The voyage from England had not been easy. The weather had been against them almost from the start, and the conditions aboard ship were primitive, to say the least. It was not his preferred mode of travel, to be sure, but the other way—ley travel—was out of the question at the moment. The dangers were just too great. Indeed, he had pressed it as far as he dared just to get here.
“Arturos! Stand up and let me see you!”
Arthur glanced up to see Turms in the doorway: a tall, imposing figure, almost gaunt beneath his ceremonial robe, his once-smooth face showing lines of age. His hair, greying at the temples, hung straight to his shoulders, his forehead shaven in the manner of the priestly caste. Turms removed his ceremonial hat and unbelted the golden sash, then turned to receive his friend.
Arthur rose to his feet and was gathered into a firm and friendly embrace. “My heart soars at the sight of you,” said the king, kissing him on the cheek.
“Mine too,” replied Arthur happily. “Indeed, my soul has been singing since I set foot on Tyrrhenian soil this very morning.” He spoke with greater ease and confidence as his former skills, like birds returning from migration, came winging back to him across the years. “How long has it been since I was here?” he wondered. “Five years? Six?”
“Over twenty, I fear,” said Turms, shaking his head slightly. “Too long, my friend.”
“Ah, me,” sighed Arthur. “I had hoped to return much sooner. But events overtook me and it was not possible.”
“Still, you are here now.” The king turned away suddenly and called, “Pacha! Bring wine and sweetmeats! We must welcome our guest.”
He turned back and, taking Arthur by the arm, led him to the couch. “I was made aware of your coming,” he said, taking his place beside his guest. “Just this morning I received an omen foretelling your arrival. I did not know it would be you, of course—only that I would receive a foreign visitor before day’s end.” Turms smiled. “And here you are.”
“Indeed, I am,” said Arthur. “And I could not be happier.”
“I will have a house prepared for you—a new one this time—”
“The old one will be more than satisfactory,” said Arthur quickly. “If it is available?”
“No, no, I will not hear it. That house is too far away. I want you close by so that distance will not impede our lessons.”
“Your generosity, O King, is as wide as your wisdom,” said Arthur, bowing his head in assent. “But you may change your mind when I tell you that I did not come alone this time.” He leaned forward. “I have a wife.”
“You are married!”
“I am.”
“But where is she?”
“Still aboard the ship—”
“What!” exclaimed Turms. “You keep her waiting like a bundle of cargo on the deck of a stinking ship? What a thoughtless, uncaring husband you are!”
“Please, Turms, I meant no disrespect to either yourself or my dear wife. In truth, I was uncertain of my reception.”
“I hope you know you can trust our friendship,” said Turms. “My regard for you has never altered.”
“It was not you or your friendship I doubted,” replied Arthur. “Believe me, that thought never entered my mind.”
“But?”
“I wanted to see how things stood here.”
“Ah!” Turms nodded with appreciation. “Very wise. Yes, I remember now—at the time of your last leaving the Latins were threatening our borders. You might have returned to a very different place than you last visited.” He made a laudatory gesture in the air with his hand. “I commend your caution.”
Pacha approached, leading a servant bearing a bronze tray with silver goblets and a delicate glass jar of pale, amber-coloured liquid. There were bowls of honeyed almonds as well. The servant placed the tray on a three-legged stand and backed away as the Master of the House poured the wine, sipped from the goblet, then handed it to the king. He repeated the process for the king’s guest, then retreated quietly.
“I am glad to see that all appears peaceful now. The realm prospers under your reign.”
“For now, yes. The bellicose Latins have been tamed, or at least discouraged. The prime instigators have been caught, judged, and either executed or exiled. The Umbrians—an altogether more reasonable tribe—have taken over administration of Ruma city. At present, you have no need to fear becoming ensnared in a battle between warring nations. Peace, that ever-fragile flower, blossoms in profusion across the land.”
“Since that is the way of things,” said Arthur, rising once more, “I will inform my wife. She will be most heartily glad to leave the confines of the ship.” Arthur’s manner became grave. “Xian-Li is the reason I have come. My wife is with child, you see—”
A glance at his visitor’s face told Turms that all was not well. “What should be a joyous occasion has been clouded for you in some way. I can see it. What has happened?”
“Xian-Li has had a troubled time,” replied Arthur simply. “I have come to you for advice. I have told her of the skill of Etrurian physicians, and she is most eager to meet you. I will go fetch her now.”
“You will do no such thing, my friend,” said the king. “I will send Pacha to the ship with my bearers and they will bring her in my chair.” He raised his hand and summoned his servant. “Arthur’s wife is waiting aboard the ship in the harbour. Take my chair to her at once—but see the bearers employ the utmost care. The lady is with child.”
“It will be done, my king.” Pacha bowed and hurried away; soon his calls urging the bearers to speed could be heard echoing down the hillside.
While awaiting the arrival of Xian-Li, the two sat and talked and drank their wine, renewing old bonds of friendship, casting their memories back across the intervening years to the time when Turms had been but a lowly prince, third in line to the throne, and Arthur his student, assigned by King Velnath to teach the exotic visitor the language and customs of the Tyrrhenian people. The two young men had quickly become fast friends; and though it had been a long time since they had last seen one another, their high regard for one another had not diminished.
“You have not changed at all,” remarked Turms, regarding Arthur closely.
“Nor have you, my lord king.”
“Careful.” He wagged a scolding finger. “It is a dangerous thing to lie to a king. But, see here, for you I put off my crown. When we are together I am only Turms. We will turn back the years and be what we once were.”
“As you will,” agreed Arthur. “I would like nothing more.”
They talked about the time when they had both travelled the country as part of Arthur’s schooling. Turms’ father had seen in the young foreigner a source of knowledge he was determined to utilise. The old king had died before the summer was out—killed by a Latin assassin’s blade. Turms’ brother had ascended the throne and, in vengeance, declared war on the Latins, forcing the two young men to abandon their travels and return to Velathri where Turms, under command of his elder brother, had entered the priesthood. With the country deep in preparations for war, Arthur had made his farewells and departed with the promise to return in a year or two when peace had been restored.
“And now you are king,” said Arthur, grinning with pleasure to find his old friend in such an exalted position. “You must tell me how that came about. That is a tale I am keen to hear.”
“It is nothing,” replied Turms, fanning the air as if waving away a fly. Taking up his cup, he said, “Do you remember the last summer we were together?”
“It was in many ways the most glorious summer of my life. How could I ever forget?”
“Two keen and ardent souls without a care in the world. The days we spent in Ruma and Reate.” Turms chuckled, shaking his head at the memory. “The nights! Sabine girls are the finest in all the world, say the sages. And, from experience—limited as it may be—I can in no way disagree. I should have married one when fortune smiled.”
“It is not too late,” Ar
thur pointed out. “Never too late.”
Turms smiled. “Perhaps not.”
CHAPTER 4
In Which Tea and Sandwiches
Are Encountered
Giles?” Sensing that her companion was no longer with her, Wilhelmina spun around to find him on hands and knees, heaving the contents of his stomach into the soft pine matting of the pathway. She returned and knelt beside him. “Take a deep breath and relax. The worst is over.” She put her hand on his back. “That’s right—a slow, deep breath.”
He did as she instructed, and Wilhelmina felt his ribs expand and contract as the breath went in and out of his lungs. “Again,” she advised, glancing back the way they had come. “Do you think you can walk? We have to move along. Burleigh’s men may catch our trail any moment.”
Giles nodded and dragged a sleeve across his mouth.
“Good.” She put her hand under his arm and helped him to his feet. “It really does get easier with practice.” She smiled. “But you’d better brace yourself. We have two more jumps before we’re in the clear. Right now, we have to get off this ley.” She turned and started into the trees lining the path.
Giles, on wobbly legs, followed.
They walked a fair distance before Wilhelmina paused to listen. There were no sounds of a chase, so she resumed at a slower pace, allowing her queasy companion to gain a little strength. “The next ley is in the valley beyond that hill,” she told him. “It is about an hour’s trek. There is a brook in the valley, and we can get a drink before we jump.”
Giles nodded again.
“You’re not one to wear out a person’s eardrums, are you.”
“My lady?”
“I mean, you don’t talk much.”
“No, my lady.”
“Please, call me Mina.” She smiled and extended her hand to shake his. “Just Mina.” She began walking again. “It’s this way.”
She led and he followed a half-step behind, so that she had to raise her voice to talk to him. “You were Sir Henry Fayth’s valet,” she said. “Is that right?”
“I was his footman and driver,” Giles corrected.
“And I take it you haven’t made all that many jumps?”
“My lady?”
At his blank expression, she rephrased her question in the more formal style of address of an earlier age. “Am I to understand that you have but limited experience in ley travel?”
“Yes, my lady. This was only my second time.”
“I see. Has anyone explained to you about the time slip—that’s what I call it. You know, the way time slips around when you make a jump?”
“No, my lady. But I know Sir Henry made many such leaps. He and Mr. Livingstone often travelled together, and I understand that the places they visited were not in the present day and time—if you see what I mean.”
“Yes, well, I just want to warn you that we will be returning to Britain—but it will not be the country it was when you left.” She cast a quick glance at her sturdy companion. “What year was it when you left England?”
“The year of our Lord sixteen and sixty-six, if I have it right.”
“Then it will have changed.”
“Are we going back to London?”
“Not just now. We’re going to Scotland—Edinburgh, to be exact. You should recognise many things—there is much that remains unchanged from one era to the next. But the Britain we are going to visit lies about a hundred and fifty years into the future—that is, your future.”
“Is that where you live?”
“No.” She smiled. “My home is—or was—three hundred years further still into that particular future. But, don’t worry, we won’t be going there . . . at least, I don’t expect we will.”
“Does a body always go to a different place?”
“A different world or dimension, you mean?” Mina considered this. “I think so,” she replied. “At least, so far as I know. Even so, it is possible to make a jump and remain in the same geographical area, so to speak. If Kit followed the instructions I gave him, he has made a jump that keeps him in Egypt—only it will be a different Egypt in a different time from the one he left. It took me a long time to work that out, but it is incredibly useful.”
Giles accepted this without comment. They proceeded up the long ramping incline of the hill to the top, where they paused to look down into the valley beyond. If there was an old straight track down there, it was well hidden. After taking in the view for a moment, Giles asked, “What is this place?”
“To tell you the truth, I don’t know. I have not explored this world. I only use it as a sort of stepping-stone to get from one ley to another. There are many such as these—unknown worlds, I call them.” She laughed. “Mostly because I don’t know anything about them.”
“Are there people hereabouts?”
“A few,” replied Mina. “Farmers and the like. I have seen them working in their fields beyond those hills just there. Once or twice I have encountered them herding sheep in the valley as well. I don’t know what country this is, or what language is spoken. I hope we won’t be here long enough to find out.” She pointed to the silver sliver of water coursing along the wide valley bottom. “The ley is just on the other side of that little stream. Once we reach it, we’ll be on our way.”
Soon their feet were swishing through the bracken that covered the hillside all the way down to the banks of the stream, where they stopped to refresh themselves before moving on.
“There it is,” Wilhelmina said, indicating a rough stone shaped like a magician’s hat rising from the weeds near the bank. “That marker is where it begins. You will see the line once you are on the path. It is not very long, so we must be in step and up to speed when we reach the stone.”
“And this ley will take us to Scotland?”
“I’m sorry, Giles, no. We must make two more jumps to get there from here.” She pulled from her pocket a small brass object shaped like a river stone, twisted a tiny dial, and held the thing in the direction of the marker.
Giles watched, and when nothing seemed to happen Mina cast a glance at the sky, observing the clouds and the position of the sun.
“I think we have an hour or two to wait before the ley becomes active,” she announced, stuffing the little device back into the pocket of her trousers. “We might as well rest and try to sleep a little. We may not have much chance when we get to Edinburgh.”
They rested then, and when Mina again tried the device a tiny blue light flickered on the brass casing. Satisfied, she said, “The ley is not yet at full strength, but it is active.” She explained that they must be in step and make the jump on the ninth pace from the marking stone. “This is important,” she told him. “If you feel that it is not working, stop at once. Do not take another step. We will hold hands so that we do not become separated.”
She saw his worried expression. “Relax, Giles. I won’t lose you.” She held out her hand. “Ready?”
“Yes, my lady.”
“Then here we go.” She started for the stone in long, measured strides that, after three or four paces, Giles matched easily. They reached the stone and Wilhelmina counted off the steps. Between the fifth and sixth, the light dimmed as if a cloud had passed before the sun; at the seventh step, the wind whipped up; between the eighth and ninth, there arose a screeching howl and rain lashed out from nowhere. And then the ground dropped from beneath them and they stepped into thin air.
But only for an instant. Their feet touched the ground with a jolt that carried up through the bones of their legs. Giles staggered, but Mina held him up and they walked on into the sunlight of a crisp autumnal morning beneath scattering grey clouds on a promontory above a wide, sweeping bay. The sea was dotted with whitecaps as the wind blustered out of the west.
The next jump took them to a barren desert in the middle of a storm; biting wind swept over a dune-filled desolation, kicking up gouts of sand and red dust. Thankfully, their sojourn in this inhospitable place was short-
lived. The next ley was only a few hundred meters away and, guided by Wilhelmina’s homing device, they found it easily and were able to use it at once without waiting.
“Sorry about that, Giles,” she said upon completing the jump. “That was a shortcut. It saved us a lot of time.”
He coughed dust from his lungs and wiped grit from his eyes. “Where are we now?” he asked, taking in his new surroundings. They had arrived in what appeared to be a well-maintained parkland—a long green lane of mown grass between rows of mature elm trees. Rising behind them was the broad shoulder of a steep hillside; the rest of the park was obscured by the trees.
“Welcome to Edinburgh,” Mina said cheerily. “Or Midlothian, at least. Look at you,” she said, patting his arm. “You forgot to be sick. You’ll soon be a master of ley travel.”
Giles looked around, taking in his surroundings with a wary expression.
“Have you ever been to Scotland?”
“I have never travelled beyond the Cotswolds,” he told her. “Before joining Mr. Livingstone, that is.” He glanced around warily and confided, “But I have heard that the Scots are barbarians who eat their young.”
“Only in the Highlands,” she teased, and began walking down the wide grassy lane. “In the capital, folk can be most refined. You’ll see. The year is 1819, with any luck, and we have come to see a man called Thomas Young. He is a doctor, a physician with a practice in London—but he’s here with his wife, Eliza, visiting his wife’s sister and family.”
“Dr. Young is an important man?” wondered Giles, falling into step beside her.
“Yes, very. Besides medicine, he has gained an international reputation as a leading scientist. He speaks thirteen or fourteen languages and has written on everything from geometry, physics, medicine, and mechanics to philosophy, colour, and music. In short, he will become known as the last man on earth to know everything.”