Inside the wine shop, the Porta Romae had dilated open. A Time Tours guide stepped outside.
”Malcolm? Departures are through. Newcomers are arriving. You don’t have any more time.”
”I’m—”
A figure in white ran into view down the block. Malcolm’s heart leaped into his mouth. Then he noticed the slave following behind with a lamp. Crushing disappointment blasted brief hope. Then Malcolm did a double-take. The running figure was wearing a Parthian style tunic and trousers. Slender, just about the right height, same fragile, heart-shaped face …
He came out of his corner like a gunshot and shoved the Time Tours guide aside. Please …
When Margo ran up to the wine counter, bedraggled as a street rat and glaring defiance, he wanted to grab her by both arms and shake her until something snapped A bewildered boy of about thirteen skidded to a halt behind her, gasping for breath.
”Hi! Did I make it in time? Malcolm, I’ve got this little problem, how do I free this kid? I, uh, sort of acquired a slave…”
Malcolm couldn’t speak. Terror had transmuted into a rage so deep he was afraid to touch her. He held her gaze for another agonizing moment, then turned on his heel and strode through the rapidly shrinking Porta Romae. He didn’t even look back to see if she’d followed Nine days he had burned out his guts worrying, and she’d been running around Rome buying slaves ….
His sandals slapped against the grid of the platform. Malcolm shoved aside Time Tours employees and left old friends gaping in his wake. When he hit the gym, he accomplished a lifetime first.