceptance, the Holy Roman Empire was a paper kingdom after Charlemagne." Outside Tours proper, Charlemagne had set up a tent city in which the elite of his Army bivouacked. Clusters of tents dotted the plain, cook-fires cast eerie light, sentries prowled and plodded sleepily. Tedor heard loud talking in the old dialect of the Franks. Hypnosleep had yielded a new language to him again in a matter of minutes. They crept up behind a sentry, were on the point of passing him when Laniq stumbled. The sentry whirled, spear poised, but Tedor ducked under it in the darkness and used the edge of his hand against the sentry's Adam's apple. It was dirty fighting, but necessary. The sentry went down silently and Tedor grabbed the spear before it could clatter.