sir.”
“When?”
“Just now. He said he couldn’t stand working for Lady Schrapnell another minute, sir.”
“Well,” Mr. Dunworthy said. He took his spectacles off and peered at them. “Well. All right, then. Mr. Lewis, is it?”
“T.J., sir.”
“T.J., would you go tell the assistant head—what’s his name? Ranniford—that I need to speak with him. It’s urgent.”
T.J. looked unhappy.
“Don’t tell me he’s quit as well?”
“No, sir. He’s in 1655, looking at roof slates.”
“Of course,” Mr. Dunworthy said disgustedly. “Well, then, whoever else is in charge over there.”
T.J. looked even unhappier. “Uh, that would be me, sir.”
“You?” Mr. Dunworthy said in surprise. “But you’re only an undergraduate. You can’t tell me you’re the only person over there.”
“Yes, sir,” T.J. said. “Lady Schrapnell came and took everyone else. She would have taken me, but the first two-thirds of Twentieth Century and all of Nineteenth are a ten for blacks and therefore off-limits.”
“I’m surprised that stopped her,” Mr. Dunworthy said.
“It didn’t,” he said. “She wanted to dress me up as a Moor and send me to 1395 to check on the construction of the steeple. It was her idea that they’d assume I was a prisoner brought back from the Crusades.”
“The Crusades ended in 1272,” Mr. Dunworthy said.
“I know, sir. I pointed that out, also the fact that the entire past is a ten for blacks.” He grinned. “It’s the first time my having black skin has been an actual advantage.”
“Yes, well, we’ll see about that,” Mr. Dunworthy said. “Have you ever heard of Ensign John Klepperman?”
“No, sir.”
“World War II. Battle of Midway. The entire bridge of his ship was killed and he had to take over as captain. That’s what wars and disasters do, put people in charge of things they’d never ordinarily be in charge of. Like Time Travel. In other words, this is your big chance, Lewis. I take it you’re majoring in temporal physics?”
“No, sir. Comp science, sir.”
Mr. Dunworthy sighed. “Ah, well, Ensign Klepperman had never fired a torpedo either. He sank two destroyers and a cruiser. Your first assignment is to tell me what would happen if a parachronistic incongruity had occurred, what indications we would have of it. And don’t tell me it couldn’t happen.”
“Para-chron-istic incon-gruity,” T.J. said, writing it on the top of the papers he was holding. “When do you need this, sir?”
“Yesterday,” Mr. Dunworthy said, handing him the bibliography from the Bodleian.
T.J. looked bewildered. “You want me to go back in time and—”
“I am not setting up another drop,” Warder cut in.
Mr. Dunworthy shook his head tiredly. “I meant I need the information as soon as possible,” he said to T.J.
“Oh,” T.J. said. “Yes, sir. Right away, sir,” and started for the door. Halfway there, he stopped and asked, “What happened to Ensign Klepperman?”
“Killed in the line of duty,” Mr. Dunworthy said.
T.J. nodded. “That’s what I thought.”
He went out and Finch came in, carrying a headrig.
“Ring up Ernst Hasselmeyer in Berlin and ask him if he knows anything about parachronistic incongruities, and if he doesn’t, ask him who does,” Mr. Dunworthy said. “And then I want you to go over to the cathedral.”
“The cathedral?” Finch said, alarmed. “What if Lady Schrapnell’s there?”
“Hide in the Drapers’ Chapel,” Mr. Dunworthy said. “See if there’s anyone over there who works in Time Travel, anyone at all. There has to be someone around with more experience than an undergraduate.”
Finch said, “Right away, sir,” and crossed over to me. He put the headrig in my ear. “The subliminal tapes, sir,” he said.
I started to roll up my sleeve for the hypnotic.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to use drugs in your condition,” he said. “You’ll have to listen to them at normal
“When?”
“Just now. He said he couldn’t stand working for Lady Schrapnell another minute, sir.”
“Well,” Mr. Dunworthy said. He took his spectacles off and peered at them. “Well. All right, then. Mr. Lewis, is it?”
“T.J., sir.”
“T.J., would you go tell the assistant head—what’s his name? Ranniford—that I need to speak with him. It’s urgent.”
T.J. looked unhappy.
“Don’t tell me he’s quit as well?”
“No, sir. He’s in 1655, looking at roof slates.”
“Of course,” Mr. Dunworthy said disgustedly. “Well, then, whoever else is in charge over there.”
T.J. looked even unhappier. “Uh, that would be me, sir.”
“You?” Mr. Dunworthy said in surprise. “But you’re only an undergraduate. You can’t tell me you’re the only person over there.”
“Yes, sir,” T.J. said. “Lady Schrapnell came and took everyone else. She would have taken me, but the first two-thirds of Twentieth Century and all of Nineteenth are a ten for blacks and therefore off-limits.”
“I’m surprised that stopped her,” Mr. Dunworthy said.
“It didn’t,” he said. “She wanted to dress me up as a Moor and send me to 1395 to check on the construction of the steeple. It was her idea that they’d assume I was a prisoner brought back from the Crusades.”
“The Crusades ended in 1272,” Mr. Dunworthy said.
“I know, sir. I pointed that out, also the fact that the entire past is a ten for blacks.” He grinned. “It’s the first time my having black skin has been an actual advantage.”
“Yes, well, we’ll see about that,” Mr. Dunworthy said. “Have you ever heard of Ensign John Klepperman?”
“No, sir.”
“World War II. Battle of Midway. The entire bridge of his ship was killed and he had to take over as captain. That’s what wars and disasters do, put people in charge of things they’d never ordinarily be in charge of. Like Time Travel. In other words, this is your big chance, Lewis. I take it you’re majoring in temporal physics?”
“No, sir. Comp science, sir.”
Mr. Dunworthy sighed. “Ah, well, Ensign Klepperman had never fired a torpedo either. He sank two destroyers and a cruiser. Your first assignment is to tell me what would happen if a parachronistic incongruity had occurred, what indications we would have of it. And don’t tell me it couldn’t happen.”
“Para-chron-istic incon-gruity,” T.J. said, writing it on the top of the papers he was holding. “When do you need this, sir?”
“Yesterday,” Mr. Dunworthy said, handing him the bibliography from the Bodleian.
T.J. looked bewildered. “You want me to go back in time and—”
“I am not setting up another drop,” Warder cut in.
Mr. Dunworthy shook his head tiredly. “I meant I need the information as soon as possible,” he said to T.J.
“Oh,” T.J. said. “Yes, sir. Right away, sir,” and started for the door. Halfway there, he stopped and asked, “What happened to Ensign Klepperman?”
“Killed in the line of duty,” Mr. Dunworthy said.
T.J. nodded. “That’s what I thought.”
He went out and Finch came in, carrying a headrig.
“Ring up Ernst Hasselmeyer in Berlin and ask him if he knows anything about parachronistic incongruities, and if he doesn’t, ask him who does,” Mr. Dunworthy said. “And then I want you to go over to the cathedral.”
“The cathedral?” Finch said, alarmed. “What if Lady Schrapnell’s there?”
“Hide in the Drapers’ Chapel,” Mr. Dunworthy said. “See if there’s anyone over there who works in Time Travel, anyone at all. There has to be someone around with more experience than an undergraduate.”
Finch said, “Right away, sir,” and crossed over to me. He put the headrig in my ear. “The subliminal tapes, sir,” he said.
I started to roll up my sleeve for the hypnotic.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to use drugs in your condition,” he said. “You’ll have to listen to them at normal
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