One thing about your message surprised me, and so I wanted to double check to make sure there was no misunderstanding. You specified Thyra, 1045, as the target of the operation. This means that our DOers would be learning a dialect of Norman, and a set of customs, that would be 150 years out of date by the time they show up in Constantinople circa 1200.
My research indicates that Thyra’s descendant Imblen is also a witch. I propose we have a higher chance of success in this endeavor if we send our “Varangian Guards” to 1190s Collinet to study with Imblen. They will stand a better chance of both comprehending and being comprehended if they’ve got 1200 Norman French.
From Dr. Blevins:
Thanks for your illuminating feedback. For classified reasons, 1045 works better for us than the 1190s do. Assuming language immersion will indeed work for Tristan, let’s send him back there ASAP.
From Dr. Stokes:
What are “classified reasons”? How could they be so classified that neither Tristan (the probable DOer in question) nor myself (the linguistic historian expressly in charge of determining these matters) is being told about them?
Can we CC in General Frink and Dr. Oda to this thread in case they can shed light on either Chronotropic or top-level-strategic reasons for not doing the sensible thing here?
From Dr. Blevins:
Mel, thank you as always for your spirited commentary. There is no need to trouble either General Frink or Dr. Oda in this case. The answer is straightforward: training our “Varangian Guard” candidates close to the time of the Constantinople DTAP is dangerous because, however remote their “hometown,” they could still be recognized. That is why to choose a spot not only temporally but also geographically isolated from 1200 Constantinople.
Other issues in this decision are above your pay grade so you don’t need to know.
DODO MEMORANDUM
CLARIFICATION TO DRESS CODE
BY MACY STOLL, MBA
POSTED Day 653
The distribution of DODO’s newly minted dress code has brought in a flood of requests for clarification. Until such time as this document can be reworded, here is a useful rule of thumb: DOers on active missions are exempt from all dress code provisions, including the requirement to wear anything at all.
LETTER FROM
GRÁINNE to GRACE O’MALLEY
Winter Solstice, 1601
Auspiciousness and prosperity to you, milady!
I pray Your Grace will forgive my few months of silence, for wasn’t it in a terrible way I found myself, trying to secure safety and security after the disaster of the lomadh. Rose it was sent Tristan Lyons back to his era, and wasn’t I glad to see the back of him for a while.
But only for a while, Your Majesty. For I’ve landed on my feet, and determined I am to learn the truth behind what Tristan be up to. When he “told me everything,” truly ’twasn’t everything at all, or else why would that right arse Les Holgate appear and make such a muck of everything? There are things going on in the future, and it’s to do with magic, and ’tis the least Tristan Lyons can do but be fully honest with me at last, now that he and his like have robbed me of all I cherish in London.
But as I said, it’s safety I’ve found for myself, and at the merest cost. I’ve told Your Majesty in years past of Francis Bacon’s society of Good Pens (’tis a pun on the male member, is what I’m thinking, given what I know of Sir Francis). This group meets at Gray’s Inn, and composed of the brightest of menfolk it is, them being intelligencers and counterfeiters, not to mention secretaries, physicians, poets, theologians, apothecaries, and the occasional natural philosopher, and of these last few, doesn’t Sir Francis love to debate with the nature of the universe, in ways that seem like conversations witches might have with each other, if witches were wont to waste their time putting into words things which go without saying. There are no witches in their discourses and indeed no women at all! Like a bunch of turtles trying to discuss flight, they remind me of, and not getting all of it correct, neither.
But sure it’s entertainment enough. Don’t I keep my mouth shut when I’m near them and pour the ale; they are the best minds in London, and one of them natural philosophers with a mystical bent, one Jacques Cardigan (a mad enough fellow with a mad enough name!) has taken me in as a servant, and Your Ladyship will understand that I warm his bed when he asks for me, but it’s an easier life than posing as a bawd, so it is. Himself is a wealthy enough fella, although an obvious Catholic (what with a French name and his surname coming from a Catholic shire in Wales, he can hardly hide it, can he?), so he keeps out of politics and that may in the end mean I must move on to other quarters, for to be of use to Your Grace. But for now it’s safety and security and no questions asked—sure he thinks he’s landed in it, here’s a pretty Irish refugee who will give him pleasure in exchange for room and board, and not be questioning his religion neither!
He’s a summer house in Surrey, in Norwich, and we’ll be retiring there come spring, if I’m still under his roof then, but through winter we’re near enough to Gray’s Inn. Rose knows my circumstances and conveyed them to Tristan, so I’ve let him know I’m pleased to continue to help him knot his net-work of witches, and it seems to have grown with breathtaking speed, so it has. I’ve stopped asking him questions directly, though, and it’s trying to learn a bit by observation I am now. For it seems to me that he knows precisely what it is that brought magic to its knees, and it seems to me that if I might know it too, I might hoist him by his own petard (to quote that poxy playwright)—I could be using his own strategy of moving around through time and space, not to bring back magic but to prevent its cessation in the first place. I’ve no idea how to make that so, and it’s cagey enough he’s being with his information, but I’ve naught else to do with my time now that I’m away from Whitehall circles, so I mean to figure it out.
The one thing I’m knowing for certain is that in his ever-expanding fellowship of witches, Tristan occasionally runs into an ornery one who needs to be coaxed into the congregation (and sure why shouldn’t they? I would have been demanding some coaxing, if I didn’t foolishly think I could benefit from him as much as him from me.). At this moment of time, himself and some other DOers are romping about the universe trying to please some Wending woman in Antwerp who lived some fifty years back (and who had some connection to that banker fellow, Gresham—and therefore somehow-or-other to my new friend Bacon, for didn’t Sir Thomas Gresham’s bastard daughter marry Sir Francis’s half-brother? Is right she did. And of course I’m sure the Fuggers are involved in all of this somehow, they always are.).
Truth be told, I don’t even know if I should be taking the side of Tristan. What does he need do in Antwerp fifty years back? Especially requiring magic? Was there something about that time and place that contributed to the corruption of magic? And why make use of a witch who knew the forebears of the menfolk I now brush elbows with? A pure coincidence is it, or with his future-knowledge does Tristan plan to make use of me somehow, and my new friends? So many questions, Your Grace!
So it’s learning about all that I intend to do, but not so’s Tristan would notice my efforts. In fact, I intend to make myself excessively useful to him, in the hopes that he includes me in his confidences. (Perhaps even finds cause to have me Sent to his own time! Then I can see for myself what’s what.) He’s a grand lad, when he’s not scheming on behalf of his overlords, and I’ve a fondness for him, so I do.
With all good wishes to ye, milady, Gráinne formerly of London
DODO HUMAN RESOURCES
PERSONNEL DOSSIER
FAMILY NAME: Overkleeft
GIVEN NAME(S): Esme Claire
TITLE: Doctor (Ph.D., Bioinformatics)
AGE: 34
CLASS: Closer/MacGyver
HEIGHT: 5′10″
EYES: Blue
HAIR: Chestnut
COMPLEXION: Light, freckled
DISTINCTIVE FEATURES: Crooked nose, bent left clavicle (results of sports injur
ies)
ETHNICITY: Northern European
NATIONALITY: Belgian
LANGUAGE FLUENCY RATINGS:
Dutch, French: 5
English, Walloon: 4
German: 3
RELIGION: Atheist, from historically Catholic family on mother’s side, historically Dutch Reformed Church on father’s
CITIZENSHIP: Belgian (EU)
BIOGRAPHY: From an academic family that moved among various university towns (mostly Low Countries) while she was growing up. States that this nomadic lifestyle forced her to acquire social skills she might otherwise have neglected given a generally introverted/intellectual personality. Participated in various sports, with emphasis in field hockey and track & field. Hobby: sewing and textiles. Attended University of Antwerp, majored in biology. While at school, became involved in local chapter of Society for Creative Anachronism with emphasis on making period-correct clothing. Later obtained Ph.D. in bioinformatics, focusing on plant biology, from Leiden. Obtained security clearance, and thereby found her way into Defense Dept. personnel databases, as result of a NATO project to design upgraded military camouflage patterns in response to projected botanical shifts resulting from climate change. When approached by DODO, was in London seeking investors in an apparel start-up that was a spinout of the camouflage project. Agreed to put that project on ice in order to accept the DODO job.
SKILL SET: Athletic, hardy, uncomplaining, with a winning personality and ability to adapt to various social milieus. Keen eye for clothing, textiles, needlework of the late medieval/early Renaissance era. Exceptionally strong knowledge of botanical matters, especially in Northern/Western Europe.
LIMITATIONS: Her unusual height will make her conspicuous, particularly in medieval populations.
AFTER ACTION REPORT
DEBRIEFER: Dr. Melisande Stokes
DOER: Dr. Esme Overkleeft (Closer)
THEATER: NEER (Northern Europe Early Renaissance)
OPERATION: Antwerp witch recruitment, Part C: Harvest kalonji as incentive to potential KCW Winnifred Dutton
DEDE: Recruit Dutton as KCW
DTAP: Peerdsbos Forest (Antwerp), Belgium, 1562
Note: A previous unsuccessful recruitment attempt had been made by Dr. Stokes circa Day 500. The encounter ended awkwardly. Dutton had demanded kalonji, which Stokes knew nothing about, so recruitment was abandoned until a new gambit could be established for obtaining some. The series of DEDEs conducted by Chira Yasin and Felix Dorn circa 1200 had the effect of sowing kalonji in known locations in the Peerdsbos Forest where conditions were right for it to thrive and remain available centuries in the future.
Thanks to the earlier DEDEs by Dr. Stokes, Winnifred Dutton was already aware of us, and Overkleeft knew how to obtain clothes, make contact with Dutton, etc.
MUON Erszebet Karpathy sent Dr. Overkleeft from ODEC #3 at 08:21 of Day 818.
Having retrieved clothes stashed from Stokes’s previous efforts, Overkleeft went without incident to fortress at which DOer Felix Dorn had sowed seeds in 1202. Discovered that 360 years later, a small but hardy patch of kalonji had survived in one south-facing exposed courtyard. Esme uprooted one plant and took samples of leaves, removing viable roots and seed-buds so that Dutton could not simply establish her own patch of kalonji. Carried these to the home of Winnifred, wife of Thomas Dutton (Thomas Gresham’s Antwerp factor).
It is now known, and was an open secret even then, that Winnifred had been married off to Dutton only to get her out of England, where she had been Thomas Gresham’s lover and had borne him a natural daughter, Anne (twelve years old at time of this DEDE).
Consequently Dutton was living in a comfortable home with a disinterested “spouse,” in a foreign country, deprived of her lover, and except for the task of raising her daughter was very restless. She allowed the servants to bring Esme into the home at once and was delighted to receive the kalonji plant, the merits of which she immediately began to describe to both Esme and young Anne. Without further obstinacy, she pledged herself to being a KCW and made her residence available as a safe house. Furthermore she encouraged her daughter to do so as well, which Anne agreed to eagerly.
Esme Overkleeft returned without incident at 18:45.
Note: It is already marked in DODO archives, but for ease of reference, here is additional historical context (not told to Winnifred or Anne, of course): Anne Gresham/Dutton will go on to marry Nathaniel Bacon (half brother of Sir Francis), with whom she will live in Norwich, England. Her three daughters, all witches, are roughly contemporaneous with Gráinne in London. Accordingly, our next DEDE will be to reach out to them for recruitment.
Diachronicle
(CIRCA DECEMBER, YEAR 2)
In which Tristan has a working vacation
THE VILLAGE OF COLLINET STRADDLES a tributary of the river Dives, which empties into the English Channel a few miles downstream. The actual DTAP was a copse of trees both leafless and evergreen, some half-mile from the center of the village proper.
DODO now had a small operational group called TAST: the Tactical Archaeological Strike Team. As the name implied, they combined the skill set of traditional archaeologists (digging holes and finding stuff) with those of covert intelligence operatives—they knew how to get in and out of potentially hostile locations without drawing attention, and how to find what they were looking for in a hurry. You might not think of Normandy as a hostile location. But because of France’s ancient and secret laws banning diachronic operations, it was hostile to us. Anyway, TAST, zeroing in on a powerful GLAAMR centered on this copse of trees, had been able to carry out a couple of midnight digs and verify that it had been the homesite of the lineage of presumed witches we’d seen mentioned in various church documents. It was classic witch real estate: close enough to the village to allow commerce and social contacts but sufficiently remote to afford separation and privacy.
Erszebet was admirably on the mark: I materialized unobserved right at the copse, where the ground was mercifully dry, and after recovering from the usual disorientation, I followed the scent of woodsmoke to a hut some fifty very chilly strides away: the home of our potential KCW, Thyra of Collinet. I had landed, by design, in late afternoon in midwinter; in spite of the risk of hypothermia, I elected to arrive now because Thyra would likely be holed up in front of her fire.
As we’d come to expect, Thyra—a handsome woman of some forty years, brown hair gently greying—was not surprised by the arrival of a naked stranger, although I cannot say she was particularly pleased by it either. She grudgingly allowed me to enter her hut and warm myself by the fire. She muttered to herself.
“Pardon? Please repeat,” I said politely in Latin—the educated traveler’s language of the time.
Thyra appraised me a moment, then turned back to the fire. “I said”—now in slightly stiff Latin—“I sensed a glamour in recent days. But I did not expect somebody Sent. I cannot imagine why anyone wants to visit such a remote location.”
“Would this language be easier?” I asked in Anglo-Saxon; she gave me a confused look. “Let it be Latin, then,” I hastily amended. “Are you fluent?”
“Too fluent for the priest’s liking,” she said with a reluctant little chuckle. “If you speak slowly I can probably understand.”
I was able to convey to Thyra our proposal: namely that young men, apparent warriors, would come and stay with her from time to time, with no other purpose than to become familiar with the local language and customs. They would be disciplined and well-behaved. After a few weeks she would Home them.
“Pah,” she said, turning her attention back into the fire. “I do not like young men. Why not Send young women?”
“The men could be your house-help while they are here,” I said, looking around. “Chop firewood and bring it in. Fetch water. Fix that leak,” I added, pointing. “Is that roof-beam rotting? Do you think it’s safe to wait until spring? What kind of snow-load do you get here?”
With a dismissive wave of her hand, s
he grunted. “I have magic for all of that.”
“Magic can be tiring,” I said. “If the young men were here, you could rest all the time. Order them around.”
Thyra made an exaggerated expression of hmm-maybe-I-should-think-about-this-after-all, and after a moment nodded her head. “You say they are warriors?”
I nodded.
“I have no weapons for them, only some small knives and an axe for the chopping of wood.”
“They are not here to act as warriors,” I clarified. “They are here only to learn the language.”
“What if we require them to act as warriors?”
That brought me up short. “Why?” I asked. “Are you at war?”
She shook her head. “No, but there has been some concern in the village about maybe raids from boat-thugs who have been using the Dives estuary to get to the interior from the seacoast. If these young men could protect the village, this would make them more attractive guests.”
“I can’t promise protection,” I said, “since there is no guarantee they’ll be here if such an attack happens. But you must surely agree that having a strong young man around is better than not.”
Thyra shrugged. “It’s not bad,” she said. “Not as good as a strong young woman, though.”
Over the course of the next few minutes, I could see her warming to the idea, and eventually, without actually having said yes, it was clear she was amenable.
“How might you vouch for these visitors?” I asked. “Their presence will be noticed in the village.”
Thyra shrugged and gave a dismissive wave of her hand (a sort of early medieval variant of Erszebet’s body language, now I think of it) and said, “That is easy. Much trade across the Channel, there is nothing strange about cousins, friends of friends, and that sort, showing up from Britain and Ireland. I shall say my guests are such people, from such places.”