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Mrs Nicholas (Clementine) Orenhauser-Crowell

Dromo Presvisa 27

Maroussi, Athens, Hellas

Mrs Clement (Irene) Orenhauser

97328 Chambers Road

Eugene, Oregon, USA

Dearest Mama,

I am quite well, thank you very much; I hope you are the same, and Daddy also. Eleanor sends her love, and my husband Nicholas his regards.

I will endeavor to answer the questions in the order that you asked them in your letter, rec’d here yesterday, the 4th of May 1934.

You may come to visit your granddaughter at your leisure; Nicolette is just over four months old, and healthy as any baby I’ve ever met. Nicholas has commissioned a guesthouse to be constructed on our property, near the main residence. It should be habitable by July 1st, so any arrival after that time will be quite suitable.

You have calculated correctly: I was with child at the time of my marriage. What of that? Nicolette’s fortunes will be what they will be; the world is an uncertain place. Nonetheless, by our marriage Nicholas has acknowledged his paternity, and he has no lack of wealth. I am in mourning black, from your news of Grandmama’s death, but the fact that the family chequebook is now in Daddy’s hands causes me not the slightest trepidation. Need I say more?

As for the circumstances of Nicholas’ birth and family, those are not yet clear to me. Eleanor and I will doubtless have a ‘showdown’ with him soon (as Daddy would say). I trust my husband implicitly. He is, as you know, a diplomat, and parts of that business he might be required by the Greek Government to hold close. He makes a good deal of his income from the trade in antiquities, which means that he has sources and sites that he will not reveal to anyone. It is no great wonder, therefore, that he is close-mouthed about his affairs.

The photographs that you saw of the wedding reception, as published in the London Times, I have not myself seen. Among the things I do know about Nicholas is that he attended Oxford. I find it unsurprising that London gossips would find his marriage newsworthy.

The gentleman you inquired about was acting as Best Man for Nicholas; his name is Mr Mikaelos Atheninos, and I know not much more than that about him. And (as far as I could tell) it was a real sword.

Nicholas’ age...he is, according to his Greek documents, forty-five years old. He appears to be that. He has confessed that he is actually somewhat older, how much so I do not yet know. Whatever his age he is very vigorous, in all of the ways that matter to a young wife. Does that satisfy your curiosity? I could provide more details, but I don’t suppose I will.

I have enclosed several photographs taken of our family by Nicholas’ man Angelos. He has a good eye for composition, does he not?

Give Daddy my love, and do please let us know your travel plans, so that our chauffeur Stavros can meet you at Piraeus.

All my love,

Clementine

“Sassy,” said Eleanor, handing the letter back: “I never noticed you being so tart around your mother.”

Clementine smiled sweetly, moving Nicolette from one breast to the other: “I am in a new and different position now. She can no longer dominate me.”

Eleanor nodded, looking on mother and child with affection: “You are your own person now, a ‘wife and mother’. Your husband…”

“Our husband, sweetheart,” Clementine interrupted.

“Our husband,” Eleanor accepted the correction: “Nicholas seems perfectly capable of supporting us in a manner at least as luxurious as that to which you were accustomed.”

“Indeed. I suspect that he has sources of wealth that he has not yet revealed to us. We will need to have that ‘showdown’ pretty soon, don’t you think?”

“Forthwith,” Eleanor said, nodding. “I have arranged for us to confront him on the subject on Friday, when he returns from his latest trip.”

“Ahead of me, as always, love. Well, I’d best get this letter into its envelope…”

Angelos appeared in the doorway of the nursery, bowing slightly. Eleanor grinned mischievously. They exchanged some handsigns. Eleanor had quickly picked up the rudiments of the sign language that Nicholas and his servant used between themselves; Clementine had only begun: ‘Ellie is so much better at languages… she is already speaking Greek as fluently as I do French.’

Eleanor said: “Thank you, Angelos. The afternoon post is delayed, Clemmy. Angelos is going into town in a few minutes, and will post the letter for you at the main Post Office.”  

 “That’s excellent,” said Clementine. She finished addressing the envelope and placed the letter and some photos into it. She sealed it with Nicholas’ stamp, smiling a little as she did so.

Angelos took the letter, bowed slightly, and vanished.

“He acts that part so very well, Clem. Don’t you think?”

Clem nodded: “Exceptionally well. I wonder who he really is, and where he is from?”

Eleanor shrugged: “Nicky is asleep. You should be, too.”

“Yes. I’ll nod off here in a moment. Unless…”

“If you are amenable, our bedchamber awaits.”

“For you, my love, always…”

“Suppose,” said Clementine acerbically: “Suppose that we do indeed need to know the details of your life: your true age, where your money comes from, where you are from, originally…

Eleanor took up the narrative: “...and how it is that you come and go so mysteriously.”

Nicholas sighed: “Yes. Suppose we assume that. I have been reticent…”

Clementine interrupted: “That will not stand any longer. I will not stand for it, any longer.” Nicolette, as though sensing the tension in the room, began to fuss. Clementine rocked her, murmuring endearments.

Nicholas looked at Clementine, peeved: “I was saying: I have been reticent because the truth is, in the context of this Timeline, entirely unbelievable. And the only way to make you believe it is to tell all, and show all, and that ‘all’ is likely to be more than a little bit upsetting. Nevertheless, you are correct, the time has come.”

“First, my true age. I am, as of last Friday, one hundred and sixty years old.”

He waited. The women glanced at one another, and then stared at him.

He stepped behind his desk: “You do not protest? Does this not seem incredible to you?”

Clementine smiled, very slightly but very wryly: “Well, you had to be at least eighty…”

He returned the smile, wider but no less wry: “Did I really?”

“Of course,” said Eleanor: “Recall, I am an attorney. I have a number of detectives among my circle of associates.

“So, you attended Oxford, by your own admission. The date of your matriculation you always avoided saying, but I found it out. You completed the program in History there in 1875, at the apparent age of, oh, perhaps twenty-five.”

“You breezed through your undergraduate studies in a fashion that made even your most conservative professors doubt your youth and seeming inexperience,” said Clementine: “We have been extremely suspicious since we read your thesis. It has more than a few clues to indicate that there is something exceedingly strange about you…”

Eleanor agreed: “All of the ‘alternative outcomes’ that you wrote about…”

Nicholas shrugged: “Well, if you will accept my true age without, as the saying goes, batting an eye, I suppose…” He waved his hands in a peculiar way, almost like a stage conjuror, and his entire desktop lit up.

Both women sat bolt upright, and Clementine gasped.

The flat surface, the typewriter, the other items on the desk: all vanished. In their place, a three-dimensional image of Athens, but a very peculiar Athens, appeared.

“You asked several times about the black boxes that sit at the corners of this desk, and I evaded your questions. This is one of their functions: a holographic generator, tied to my home…’country’ by arcane means. Arcane, that is, by the standards of this Timeline.”

“You used that word twice already,” said Eleanor, warily: “Do you really mean to say…?”

“Yes. Other versions of reality do indeed exist. I am a native of one of them: ‘The Hellenic Commonwealth and Polity’ is the name of my home ‘country’, in a Timeline commonly referred to as ‘Commonwealth Prime’.”

After a moment, Nicholas said: “I see that I have indeed impressed you. Come, look closely at this version of Athens: Athino, as we call it.”

They marveled at the detail visible, especially when Nicholas moved the point of view closer to show them various buildings: “A large part of the city was reconstructed by our ancestors, beginning early in the Thirteenth Century, as this Timeline measures things.”

“At the time of the Fourth Crusade, then?” Eleanor asked.

“Indeed; that war was the precipitating factor in splitting off the Commonwealth Line from the Timeline that led to this world.”

“Continue,” said Clementine, her skepticism returning.

Nicholas heard the caution in her voice. He said: “I understand your reluctance to believe. I have prepared a demonstration that will banish your doubts forever.”

Eleanor glanced at Clementine, then turned to Nicholas with narrowed eyes: “What preparations should we make?”

“None are necessary, beyond perhaps fetching some sunhats. Miriam will keep a close eye on our daughter, and we will not be away from home for very long.”

“Shall we meet out front?” Clementine asked.

“No,” said Nicholas: “On the back patio will be better, I think.”

“If we need sunhats, then we likely also need sturdier footwear,” said Eleanor, taking Clementine by the arm: “Let us prepare ourselves…?”

“For a short journey,” said Nicholas, smiling knowingly.

They gathered at the appointed place less than a quarter-hour later.

Nicholas had strapped a pistol to his waist, beneath his coat. In addition, he had an object in his hand: something cylindrical, not very large, and matte black like the machinery on his desk.

He opened wide his arms, and said: “Come close to me, my loves; the machine we will use has a limited range…”

When they had snuggled up to him, he said: “This item we call a Shifter. It will take us to another world…Keenafthono!”

Before Clementine or Eleanor could protest or comment at all, as if the strange word had been an abracadabra, the world around them changed dramatically. Eleanor drew her breath in, audibly, and Clementine cried out, as they each suffered a slight dizziness. Clementine clung to Nicholas, gasping, until her vertigo passed.

They stood on a hill above the City of Athino. It was recognizably Athens, but clearly not their home.

“We can’t stay here long,” said Nicholas: “Your mere presence is slightly destabilizing to the this area of the Multiverse.”

“Why?” Eleanor tipped her head to one side, staring. “Look, Clem, that’s the Temple of Zeus. And the Parthenon, and the…”

“Those buildings were never contemporaneous in your Line,” said Nicholas.

“I know,” said Eleanor: “That large building, north of the Acropolis...I don’t recognize it.”

“The Library of Athens.” Nicholas twitched and shook his head: “We must go. I wanted you to see this, so you’d know that the display in my Library is not an illusion. But I’m getting nervous…draw close, ladies.”

They stood very close together again, and Nicholas held the Shifter between them.

Clementine opened her eyes, letting the dizziness wash away. She found herself in a darkened space, sitting down, with Eleanor’s hand on her shoulder.

“Are you all right?” Eleanor asked, concerned.

“I think so. What happened?”

“You fainted, my love. Nicholas has gone for some water.”

“Oh.” After a moment, she said: “You know, when I despaired over the places we hadn’t traveled to yet, thinking my pregnancy would put our Grand Tour to an end...”

Eleanor shrugged: “I said I expected that we would still travel a good bit, especially since you were marrying a diplomat and archaeologist...but I had no idea we would travel to places such as this.”

Nicholas came in through a doorway at the far end of a long hall and strode to them, a canteen in hand.

“Oh, thank you, darling. I don’t know what came over me.”

“I do,” said Nicholas, reluctantly: “Some people react very poorly to the sort of inter-Timeline travel we’ve been doing. You are evidently one of those people.”

“Oh. What is to be done?”

He shrugged: “We are here now, so I think we should explore the area, as I’d intended. Then, when you are sufficiently recovered, we will Saltate back to our own patio. That should be easier on you, for a couple of reasons.”

“Really?” Eleanor asked: “What reasons?”

“Well, first she will be returning to her own Home Line. That almost always...resolves any destabilization in the Multiverse and in the person affected. And, since the Commonwealth Line is not involved, our final Jump today will not be anywhere nearly as dizzying.”

“I will take your word for that,” said Clementine, essaying to stand. “I should like to know where we are, and why you brought us here, to this particular place.”

Eleanor helped Clementine to her feet. Nicholas took her arm and assisted her along the hallway.

“We are in Mesopotamia, in a Quiet Line. I brought you here so that you could see how I gather the artifacts that established my first fortune in your Home Line.”

“What does it mean, a ‘Quiet Line’?”

He sighed: “It is a Line where all, or nearly all life is extinct.”

He led them up some stone stairs and into a plaza outside the temple where they had sheltered. The wind screamed across the desolate landscape, an empty plain of rocks and sand.

Clementine shuddered. Somehow she could feel the truth of Nicholas’ statement: “There really is nothing alive…”

“Very little, anywhere on this version of the earth,” said Nicholas. “Some bacteria, mostly shed from my skin and clothing, and strange animals that live on the ocean floor, far from land.”

“And you come to this horrible place why? To gather artifacts?”

“Yes,” he said: “I have found that museums and wealthy collectors will pay high prices for well-preserved pieces. Here, no one has looted, or bombed, or damaged anything since the fall of the First Persian Empire, in 330 BC. Follow me, please.”

He led them round about and eventually into a hall similar to the one they’d dropped into. “Since I’m here,” he said, “I will pick up a couple of things I set aside on my last visit.”

He opened a stone casket about the size of a jewelry box and pulled a couple of stone statues out. He stood the sculptures on top of the box and said: “Viola!”

Each piece stood about ten inches high, and showed a woman, nude to the waist, arms raised, with writhing snakes in each hand.

“One almost never finds these with their serpents intact, in most Lines. In this Line, a global disaster brought everything to a standstill, shortly after the fall of Persia.”

“The nature of that disaster?” Eleanor stared at him, impassively.

He said, after a moment’s hesitation: “A plague, one that had a truly devastating effect upon most living things. The nature of that plague would be hard to explain without a long lecture about the chemical nature of heredity, which your Line has not yet discovered.”

The women looked at one another, puzzled.

“The chemical nature of heredity…” Eleanor mused. “Hmm.”

“Indeed,” said Nicholas: “Hmm.”

Clementine frowned: “Can we go home now? I am feeling...sad, and fearful.”

Nicholas drew out his Shifter: “We can start home immediately.” He set two small cones, each about the size of a votive candle to either side of the statuettes. He then did something with the Shifter, eyeballing it and making arcane signs at it. The two little statues vanished with a puff of dust and a muffled pop. The cones went along, seemingly.

He gathered the two of them in an embrace: “I am going to separate the geographic and Timeline Shifts, for the sake of Clem. First we’ll Jump to Athens in this Line, and then directly from there to our own. Ready...?”

“Ready.”  “I am.”

Nicholas Shifted them.

“Home again,” said Clementine.

Miriam met them as they entered the house from the back patio; Clementine took the baby and cradled her as they climbed the curving staircase to the Library. It struck Eleanor that Miriam had been not at all surprised to see them suddenly on the patio: ‘It implies that she is in on Nicholas’ odd means of travel...’

When Nicolette yelled, Clementine opened her dress and put the child to nurse.

Eleanor went to the liquor cabinet, poured a glass of sherry for Clementine, and a shot of scotch for herself. She regarded Nicholas critically.

At length she asked: “Why are you here?” Before he could speak she said: “I am not asking a rhetorical question, nor a philosophical one.”

“I understand. My...my ‘job’ here, among others, is to prevent, if possible…” He had a distant look in his eyes, as though he were not really seeing them: “...if at all possible, this Timeline’s likely descent into worldwide war, and perhaps it becoming Quiet.”

Clementine’s eyes went quite wide: “Is that likely, really?”

Nicholas shook himself, and went to sit by her side on the sofa: “It is always possible; this fellow Hitler…he makes things much more precarious.”

“He is such an idiot…” Eleanor began: “...such an evil, bigoted man.”

“Yes. But he is also the leader of a powerful nation, and one that has been persecuted by its neighbors. There is a great resentment among young and middle-aged Germans over the terms of the Treaty of Versailles…I’d have stopped the French from imposing the punitive clauses in the treaty, if I could have done. Since Germany and Japan withdrew from the League of Nations...”

Clementine nodded: “My father said, back when the Great War had newly ended, that the French were going to cause big trouble with their attitude.”

A silence ensued.

Eleanor said: “What are your other jobs?”

“Eh?”

“You said that peace in our Line is a job ‘among others’; I should like to know what the other jobs are.”

“Ah.” Nicholas walked round behind the desk and gestured above it, again as if conjuring: “Come here and look at this.”

They stood on either side of him, as the surface of the desk wavered and then showed a three-dimensional tangle of colored threads.

“It’s like a mad tapestry woven by blind surrealists,” said Eleanor.

Clementine snorted in amusement. She and Eleanor had gone to a Surrealist exhibition in Paris. Clementine found the works opaque and, in some cases, disturbing. Eleanor thought they were all quite amusing.

Nicholas said: “It represents the approximate state of the Multiverse in this particular...quadrant. Not the right word, actually, but the real situation is not amenable to linguistic description.” He waved a hand again: “Here are some of the mathematics.”

They stared for a while.

“Clem?” Eleanor touched her shoulder: “Are you well? ”

“Yes, I am...quite recovered. It’s just that, these equations, they are…” She shook her head: “Very outré. Bizarre!”

“Indeed.” Nicholas watched as she passed a hand over the Five-dimensional matrix, with its oddly laid-out numbers and letters. “Does this make any sense to you?”

“In some ways.”

“Clementine is good at mathematics,” said Eleanor: “Intuitively, even when dealing with new concepts.”

Clementine walked around the desk, stopping to look from different angles at the display. She pointed at one section of the three dimensional ‘tapestry’: “Timelines diverge, then? They split into two or more, each a little different?”

“Yes. Another of my tasks, that. To…”

“Yes of course,” Clementine interrupted: “You must keep things from going...madly, badly wrong!”

Nicholas smiled, wanly: “Yes. We seek to reduce human suffering, in all of the worlds. Timelines rarely diverge when things are going well…Even our enemies try not to multiply the Timelines unnecessarily.”

“Our enemies?” Eleanor asked.

“I will tell you all, bit by bit,” Nicholas grimaced: “But, yes: as this Line is dealing with the Axis and the threat of a catastrophic war, the Commonwealth and its relatives and allies among the Lines are fighting against an authoritarian threat.”

Eleanor frowned: “I see. So we will try to keep this Timeline whole, and at peace, and you will leave mysteriously for your own home Timeline when you must, for various reasons. But Clem and I...”

“...Can probably not visit there, I am afraid. I, however, must occasionally go there, to study what consequences have occurred as a result of my actions. I am mostly a benign presence here...”

Clementine frowned: “Except...Oh!” She pointed mutely at part of the displayed equations.

“Yes,” said Nicholas, amused: “Quantum rebatement, the techs call it. My presence in this Line is a potential disruption, though I have been cautious. I have not yet caused the Line to splinter…” He waved his hand across the insubstantial tapestry of colored threads: “...and oddly, your pregnancy and our marriage have settled that a bit. I’m a little more like a native of this Line, now.

Eleanor frowned: “I can see how that would work. Now let’s talk about what we are going to do about the uncertain and rather frightening situation this world...this Timeline...is in.”

Nicholas shrugged: “I have received this telegram,” he said, diffidently. “I am inclined to accept the offer.” He handed the flimsy sheet to Clementine.

She pursed her lips: “We should have to move to Geneva, at least part-time, if you are to be the Ambassador again.

“Indeed,” said Eleanor.

“I took the liberty, the last time I was there, of purchasing a large house on a small plot of land near the City.” Nicholas sighed: “The complexities of diplomacy in a Line like this, in a money economy enslaved to the idea of Exchange, are beyond daunting. But I have some experience, and I am a known quantity. The League of Nations will welcome my return, and I will be well-placed to do...whatever needs to be done. Whatever can be done”

Nicolette fussed; Clementine sat down and began to pat her back, eliciting a massive belch. Clementine cleaned up the mess; the baby’s eyes slowly closed, and she slept.

Clementine caught Eleanor’s eye, and they nodded simultaneously. Eleanor touched Nicholas’ shoulder and said, gently: “What is your real name, Nicholas?”

He drew in a deep breath, then said: “I will tell you, but I must warn you that there is some risk in it.”

Eleanor raised an eyebrow.

“Sometimes small things affect the Multiverse in unexpected ways,” he explained: “But I agree, I must tell you. I am Nikodemos ‘the Latest’ Athininos.” He absent-mindedly made the Commonwealth handsign that placed the scare quotes around his cognomen. Then he smiled: “Master in the Thinker’s Guild of Athino, Master in the Black Warrior Guild, Athens chapter, in the Hellenic Commonwealth, Master in the Sacred Band of the same Polis and Commonwealth; I am unranked in the Mathematics Deme, but I spend a lot of time there…” They watched as a very slight ripple, as it were a wave in a stream, passed over the tapestry upon the desk.

“Guild? Deme?” Clementine was amused and curious.

“Yes,” said Nicholas: “How do people who want no money and who bridle at the giving and taking of commands and the existence of vertical hierarchy actually organize a society?”

“Economics, politics, culture.” Eleanor narrowed her eyes: “How indeed?”

“Our ancestors organized around the three things that nearly everyone had: Polis, Guild, and Deme. Polis is where you live; everyone over the age of twelve is an equal citizen of the Polis they inhabit.

“Guilds organize the necessary labor of our society. Nearly everyone has at least one Guild affiliation; some people have several, or even many. The Demes organize—when any organization is seen to be necessary—the things that people do when they are not ‘at work’: hobbies, religion, political leanings…I could give you a book that explains the history of my Line, and sets these institutions in their natural habitat.”

“Please do that, and soon.” Clementine handed the baby to Eleanor, and then rose, more upright than usual with her chin held high: “If I am to be the Ambassador’s wife, I must look the part. I must be perfect in the role. I have preparations to make.”

“Indeed,” said Nicholas: “What do you conceive will be your role?”

Clementine smiled widely: “I must tread lightly, speak firmly, and hear everything that women say when there are no men about.” She turned thoughtful: “I must make myself immune to the cruelty of gossips, but hear all that they say.” She frowned: “I suppose I will be subjected to flirtation from men I have no interest in, and I must seem amenable, and mine such men for what information they may have.” She sighed: “I shall be the hostess, and the organizer of such afternoon teas and evening soirees as your post demands that you host…”

“No,” said Eleanor: “I shall be the organizer, and I shall make certain that every party goes off perfectly. I am best-suited to that job; you will not concern yourself.” She turned to Nicholas: “I will also hire, train and oversee the servants at our House in Geneva. You will not concern yourself with that. Angelos will come with you, of course. Stavros and Miriam will keep the house here.”

“There will be many details to work out…” mused Nicholas, unnecessarily.

“Yes,” said Clementine: “I shall want to know when the next session of the Assembly is due, and how soon we must travel...But right now I must consult with Miriam about dressmakers in Athens. I shall need more formal wear, and I’d best get at least some of it made before we travel…” She strode towards the Library door.

At a Dig in a Quiet Kent:

Nicolette toddled across the dusty floor at an astonishing speed, waving a stick of kindling and squealing wildly. Clementine scampered in pursuit of her daughter, puffing a little as she chased her down.

Eleanor worked assiduously at one corner of the room, digging with an old whisk-broom at the cinders and ashes that had accumulated there. “Men seem able to adapt to the most appalling levels of filth when they are in the throes of their occupations.”

Nicholas entered the kitchen, carrying an enormous armload of firewood, most of which he fed directly into the blaze in the fireplace. “Archaeologists rarely have the budget to bring a housekeeper along; as a solo archy, I have come to accept that I will live in somewhat vile conditions when I’m on a dig.” He grinned: “Wait till I start the real digging, and you see what becomes of my coveralls.”

Eleanor swept the rest of the small room speedily, with efficient strokes of the broom that left nothing at all on the varnished wooden planks of the floor: “Now that we are here, perhaps you’ll explain a bit more clearly what it is we are seeking.”

 “Yes,” said Clementine: “Why this place in particular?”

“The ‘King and Queen’ public house in East Malling, Kent,” said Nicholas, mischievously.

“Precisely.” Clementine gave up trying to restrain Nicolette. The child shrieked as she ran along, waving her arms enthusiastically. She fetched up against a table leg and stared at the grain of the wood, up close, for a few seconds. Then she sat down abruptly and began to gurgle: “Ma ma ma ma ma…”

The adults, who had watched as though hypnotized, returned to their conversation. Nicholas said: “We ought to visit this place in our own Line, one day. It’s really quite a nice little pub, with quite a history…”

“Yes, its history is undoubtedly the reason for our visit here in a Quiet Line.” Clementine had long ceased to be amused by her husband’s mysteries. “What I want to know is what exactly you—we—are here looking for.”

Nicholas brushed the bits of bark and fir needles and splinters from the front of his boiled-wool coat and said: “I am here to dig around the area near this pub to see if I can find some coins…”

“Go on,” said Clementine.

He shrugged: “The pub’s been here since 1537, in your Line’s calendar. The second publican died mysteriously, supposedly after stealing some coins from the church nearby...and if I can find those long lost coins, I know a collector who will pay handsomely for them.”

“What sort of coins?” Eleanor asked. “My father was a collector, and I have some interest in such things.”

“These would be English gold Sovereigns minted between April and June of 1483…” Nicholas waited to see if the ladies would get the reference.

Clementine frowned, seeming to calculate; then she sprang up and ran to catch Nicolette before she could get out through a hastily repaired, and hence not very secure, window. Nicolette protested such interference with a howl, but soon became distracted by some bugs crawling across the hearth.

Meanwhile Eleanor had slapped her knee and guffawed.

Nicholas said: “You were raised here in England, were you not?’

“I was; not too far from here, actually. Ha’ant yew ‘eard that in m’ accent? Y’awld dabster, and from some awld alleycumfee, too.”

Clementine stared in amazement: “Ellie! I never heard such expressions from you!”

“No, and you likely won’t again. English school drove that accent deep inside of me, and America nearly entirely buried my English accent, as well. Anyway, gold sovereigns minted in those months would be in the name of Edward V, he who was never crowned. Correct?”

“So it is said. In your Line there are a few museum pieces, all with very minor alterations from Edward IV’s coinage. The ones I’m seeking would have come from a then newly engraved die, with the boy king’s face instead of his father’s.”

“I see,” said Clementine: “You know...the very existence of such a coin says something about Richard III, don’t you think?”

“It would,” said Eleanor: “But what? The partisans of Henry VII will never admit any evidence, however convincing to you or me, that puts their narrative of the Wars of the Roses in doubt.”

“I suppose not…”

“Anyway, I’d best get upstairs and clean the bedchamber. I’ll call down to you when I’m ready to make the bed.”

“I’ll listen for your call.” Clementine blew Eleanor a kiss, then ran off after the child.

Nicholas settled down with drawings of the village as it was in 1500 and blueprints of the public house from the time of its most recent remodeling, 1901. He set a matte black disk on the floor and signed at it, producing a 3D image of the area as it existed presently, and whistled a tune. Then: “Anomalous metals,” he commanded: “Up to six ells deep.”

Clementine smiled, watching him work while rocking their daughter to sleep.