“Bing-bong… The next time shuttle will depart in eleven minutes for the year 3014”

Although dreamed of for centuries, time travel had only become possible a little over four years ago, in 2009. For once the Europeans had stolen a march on the Americans and Japanese; an EEC sponsored project centred in Wroclaw, with research centres in Bavaria, the English lakes and in the Russian capital Moscow, had come up with the goods. Originally thought of as a transportation system to help relieve the Europe wide road congestion, its other potential was soon picked up on and work started afresh.

After zapping innocent pieces of fruit and then small rodents around Europe it was but a short step to alter time co-ordinates as well, to give effective time travel. Things moved rapidly after that, with scientists asking themselves questions that in the future they could answer; to save confusion its easier to say that much of the advanced technology arrived from the future.

It soon became apparent that tight restrictions were needed to ensure that time paradoxes didn’t occur. Travel back in time was severely restricted to special research teams, who had of course to take a mobile unit with them to ensure their return. Going into the future was less of a problem, but a unanimous decision by the European Parliament, the first such ever, meant that you could not travel to a time where you could meet yourself, thus the usual minimum time shuttle was fifty years, and you had to be over forty years old. The authorities thought they had every possibility covered, and they did – almost.

Elke Jones was a time technician. Apart from her training she hadn’t travelled the time vortices, and that had only been a couple of hours round trip to 2030. However that didn’t stop her from dreaming of what she would do given the opportunity. There weren’t many time technicians as yet; Elke still didn’t know how she had managed to pass the interview. Perhaps it was her qualifications, or on the other hand perhaps it was just her karma. In reality it was nothing so profound, the man hiring staff had simply fallen for her lock, stock and barrel. Doctor John Sargent still wasn’t sure himself why he had given her the job – was it her wonderful dark blonde hair, or perhaps the encouraging glint of the stud she wore in her right nostril, or it might just have been that face. That face he had often thought would be ample reason to launch a thousand ships like that had for Helen of Troy. However, John Sargent had yet to make a move for her affections although she remained stubbornly single and in his life.

As her boss watched from his office, Elke adjusted the machinery for the next shuttle, a special research group back into the late eighteenth century – one of only three trips into the past sanctioned for the whole year. These trips always required greater accuracy than forward trips to avoid materialisation in awkward spots like in a wall or twenty feet off the ground.
John Sargent joined Technician Jones in watching the arrival of the Historians making the trip. The party consisted of a woman and two men, each dressed in carefully researched costumes and the mobile unit had been disguised as a travelling chest. From what Elke knew of the period they ought to fit in well. A ringing phone beckoned to the Doctor, which left his assistant to launch the party into the past.

The countdown ran down, eight…seven…six… Everything was on track for another successful launch into time, four…three… A red light began flashing ‘abort’ in front of her eyes. Elke made a grab for the emergency evacuation switch but before she could activate the device her world dissolved around her. John Sargent stood watching, unbelieving, as the entire apparatus blinked from sight, taking his technician with it.

Inside the rather misnamed shuttle, the party of historians were so keyed up that they noticed nothing amiss before they were spewed out into the English countryside. A few feet away the form of Elke Jones joined them a moment later. As a wall separated them it was several minutes before the two parties became aware of each other; Elke, although in shock strained to look over the wall for the source of the voices. Only then did the others sense something amiss.

“What are you doing here?” the older man asked sharply. “Your presence endangers all of us.”
“The…there was a malfunction with the unit, I am, was, the technician.”

A look of dread crossed the other woman’s features.

“So we may not be where we hoped to be.”
Elke knew it could be worse than that. “Er… not just where but when as well, although”, she glanced around, “it does appear we have headed into the past.”
“Yes,” the younger man started, “ we are certainly earlier than 1880, a railway should run through here after then.”
“That’s all very well”, the woman interjected, “but the mobile unit didn’t come through with us.”

It was true; by whatever quirk Elke had come, the chest and its contents hadn’t. In fact the chest was where it should have been, it was the human travellers who had gone astray. Location wise they were spot on, however they were a little over six hundred years further back, and to cap it all, not even in their own plane of reality. Even without knowing this, the older man’s next words were more than true.

“Oh shit, we’re in trouble.”
“Mark Neaves” the younger man addressed Elke; he indicated the others in turn. “Dr Sarah Ballantyre and Professor Stephen Morris.”
“Elke Jones” she replied automatically.
“We’d best get out of sight,” Neaves went on, “until we have some clue to when we are.”

With daylight failing the unlikely looking group made their way to a nearby area of woodland, the doctor more than once tripping on her dress. Elke rarely wore a frock and felt for her companion, thanking her lucky stars she was in the regulation work suit. The younger man had by mutual consent taken charge and, using a small tinderbox he carried, had a small fire going.

They assessed their belongings while warming themselves. Both men had tinderboxes and small hand knives, the doctor carried a smaller knife, Elke had to admit that she had no possessions they could utilise – a couple of pens, a propelling pencil, a couple of scrunchies, and one and a half European Dollars. The others did come up with a quantity of coinage in gold and silver which would no doubt be infinitely more use than Elke’s carbon discs, whenever they were. Their immediate need was for food and shelter although the Prof assured them he could build a bivouac.

The two men went to look for food of some sort while the women collected branches and bracken for the bivouac. By the time they regrouped daylight was over the western horizon and the stars began to make an appearance. The food search had been surprisingly successful with chestnuts, blackberries, some mushrooms and a few tart apples. They even had meat; purely by chance they had found a pheasant with a broken wing that they had managed to finish off. The women meanwhile had gathered more than ample material for the bivouac and to keep the fire going for a good while.

Sarah Ballantyre revealed herself as an exceptional cook, producing a surprisingly good stuffed pheasant with the blackberries to finish with; although not great in quantity each was fed enough to sate their immediate hunger. While the food was cooking their shelter took shape, a simple lean to affair covered with bracken and branches, more bracken provided a basic mattress.

Now as they sat finishing their meal, Elke studied her companions closer. The professor was a well built individual of around fifty with thinning dark brown hair and of a height with her own five foot seven inches. His companions were both much younger, the woman around thirty and the man perhaps five years less. Mark Neaves was a reasonable specimen of manhood, six feet plus, well muscled with green eyes and hair a dark ginger. The good doctor was a smallish woman, not much over five feet tall but well in proportion with an unremarkable face and long, black hair doing its best to remain in place. “What a collection” she thought as she idly plaited her hair into two braids, “what a collection.”

Tiredness took any caution away with it and they all retired to their makeshift shelter before the real cold of night descended.

They awoke next morning to the sound of voices nearby; female, they spoke in a language none could quite place. Their shelter obviously blended in well with the surrounding woodland as they remained undetected, but the unlikely companions agreed to reveal their presence. The voices might be friendly or not, they would have to take the gamble.

Who was more surprised it was difficult to tell. The owners of the voices were two young women dressed in buckskins, each bore a bow, currently unstrung, and one carried a brace of partridge. Obviously sisters or close relations, both wore their fair hair in a single waist length braid, but certainly the things that captured the attention were the markings each carried on their face. The younger one sported a compass-like device covering most of the left side while the other had a vertical stripe running from her hairline to disappear under the buckskins. Both girls’ decoration was a rich mauve in colour, but you could not quite tell how they were applied.

The two parties eyed each other wanly, before Mark could get a word out however, the elder of the girls was brandishing her bow at them, her colleague followed suit. The time travellers took a step back and instinctively started to make protestations of their peaceful intentions, but from the others’ reactions it was painfully clear that English was not their language. Their still silent audience watched as between them they went through French, German, Latin, Greek and Swedish, with only occasional eye movements showing some understanding.

To be entirely truthful Cherryh and M’lenie were more than a bit frightened by the sudden appearance of four strangely dressed individuals in the woodland. They were not of their own people, none wore facial tattoos, but they were not of any people they had ever come across either. Two of the strangers were obviously male – the tall redhead and the old man. Of the others, one was certainly a woman, the last of them wore different clothes that confused the body’s shape but Elke’s braids suggested another female.

In a reflex action they gripped their bows stave fashion but although having superior numbers the others backed off. The girls glanced at each other as first one then another spoke using different tongues. Cherryh thought she recognised some words, but mostly it sounded like gibberish. Something she hadn’t noticed before, the four in front were unarmed – no one, but no one travelled far from bow, sword or axe.

“They are unarmed, M’lenie.”
“Yes, did you understand their speech Cherryh?” “No but I don’t think they mean harm to travel unarmed so, or encumbered like the woman by such skirts in the forest.”
“What should we do then?”
“I think, sister, we take them to the village, to Cam.” With that she lowered her bow slightly and then spoke to the strangers. “Come with us.” Seeing their lack of understanding, she repeated herself this time motioning for them to follow. “Come, come this way, hurry.”
M’lenie had hurriedly strung her bow and already had an arrow nocked.

What Cherryh now considered their prisoners quickly grasped the meaning of the actions and moved to follow her, M’lenie took up a position to the rear as her sister led the way to the village of Streines.

The two women began to chatter to each other after Elke tried her Swedish on them again. The four of them glanced at each other and then back to the girls before them. The elder then turned her attention back to them and said something incomprehensible. When she repeated it with arm motions and with the other now with a strung bow it was obvious that the intention was to take them somewhere. Their situation could hardly get worse, so with Elke in the lead, Sarah behind, the Prof and Mark then preceded the younger woman.

The strange party moved at a steady pace through the trees, Elke guessed they were going north by the sun’s position when they crossed a small clearing, and they were slowly but steadily climbing. Being behind the young warrior gave her a chance to more carefully observe their captor. She guessed her age at around eighteen; the rearguard would be about two years less. Beneath the leather pants and shirt she was of athletic build but not overly muscled. She wore knee length boots that matched her garb in colour, a dun that could easily dissolve into the background of the forest. The girl'’ long braid swung as she moved silently through the undergrowth, its movement regular as a pendulum. The girl checked on her charges regularly, Elke realised her face decoration was not the simple stripe she had at first seen, but an interlocking series of blocks each edged with a border in pale orange. She realised that what she had assumed was makeup was actually a tattoo.
Their route became steeper and large boulders of dark rock littered the forest floor as the path they were on took to following the course of a tumbling brook. Elke checked her watch; they had been walking for an hour now with no sign of a let up. Sarah was doing all she could to keep up, the Prof despite his years was fit enough, Mark – she had discovered last night –played rugby so was untroubled, she herself kept herself in condition.

The narrow valley they had followed for some way eventually opened out again and suddenly they were on open moorland, a plateau of rough grass, bilberry and heather which in the distance was crossed by stone walls, beyond that smoke could be seen.

The little group continued to follow the stream across the open expanse; at the top of a slight rise their guide pointed toward the drifting smoke and uttered “Streines” which they took as the name of their destination. As they came closer they could see the small group of buildings nestled close by another stretch of forest. The path now fell slightly downhill between the dry stone walls of the fields. Voices drifted up from the village but no one was yet in sight.

The little group descended the path with a little more caution than previously which allowed the visitors to take in a little more detail. The village, for it seemed to consist of few buildings, was based about an open central area, not so much a green as a roadway as it was open on two opposing sides. There were probably around a dozen buildings that could be seen although smoke gave away the position of others further on. Some buildings were of stone, others timber or a combination of both. Most had two levels, the lower sunk below ground level, shingles provided most of the roofing material though some of the outhouses were the owners of thatch coverings. Each cottage had a walled garden to the rear where vegetables could be seen growing.

People were going about their usual daily chores, feeding livestock, tending their gardens, gossiping, children playing, a group of about half a dozen practising archery. The arrival of the strangers id not at first arouse much interest, only when their escort was seen did the occupants of Streines take more note.

Cherie called out, “Adrie, Adrie”.

A man of about the same age made his way through the gathering throng. “Yo, Cherryh ”.

“Adrie, go fetch Cam P’gnole, tell him we have brought these strangers who speak not our language or any that I know, we will meet him at the Moorcock”.

The youth looked the strangers over before departing back through the villagers. The crowd were not hostile, rather more curious, as they followed the small procession to the hostelry. The new arrivals studied them in return, they were mostly of fair complexion, as mixed a bunch as you might expect; the women all wore some tattoo on the left of their faces, the men on the right, only the children were not adorned. From the age of the youngest tattoo wearers they guessed they were applied in some coming of age ceremony. They wore a variety of costume, the men mostly wore some type of shirt and loose breeches or a kilt, the women more usually had a costume most worlds identify as medieval although the term did not really apply here. The one unifying thing was with only one or two exceptions every villager wore their hair in either one or two long braids.

By now the little group and their escort were at the building known as the Moorcock, the rudimentary depiction of a grouse like bird hanging outside left no-one in much doubt as to the purpose of the building, even if the accompanying script appeared as so much gibberish to Elke and Co.

Cherryh and M’lenie ushered their charges inside, the younger woman preventing the straining crowd from following. The barkeep, seeing the strangers, was quick to draw half a dozen beakers of the sour local brew. The girls indicated their charges to a booth, once seated they were presented with the refreshment. The girls returned to the bar where Cherryh gave her father the pheasant she still carried.

“Who are they daughter?” The girl’s father was an amiable chap who wore an abstract design on his cheek.
“I don’t know father, we found them down beyond the gap, near the low fields. They speak many tongues but not H’llam or any I know. M’lenie thinks they came from the south by their garb, how they came here though, who knows.”
“You’ve sent for the elder?”
“Yes, Adrie has gone to fetch him.”

Left alone in the booth with their drinks, the time travelling group had a chance to discuss what they had seen. Between sips of the beer the professor spoke first.

“One thing’s for sure, we are not in eighteenth century England,”
“Great” Elke put in.
“…But,” the Prof continued, “I think we are still in England, the terrain is much as the area we should be in, but we appear to have gone much further back, probably to the middle ages by their costume.”
“I agree,” Sarah put in, “the costume fits, but their tattoos – I’ve never seen or heard of their like before.”
“It may be that they speak some form of old English, there’s not much documented evidence of these languages, and that script outside looks runic in origin.” Mark concluded.
“So” Elke ventured, “we may be in England a thousand years before we were born, and stuck here.”
“That my dear appears to be the long and short of it, it only remains to try and save our necks although we don’t appear to be in any immediate danger.” The professor concluded.

The historians, although concerned by their plight, seemed quite excited while Elke realised that she would miss the byplay with John Sargent, she had meant to get together with him eventually, but now who knew what would happen. She sipped at her drink while the others swapped observations, the Prof produced pencil and paper and made a few jottings, and fully an hour had passed before a noise at the door drew their attention. The youth they had seen earlier came in followed by an old man in floor length robes, his hair white as snow hung loosely to his waist, both cheeks were decorated with some type of cartouche.

Cam P’gnole ignored those waiting at the bar and approached the waiting group in the booth.

“I am Cam P’gnole, the village elder.” Seeing his audience’s incomprehension he turned to sign language and tried again. “Me Cam P’gnole.”

This brought recognition to the foreigners’ faces. The older of the men repeated the gesture. “Profisor Mooris” then indicating his companions, “Dokta Balluntine, Mark Neevs, L’Kee Jowns.”

Cam returned their smiles and sank into a chair Adrie had hurriedly placed behind him. “Where you from?” He could see that they didn’t quite grasp that one. “Here Streines”

This time the one who called himself Profisor Mooris seemed to twig, and after a quick exchange with the others started a short discourse. With much waving of arms he was obviously trying to infer that they had come a good distance, but the only thing that sounded like a place was Burminham that he hadn’t heard of, which only seemed to back up their story.

“Why you here? What you want?” He sensed the others understood the substance of his query but seemed to lack the ability to do more than smile at him like idiots. Well, it was fairly obvious that if they meant harm to his people they would have come armed which they were not. He sat and thought for a while, taking several pulls of the ale Cherryh had deposited in his hand. It struck him that the newcomers had only his name and that of his village, so he introduced the others in the room; at least they could manage that. He was shaken by the younger woman making a grunting noise then seeing her hand motions realised she was asking for food, the grunt did sound a bit like ‘fude’ now he thought about it.

M’lenie also grasped the meaning and went off, returning shortly with bread and cheese for their ‘guests’. Cam named the foods, the strangers repeated the words and he left them to eat, joining D’mecks and his family at the bar.

“We must find out who they come from and why they are here, but I fear we need to learn more of their language and they ours before we can ask these questions, they learn quickly but it would be well not to publicise their presence here.”

D’mecks undertook to talk to the people of Streines in that light.

“In the meantime we should take them to my cottage, can you girls bring them by the back way, I must see Fey Rada before I go back.”

“Yes Elder, when they have eaten we shall bring them.”

Cam P’gnole left with D’mecks then.

Maddy Bell © 1998, 2004, 2010