A Flight in Time (Thief in Time Series Book 2) by Cidney Swanson

Author:Cidney Swanson [Swanson, Cidney]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Kindle Press
Published: 2018-06-05T04:00:00+00:00

26

· KHAN ·

Wellesley, Florida, the Present

Khan reentered the twenty-first century swearing a blue streak, breathing hard, and dizzy. On top of this, he thought he might be getting a sinus pressure headache. He stopped swearing long enough to catch his breath.

He had a task: a single, all-important task to be performed immediately and without further complication. He had to haul his tagalong back to 53 BC. Beside him, the tagalong looked as though he was about to be sick. Khan passed him a wastebasket, hoping the man had the sense to use it, and then began keying in a new series of instructions for the singularity device. He really should reconfigure the damn thing so that it was possible to change only the time of day without reentering everything else.

One of his ears popped loudly at the exact moment the man at his side retched.

“Really?” snapped Khan. “You couldn’t have used the bucket?” That was one more thing he’d have to clean up. “Come on, come on, come on,” he murmured to the device. Did he have to go through every single screen? The question was rhetorical.

“Servus, ubi sum?”

Where am I? Khan ignored the question.

“Servus!” repeated the man.

“Stop calling me slave,” said Khan, his fingers flying over the keyboard.

“Servus!”

Khan scowled. “I’m not a slave. Servus non sum! Jules Khan sum. Julius Khanus.”

The man blinked his large dark eyes. “Ubi sum?” Where am I?

“In Florida estis,” snapped Khan, hoping that would shut him up.

It did not.

“Qui estis?” demanded the man. Who are you?

“Tace!” Khan remembered the command form of “shut up” very well from his high school Latin class.

At which point the Roman began to speak so rapidly Khan couldn’t understand one word in ten. Not that it mattered; he was almost ready . . . almost.

When he reached for the man’s arm to pull him back onto the platform, however, Khan was most unpleasantly surprised. The Roman grabbed Khan’s arm, twisting it up and behind his back.

Khan yelped, the shrill boyish sound escaping his mouth. Just as suddenly his brain threw warnings to him: Knife. Dagger. Short sword.

There was a sword at his throat.

“Libera me,” whimpered Khan. “Libera me.”

The Roman did not free him. Not at first. Then, there was a sudden twist of his arm and a noise between a pop and a snap, and the Roman was gone, running for the door. He seemed to understand the use of both door handle and bolt, and before Khan’s tears of pain had spilled from his eyes, the man was gone.

Khan moaned and sank to the ground, and with the curtailed breath he had remaining, swore a second blue streak.

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