It wasn't long before Adam appeared.
"The job's done," he said, "but he'll need to sleep it off." He paused a moment and glanced at Glory, who turned and headed for the kitchen.
"Now then," he continued. "I've been picking up Cagliostro's ingredients left and right, and there are just a few more tricky ones to go after. How's about you and Nan checking out another one for me?"
"Sure," I said. "Who, what, when, where, why, and how?"
"I already filled Nan in in the ultrahigh way; basically, I want you to jump back to the sixteenth century and see whether a sweet little old lady is indeed a specialized precog, as my research indicates she might be. If she is, see if there's anything she'd trade for it."
"Check," I said, "and a question."
"What?"
"I've been wondering why you were so taken by Cagliostro's scheme in the first place."
"Because it's there," he said. "All along, I knew that would turn up at what would prove to be a key moment. Your showing up at about the same time did a lot to reinforce the feeling."
I shrugged.
"And if I'm not whatever you think and if the Iddroid project fails . . . ?"
He grinned. "Then one day something else of equal interest will come along, and I will follow. Wherever my heart leads me, baby, I must go."
Glory came up, a small plastic sack in one hand. She asked him if he wanted a refill on the chocolate. "No," he said, "I've got to go now."
She shook her head. "I'm pulling rank," she told him. "We go now. You throw the Switch. While Ash is gone, take a nap. You're going to need the rest."
"Must I?"
"Yes. I want you in top shape, whatever happens."
He made a face. Then, "All right. I don't need it. But just for you," he said. He yawned, stretched with leonine grace, and rose to his feet. He followed us across the foyer to the niche.
As we wished out, he was reaching for the Switch. A moment later, Glory, sack in one hand, and I found ourselves on a muddy trail, a few bedraggled-looking trees about us, rain falling steadily.
"Bad timing," I growled.
She caught hold of my arm. "Can't call them all. That little cottage up ahead should be the place, though," she said. "Come on. By the way, we're in Knaresborough, in Yorkshire, and the year is 1521."
"And who's the woman?"
"Mother Shipton," she said. "Not too much is known about her, but—"
"Mother Shipton," I said, "the British prophetess—sure. She's supposed to have predicted the Great Fire of 1666 and a bunch of other events. The only catch is that like most such stuff these things are really impossible to document."
"Well, let's hope we can find out."
I studied the cottage. All of its shutters were secured, and a ribbon of smoke came up out of the chimney. Glory went directly to the front door and pounded on it.
"Hello?" she called. "Hello? Would you let two travelers in out of the rain?"
"Why the bloody hell should I?" came a woman's voice from within.
"Because it's the decent thing to do," I suggested. "But mainly, if you've had a vision of an important visit this time of year, this is it."
There came a rattling sound from the other side of the door, and moments later it was flung open. We stumbled inside and Glory pushed the door shut behind us as a squat, straggly-haired woman of middle height uttered a roar and sprang toward me. Her left hand struck at my face and her right made a grab for my groin. I retreated, parrying and blocking, so that my back came up against the door. She tried again and this time I caught her wrists and pushed her out to arms' distance and held her there.
"Will you accept an apology?" I asked. "Or should we just go?"
Her face took on a blank expression and her lips trembled. ''Deliver us, O Lord, from the peril of the sword," she recited, "and the boxed ones from the power of the cat." Then she shook her head, backed up, and smiled. "Won't you have yourselves a seat?" she said, glancing upward to where water dripped from the rafters. "If you can find a dry one."
"'Scrying by aggression,'" Glory said, drawing up a bench that would hold both of us and positioning it between puddles. "That's why she never made the really big time."
"And you had to test it out on me."
"Of course. I already knew you could defend yourself." Glory passed the bag she'd brought to the woman who stood before us. Mother Shipton was wrapped in countless layers of nondescript dark garments. "I've brought some tea and biscuits," Glory said. "If you'd set some water to boiling we can have a hot drink and a bite to eat."
"Tea?" the woman said. "Excuse me, m'lady. I did not know—but no. You came with him out of the places I see darkly. It is all very confusing."
She turned away, filled a kettle from a pitcher, and hung it above the flames.
"Damned dry future of yours," she said. "I can see it so comfortable. Your roof doesn't leak."
"No," Glory said. "You're right." She reached into her jacket pocket and withdrew a silver flask. "Nip of brandy?" she suggested, unscrewing the cap, extending the container. "To warm us while we wait for the tea?"
The woman's eyes shone as she accepted and tossed back a healthy slug. "What brings you here?" she asked, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand and returning the flask.
"Wait," I said. "Before you two talk business I want to know the meaning of that bit of verse, right after you went for me."
She shook her head. "If they rhymes I don't always follow 'em," she said. "But I see you in the sky a hunter."
"What does that mean?"
"You must think the piece over carefully."
"How did you ever discover you possessed such an odd ability?" I asked.
"My husband was a schoolmaster," she said. "A decent man much of the week, he taught me my letters and numbers and many Latin tags. Come Saturday, though, he'd stop at the public house. Got the devil in him when he drank. Comin' home then, if he avoided trouble with his fellows, he would beat me. After a time, I noticed that he almost always came at me the same way. So the next time he did it I was ready. I stepped up close and gave him five good ones below the belt and a pair on the head. He was ready to stop then, right where he fell, and I was filled with visions of things to come. Some of them were his and mine, others showing wars, shipwrecks, fires. I wrote them all down. The next week I swung at him before he swung at me, and I got more. Soon I took to waylaying him on the way home, both to keep from messin' the place we lived in and because it often gave me a second chance at him later. See, I'd started writin' these pamphlets of predictions and they did pretty well. Made enough to buy this place, which was quite a step up in the world."
I looked around at the single room, with its counter, fireplace, well-worn bed, its few sticks of furniture, its leaks. I nodded.
"Oh, I could see ahead to how much better people will have it another day," she went on. "But at least I could aim for improvement. I took at last to waitin' outside the pub of a Saturday night and followin' certain departin' drinkers a ways—later givin' rise to stories of a temperance ghost. I beat on any of the ones who'd too much to drink, as they wouldn't remember well come next mornin'. I saw more and more that way, put out my pamphlets more regular, was able to fix this place up over what it was to begin with—like gettin' a floor."
"What about your husband?" I asked.
"Oh, he was none too happy with his aches and bruises," she said, "but at first he liked what I was doin' for our purse and the house. It sort of evened out."
"In my day, they call you Mother Shipton."
She nodded.
"Two sets of twins," she said. "When I was fourteen and again at sixteen. The girls married well. My Rob is a farrier, and my Jamie a cabinetmaker. They both have them good wives. Makes one mighty dry, talkin' like this."