by Scott Meyer
Honor kept her eyes forward, but said, “Yes.”
Hubert said, “I was paying attention at the town meeting this morning, and I heard you say quite a few things that matched up pretty well with what I’d seen happen myself. I was also paying attention when Gibbons and his friends returned, and it seemed to me that all of their injuries matched the kinds of injuries overconfident townsfolk usually come out of the forest with, even without evil wizards working against them.”
Honor said nothing, but she did give the faintest hint of a grin. They had passed the village limits, and were following the road into the woods.
Hubert said, “Now, this is speculation, but if I were a smart young lady who didn’t feel that anyone had listened to her, I might decide that somebody has to do something.”
Honor said, “You’ve put some thought into this.”
“Yes. It’s sort of a hobby, imagining myself in other people’s positions. I’ve whiled away many an hour of dung sifting, pretending I was anyone else. As I was saying, if I was such a young lady, and I knew where the wizards kept their dragons, I might well intend to act on that knowledge, somehow.”
Honor said, “If I were an adult who suspected a girl might be about to do something like that, I might be tempted to stop her, or try to come along and help.”
“Again, you might, unless you had faith in the girl, and knew yourself to be a useless woodsman, an inexperienced fighter, and that you had an odor that wizards and dragons would smell from miles away. But you couldn’t in good conscience send a young lady out alone, without any assistance besides her dog.”
Hubert stopped walking, looked at the village now far behind them, and asked, “Say, do you like dollies?”
Honor said, “I’m sorry. What?”
“Dollies! You’re a young girl. I thought you might like dollies. Here, I have something for you.” Hubert reached into his bag and pulled out a small human figure. Honor could see how someone might refer to it as a doll if they didn’t know better. It was the most evil thing she’d ever seen. Its gruesome armor, grim visage, and inhuman pointed tongue identified it instantly as a demon, despite the thick, dried layer of what Honor chose to call dirt. She recognized it as the magical item Hubert had used that morning to protect himself from dragon fire.
“Where did you get it?” Honor asked.
“Everybody uses the public latrines occasionally. Even necromancers.”
“Hubert, I can’t take this.”
“You’ll have far more use for it than I do.”
Honor thought for a moment and said, “Maybe I can take it.”
“Please do,” Hubert said, thrusting the magical item toward her.
Honor opened her bag. “Okay, thank you. Let me see if I have a rag or a cloth I can take it with.”
‘Oh,” Hubert said, “If it’s a rag you want, I have plenty of those as well!”
“No,” Honor said. “No, thank you, Hubert. I’ll use my own cloth. You’ve already given me quite enough.”
14.
Louiza flew down from her clinic and landed outside the home of Brit the Elder, a stylish domicile, located down at the bottom of the Atlantis bowl, made of rectangular boxes carefully stacked to give the impression of haphazardness. It could have been mistaken for a late-career Frank Lloyd Wright design if not for the fact that it, like all of the buildings in Atlantis, was made from a milky, glasslike material. Also, its roof did not leak. Brit the Elder’s guards, two large men with thick necks and calves larger than their brainpans, greeted Louiza.
Louiza did the guards the courtesy of telling them what they already knew: her name, and that she wanted to see Brit the Elder. They returned the courtesy by telling her what she already knew: that Brit the Elder would be out as soon as possible. They stood in silence for less than thirty seconds, then the glass doors into Brit the Elder’s home slid open, and she emerged.
She looked exactly like Brit the Younger, of course. Physically, she hadn’t aged a day in more than a hundred years, which was how much time had passed since she had, in fact, been Brit the Younger. This didn’t mean she hadn’t changed. She had longer hair, and her clothes tended more toward flowing dresses. The frames of Brit the Elder’s glasses were thin and graceful, and she had a calmer, more confident manner. She invited Louiza inside, to the tasteful but minimal sitting room where she received most guests. She offered a glass of her favorite beverage, Hi-C, to Louiza.
Once they were both seated, and had each had a sip of their bright red sugar water, Brit the Elder said, “So, Madame President, what can I do for you?”
Louiza said, “I thought you would know. I’m afraid Brit the Younger has dropped a pretty big problem in my lap, and told me to come to you for help. I figured that since you used to be her, you might remember.”
Brit the Elder nodded and frowned simultaneously. “Yes, understandable. But Louiza, I remind you, I was Brit the Younger a very long time ago.”
“Okay. She and I have been working on a system for evacuating and stabilizing injured people in emergency situations so that we could treat . . . I’m sorry, are you all right?”
Brit the Elder had closed her eyes and exhaled sharply, almost as if she had experienced a terrible pain. Louiza stopped speaking, but Brit the Elder opened her eyes, smiled, and said, “Sorry. I just remembered. Instead of giving you time to prepare your part of the system, she’s dropped, what was it, twenty-six injured men on your doorstep and left you to sort it all out.”
“Exactly.”
“So, what specifically is the issue? If it were just as simple as treating each patient and sending them back, you wouldn’t need me.”
“True. See, the injured men are in stasis in a holding room right now. I’ve done some triage. Some of them seem to have superficial wounds, some have arrows sticking out of them, and many of them will need surgery.”
“Sounds straightforward.”
“It is, mostly. There are three parts to a doctor’s job: diagnosis, treatment, and recovery. I think I have treatment and recovery sorted out. Diagnosis is what’s going to be tricky.”
“Even for the ones with arrows sticking out of them?”
“Especially for the ones with arrows sticking out of them. It’s a common pitfall for a doctor to see one obvious problem and assume it’s the only problem. To do a thorough diagnosis, eventually you have to ask the patient how they feel.”
“And that’s an issue?”
“Yes. I can knock them out and treat their wounds, then send them back to their time and place as if they never left, to sleep until they’re well enough to be active again.”
“Yes,” Brit the Elder said. “This part I remember. You send them back when they’re ready, but you leave them unconscious for two more days. We didn’t want the healing spell to work instantly because that would give people the idea that they can do any stupid thing they want, and we can just magic away their injuries.”
Louiza nodded. “Yes, and the idea is that they’ll wake up remembering nothing. If I revive them to ask them questions before I treat them, that won’t happen. They’ll wake up with stories about a shiny white room and a woman with an accent asking them where they hurt.”
“And erasing their memories isn’t an option?”
Louiza said, “I wouldn’t know how, and if I did, I’d be afraid to try. We want to send the patients back healthy but confused. Healthy but with brain damage would be a bit much.”
“Yes,” Brit the Elder said, “I see. So the problem is, how do we wake a medieval villager up, ask them where it hurts, watch them point to where the arrow is sticking out of their torso, then send them back to home without them all telling the same strange story.”
“Yup, that covers it. So, what do we do?”
“I don’t know.”
“How can you not
know? You must remember. You’ve lived through all of this before.”
“No, I haven’t.”
“What do you mean, you haven’t?” Louiza sputtered. “You’re Brit the Elder. You used to be Brit the Younger, and she’s the one who got me into this mess.”
“I used to be, but I’m not anymore. I’m me now, not her.”
“But you have access to her memories.”
“They’re my memories, Louiza, from when I was her.”
“And you remember giving me this problem.”
Brit nodded. “Giving us this problem, yes. How we solved the problem, no. Look, here’s what I remember. Brit the Younger dumped this problem in your and Brit the Elder’s laps. Brit the Elder did help you, and together you found some solution, but Brit the Elder never told Brit the Younger what that solution was.”
“Why on earth not?”
“Mostly out of spite at Brit the Younger for being so inconsiderate, and also for forcing me to resort to speaking about myself in the third person. I hate that. It’s so pompous.”
“Yes. But it is less confusing.”
“I’ll choose being confusing over being pompous any day.”
“And you do. Okay. You never told you. But I must have told you at some point.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because you don’t.”
“That’s not a good enough answer.”
“I know that better than anyone. But it is the answer regardless of whether or not you think it’s good enough. That’s what makes reality reality, the fact that it just keeps being true no matter how much you argue with it.”
15.
Martin and Phillip materialized in the gray morning sky above a pasture in Wales. This was their preferred method of arrival in a new place. Appearing at ground level might alarm the locals, and you always ran the risk of materializing in the middle of someone’s bedroom, campfire, or wall, all of which would alarm them even more. Of course, two men popping into existence out of thin air, then hovering in that same thin air, tended to alarm people pretty badly as well, but at least they would be alarmed at a distance.
Phillip and Martin drifted gently to the ground and looked around for a moment before Martin said, “I expected to see dragons.”
“Yes,” Phillip said, “that was rather the point. I’m not surprised that we didn’t appear right on top of them, mind you, but I didn’t expect there to be no obvious sign that they’re around.”
“Yeah, I figured if we didn’t see the dragons, there’d be fire or shouting.”
“I suppose we should be grateful that there isn’t.”
“Yes, but it makes our job harder.” Martin switched his staff to his left hand and held his right out before him.
Phillip saw, and asked, “What are you doing?”
“Calling Jeff to complain.”
Martin said, “Komuniki kun Jeff,” and after a few rings, a flickering image of Jeff’s disembodied head appeared floating in his hand.
“Oh, what now?!” Jeff cried.
“Nothing too bad,” Martin assured him. “It’s just that the dragons aren’t exactly where you sent us.”
“Sorry. There are a lot of time and distance variables. You should be pretty close.”
“It might help us track them down if we had a copy of that dragon map you had.”
“Of course. You’re right. I’ll figure out a way to make copies for all of the teams. Something you can use in front of people without having to explain what a smartphone is. I’ll have it to you as soon as possible.”
Martin thanked Jeff, and ended the call. He turned to Phillip and said, “Really, it seems like the kind of thing he should have thought of himself.”
“Yes,” Phillip said, “I suspect the stress of the situation is getting to him. Frankly, the rest of us should have thought of it as well.”
“Yeah, I suspect the stress is getting to us, too. Nobody wants to be remembered as having had any part in all life on Earth being slowly smothered by artificial dragons.”
“I suppose the one bright side to all life on Earth ending is that there’s nobody left to remember who was responsible.”
Martin asked, “Have I ever told you that you always know the perfect thing to say to cheer me up?”
“No, you haven’t.”
“Good.”
Phillip took a few steps, planted his staff, and bent down to examine the ankle-length grass. “Coming down, I noticed a big dark streak going through the field. It’s harder to see this close, but this is the edge of it. It’s like a big patch of the grass has been disturbed. A group of four dragons walking through might do that.”
Martin’s surprisingly distant voice said, “Yeah, and it might do that, too.”
Phillip looked up and saw that Martin had already walked away along the path of the dark streak, but had stopped to answer, and to point his staff at a dark hole in the tree line caused by broken branches. The streak of disturbed grass led directly to it. Martin started walking again.
“That might be the wrong way,” Phillip shouted.
Martin stopped again, and turned back to Phillip. “The other direction might be the wrong way, too.”
“True, so it’s a fifty-fifty chance. Why pick that way over this one?”
Martin said, “Well, the dragons appeared in places there were already sheep, right? This is a pasture. There’s more pasture behind you. This way leads into the woods. I don’t think sheep usually live in the woods. It seems more likely that they would have appeared in the pasture and headed into the woods than the other way around.”
Phillip shrugged, then walked to catch up with Martin. The two set off on foot in the direction of the gap in the trees.
Martin said, “The guys were surprised when you suggested that you and I make one team and Brit and Gwen make another.”
Phillip said, “Yes, well, the guys are all single aren’t they? They probably haven’t learned yet that one of the secrets of getting someone to stay with you is giving them plenty of time when they’re not actually with you.”
“Yup. You’ve got to leave them wanting more.”
“Or, at least give them enough space that they don’t start wanting less. You’ll notice that neither Gwen nor Brit argued with the idea.”
“Yeah, I did notice that. I also noticed that Brit insisted on taking Scotland.”
“Yes, not surprising. It has the largest single group of dragons. Sadly, women often have to take on the most daunting challenge merely to be seen as an equal.”
“True,” Martin said. “But, are you sure that’s why she took Scotland?”
“Why else would she?”
“I dunno. It’s just interesting. When you think of Scotland, what’s the first thing that comes to your mind?”
“Bagpipes.”
“Okay, then what?”
“Accents.”
“Fine, what else?”
“Haggis?”
Martin rolled his eyes. Phillip asked, “Look, Martin, what are you getting at?”
Martin said, “Kilts. Most people think of kilts.”
Phillip shrugged. “So??”
Martin said, “The big sweaty beefcakes who do all of the work in Atlantis, they wear kilts, don’t they?”
“Yes, they do. What are you trying to say, Martin?”
“Brit the Elder designed Atlantis. Did she pick uniforms for the workers? And if so, does something happen in Scotland now that makes her want to be around men in kilts when she designs Atlantis later?”
“I suppose it’s possible, if you believe that they’re the same person.”
“And you don’t.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Because you believe in free will.”
“Yes, I do.”
“And Brit the Elder truly being Brit the Younger from the future would mean that Brit the Younger has no free will.”
“Indeed.”
After a few more steps, Martin said, “Of course, if she doesn’t really have free will, it would make the whole men-in-kilts question meaningless. It would mean that no matter what happened, she never chose to be around men in kilts.”
“Perhaps not.”
“She was irresistibly compelled to be around men in kilts.”
Phillip shouted, “Shut up,” and Martin did shut up, because it’s hard to talk while laughing.
They walked through the dark hole broken into the forest’s edge where they presumed the dragons had gone. They could see down the path ahead, but tree trunks and undergrowth limited their visibility. The path appeared to have existed before the dragons came along, but the dragons seemed to have widened it, roughly shoving the foliage away on all sides as they walked through. Unfortunately, much of the displaced debris had fallen directly on the path, so Martin and Phillip had to watch their step.
They didn’t know if the dragons had split up, then doubled back. Without discussing it, they knew that a dragon could come crashing through the woods at them at any moment, from any direction.
Without warning, they heard a trumpet fanfare emanating from an empty spot in the air above Martin’s head. The instant the fanfare ended, a rolled piece of parchment appeared in midair. Martin caught it as it fell, then unrolled it.
The map itself was useless. When zoomed down to a local level, it showed roads, rivers, and castles, all drawn in a charming style, but they did not and could not correspond to any existing landmarks in the real world. Instead of drawing a map from scratch, Jeff had just used an image of the board game Carcassonne, which looked enough like a map to fool the casual medieval observer. The important parts were a stick-figure drawing of a wizard that obviously signified their current position, and various red dots, connected to the wizard by lines, and marked with a number that appeared to be the distance between the two in meters. Two dots crowded along the border of the map, well behind the wizard figure. The numbers showed that these two dragons were thousands of meters away from Martin and Phillip, and each other. The other four dots were all within a few meters of each other, and only a couple hundred meters away from Martin and Phillip.
