ABACUS (3 page)

“Anyone could do better than that!” she taunted. “Try an easier target.”

“Such as?” he snapped.

“How about the lake?”

“Funny. Let's see if you can do better.” He handed her the bow.

Her first arrow stuck into the ground nearby. The second one flew over the tree. The third arrow skimmed the ground, but missed by a long way. Kate, frustrated, returned the bow.

AP continued practicing for about an hour, by which time he was hitting the target with almost every arrow. His instructor told him he had all the makings of a marksman, providing he kept practicing. Meanwhile Kate, who got on well with youngsters, had been having fun with some of the children. They'd shown her their games, involving sticks, wooden balls and pieces of string. Kate, in turn, taught them how to play baseball. They enjoyed themselves so much they would have continued all afternoon. Feeling hot and tired, Kate called a time-out and wandered down to the lake for a drink. AP went along too.

“How's our being here going to affect the people?” she asked her brother. Kate was especially thinking of the children. “I've just shown them how to play baseball, more than a thousand years before the game's been invented. Will there be major-league baseball in England in the Middle Ages?”

AP shook his head. “Nothing we do here in the past will have any lasting effect. As soon as we're gone, everything we did will disappear with us.”

“Why?”

“That's part of the time-travel paradox. I read about it once.”

“So, let's hear it.”

“Say you've got a time machine set up in your house. You've just got up. It's 7:30 on a Saturday morning.”

“Who gets up that early on the weekend?” Kate interrupted.

“Do you want me to explain or not?”

“Sorry. Keep going. I'm all ears.”

“Okay, so you have some pancakes and check your e-mails. Then it's time to go traveling. You look at your watch and it's now 9 a.m.” He glanced down at his bare wrist. “You enter your time machine and set it for one hour earlier.”

“That's 8 a.m. Saturday morning?” she asked, to clarify.

“Exactly. So you set the time, press the button, the machine activates, then you step outside and it's 8 a.m. again.”

Kate nodded.

“You can smell the pancakes. You look into the kitchen and see yourself eating. Then you delete all your messages, which stops you reading your e-mails. But you already know you read them before you entered the time machine.”

“That makes no sense!” Kate exclaimed.

“Of course it doesn't. That's the whole point of the time-travel paradox.”

He paused for a moment.

“After you erased your e-mails, suppose you tied yourself up. That'd stop you getting into the time machine you just stepped out of a few minutes earlier.”

“That's impossible!”

“Which is why it's called a paradox. A paradox is something completely contradictory.”

“Okay, so what's the point?”

“The time-travel paradox is the reason most people think time travel's impossible. They say that if people could travel back to the past they could change the future, which is not feasible. The alternative is that time travel is possible but doing anything in the past which changes the future is not possible. You and I both know time travel is real, so we can be equally sure that altering the past is impossible.

“So when we return to the future—if we ever do—it'll be just as if we were never here—no baseball and everybody will have forgotten we came.”

“Exactly. We won't ever have existed in these times.”

Kate let it all sink in, slowly. AP idly tossed a stone into the water.

“How do you know all this stuff?” she asked. “It's so weird.”

“Books.” AP shrugged. “I like to read.”

Kate broke the silence that followed.

“When are we going back to our own time?” she sounded anxious. “Why didn't the abacus work when we tried it?”

“I don't know—maybe it needed time to recharge its batteries.”

“So it could work right now?”

“We can try,” he said.

Glancing around to make sure nobody was watching, he pulled out the abacus and turned on the screen. Instantly the map lit up, along with the numbers 2009 and 1524. A plus sign was still in front of the number 1524.

“Everything's set. Ready?”

Kate linked an arm through his and nodded.

He pressed the black button. Nothing happened. Again. Nothing. “Forget it.”

“Is it broken?”

“Not sure. The screen's still working, so it's probably okay.”

“We've got to get home,” she blurted. “I want to see Mum and Dad, and everyone else again…” Her eyes filled with tears.

“We will,” he said, laying an arm across her shoulders. “I promise. Let's give it a rest for now, and try again later.”

The water looked so inviting in the afternoon sun. If only the time travelers had bathing suits and towels, but they had to be content with getting just their feet wet.

“There'd be no risk of hitting your head diving into this lake,” said AP, staring down at the sandy bottom. “See how it slopes away? It must be fairly deep.”

“Isn't it weird that nobody goes swimming, not even the children?” said Kate. “And the ones who stripped off to bathe keep close to the water's edge. Maybe it's too deep.”

“Or they're afraid of water.”

* * *

A shout from the shore broke the tranquility of the late afternoon. Boats had been spotted. Sleepers were woken, babies were gathered up, and children ran down to the shore. Everyone was buzzing with excitement and shading their eyes to catch a first glimpse.

Kate and AP, wanting to keep a low profile, strolled a short distance away. Both wondered what sort of a man inspired such an enthusiastic and loyal following.

AP expected a fleet of longboats, with dragon-head prows and square sails, like the Vikings used. But the four rowing boats that came into sight looked unspectacular. They were large, with three rowers on each side and space in between for cargo. As they neared shore, the occupants raised oars, threw lines across and prepared to land.

Standing at the prow of the lead boat was a tall muscular man with broad shoulders, neatly-trimmed long hair, and a well-clipped beard. An impressive figure, it was obvious from the way the men jumped to his orders that he was their leader. As he leaned forward, something slipped from his belt and fell overboard. Judging from the commotion that followed it was something valuable.

One of the men tried to reach the object with an oar, but this was too unwieldy and it would take forever to nudge the object into the shallows. Amidst the shouting and arguing nobody seemed to know what to do.

“This is crazy!” exclaimed AP. “Why doesn't somebody just jump in and get it?”

Within seconds he'd slipped off his clothes and dived into the water. Taking a deep breath, he headed for the leader's boat.

When the people saw AP cutting through the water they gasped in astonishment. Then he reached the boat and disappeared beneath the surface. Shouts of confusion came from those standing on shore, but those in the boats could see him streaking to the bottom.

By now, Kate realized the people had never seen anyone swimming before. She guessed swimming hadn't been invented yet, at least not in Britain. “Come on, AP,” she murmured to herself. “You can do it.”

AP felt the pressure against his ears, like being in the deep end of a swimming pool. In the crystal clear water, he easily spotted the object, glinting against the sandy bottom. It was a dagger! AP's fingers closed upon the hilt.

Minutes later AP, wet and dripping, was standing on shore, surrounded by the men from the boats. The villagers watched in hushed anticipation as AP handed the ornate weapon back to its owner. The leader took it from him in silence, and then he spoke.

“This dagger is sacred,” he began, facing the
crowd. He held it high for all to see. The gold handle was inlaid with rubies, which burned in the sun. “My father's father gave it to me.” Then, turning to AP, “And who have I the honor of thanking?”

AP, hardly feeling honorable in his baggy undergarments, drew himself up to his full height of four feet ten and three-quarters inches. “Arthur,” he announced solemnly, though it was pronounced “Artorius” in the ancient tongue he was speaking. His proper name seemed to fit the occasion.

“What a coincidence,” replied the leader with a broad smile. “That's my name too.” He waved the dagger above his head and the crowd roared their approval. Then, with a flourish, he slipped it back into the scabbard on his belt. From that moment Arthur—who would be known in legend as King Arthur—held AP and his sister in the highest regard.

“Please honor me by traveling back to my home,” said the leader. “You will be special guests in the most beautiful place on this verdant isle.”

The villagers spent almost an hour exchanging news with Arthur. They were pleased to report that all was peaceful and quiet in their part of the land. Then the men began loading the goods into the boats. By the time they had finished, the sun was low on the horizon. The warmth of the day had been replaced by an early evening chill, and Arthur was anxious to get underway. Kate and AP made their hurried farewells and clambered aboard. Then the expedition set off, leaving the villagers to set up camp for the night.

Several miles away, a hooded figure hunched over a small fire, watching the flames lick the fading daylight. A black cloak was pulled tightly about his bony frame, concealing everything but his sharply pointed nose and piercing eyes. He was about to spend his second night alone in the forest—lost. Like Kate and AP, he had traveled through time, but not by accident. Although unaware of their identity, he knew someone had activated the abacus. He also knew they must be close by. Whatever it took, he would track them down and recover the device. He desperately wanted to get his hands on it, and would stop at nothing to do so.

Chapter 3: Castles in the Air

How much farther?” Kate whispered as they picked their way through the trees. Almost an hour had passed since their arrival on the other side of the lake. Soon darkness would prevent them from seeing where they were going. She was tired, hungry and longing for a proper toilet and shower.

“Enough!” roared their leader from the head of the column. For a moment Kate thought he was shouting at her. “We'll camp here for the night.”

Dropping their heavy baskets of supplies, Arthur's men set to work. The two who had been carrying the pig dumped it down like a sack of potatoes, without a second thought for the animal's comfort. They didn't even bother removing the pole from between its tethered legs.

“Poor thing,” said Kate as the pig struggled to get onto its haunches. “Are they just going to leave it there all night?”

“I guess so,” said AP, equally concerned. “The least they could do is give it some water.” They found a bowl and filled it. The pig was so thirsty it almost knocked the water from Kate's hand.

While some of the men gathered armfuls of fresh ferns, others collected wood. Soon a fire was blazing, sending sparks high into the night sky.

“What do we use for a sleeping bag?” asked Kate.

“That's what the ferns are for.” AP pointed toward one of the men who was making them into a pile. When it was about knee-high, he patted it, as if testing a mattress.

“We should do the same,” said Kate, looking around at the dense undergrowth. “Before it gets too dark.”

“Where's my namesake?” bellowed Arthur as everyone sat around the campfire after the meal. “Come over here, boy! Bring your sister too. I want to tell you things.”

AP and Kate made their way around the circle, feeling the heat from the flames upon their faces. The men, over twenty in number, smiled as they went past, their own reflections glowing in the firelight.

“Tomorrow, before the sun goes down, you shall see my kingdom,” announced Arthur.

“Camelot?” asked Kate enthusiastically. Arthur's magnetism made people want to listen when he spoke.

“Camelot?” queried Arthur. “What is that?”

“The castle,” she replied.

When Arthur still looked puzzled, Kate explained it was a building to defend against attackers. He beamed and nodded.

“Yes, you'll see my castle,” he said, using the unfamiliar word. “And I promise, you will be astonished.” Then, turning to his band of followers he said, “It's a special place isn't it?”

A great cheer erupted.

“The valleys are greener than any in the land,” he continued. “The rivers teem with fishes.”

“Huge ones!” shouted a voice from the other side of the fire.

“Aye, bigger than you, young Arthur!” offered another. They all laughed together—AP was used to jokes about his size.

As the evening wore on the stories of Arthur's domain grew ever larger. By the time they were ready for sleep, Kate was convinced that Camelot was as wondrous as legend had painted. AP had his doubts.

“Time for bed,” said Arthur, stifling a yawn. “Tomorrow's a long day.”

More firewood was added to keep the blaze burning all night, and everyone settled down.

“Stay near the fire,” Arthur warned his young companions. “Bears and wolves prowl these woods.”

Kate hardly slept, even though she and AP had moved their fern piles closer to the fire. Seeing her brother slumbering soundly made her feel even worse.

* * *

By the following afternoon the flat countryside had given way to rolling hills of pink heather.

“At the top of that next rise,” said Arthur, pointing ahead, “you're in for a surprise.”

“Your castle?” asked Kate enthusiastically.

AP shot her a puzzled look. All day long she'd been complaining about sore feet and feeling grubby. Maybe she was hoping for a big improvement when they reached Camelot. But, from what he'd read about sanitary conditions in castles, she was in for a disappointment.

“Close your eyes,” said Arthur as they neared the top.

When they reached the summit he told them to look.

“Well?” he asked, folding his arms and staring down proudly. “What do you think?”

Kate expected to see a castle, with towers and turrets, surrounded by a moat. Instead, all she saw was a sprawl of wooden buildings enclosed by a big wooden fence—like the forts the U.S. army built out west during the Indian Wars, when they were fighting the native peoples of North America.

“It's—nice,” she began, after an uncomfortable silence. “I—can't wait to get there.”

Camelot looked even worse up close.

To AP, the best part was the fence. Made from tree trunks driven into the ground, each post was so close to its neighbor you could barely squeeze a finger between the gaps. A heavy wooden gate—guarded at all times—barred unwanted entry.

Sentries on the fence recognized the approaching column and shouted orders to open the gate. Hinges creaking, it slowly swung back. Once everyone was inside it was closed and bolted.

Kate gazed in dismay at the run-down buildings and grime. Garbage, piled high against the fence, reeked. “Why not leave their waste on the other side of the fence?” whispered Kate.

“They probably want to open the gate as little as possible.”

Dozens of log buildings dotted an area the size of a football fi
eld. Most were no bigger than a shed. Some were falling apart—nobody seemed bothered to do repairs.

“That's the longhouse,” Arthur proclaimed, pointing to the largest building. “My headquarters. I live there with my wife.”

The longhouse—though nothing like Kate's image of Camelot—was still an impressive building. It was one enormous room, crowned by a huge pointed roof. There were only a few small windows, so it took time for their eyes to adjust to the dim light. A pig was roasting over an open fireplace at one end, filling the room with a wonderful aroma that made Kate and AP realize how hungry they were. Glancing up, Kate saw the smoke curling through a large hole in the roof.

“When it's cold we keep both fires burning day and night,” Arthur explained, pointing to the fireplace at the opposite end. “And we shutter the windows to keep out the winter air.”

Suddenly a cloaked figure appeared from nowhere, moving toward them like a phantom. Kate instinctively shifted closer to her brother. The person was dressed in black and had long, flowing white hair. Was this the legendary Guinevere? As the mysterious individual drew closer, they saw it was an old man. He was small, with a large hooked nose and bushy eyebrows the same color as his hair.

“Medoc!” greeted Arthur. “I'd like you to meet my two honored guests. This is young Arthur, and his sister Kate.”

The old man smiled, lowering his head in a majestic bow. After exchanging greetings, he listened intently as Arthur recounted the story of AP's miraculous recovery of the dagger.

“I tell you, Medoc,” Arthur said, beaming, “this boy's powers are as strong as yours!”

The old man agreed this was a most extraordinary feat. He seemed friendly enough, but Kate caught a suspicious glance at AP when he thought nobody was looking.

* * *

That night Arthur hosted a small feast for his guests. He sat AP on one side of him and Kate on the other, next to his wife. Kate was surprised to discover Gwendolyn was only a few years older than herself. Gwendolyn had petite features—high cheekbones, a small upturned nose, and mystical brown eyes. She wore her long brunette hair tied in a knot. The two instantly liked each other, and chatted all evening.

People ate with their hands, occasionally using knives to cut slices of meat and gobbets of fat with the crispy gold skin they relished. Kate picked halfheartedly at the leanest parts of her meat, while AP wolfed his down.

Medoc, sitting beside AP, spoke little during the meal. When Arthur commented on this, the old man said he was unwell. “It's probably just a touch of the ague.”

“Perhaps you should take one of your potions,” Arthur suggested. “You always force foul concoctions on us when we're sick!” The others guffawed, nodding their heads. Medoc smiled politely.

Eight other men attended the feast, accompanied by their wives. Arthur had introduced them as his commanders—his most loyal and trusted men, and the members of his council. AP remembered two, Hector and Gavin, from the journey across the lake. When Arthur retold the story of how his young namesake had retrieved the bejeweled dagger, his audience listened in silence.

The topic then changed from daggers to dangers as one of the commanders reported a raid on a nearby village during Arthur's absence.

“Who's doing the attacking?” asked AP innocently. Several people stared, puzzled by his question. Surely everyone knew the likely culprits.

“Young Arthur comes from far away,” Arthur explained.

“Where exactly?” asked Medoc, suddenly interested in the conversation.

Kate glanced at AP, wondering how he would handle the question. Knowing her brother, he'd think of something smart to say.

“Far up north,” he replied, figuring this was a safe bet.

“On which side of the wall?” Medoc continued.

Having once read a book about ancient Britain, AP guessed Medoc was referring to Hadrian's Wall, built by the Romans to keep out aggressive northern tribes.

“The other side,” AP said. He almost added “in Scotland” but remembered it was not named until later.

“How far north?” Medoc persisted.

“Enough of this!” Arthur interrupted holding up his hand and smiling. “Our guests will think you're a nosy old man!”

The whole table burst into laughter. Medoc smiled as if he was enjoying the joke too, though his eyes revealed otherwise.

“In answer to your question, young Arthur,” their leader began again, “the attackers could have been local brigands, or members of a hostile tribe like the Iceni or the Trinovantes. Perhaps they were marauders from across the sea. These are dangerous times. More foes than friends live out there.” He waved an arm toward the facing wall.

“The Romans did one good thing,” said Hector. He was a great shaggy bear of a man, with shoulder-length red hair and a full beard. “They knocked the fight out of most of the hostiles.”

Everyone nodded in agreement.

“All the troubles began again when they left these shores.”

“When was that?” asked AP, figuring that someone who lived north of Hadrian's Wall wouldn't be expected to know when the Romans left Britain.

“About the time my grandfather was born,” replied Arthur, adding, “he died last spring. He'd seen seventy-eight summers.”

“So the Romans left around the year 400,” AP concluded.

“400?” Arthur looked confused. “What is the year 400?”

AP had forgotten that it was only after Christianity came to Britain, over a century later, that people started numbering the years.

Kate came to her brother's rescue. “What AP—um—Arthur meant to say was that the Romans invaded England about 400 years ago.”

“Yes, that's it,” agreed AP, surprised his sister knew the date of the Roman Conquest.

“You must be getting tired,” Arthur told AP. “Time for sleep.”

One side of the longhouse was partitioned into several open cubicles that served as bedrooms. There was little privacy, but the open planning made sure sleepers stayed warm in their beds on winter nights. Arthur and Gwendolyn's cubicle was opposite one of the fireplaces, with Medoc's next door. AP and Kate were given a cubicle close by, used only for special guests.

“AP—are you awake?” Kate whispered into the darkness. No reply came from the bed beside her. She nudged his shoulder and tried again.

“Huh? What?”

“I just wondered if you were awake.”

“Well, I am now! Why?”

“What do you make of Medoc?” she asked.

“He's alright—a bit weird, but that's probably because he's so old.”

“Do you think he's the wizard, Merlin?” she continued. “Medoc and Merlin sound alike don't they? Like Gwendolyn and Guinevere.”

“Yes. Like Hector and Ector. Or Gavin and Gawain—they were both Knights of the Round Table.”

“So that old guy could be Merlin?”

“Maybe. Dad says the whole story of King Arthur and his knights could be based on truth. Some people think there was a real Arthur, but that he was a local chief rather than a full-blown king. This Arthur's no king, but he seems important around here.”

“He certainly does,” agreed Kate.

“You seemed to be getting along well with Gwendolyn.”

“She's nice. We're going down to the river tomorrow, to bathe. My hair feels gross—I'd give anything for a hot shower.”

“A comfortable bed would be nice too,” said her brother. “A sheepskin rug's too thin for these hard wooden boards.” Yawning, he was about to nod off, when suddenly he remembered something. “How did you know when the Romans invaded Britain?”

“One of the guys on my baseball team,” she began casually. “He was doing a project and I helped with the Web search.”

“Sounds like a special friend.”

“I'm tired. Go to sleep.”

* * *

The villagers who had traveled to the lake to meet Arthur were spending their second night around a campfire, on their way back home. Just before stopping for the day they'd come upon a tall thin stranger. He was thirsty, hungry and lost.

“I'm not from these parts,” he'd explained between gulps of water. “I was—uh— traveling with a friend who knows his way around here, but we got separated.” The cloaked stranger spoke their language without any accent.

The others nodded. Getting lost in the forest was easy.

“Where were you going?” asked one of the men.

“To his village in the south, near the sea.” The words came easily—he'd had two days to work out a cover story.