A Knight in Central Park(25)

He jammed his pockets full, and then wedged the briefcase between two thick limbs. By the time he looked down again, Alexandra was throwing rocks at Harig’s backside.

Clank.

The giant turned. “Who goes there?”

Joe’s face twisted into a grimace. He peered down at Alexandra. “Are you insane?”

“Somebody had to stop him.”

“That rock,” Joe said, pointing in the direction she threw it. A queasy feeling enveloped him. “Please tell me that wasn’t my transportation home.”

A wry smile curved her lips.

Forget the hug, he decided. He was going to strangle her!

Joe returned his attention to the boy who was now wriggling and kicking, trapped within Harig’s arms. But all that youthful flailing about failed to stop Harig from mounting his horse.

Joe moved to a lower limb.

Harig jerked on the reins and headed their way. A wave of prickling fear swam down Joe’s spine as the big man neared. Alexandra disappeared into the growing darkness.

Joe wondered if he was on a movie set. That made perfect sense. Movie people used Central Park as their backdrop all the time. But instead of film crews and equipment, he saw endless wheat fields and meandering cows.

His heart pumped spastically and his pulse roared in his ears. An absurd thought struck him. For one brief second, he’d thought maybe he’d truly come through time as Alexandra said they would; a time without electricity, a time when kings ruled and evil men named Harig wore armor and destroyed innocent lives.

But any sane, rational being knew that traveling through time was illogical. None of this made sense. Things like this did not happen. Period. He was a professor, a scientist. He observed facts and the relationships among those facts. Every day he dealt with theories and principles that attempted to explain how and why something happens or happened.

Nothing could explain this. Not in a million years could he make sense of what he was seeing with his own two eyes.

Harig steered the fidgety horse forward. “Show yourself,” he called out in a deep throaty voice, “or are you a cowardly one?”

Sticks and stones may break my bones. Joe remained silent. Harig resembled an army tank with biceps as round as telephone poles. His armored chest looked like a steel-covered barrel. If Harig came any closer, Joe figured he’d have no choice but to jump. He tested a lower limb with his foot. The branch snapped.

Harig responded to the sound. As he passed the manor, he tossed a flaming torch onto the rooftop. Digging his heels into the horse’s flank, he headed for Joe. The kid thrashed about, hitting and kicking.

Joe rolled his eyes. Damn. He’d caught the man’s attention all right, and now his life was going to be cut short; very short, he thought upon seeing Harig’s sword at closer view.

Joe slid the BB gun from his pocket, checked to see if it was loaded. Laying low on the tree branch, he snaked slowly across the limb, looking for a better aim. The cape twisted about his arm, making every movement more difficult. The fabric, heavy and cumbersome, managed to get snagged on a branch. The gun dropped from his hands and disappeared into the weeds below.

As sure as the sun would set tomorrow, Joe was going to die. He wasn’t made for this sort of stuff. He was no Clint Eastwood. He was a dead man.

Harig was only a few feet away. Not only did Joe smell death, he saw it in Harig’s cold, lifeless eyes.

Despite his growing despair, Joe reached into his back pocket and grabbed the can of pepper spray he’d retrieved from his briefcase. The directions read, “Easy aim feature makes this model ideal for emergency use.” Perfect. A smidgeon of hope helped to counteract the fear threatening to take hold of him.

He pulled the lid off.

Harig was directly beneath him. When he looked upward, their gazes locked. Joe squeezed down on the nozzle, accidentally spraying the stuff into his own eyes. He spit out every curse word he could think of. The can dropped to the ground. Joe spit and coughed, trying to get the bitter acrid taste out of his mouth. He nearly lost his hold on the branch. His face felt as if it had just taken a direct hit from a blowtorch. Tears streamed down his cheeks.

The metal man laughed.

The branch sagged beneath Joe’s weight, bringing him too close for comfort. Through the better of his two eyes, Joe could see that the kid had managed to wrest his hands free from the ropes. Without hesitating, Joe reached down and grasped onto a handful of the boy’s shirt, hauling the kid upward.

Harig grappled for the boy’s feet, clutching air instead. The kid was quick and agile, and once his fingers latched onto a branch, he scrambled up the tree like a monkey. But the boy’s added weight was too much for the limb on which Joe balanced. The branch creaked, then snapped in two, sending Joe sprawling atop Harig. Together, they fell to the ground with a thud.