"What—?" said the girl. She scrambled to her feet, not taking her eyes off Stevens.
The man shook his head dazedly. "I won't hurt you," he said. "I'm all right." He hesitated. "I'm—different." Markett nodded. "What I did back there in England—" he said slowly, and paused. "Do you know?" he asked. "Could you see what I did?"
"No," said Markett. "I should have watched and checked, but the doctor and I let it go."
"The doctor," said Stevens. "The man I hit?" She nodded, half smiling. "And you'd better be getting out of here," said Markett. "He might wake up angry." She pushed the button of the elevator, and the doors rolled open. "Come on," she said, as the man stood silently. "You're not afraid any more, are you?"
"Afraid?" Stevens laughed. "I was. It was something that happened in the mine—" He drew a hand across his eyes; the elevator's doors rolled shut, and they began their ascent to the roof.
"Explosion?" asked Markett. "They happen, I hear."
"Maybe. What the hell?" he said, grinning happily. "I'm here, you're here, and I'm just after storming a castle in England with my Norsemen. It was terrible, but somehow—I don't know. I shouldn't be proud of the things I did." He shuddered a little. "Killing. Maiming. And I burned the town when there was nothing left I could take from it."
The doors of the elevator rolled open, and a flood of sunlight poured into the tiny cage. "There," said the man, pointing out a plane. "That's the one we'll take."
"Did you fly here?" asked the girl. "I thought you were afraid."
"No," said Stevens, confidently opening the unlocked door of the plane. "This doesn't belong to me."