Chris Karlsen - Knights in Time

by Knight Blindness

  and questioned us at length as to why he had no documents,” Alex told them.

  “They said I was a mad hermit.” Stephen chuckled, tapping the side of his head.

  “We told them he lived off the grid and whatnot. They ran his prints and of course, got

  nothing. Then they called MI-5, who rolled a unit from London to check him out and verify he

  wasn’t a domestic terrorist. Once they cleared him, MI-5 called MI-6, who also rolled a team to verify he wasn’t an international terrorist,” Alex said. “I half expected James Bond’s ‘M’ to show up.”

  “Sounds like a dog and pony show,” Shakira said.

  “Oh, it gets better. When the M’s finished with Stephen they gave us the third degree.”

  Ian added, “After the MI-5 guy interrogated me, he told me what a fan he was and asked

  for an autograph.”

  “I can top that. The MI-6 stiff who questioned me said his girlfriend was a huge fan of Il

  Divo and asked if I could get him two tickets to their sold out London show.”

  “That is ballsy,” Shakira said. “You didn’t agree, did you?”

  “You bet I did. I wanted out of there. Hell, I’d have given him my car. Finally, they gave

  us a stern warning and made us responsible for any problems that might stem from letting Stephen into the country and we were free to go,” Alex said.

  “I saw our mobile dressing trailer outside. Is everything set up?” Ian asked.

  “Yes. Shall we go over and walk Stephen through?”

  “I’m not staying here with you?” Stephen asked Alex.

  “If we had the room, you would. But the spare bedroom is our personal music studio. We

  couldn’t get the equipment out in time for your arrival.”

  “You’re not far from us,” Shakira said. “The trailer is a stone’s throw across the lawn at

  the end of the drive.”

  “What sort of quarters is this trailer?”

  “It’s a home without a foundation that can be moved with special equipment,” Ian said.

  “We use it when we’re on location. Um, by location I mean when Ian and I film certain

  historical programs, we’re often required to do so at the place an event occurred. In our industry we call that--”

  Stephen cut Miranda off. “I lost my sight not my wits. I know what location means. Not in

  the way you speak of, but I am able to deduce the essence even if I don’t understand what film

  is.” He immediately regretted his gruff response. She was trying to help. They were all just trying to help. “Tell me about this trailer,” he said in a more pleasant tone.

  “It has a bedroom with adjacent bath, a drawing room, a kitchen with a dining table and

  chairs, which gives you a comfortable place to work with the tutor,” Miranda told him. “Shakira and I restocked the kitchen.”

  “Come.” Shakira looped her arm through his and led him out of their cottage.

  He counted the steps between the cottage and the trailer to himself. Dependence came in

  a large measure at the moment, and independence, in small victories and accomplishments. He

  vowed he’d learn how to get around without being led. For the time being, his journeys might only be minor, but even a minor feat was a worthy attainment.

  They reached the trailer. Shakira spoke true. It was a mere stone’s throw.

  “I had ramps brought rather than you dealing with stairs,” Miranda said and stepped ahead

  of him.

  “Thank you.”

  “The driveway is directly to your left. Once you’re on the driveway, turn right to go to the

  cottage. It is a flatter path. Flowers line both sides of the drive, but they’re low growing, easy to step over them.” Shakira released his arm.

  Shakira, Alex and Ian followed behind as Stephen climbed the ramp. It squeaked and

  swayed a bit like the gangplank of the ship the army sailed on to France. On each side of the

  raised bottom were metal railings. The gangplank on the king’s ship was wood with rope lines.

  Loading the horses up the plank and onto the ship had been a bit of an adventure. Some walked

  up, nice and calm. Others balked and required one man on the lead rope and one encouraging the

  animal from the rear. Arthur had cantered up the ramp, knocking two squires into the water to

  everyone’s laughter.

  The memory brought a smile that turned to worry.

  Arthur. Was he safe or dead in the old world?

  “Ready to learn about your new home?” Miranda asked.

  “Yes, milady,” he said glad to think about something other than his lost stallion.

  “Ian and I will be in the drawing room while the ladies chatter to you about the kitchen,”

  Alex said as they passed Stephen and their wives.

  “In front of you is a closet. Turn left, take three strides and to your right is the kitchen.

  There’s no door, it’s open to the dining area. Come into the space,” Miranda said.

  He did as she asked. He tested the area’s size with his cane, apologizing when he tapped

  Miranda with the tip.

  Next, he snapped the cane shut and felt the tops of the hard surfaces. When he got to the

  sink, Stephen said, “A double-sided basin. ‘Tis odd and a waste of space compared to one big

  deep one but...” He shrugged and then ran his hands over the faucet. “The hospital had a spigot with a paddle where a man could have as much hot or cold water as he sought.”

  “Same here. We call this setup a faucet. On each side of the spout a handle delivers hot or

  cold water. Has anyone told you about Braille?”

  “Yes. A woman named Juliette. It’s a written language for the blind.”

  Miranda explained the stove. “Down the road, we’ll replace the knobs that tell you the

  level of heat with Braille ones.”

  “Is it off at the moment?”

  “Yes.”

  Stephen explored the flat top. “Glass?”

  “It is.”

  “Glass that cooks like a flame with the turn of a knob... amazing.”

  “Use the microwave oven for now.”

  She put a cup of water inside to demonstrate how it heated food. At the end of a minute a

  bell went off. She brought the cup out and had him pass his hand over the top. Steam warmed his palm. The microwave cooked food faster than he ever imagined. Everything in this time was fast

  it seemed.

  “Feel.” She pressed his forefinger to the timer pad where she’d put what she called tape

  on the four settings she thought he’d use the most. Then she showed him another miracle

  contrivance called a refrigerator located under the counter.

  It made and stored ice. He had no need for ice and asked what purpose this served.

  Apparently, he’d use the ice in drinks on a hot day.

  “Rocks, right? I learned this today.” Iced drinks. He gave the idea a mental shrug. It didn’t

  seem so special. On hot days, he found a dip in the river to cool the body and drinking a few

  handfuls of water from a cold stream fine. The refrigerator part that stored food for days and

  sometimes even weeks without spoilage, that was special.

  “If only we’d this advantage in our time, no one would’ve gone hungry.”

  “Sadly, its existence now hasn’t eliminated famine. Let’s move on,” Shakira said.

  The dining area opened to the drawing room. They walked around and she showed him

  the furniture layout. The room also had a metal-framed box shoulder width long with a flat front.

  He drew his hand along the smooth face and down to a steel stand. Beneath it in a hollowed out

  area were more steel boxes.

  “You’ll like what they do,”
Alex said.

  Ian explained the large box. “This is a television. At the press of a button, images of

  people appear on a flat surface with sound and voices.” He declined to say how this was

  achieved.

  “Their visage but not their person is conjured up for all with sight to see. This is sorcery

  then?”

  “It’s not magic but science. We’ll leave that story for another day too. If you discover a

  show you like, you can listen to it at least.” Ian placed a hard device the length of Stephen’s hand into his palm. “This is a remote control. No matter where you are in the room, you can work the box above and those below with this.”

  Stephen ran his fingers over the device, which was covered with tiny nipples. Ian had

  dotted the important nubs with more tape. The bottom two nubs produced music and a way to

  switch to a new sound.

  “You can also control the music without the remote. Kneel down and I’ll show you.”

  Stephen dropped to one knee and Alex took his hand. By feel, Alex showed him the box

  on the bottom and how buttons on it created the music. He had the power to change the sound

  and style at his fingertips. Wonders filled this trailer home. What was the most wondrous, the

  refrigerator or the music maker? He couldn’t say.

  As Alex instructed him how the music maker worked, Stephen memorized the use and

  location of various buttons.

  “The discs are commonly called CDs. They—”

  “Don’t tell me,” Stephen said and stood. “I wish to discover how this music works for

  myself. ‘Tis another of your marvels, that’s all I need to know.”

  “Come, your bedroom and bathroom are the last stop,” Miranda said. She guided him to

  the bathroom and let him explore. As at the hospital, it had the same set up: basin, toilet, and glass-walled stall, except the ceramic basin here sat on a pedestal and the basin’s surround was wider.

  “The toothbrush holder is attached to the wall to the right of the faucet. I’ve put out a new

  brush. Toothpaste and shave crème are in the cupboard over the sink.”

  “My new what?”

  “Toothbrush. Oh dear, I keep forgetting how new all of this is.” She put a stick with a

  small brush on the end in his palm. She opened the cupboard and then closed it with a click. “The first is a brush to run across your teeth after you put paste on the top.” She put a finger to his lips.

  “Taste.”

  He sniffed first. It smelled minty. He’d had mint before but it was leafy not a paste. “Your

  wife would have me eating out of her hand,” Stephen teased.

  From behind him Ian said, “She has that ability. She’s had me eating out of her hand for

  almost two years.”

  Stephen tasted the paste with the tip of his tongue, not quite trusting what it was exactly.

  He pulled back. “Ugh.

  This tastes like no mint I’ve had before and makes my tongue tingle. Mint doesn’t act so.”

  “Does it taste bad? No,” Miranda answered for him. “Stop being a baby. You need to

  start brushing your teeth, otherwise they’ll rot.”

  “Wrong, milady. I have never brushed, obviously, and I have all my teeth and suffer no

  rot.” He opened his mouth wide to show her.

  “That’s good. But have you ever smelled foul breath?”

  “Many times.”

  “Modern woman hate it. They’ll find you very unkissable. Brushing keeps your breath

  fresh, so do it.”

  He nodded. After all, this brushing wasn’t a difficult chore.

  Miranda took his hand and showed him rails attached to the wall by the basin and also on

  the opposite wall. “Towel racks.”

  The drying linens in the hospital were the finest he’d ever used, soft on the face and not

  scratchy. Those towels as he now knew them to be, paled in comparison to these. He lifted the

  corner of one and dug his nails into the thick pile.

  He dropped the towel and asked, “You spoke of a shave crème. What is that?”

  “I wasn’t thinking when I mentioned it. I’m sorry. I forgot you can’t see in the mirror.

  Other than having a trim at the barbers or maybe asking the tutor to assist you, you’ve no use for the crème,” she said.

  Stephen grinned at her assumption. This time he had a leg up on her. “I don’t favor beards,

  milady.” From her perfume, he knew Shakira stood close. He turned to her. “Do I?”

  “That’s true. He kept his armor is excellent condition. The mirrors we had were adequate

  but not great. Stephen used the polished surface of his armor as a mirror.”

  “Again, not thinking. I know about the poor quality of medieval mirrors from our shows

  and my research,” Miranda said.

  “I wear a beard now because during the campaign it wasn’t always easy to shave in the

  field. My armor, as you can guess, was no longer shiny and I shaved by feel every few days

  instead of daily. Nor was there soap. Without benefit of it, shaving with my knife made my skin raw in places. I came to this time of yours after foregoing shaving the day before the battle.”

  “Why didn’t you shave in the hospital?” Shakira asked.

  “I asked for the means to shave, but they denied me. They said I couldn’t be trusted with

  anything sharp.”

  “We’ll bring you what you need later today,” Miranda said. “Onto the bedroom and then

  we’re done with the tour.”

  Stephen stepped past Miranda and searched the room without help.

  “This tall chest is for clothes I’m certain. Rather funny, since I have only the clothes I

  wear, which are not mine.”

  “Open the drawers. Miranda and I shopped for some things to tide you over until you go

  shopping for yourself.”

  Stephen did as Shakira asked and opened all the drawers. The top ones held short braies.

  Undergarments of a sort. He took the braies out. Made of a material he didn’t recognize, they

  were also two different shapes. The smaller of the two would fit nice and snug, but it had a

  strange band that snapped out of his finger hold. The second was of thinner material, cut looser and longer, with a snappy band like the other.

  He stretched the band on the longer braies out on each side until it was taut, then let go

  with one hand. The band flicked back into place. “What is this material called? It amuses me.” He pulled the side back out again and let go.

  “Elastic,” Shakira said.

  “These are what I think they are, undergarments, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why is one loose and long and the other short and a tighter weave?”

  “Hold that question. Alex, come in here please,” Shakira called.

  After he joined her she said, “It was weird enough shopping for smalls for a man not my

  husband. I’m not going to explain boxers and briefs too.” With that she moved past Stephen.

  “While you’re at it, explain the shower and using it... today,” she added and left the room.

  Alex told him about the undergarments along with all the clothes in the dresser and the closet--tee shirts, collared shirts, jeans, and jackets.

  He finished and then directed Stephen back to the bathroom. “Let me show you how the

  shower works. You need to take one before tonight.”

  “What for? They wiped me down at the hospital.”

  “The wipe down isn’t enough. You smell gamey. We’re dining with your tutor. She’ll

  prefer you clean, I’m sure. Your hair is a mess too.”

  He ran his palms over his head. His hair was a source of pr
ide. Women complimented him

  on his nice head of hair. They liked tunneling their fingers through it when he bed them. He hadn’t cut it since midsummer and it hung past his shoulders, longer than usual. They’d cleaned it at the hospital days earlier. Since then, he kept his hair brushed but that was all.

  “Show me how to use the shower.”

  Alex finished and they stepped from the glass box.

  “Alex—”

  “Yes.”

  “Does the tutor know I’ve traveled through time?”

  “No. It wouldn’t bode well for any of us if it should get out I confessed that to her.”

  “She believes I am mad then—had this so called ‘psychotic break?’”

  “Yes. It’s best for now.”

  “How is it best for the world to think me mad when I am not?”

  “There’s knowledge most of the world isn’t ready to accept. Time travel is one. Even if

  they learned to accept, this world is too greedy and selfish to handle the knowledge with care and prudence.”

  “I’ve gone from being brave and honorable to being mad. How do I handle that?”

  Chapter Eleven

  “Hello,” Stephen said and stepped aside for Alex. “Look at this, I’m peach soft.” He

  stroked his face amazed at the lack of prickly stubble. “I like your shave crème and razor.”

  “Handy stuff, handier than soap and a dagger. You’re not using your cane,” Alex said as

  Stephen followed.

  “After everyone left I familiarized myself with the rooms. I repeated the path Miranda

  took me on several times. I did it by touch and some by smell.”

  “The touch part is understandable. You know what room you’re in by the furniture...but

  smell? The rooms don’t smell different to me.”

  “There’s a difference.”

  Alex stopped at the edge of the kitchen counter but Stephen continued five strides more to

  the first of the soft drawing room chairs. He turned right, took two strides and said, “Come here.”

  Stephen reached out with one hand found Alex’s arm and said, “Come closer.” He held up

  a handful of the draperies. “Smell.”

  Alex sniffed the material. “You’re right. There’s a faint scent of tobacco. Ian must smoke

  his cigars in here occasionally. I hadn’t noticed when we walked through earlier.”

  “I don’t know what a cigar or tobacco is. This scent that clings to the furniture and