"How'd you guess?"
"Wasn't too hard."
"I just can't see it, somehow. I couldn't see someone like Hunter going along with that kind of insanity. No one appreciates the potential dangers of a split more than a soldier, even a deserter. Why would someone who has gone to all the trouble of going over the hill and stealing a plate place himself at the disposal of a bunch of terrorists? It just doesn't make sense. What could they possibly have that he would want?"
"They wouldn't have anything that Hunter would want," said Finn, "but not all deserters are like Hunter. Think about all the things that would make a man desert. This character is probably someone who couldn't take it anymore or some maladjusted individual who just couldn't make it in Plus Time. Maybe it's some fanatic who joined the service with some idea of subverting it from within, who knows? Whoever he is, he's got to be just as crazy as the Timekeepers. No one in their right mind would set out to cause a split."
"I can't believe anyone would really go that far," said Lucas.
"Darrow may have a point on that one," Finn said. "They may hope that they won't have to, but if they get pushed, if their bluff gets called, they'll have no choice. Nobody knows what sort of an effect a split will have. Maybe they think that that's what it will take to bring the war machine to a grinding halt. It might at that. But I'd just as soon not have to find out just what a split would do. Just researching it made Mensinger a nervous wreck. And the whole idea of this mission isn't doing my nerves any good."
They reached the inn at Meung without being contacted by anyone. They took a room and ordered dinner in the tavern. The wine was passable and it felt pleasant after their journey. The innkeeper, although he had been somewhat wary of their well-traveled and rough appearance at the beginning, had warmed up considerably at the prospect of entertaining two customers who paid as they were served. He had been stiffed so many times by gallant cavaliers that he fussed over Finn and Lucas like a mother hen, ever solicitous of their satisfaction and trotting out from the kitchen constantly to see if they were enjoying their meal. Finn was on his second roasted chicken and Lucas was enjoying the innkeeper's best wine, a pleasant Bordeaux, when a young man almost completely covered with dust entered the establishment. Once inside the door, he began pounding at his clothing, so that within seconds he became almost completely obscured by a dust cloud.
"Some more wine, Monsieur?" said the innkeeper, bringing yet another bottle to their table.
"With pleasure," Finn said. "And pour a glass for young Lochinvar over there, he looks as though he could do with some refreshment."
At this, the young man looked up. He was scarcely more than a boy, perhaps eighteen years of age. He had a thick shock of disheveled blond hair and his clothes looked like hand-me-downs.
"I beg your pardon, sir," he said, "were you speaking of me?"
"Do you see anyone else in here besides ourselves?" said Finn, smiling.
"I fear you have taken me for someone else, sir," the young man said. "My name is not Lochinvar."
Finn chuckled. "It was just a figure of speech, lad. Lochinvar was the hero in a tale I heard once."
The young man frowned. "You seek to mock me, sir?"
"Don't get your feathers ruffled, son," said Finn. "I'm only offering you a drink. You look like you could do with some refreshment."
"And what, may I ask, is there in my appearance that leads you to believe I am in need of charity?" the young man said.
"Look, let's try this again," said Finn. "We've been traveling a long way ourselves, my friend and I. You came in, looking all dusty and bedraggled and I thought-"
The young man stiffened. "My clothing may not be quite so fine as your own, Monsieur, but nevertheless, it is not good manners for a gentleman to remark upon the difference."
"Leave him alone, Finn," Lucas said.
"Forget it, kid," said Finn. "Buy your own damn wine." He went back to eating his chicken, shaking his head in resignation. "Try to be a nice guy," he told Lucas.
"Monsieur," said the young man.
"Yes, what is it now?"
"I am not in the habit of being dismissed so cavalierly."
Finn raised his eyebrows. "Excuse me," he said. "I was not aware that I was dismissing a cavalier."
"Finn-" Lucas said.
The innkeeper backed away from the table.
"Then I will make you aware of whom you are dealing with, Monsieur. D'Artagnan suffers slights from no one." He drew his rapier. " 'Guarde, Monsieur!"
"Oh, Christ," said Finn. The innkeeper dove under a table.
"Monsieur D'Artagnan," Lucas began, "allow me to-"