“I don’t believe that was pure coincidence,” Valeria said. “However, let’s skip that. The point is, Rupert—Holger’s twentieth century and mine are quite alike, rationalistic, industrialized, the Western countries mostly democratic. Only they’re quite unlike, also. For instance, in both of them, the USA and Germany were on opposite sides in the First World War. But his Second World War, that he fought in himself, was against Germany too—and Japan and Italy—while mine, that my parents fought in, was against the Saracen Caliphate. I suppose the differences were mainly due to paraphysical forces. Either they’re as weak in that adopted cosmos of Holger’s as he thinks, or else nobody there has discovered how to degauss the effects of cold iron, as they did in my world about 1900.”
“Anyway,” Holger said, “on her Earth they’ve made a science and technology of magic—”
“Paraphysics,” she corrected. “Or the Art, if you prefer.”
“Whatever. She’s being very nice to me, giving me some valuable pointers. Maybe she can do the same for you, Mister—Herr—uh, Prince Rupert.”
“Perhaps,” Valeria said dubiously. “A lot would depend on your background. Is it science-oriented like mine? How much math do you know? That kind of thing.” She braced herself with a drink before adding: “Also, to tell the honest truth, I’d want more information about you. No offense intended, but you could be serving some cause I’d think it was wrong to help.”
“Or maybe I would not take help from you,” Rupert snapped. “What are you doing here, in boy’s disguise?”
Valeria smiled. “My, you really are from a different milieu! Well, I don’t mind explaining, if the explanation will make any sense to you. In my home, this is perfectly ordinary female dress for a rugged outing. And as for my purpose, I’m on a field trip, collecting material for a master’s thesis. It’s not so long ago that people in my universe first managed to cross into others. We’re still measuring the parameters—”
“How lawful are your thaumaturgic arts?” Rupert demanded.
She bridled. “Completely legal.”
“Wait, I think I see what he’s after,” said Holger. “You remember, Valeria: I told you how in my world, the Carolingian one, that is, elves are mostly enemies to man. Maybe something like that is true for Rupert.”
The girl spent a moment thinking, before she nodded at the prince. “Okay. Listen, please. Where I come from, there’s nothing inherently good or bad about the Art. It involves a set of forces. We can use them morally or evilly, wisely or stupidly, same as anything else. Why, my father’s a were-wolf, my mother’s a witch, and they’re two of the dearest people you’ll ever meet. Some of my best friends are halflings.”
Rupert had likewise invested time in thought. “I pray your pardon, Mistress Matuchek,” he responded. “I stand myself in debt to Oberon.” (She started, and gave most intent attention to his speech.) “This ring I have of him and of his queen—and from one other—led me here tonight. Ere then, I’m told, its brilliance blossomed high, as we approached that steam train which we seized and drove this day from Yorkshire into Wales.”
“Now, wait a little,” Holger protested. “Oberon I know something about; ja, the English Civil War too—in fact, I seem to remember reading about a Prince Rupert who was in it—but steam trains?”
Valeria leaped up. She shivered in body and voice. “Hold it! I may be onto this paradox. Gimme a minute, will you?”
Her pacing shoes clacked beneath the crackle and rumble of fire. Its light wove through candle-gleam, soft over Rupert’s tautness, Holger’s puzzlement, Taverner’s glittering-eyed observation.
Will nudged Clodia. “Mesim a taele’ll shortly start to wag what I know well, an’ would but brush thee off,” he murmured. “We got a common language, thou an’ I.’Tis oanly partly spoaken with tha tongue. What zay we steal away an’ practice it?”
Valeria whirled. Her finger stabbed at Rupert. “You talked about Hamlet and Macbeth—as if they were both real,” she cried. “Contemporaries, even. You said you’d met Oberon and… Titania… yourself.
Well, did Romeo and Juliet ever live? King Lear? Falstaff? Othello? You mentioned cannon in Hamlet’s time. How about, by God, how about a University of Wittenberg already then? Did they have clocks that struck the hour in Julius Caesar’s days? Was Richard the Third really a hunchbacked monster? Did Bohemia ever have a seacoast? Does withcraft work?”
To each flung question Rupert nodded, as if these were blows hurled upon him.
“Okay, then”—Valeria tensed—“do you know the name William Shakespeare?”
“Of course,” Rupert said dazedly. “He was the great Historian.”
“That’s it!” Valeria turned to Holger. “If, if you could start in a world… where the Carolingian romances are the literal truth… why not the plays of Shakespeare?” she stammered. “It figures, it figures. They’d’ve been technologically a little ahead of my world since an early period—though just in certain areas—still, their Industrial Revolution commencing in the seventeenth century, and maybe getting tied in with Puritanism—” Swinging back: “Oh, Rupert, we’ve got so much to talk about!”
Holger shook his head. “I think I better go work those problems from the textbook you gave me,” he said.
“Of course. Poor dear. I’ll come help you later on.” She stooped to brush her lips across his forehead. “But I’ve got to talk to Rupert as well. Don’t you see? Besides Shakespeare being an idol of mine, I always had sympathy for the Cavaliers. Maybe that was schoolgirl romantics; and anyhow, the issues may not be identical in Rupert’s home. I doubt very much he could absorb the kind of instruction you’re getting. But at least, I must have a certain hindsight over his period. It’s possible I can counsel him, influence events a tiny bit for the better. I feel obliged to try.”
Will climbed to his feet, Clodia undulated to hers. “Beg pardon, loard,” the dragoon said. “Thou wilt not need me moare?”
It took Rupert a second to pull his mind their way. Then he grinned a trifle, rose, and bowed. “I must not,” he responded. “Ladies e’er go over princes.”
“But… princes… they go over commoners,” said Will reluctantly; for Clodia was thrusting curves at his master.
Rupert clapped the soldier’s back. “And commoners o’er ladies, on this night. Myself, I’ll be discoursing till the dawn. May weariness not soften hardihood.”
“Nay, zir, I be quiate firm in my resolve.” Will took the woman around her waist. She sighed toward Rupert. His look had returned to Valeria and Holger. Clodia snuggled against the man she had. They slipped upstairs.
Holger voiced a harsh chuckle and sought his books. Valeria and Rupert settled themselves for conversation. The landlord listened.
XIII
Rain had washed the air glittering clean. Each leaf stood vivid against sun-spattered shadow. Birds rejoiced.
It was mild and getting warmer.
Rupert and Will halted at a spring. Water gurgled through a sward which the latter traveler bent to feel.
“Plenty dry to lie on an’ catch no wheezles,” he reported. “We should sleep snug like in yonder flyin’ inn.”
“Oh?” Rupert half smiled, half yawned. “Didst thou sleep? I’m nigh as disappointed as Mistress Pulcher.”
“Marry, nay. Never a wink, believe me.” Will spoke dreamily. “Again an’ yet again, a gallop on tha sweetest o’ mares. What pity thou got to exercise no moare than thy tongue. Let me tell thee—”