Lost in Time_Split-Second Time Travel Story 1

by Ken Johns

  The launch room vanished.

  Chapter Four

  April 27, 1341

  John’s lungs refused to expand. Something collapsed his chest like a fist to the diaphragm. The air pressure pasted his wool shirt to his abs, his back, and his sides, as if he were free-falling. He couldn’t breathe, and he couldn’t see. Cave black had swallowed them. Hadn’t Bob said there was a flash of light? And this was the longest “instantaneous” he had ever had to wait through.

  The world erupted with light.

  Shit. John’s eyes closed instinctively, but the purest white shone through his eyelids. Even with his face buried in the crook of his elbow, it diminished only to a brilliant orange. He waited while it faded to a bearable level and wondered if this was normal or if he should start to worry. The pressure dropped away from his shirt and he gasped.

  Broken earth poked his feet through the thin leather JumpGear slippers. He opened his eyes. Bluebells? They weren’t in New York anymore.

  The sea of flowers sloped away, covering a meadow about two hundred meters across. A giant oak stood alone in the center, where a cart track circled it and led away into the woods. A narrow path led down from where they stood and ended near the tree. Their guide with his carriage should have been parked right there, in the trampled patch around the oak.

  But he wasn’t.

  The retch of vomiting pierced the silence. John spun to see Sandra, on all fours, heaving up her breakfast in the field of blue. “You okay, babe?”

  Sandra wiped the foul drool on her sleeve before she nodded.

  Mila groaned and glared at Jess. “Aren’t you feeling it?”

  “It wasn’t that bad.” Jess spread her legs a shoulder-width apart and bent at the hips to stretch.

  “Yeah, right.” Mila cradled her stomach.

  “Come on. Just take a few deep breaths.” Jess straightened up, gathered her long blonde hair, and tied it in a bun. Her hair immediately began to loosen, and she shook it out and tried again. “I don’t know what I’m going to do without hair elastics.” Jess put a hand on Mila’s shoulder.

  “Stop it.” Mila brushed the hand away and vomited.

  Jess snapped her hand away, avoiding the deluge, but John leaned over Mila. “Are you all right?”

  “Everybody just back off. I’ll be fine, okay?” Mila said.

  John let her be. If Mila said she would be fine, she would be fine. Like most fathers, he’d been slow to realize his babies had become grown women who did not want or appreciate his constant concern. Jess had had the good sense to wait until she actually was an adult before gently suggesting his attention might be more appreciated elsewhere. Mila had been her own woman by the age of seven.

  Sandra stood up and undid her JumpGear housecoat. She held it open at the front as she smoothed the sides toward the center. The view was magnificent. The fact that the SSTTC had not provided undergarments was an added bonus. At the age of fifty, she still held a power over him that was as strong as it had been when they were in high school. Sandra’s fitness regimen would put most of his recruits to shame, and the result was the hard body of a woman half her age.

  “Mom.” Mila’s eyebrows climbed up under her bangs. “Why don’t you just take the whole thing off and prance around the meadow?”

  “Okay.” Sandra let the garment slip down off her shoulders.

  “Mom!” Mila and Jess shouted in unison.

  John laughed. Sandra never tired of teasing her girls. They were still in denial that parents could be sexual beings.

  Sandra pulled the dress back up. “There’s no one here.”

  That snapped him back into the moment. “The guide was supposed to meet us when we arrived.” He scanned the forest edge again. “Where is this guy?”

  “It’s only been five minutes,” said Jess. “Give him a chance.”

  “We’re too exposed out here.” John pointed behind them. “Let’s move up to the woods while we wait.”

  “You’re spoiling it for everyone.” Mila turned her back and adjusted her dress. “This is supposed to be a holiday, not a maneuver.”

  Sandra touched his arm. “Will you calm down if we move into the trees?”

  He tried not to show the true level of his concern, but the training was a part of him. He stifled the urge to order them and smiled instead, hoping they would indulge him so he wouldn’t have to insist.

  “Dad, you’re so paranoid.” Jess started up the slope toward the forest.

  At least she got it. As a member of the RCMP, Jess could understand his concern. Now he just had to convince the other two. He put his arms on their shoulders and nodded after Jess. “Shall we?”

  Sandra and Mila followed her, but only after registering their protests with a sigh and an eye roll.

  John took one last look around the meadow before following his family up the hill. He took a deep breath through his nose while he walked. He smiled at Sandra, who seemed to have completely forgotten about her panic before the jump. It was still a beautiful day. They climbed through a breathtaking field of wildflowers, but, oddly, there was no aroma. Shouldn’t it have been more noticeable with so many flowers? Jess had reached the forest edge and sat down on a fallen log. Mila and Sandra were halfway there when the searing pain in his thigh ripped the smile off his face.

  Chapter Five

  April 25, 1341

  A strong wind kept the clouds away as the sun baked the cathedral late in the afternoon. Fingers of light pointed through the dust in yellow and red shafts, illuminating the confessional in stained-glass fire.

  Bishop Edward Deville sat naked in the darkened booth. His robes hung next to him, blocking the penitents’ view through the lattice. The heat on his skin reminded him of his last journey to Rome. This was his favorite place in all of England. Here in the enveloping warmth of the confessional, he felt closest to God. From here he listened to his children and grew to know them, intimately. He could guide them to a deeper relationship with God, cajole them when they resisted, and scold them if they refused. Here he was in control. Here he was supreme.

  Except today he was not. The penitents had ruined his mood. Today, like so many days recently, he seemed to be losing his grip.

  First, the tanner asked why his wife questioned him at every turn. This seemed innocent enough, and Edward recommended a sound thrashing. The tanner accepted the advice and went on his way.

  The miller asked why he must go with the baron to France. Edward pointed out that the miller lived on the lord’s lands, and military service was a condition of that tenancy. The man understood the argument but not the reason for it. Edward told the miller that he need not understand the reasoning as long as he followed the rule.

  When a villager’s wife asked why she could not leave the village, he told her she would become an outlaw and she should know better.

  A series of merchants asked why God did not answer their prayers. Edward told them God had no interest in their profits. Yet the very asking was heresy. The last merchant asked why he had to pay the church tax. Unbelievable!

  A rivulet of sweat dripped off Edward’s chin and splashed onto his thigh. The heat did not usually affect him like this. He held his robes away from the latticework so he could breathe the fresh air that wafted in with the next penitent. He waited next to the opening to catch a glimpse of who it would be.

  The door to his own side began to swing open and he grabbed it and slammed it closed. “Other side, please, my child.” Did they see in? Would he have to explain his nakedness? It brings me closer to God. After all, were Adam and Eve not naked in the Garden of Eden? He had prepared the story so long ago, he had forgotten when. It sounded convincing—it always did—but he had never had to say it out loud. No, the door had only come open three inches, six inches at most. His secret was safe.

  “Forgive me, Your Grace,” came an unfamiliar feminine voice, courtly yet somehow foreign.

  He had missed his chance to glimpse her face. He waited for her to continue
. The silence was too long. She should already have begun the litany. “Do you not know the words, my child?”

  “Oh, I am sorry, Your Grace. I have nothing to confess. I just wanted to see the inside of your confessional. Have you suggested it to the council? I do hope the church adopts it. It is an excellent idea.” Her door creaked open and she stepped out.

  Edward peeked through the lattice but only caught a glimpse of white robes as she disappeared. Who was this woman who dared to enter the confessional with no intention to confess and then left without permission? Outrageous. He stood and pulled his golden robe over his head. It had barely fallen into place when he rushed out and stormed down the aisle. He swung open the cathedral door and stepped into the wind.

  A few villagers walked past. “Good day, Your Grace.”

  He raised a hand in acknowledgment. The woman in white was not among them, nor was she across the square. She should have been easy to spot, rushing away along any of the roads that led from the square. But he saw nothing so bright, just the brown village dirt, silvering wood, tan thatching, and green weeds. Everything dull. The woman had vanished.

  Edward lifted his gaze to the castle on the hill, where the baron’s presence always dominated the landscape. He gathered his robes, leaned into the wind, and hurried up the narrow road that led to the castle. He had to find a way to regain control of the villagers. If he could find the source of the heresy, perhaps it was not too late to stamp it out. If he could only find some way to show the hand of God at work, the people would come back to him. The Bible was a tool, a textbook of fear. He only had to use it properly to restore order. Show them somehow… scare them.

  Edward found a crowd blocking his way. A man at the back turned to see who had joined him. It was the miller, and when he recognized Edward, he bowed his head and hurried away.

  The crowd surrounded a horse-drawn carriage. It was not the first time Edward had seen it parked in the village. Who owned such a large carriage? Surely not the king—it had no ornamentation. The driver sat up on his bench, but curtains concealed the occupants below. The villagers seemed to speak with those within. An arm appeared and handed out a small parcel. Edward caught a glimpse of white sleeve. The mysterious woman!

  He pushed his way between two villagers and started toward the carriage. As he passed each villager, they recognized his robe and suddenly seemed to have somewhere else to be.

  “Sorry, Your Grace.” A man bowed and moved away from the back of the crowd.

  “Forgive me, Your Grace.” A woman ushered her daughter toward a nearby alley.

  The crowd grew smaller and smaller the closer he got to the center. When he finally reached the carriage, Edward stood alone.

  A hand appeared and offered a parcel. He took it and examined its contents. The two pieces of soft bread with warm ground meat and sliced onions between them, dripping with melted cheese, smelled heavenly. He threw it to the ground.

  “You there!” Edward addressed the driver. “Whose carriage is this?”

  The man whipped his horses.

  “Stop!”

  The carriage started to roll.

  “Stop! In the name of God, I command thee!”

  The carriage accelerated down the road, turned a corner, and disappeared from sight. No one ignored him. Unbelievable.

  Chapter Six

  April 25, 1341

  Chad whipped the horses again. They responded with another surge as if changing gears. The carriage bucked and rocked as the horses dragged it out of the valley. The hard bench beneath him jarred his spine with every bump and reminded him how wonderful modern suspension would be when it was invented. He glanced behind, half expecting to see a charge of fully armored knights. Obviously, the bishop wouldn’t be able to organize any kind of response that quickly, but still.

  The outskirts of the village fell away as Chad raced through the fields. He let the horses have their heads as they entered the forest. The two-rut track led into the woods and joined one of the old Roman roads that scarred the countryside. Now all he had to do was watch for the turnoff to his farmstead.

  The Turners and the Wilsons were jumping home tonight. That was just as well. He could use his day off to find out if the bishop was still looking for him. Damn the abbess. He should never have agreed to let her come, let alone leave the carriage and go into the cathedral. But he couldn’t say no to a holy woman. Now the whole operation was in danger. If the bishop still hunted him, he’d have to abandon the farm and move to a new location. Some place far away from Rochester, perhaps closer to Canterbury. The move would be expensive and time consuming. He did not relish the idea of explaining to his supervisor that their cover was blown and their investment lost.

  Chad pulled the reins to the left and eased the horses off the road. The horses threaded their way around a giant stand of oaks that masked the trail to his farm.

  “Is everybody ready to go?” Chad spoke in the general direction of the stairs. The Wilsons had changed out of their period costumes and stood out by the carriage in their wool JumpGear. The Turners still hadn’t come down.

  Margaret, his local assistant, wrapped the rest of the cheeseburgers in a cloth sack. She pulled the drawstring and handed him the bag. “Thanks,” said Chad. “Can you go upstairs and see what’s keeping the Turners?”

  “It’s her.” She stood there staring at him as though that was explanation enough.

  “Well, please go and ask them to come down.”

  Margaret pushed past him and started up the stairs.

  Chad stood a moment, mesmerized by the gentle sway of her hips as she climbed. Why was she angry now? The answer eluded him, as it always did, so he went out to the carriage.

  Mr. Wilson stood waiting for him. “Can I ride up top with you this time?”

  “Sure. If you can get yourself up there.” Chad wasn’t willing to bet either way. Wilson was as round as he was tall. If he could climb up to the driver’s bench on his own, then he’d have earned the view. Chad went inside the carriage and placed the food under one of the benches. The carriage rocked and leaned as Wilson started his climb. Chad backed out, and Mrs. Wilson brushed past him to take her seat inside.

  “Thanks for a wonderful trip, Chad.” Mrs. Wilson smiled at him.

  Damn, she was hot. He could never figure out why all the gorgeous women were married to fat guys. Wilson seemed like an okay dude, but she was way out of his league. Wilson must be rich or hung like a horse, but staring into Mrs. Wilson’s bottomless cleavage wasn’t likely to get him the answer. Chad forced his eyes up to her face. “Ah, you’re welcome.”

  If he could just get the Turners loaded up, he could get them all to the staging meadow and be back before dark.

  Margaret came outside without the Turners and shrugged.

  Chad stomped into the cottage. A chair scraped the floor above his head. He moved toward the stairs, but Mrs. Turner appeared at the top, so he stepped out of the way. She rocked from side to side as she placed both feet on each stair. She could only lead with her left, because she had a bad right knee, as she’d told him about a hundred times. It was painful to watch.

  “Thank you, Chad darling.” Mrs. Turner had reached the bottom of the stairs. She took a deep breath and began to lurch toward the door. “I only wish I could have brought a camera.”

  “Please take your seat in the carriage, Mrs. Turner. We do need to get going.”

  Mr. Turner came down off the stairs behind her. “Sorry for the delay, Chad. She does love to chat.”

  “No problem.” Turner had the cadaverous look of a man who had resigned himself to the life of a permanent caregiver.

  “It’s been a wonderful vacation, son. Thanks for everything.” Turner patted him on the back.

  “You’re welcome, sir.” After watching Turner help his wife out the door, he headed for the stairs.

  The abbess stood there lacing on her white traveling cloak. “Hello, Chad. I have been speaking with Mrs. Turner. She does have such wond
erful stories.” Her infectious smile snuck up on him and he almost forgot he was pissed.

  She flowed down the stairs. “I would very much like to come with you and see them away.”

  That would be just perfect. How was he supposed to deal with a local who had witnessed the time jump? Let alone an abbess. They hadn’t covered that in the training sessions.

  “No,” Chad said. She’d shown up at the cottage that morning. He had no idea how she’d found it; they weren’t on the main road. She’d asked to come in and he’d had no choice. You couldn’t tell the clergy to bugger off, not without raising suspicions. She’d ingratiated herself with his guests and they had invited her along on their last carriage ride. He should have just said no right then.

  “My goodness, Chad. Why ever not?”

  “It’s complicated. I’m sorry, I have to get going. I’ll try to explain when I get back.” Chad walked outside before she could reply. He went around to the far side of the carriage to climb up beside Wilson.

  Margaret was waiting for him by the step. She threw her arms around his neck. “Hurry back, Chaddy. I don’t want to be left alone with the abbess.”

  “Why?”

  Margaret stared at him, and gave him a long, wet kiss. “Oh, you are a daft one, Chaddy.”

  Now he didn’t want to leave. Could he justify delaying their departure for fifteen minutes while he took Margaret inside for an important matter? No, the abbess was still here, and the Turners and Wilsons would never stay put on the carriage that long. He pulled himself away from her and climbed up to the driver’s bench.

  The cold reins chafed in his hand as he urged the horses in a tight circle. They began the climb out of the little glen toward the forest.

  Mrs. Wilson and Mrs. Turner whispered and giggled beneath him. What were they on about? At least he wouldn’t have to worry about entertaining them on the long ride to the meadow. When the horses reached the Roman road, they hesitated, and Chad pulled them to the left. The carriage lurched up onto the flat stones.