Chris Karlsen - Knights in Time (9 page)

“Milady Karen, I’ll have the burger. If it’s all right, don’t be sparing with the cheese. And,

I’ll have the largest tankard of beer you have.”

“What kind?”

“Kind?”

“Brand. What brand do you prefer?”

“Bring him a Guinness,” Ian injected. “I’d like a Johnnie Walker Blue on the rocks.”

“Make that two,” Alex said.

“I’ll bring your drinks right away. The cheeseburger I’ll prepare after we’re in flight.”

“I’ll take the beer and my food now, if you please, milady.”

When he heard her step away, Stephen turned to Alex. “What does she mean ‘after

we’re in flight?’”

“First, there are rules that require her to be strapped into a seat when we take-off. She

can’t be in the galley cooking.”

“I still get the beer though?”

“Yes. As to what she means by ‘in flight,’ we’re traveling in a plane. Picture a huge, steel

bird the size of the barracks that flies at a speed a hundred times faster than the car we rode in here.”

“Wonders seem to abound here.”

“That they do,” Alex confirmed.

“Like Karen, the three of us need to be belted to our seats. You’ll find the receiver and

locking piece on each side of you,” Ian added.

Stephen found the two belt pieces and linked them with ease. “Do we ride in the belly of

this bird?”

Alex chuckled. “More like the butt of the beast. Don’t be frightened or worried. We’ll be

fine.”

Afraid? Since leaving the hospital, only the thought of existing as a ghost had alarmed him.

“I’m not the least afraid. I’m baffled that men have created such marvels since my time...our

time.”

“The vast majority of them have come to us in the last two-hundred years.”

“Your drinks,” Karen said.

A gentle rustle from her clothing and a hint of floral perfume drifted over to Stephen as

she leaned in and set the drinks onto the table. The combination tempted him to reach out and run his hand along her arm. He imagined her with fair hair, sun kissed to the palest of yellows, and large blue eyes, blue as the morning glories that grew wild in the shire. His Karen had a blush to her cheeks, full lips and a dimple in her chin. Plump as ripe pears, her breasts fit perfect in his palm. In the vision, she wore red silk, the fiery color bright against her pale body.

The slide of silk on a woman’s skin always made his blood rush. He’d often brought a

length of silk to a lady he favored just to watch her toy with it, dragging and draping it across her naked flesh. The lusty memory sent his blood rushing this time too. He shifted to a more

comfortable position and turned his attention to his newly arrived drink.

Something clinked inside Alex and Ian’s glasses when she placed them onto the table. Ian

and Alex both asked for their drinks
on the rocks
. Surely they didn’t require real rocks, or did they? To what purpose?

“Are there truly rocks in your drink?” he asked and carefully patted the table feeling for

his beer.

“No. When you ask for a drink on the rocks it means with only ice,” Alex said.

The day was warm and the air around them comfortable. How did Karen manage to

preserve chips of ice?

Then the plane roared to life and they began rolling forward. They bounced as they

traveled on this paving.

“Here,” Alex touched the cold beer to his fingers.

Stephen wrapped his hand around a tall, smooth cup. Glass. He’d never drank beer from a

glass cup, only tin and pewter. He clasped the glass and cradled it protectively to his chest so it couldn’t dance off the table and spill.

He brought the cup to his lips. The beer smelled different than the ales and beers he’d

drank in the past. In the past. Words he was yet unused to.

He took a swallow. The froth on the top was denser than the foam on the beer he was

familiar with. The Guinness tasted on the bitter side but not as much as coffee.

“Ah, it’s been an age since I enjoyed a beer.” He took another swallow. The liquid felt

thick on his tongue and had a sweet scent similar to caramel. He’d only had caramel once, in

London. As he recalled, it had a quality that left an after taste like the Guinness. No matter.

Nothing much here smelled or tasted the same.

Before he could take another swallow, the Hand of God pressed him to the back of the

seat. The plane no longer bounced or bumped, but soared. He knew without asking they were in

the air.

“Do you ride this metal bird often?”

“Not often, a few times a year when Shakira and I want to get away.”

“Shakira—your lady wife is returned to you?”

“Yes.”

Her unexpected presence here, in this time, gave him second thoughts, serious misgivings

about how he judged her. Where he’d once thought she practiced the black arts, with what he

learned from Alex and Ian, he had to reconsider. Perhaps he was wrong.

“When Simon and I saw her disappear...did what happen to me, happen to her? Was she

torn through time that day at the outcropping like I was at Poitiers?”

“Yes, we both were. I was happily leading my life in this time when she and I were caught

in some kind of time portal. I can’t tell you more because I don’t know myself how the portal

worked.”

“But you found your way back. Do you think I can return to my time?”

“I don’t know. If it’s possible, why would you want to? Think what awaits you on the

battlefield.”

Nothing good. “I imagine a battlefield scavenger would steal my helm, and in doing so,

embed the bone and metal splinters too far for me to survive.” Mentally, he revisited the notion that death might’ve been a greater kindness than facing an unknown future in a dark world.

He refused to dwell on what no one could change. “And you Ian, do you ride like this

often?” Stephen asked.

“Miranda and I fly to America regularly. Our work requires us to meet with show’s

producers,” Ian said. “You needn’t be concerned if the sensation bothers you.”

“Concerned? I’m not in the least. I’m having a merry time. I’m flying, how can I not be

merry? The only other times I’ve taken flight were downward, when I’ve fallen from my horse.”

He gulped down several more swallows of beer. “Ian, you said you fly to America with Miranda,

who I assume is your wife. Where or what is this America?”

“It’s a very powerful country and part of the New World.”

“There’s a newer world than this?”

“You’ll learn about it soon. Shakira called before we reached the hospital. She and

Miranda hired a tutor for you.”

“That was fast,” Ian said.

“Miranda knew her. She interned as a research assistant at the station,” Alex explained.

“Tutor? What is she to do?” Stephen asked.

“She’ll teach you about major events and changes the world has gone through since

Poitiers.”

Talk of the tutor sobered his merriment and reminded him of all he didn’t know. He may

be ignorant, but he refused to be a burden.

“Guy...sorry...Alex, I understand I need to learn in order to function. I appreciate your

generosity in hiring a tutor. Obviously, I cannot serve you the way I once did. But, I will repay you.”

“Stephen, the tutor isn’t charity.

There was nothing else to call it. “Yes, it is.”

Chapter Ten

“Are we in Gloucestershire yet?” Stephen asked, enjoying the wind on his face. At his

request, Alex had rolled the car window down for him from the
driver’s side
. He called this car a Range Rover. It rode higher than the French
limo
but just as nice.

“Yes, we’re not far from my place.”

“I thought as much. It’s the air. It’s crisper, fresher and sweet from all the orchards.”

Home. He pictured the countryside in his mind and thought of things he loved about fall in

Gloucestershire: the leafy trees dotting the green hills with their first hint of autumn orange, the trickling streams, and the wild roses that climbed the stone walls and spilled over fences.

“We’re here,” Alex said as the car came to a stop.

This time neither Alex, nor Ian, offered to help Stephen out. There was still a bit of

clumsiness on his part but he did fine. He allowed Alex to guide him by the elbow around the car and towards the entry door.

Alex released his arm and moved to his right. “We’ll be on either side of you, if you need a

hand.”

After ten paces, Stephen worked his cane in a wider arc expecting to strike the castle

stairs.

“Am I close to the steps?”

“There’s only one short step two strides ahead,” Alex said.

“I don’t understand. Where’s the large staircase?”

“This isn’t Elysian Fields. It’s just my country cottage. Shakira and I also have place in

London.”

“Why don’t you live in the castle?”

“It no longer stands.”

The formidable Guiscard holding had been around since the time of William the

Conqueror. “What happened?”

“Elysian Fields is but a ruin, destroyed during the Civil War.”

Stephen turned to his left where Ian walked next to him. “And Ashenwyck, does it still

stand?”

“Also destroyed during the Civil War.”

Elysian Fields gone. The only home he knew. He remembered little of his own family’s

humble holding. “What war are you speaking of? When was this Civil War?”

“The tutor will tell you about it,” Alex said.

They reached the front step and he heard the door open.

“Stephen, I missed you. It’s so great to see you again,” Shakira said and gave him a big

hug.

Hearing her voice brought the pleasant memory of the night she arranged a birthday

surprise for Guy. Alex now, he reminded himself. He’d sung the two songs she chose. How clear

the memory was of the day she first sang them to him. She’d wanted to give him an idea how the

words and melody went. Together they brought the music to life for all to enjoy.

“Lady Shakira, you have no idea how happy I am to be in England again. I feared I’d

never return from France. Then, when we arrived here, Alex and Ian had a devil of a time

convincing the queen’s men to allow me entry. I understand much is changed. But what sort of

Parliament rules whether an Englishman by birth may or may not enter his homeland?”

“It’s not personal. It’s all about papers. Parliament loves paperwork as do the men who

watch our border,” Shakira replied.

“What did you tell immigration?” asked a woman whose voice Stephen never heard

before.

“You must be Miranda,” he said.

“I am. Shakira’s told me such nice stories about you.”

She surprised him with a hug. Bold for a woman unacquainted with him. He waited for Ian

to chastise her. Ian said nothing and Miranda repeated her question. “What happened with

immigration?”

“We explained Stephen had no identification. Needless to say, they were highly suspicious

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