by Scott Meyer
Martin was angry with himself for not stopping himself from doing the stupid things he had done. He knew this was not rational, but he was beginning to suspect that rational thought was not his strong suit.
For whatever reason, warning himself was not an option. He’d have to find some other way to fix the mess he’d left behind in the future, and since he had no idea what that would be, he’d have to bide his time here, in the past. That made the food and shelter problems clearly stand out from the rest, and for some reason, that made Martin feel better. Also, he didn’t have to worry about messing up the space-time continuum, because if he was going to, he already had, long before he was even born.
Okay, he thought, I know what my problems are. What are my assets?
He had his clothes. This was not a promising start, but there it was. His shoes were still unlaced. He dug the laces out of the plastic evidence bag Agent Murphy had handed him when he’d asked for his phone. As he laced his shoes, he continued down the list. He had his clothes. He had a jacket. He had his phone. He had his wallet, full of plastic cards that were useless except as bookmarks. He had his car keys, which were equally useless here and in the future, now that the car was totaled.
He could stay in this time, go back to his time, or try any time in between. He could transport anywhere on the globe, but he’d have to be careful. He had picked the white cliffs of Dover because they would be there. They had existed for millions of years, so they were a safe landing zone. Even that wasn’t quite true, he saw. He had picked a landing spot about thirty feet from the cliff edge, but he materialized over a hundred feet away. This might have been an error, or continental drift, or perhaps the cliff had eroded. Maybe it was a bit of all three. In any case, Martin couldn’t guarantee that any geological feature would be where his mapping program said it was. He had considered picking a mountain peak as a landing zone, and now he was glad he hadn’t. Imagine materializing in midair, thirty feet to the left of the peak. He shuddered at the idea. He could still teleport anywhere, but he’d need to be careful.
He was in Medieval England, which was both a problem and an asset. He chose this time and place as his escape hatch because he spoke the language, and the people believed in magic. He could hover and teleport to prove his so-called powers. Heck, the phone itself would look like magic. He could just show it to people and they’d be convinced. His clothes would look strange. His manner would seem strange, and his English wouldn’t be quite the same as the local dialect, which might just make him seem otherworldly. He had the plastic bag the agents had put his belongings in. The locals certainly would never have seen anything like that.
Lastly, he had the thing he’d rushed home for, aside from seeing his parents one last time. He held it up to look at it, and was delighted that in his senior year he’d chosen to go to a Halloween party as Draco Malfoy from the Harry Potter movies. At the time it was just an excuse to bleach his hair, which hadn’t worked out, but now he had a dark robe with a snake sewn on it, and a magic wand. He tried the robe on. He’d gained weight since high school, but the robe wasn’t too tight. Well, it was too tight, but it wasn’t too too tight.
He turned his back to the ocean and started walking. The plan was to find people, convince them he was a wizard, get food and shelter, then lay low while he made a plan. It was a simple plan, and it would work this time. He knew how not to do it.
Yes sir, he thought, I’ll just lay low. First step: find a bunch of people and convince them I have magic powers.
Chapter 9.
After an hour of walking, Martin crested a small hill. He hadn’t covered as much ground as he’d hoped. Walking through wilderness, even when it’s devoid of trees, takes more time and effort than walking on a sidewalk. He was irritated that nobody had ever mentioned this fact to him, but after some thought he realized that people who walk in undeveloped areas in his time did so mostly for fun, and if that was the case, having to spend more time doing it wouldn’t be something they’d complain about.
It was getting late in the afternoon. Soon it would be evening, and while he knew that people slept outdoors for millennia, he’d never done it himself. He had no idea what could attack him in the night, but he’d seen enough movies to have some ideas. Wolves. Highwaymen. Evil queens. He spent a lot of time thinking about being attacked by an evil queen. It actually didn’t sound so bad. At any rate, he did not like the idea of spending the night outdoors. He knew that if things got really bad he could go back to his own time, but he was still in big trouble there. Here, he was alone, tired, and hungry, but at least he wasn’t being actively pursued.
He reached the top of the hill and saw what might be a road in the distance, near the tree line. He figured it would take another hour at least to reach it. He could see a long way, and there were no other people anywhere. He pulled out his phone, made a quick estimate of the distance to the road, and a few seconds later he was standing in the middle of it. This was more like it.
The road was a set of two ruts that had been reinforced enough to effectively become one large rut. In one direction the road disappeared into the woods. In the other it continued in open grassland along the edge of the woods, allowing Martin to see nearly a half mile of empty road. He didn’t know which direction would lead him to a village first, but he did know which direction he could travel more easily. A few seconds later, he was a half mile down the road.
He spent the next half hour leapfrogging huge chunks of land. There were a lot of large, clear sections of road he could teleport past. In a few places the road disappeared around a bend, but he’d see it reemerge in the distance, so he’d jump to that spot, cutting who knew how much distance from his journey.
He was getting discouraged that he hadn’t seen any other people when in the distance he saw what appeared to be two men on horseback riding towards him. They were still hundreds of yards away. He started walking toward them. He hoped to at least find out how far he was from the nearest village. As the distance between them slowly closed he could see more detail. They were either men or powerfully unattractive women. They had swords. Honest to God SWORDS! He could tell they had seen him. They didn’t seem concerned. They weren’t speeding up at all, and neither was Martin, but the distance between them seemed to be closing much faster than before, and each second brought new, unwelcome details. Their clothes were made primarily of leather and a fabric that looked scratchy. The colors were mottled, and by mottled he meant stained. The worst part was that they were both smiling.
Martin knew that if they tried anything, he could hit the Escape button again, and it would take him back to the cliffs, but all of his progress would be lost. He opened the app, hoping he wouldn’t need it. He’d lived in the city long enough to know that to show any fear was the absolute worst thing he could do. He forced himself to smile and to walk faster toward the two.
As he got closer, their smiles faded. Maybe they think I’m gonna attack them, he thought. I’m wearing a wizard robe. He didn’t want them to attack preemptively. He meant them no harm. He only wanted information about the nearest village. Martin decided to act friendly.
“Hello!” Martin yelled, waving casually with his right hand, but holding his phone with the left, his thumb hovering over the Escape button.
The men leaned in closer and spoke to each other. They were about a hundred feet away now, and could really get a good look at Martin. Martin could also see them. He noticed that the two men shared three eyebrows and three working eyes between them, but the distribution was not uniform. They stopped their horses.
Maybe hello was too modern a word, Martin thought. They don’t know what it means. I should be careful what I say. He tried to remember how people greeted each other in ye olde times.
“Hey! Hail! Greetings!” he yelled, waving energetically.
The two men seemed unnerved. They glanced at each other, then spurred their horses to an in
stant gallop. They passed Martin, giving him as much room as they could without riding into the woods.
“Salutations! Um, well met! What-ho!”
The man who passed closest to Martin (one eye, two eyebrows) gritted his also non-traditional number of teeth and dug his heels into the horse’s flanks again. Once they were past him, the men fled at top speed. Martin turned to watch them go, and saw that a horse-drawn wagon was approaching him from behind. It must have been in a part of the road I bypassed, he thought.
The two men passed the wagon without giving it any apparent thought. Martin watched the wagon’s approach, wondering if the driver would be afraid of him too. The wagon was drawn by a single horse, and there appeared to be a single driver with no passengers. The driver seemed small and was wearing a hood. He couldn’t see if anything was in the back of the wagon, which stopped ten feet short of Martin.
At least this guy doesn’t seem scared of me, Martin thought. I wonder what his eye to eyebrow ratio will be.
The driver removed her hood and said, “Good day.” She had brown hair, roughly but not inexpertly cut to shoulder length, and wide-spaced brown eyes. Martin noted a lack of makeup, which seemed odd to him until he took a half second to think about it. I’m going to have to get used to that, he thought. Her cloak was like a large hooded poncho, but with sleeves. It was charcoal gray over a long skirt the color of oatmeal. All of her clothes looked very soft and very warm. She was making eye contact, and was smiling, which he found promising. Her teeth were whiter and straighter than he’d expected a medieval wench’s teeth to be.
“Uh, good day!” Martin replied, then stared at her for a moment, unsure what to say next. The woman stared back.
During his walk, Martin had thought about what demeanor he should maintain with the people he met in this time. He had settled on wise, mysterious, and commanding. In short, wizardly. This was his first chance to give it a shot.
“Good lady,” he said, in a voice that was louder than he’d intended, “is there a town or a village nearby?”
She continued to look him square in the eye and smile while considering her answer. Eventually she said, “Aye.”
“Ah,” Martin said. He looked back down the road the way he came, then looked up the road the direction he was heading. “Is it far?”
She said, “No, I expect to be there before dark.”
Martin looked at her horse and wagon. The horse was smallish, but seemed healthy. The wagon looked primitive but sturdy, with wheels that were solid wood disks. Most importantly, the horse and the cart were both pointing a specific direction. He pointed the same way. “The village is this way, then?”
“Aye.”
“All right then. I guess I’ll see you there. Okay. Um. Good evening.”
Martin took a step. The woman said, “Would you like to ride with me? The road can be dangerous, and I would not mind the company of a wizard.”
Well, now we’re finally getting somewhere! he thought as he pulled himself up onto the bench next to her. The cart started moving. It was not a smooth ride, but it was far better than walking. He decided to try to listen more than he talked. He wanted to take in information, not give it away, but the young woman driving the cart seemed content to ride in silence. She was still smiling. She just wasn’t talking. There was information Martin needed, and if he was going to get it, he’d have to start the conversation.
“How did you know I’m a wizard?”
“That is a wizard’s robe, is it not?” she asked, not turning to look at him.
“Indeed! Indeed it is! Yes,” he said. “Indeed.”
They lapsed back into silence. After a time, Martin decided to try again.
“I appreciate your offering me this ride, but aren’t you at all afraid to be in the presence of a wizard such as myself?”
“No. If we are attacked, you’ll likely be quite useful,” she said, still staring straight ahead.
“Oh, I understand why you’d be less afraid with me, but aren’t you at all afraid of me?”
“Nay,” she said, “I’m just a seamstress and tailor. I have nothing to interest a wizard, just needles and thread. And I needn’t worry about you ravishing me. Everyone knows wizards are celibate.”
Martin didn’t like hearing that. He changed the subject. “So, what can you tell me about the village we’re going to?”
“It’s the place where I live. It’s not a mere village, but a good-sized town. Leadchurch, it’s called. I’m sure you’ve heard of it. It’s quite famous.”
“No,” Martin said, remembering to use his grandiose voice. “I’ve not heard of it. I’m new to this land.”
“Oh, interesting,” she said, taking her eyes from the road to look at him for the first time since the ride began. “Where are you from?”
Time to try the cover story, he thought.
“The east,” he said. “You said Leadchurch was famous. What for?”
“The church, of course. ‘Tis a fine church, clad entirely in precious metal.”
“What precious metal?” Martin asked, his curiosity piqued.
“Lead. What else? A precious metal indeed! Most useful! We had to import it from the north country. Pilgrims come from far and wide to gaze upon the church at high noon. It’s a dazzling sight. The grayest thing you’ve ever seen. Some mark its exterior with their thumbnail. Children often lick its surface, but we try to discourage that.”
“So, is there much work for a wizard in Leadchurch?”
She mulled this over. “I’d say so. Mind you, there’s a wizard in Leadchurch already, but if you can prove your magic is equal to his, I bet you can keep food in your belly.”
“Splendid! I can’t wait to see it.” He paused. “I’m sorry. I haven’t introduced myself. My name is Martin.”
“And I’m Gwen,” she replied.
They came to the edge of town. It was the most abrupt town edge Martin had ever seen. There was nothing but sparse woods, then a meadow, then a tight grouping of rough-hewn buildings with thatched roofs. Some had timber frames; others seemed to be made from piles of stone. Gwen stopped the wagon in front of a very noisy two-story building. There was a sign hanging over a door that had a painting of a tree stump.
“This is where we part, Martin.” Gwen said, turning to face him. “This is The Rotted Stump. Here you’ll find food, a bed, and plenty to keep you entertained. If you ever need any new garments made, or alterations to your robe, please keep me in mind.” She reached into the bed of the wagon and produced a long stick with marks cut in it at regular intervals. She held it up to his arm, clearly measuring his sleeve.
He thanked her and climbed down out of the wagon. His feet had barely touched the ground when she pulled away.
The town looked exactly as he expected a medieval English town to look, except much more pleasant. The road was not a sea of mud, but a sort of large, loose gravel. He suspected that on a rainy day it got a little sloppy, but not much worse than some country driveways he’d seen. The buildings were small and made of wood, stone, and thatch, but they weren’t shanties. There was even some glass, which surprised Martin.
The lack of lighting was the main thing that differentiated them from modern buildings.
Dusk was fading into night, and there was light in the windows, but it was dimmer and more uneven than he was used to. It looked like the entire town was having a romantic evening in. The people walking the streets seemed healthy and happy. No obvious cases of severe scoliosis. People weren’t scurrying in fear. It was a normal town, full of normal people, living without technology.
Martin turned to face the inn. He listened to the sounds. Lively chatter was coming from the building, but he heard no anger or violence in the sound, which was reassuring. He took a moment to get his thoughts in order, then entered the inn.
Chapte
r 10.
At first glance, the inn was everything Martin expected, but different. It was dark, but not grim. All of the light came from candles, but there were a lot of them. The tables and chairs were similar to what he would call picnic tables and benches, but still, totally recognizable to his modern eyes. There was a bar, but it was more of an extra-large table. The bartender was a heavy man in a dirty tunic. His right arm was missing just above the elbow. On his bar there was a wooden box with rough metal hinges. The cashbox, Martin assumed. Next to the bar keep’s stool, there was a barrel with the lid on, but slightly askew, and the handle of a metal ladle sticking out.
The customers were mostly men (though not by a very big margin), mostly large (and that included the women), and mostly drunk, but there were no fights in progress, and no sense of menace. It’s just a bar, Martin thought. He felt comfortable enough to continue.
Martin said, “Excuse me,” in a loud, clear voice. All sound ceased instantly and every head turned to look at him. Someone groaned.
“I’m sorry to interrupt your evening,” Martin continued, “but I just wanted to let you all know that I’m a powerful wizard.”
The bartender turned to a young boy standing near the barrel and said, “You’d best get Phillip.” The boy nodded and sprinted out the back door.
“Who’s Phillip?” Martin asked.
“Local wizard. He’ll want to welcome you.” The barman replied. Martin heard a few quiet chuckles from the back of the room. He was pleased, though. This charlatan who was calling himself a wizard would come in, spout some mumbo-jumbo and do some stupid trick. Then Martin would show them real magic. He’d start small, show them the plastic bag, then move on to the smartphone. If he needed the big guns he’d levitate, but he didn’t want to use that if he didn’t have to.
