Chateau d'Eternité E-Book

Ariel Tachna

• Herausgeber: Dreamspinner Press
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 293

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2013

Beschreibung

When Russ Peterson accepts an invitation to an all-expense-paid vacation at a castle in southern France, he doesn't expect to learn he has the ability to travel through time. For a historian, it's a dream come true, offering the chance to find answers to the mysteries of the past. But it's not without risks—to Russ and to the world as he knows it. After a few short supervised visits, Russ still hasn't made up his mind about his newfound abilities. Then, on his first extended trip, he meets Quentus Maximus, second in command to the Legate of Nemausus. While learning firsthand about the realities of life in Roman Gaul, Russ is shocked by his reaction to Quentus's dominant nature. After a week with Quentus, Russ's vacation is up, and he realizes he wants a chance to see if their relationship can flourish. Arranging a year-long sabbatical from work to give time to make the decision is easy. Figuring out if he can live with Quentus's dominant nature long-term, and finding a way to establish a life for himself in Roman Gaul, is an entirely different matter.

Leseprobe

ARIEL TACHNA

Contemporary M/M Romance at its Finest

Chase the Stars

“…Ms. Tachna has the talent to take everyday life and weave it into something special that leaves the reader sitting back just feeling good and wanting more.” —Hearts on Fire Reviews

“Ms. Tachna remains one of my favorite authors. She allows her characters time to grow and develop and doesn’t force strange circumstances to push or pull her characters in ways their behavior doesn’t indicate is realistic for them.” —Mrs. Condit

Inherit the Sky

“…a well-crafted, beautiful book that I would recommend to anyone looking for a love story that takes courage.” —Guilty Indulgence

“I enjoyed this excellently researched and written book very much and hope there will be additional stories about all of the characters on and near the Lang Downs sheep station.” —Mrs. Condit

“This story is beautifully, realistically handled.” —Joyfully Jay

Overdrive

“After reading this story, I wonder when exactly Ariel last raced over the Sahara because all the details are there, making this story authentic from every angle.”  —Joyfully Jay

Seducing C.C.

“…a great comfort read.” —Blackraven Reviews

“…a seductively sexy and romantic story.” —Night Owl Reviews

Once in a Lifetime

“… a coming-of-age story that introduces heart-pounding firsts and nostalgic lasts.” —¡Miraculous!

NOVELSBY ARIEL TACHNA

Château d'Eternité

Fallout

Her Two Dads

Inherit the Sky • Chase the Stars

The Inventor’s Companion

The Matelot

Once in a Lifetime

Overdrive

Out of the Fire

Seducing C.C.

Stolen Moments

A Summer Place

THE PARTNERSHIPIN BLOOD NOVELS

Alliance in Blood • Covenant in Blood • Conflict in Blood • Reparation in Blood

Perilous Partnership

Reluctant Partnerships

Lycan Partnership

WITH NICKI BENNETT

Checkmate • All For One

Hot Cargo

Under the Skin

WITH MADELEINE URBAN

Sutcliffe Cove

NOVELLASBY ARIEL TACHNA

Healing in His Wings

Rediscovery

Rose Among the Ruins

Why Nileas Loved the Sea

WITH NICKI BENNETT

Something About Harry

Tying the Knot

THE EXPLORING LIMITS SERIES

AVAILABLEAT DREAMSPINNER PRESS

http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com

Copyright

Published by

Dreamspinner Press

5032 Capital Circle SWSte 2, PMB# 279Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886

USA

http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Château d’Eternité

Copyright © 2013 by Ariel Tachna

Cover Art by Anne Cain   

[email protected]

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press, 5032 Capital Circle SW, Ste 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886, USA.

http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/

ISBN: 978-1-62380-606-4

Digital ISBN: 978-1-62380-607-1

Printed in the United States of America

First Edition

March 2013

Château d’Eternité previously available as a free short story, published by Dreamspinner Press, June 2012.

To Jaime, who helped me make Russ and Quentus believable.

Chapter  1

RUSS PETERSONstared down at the invitation, bemusement and curiosity filling him.

You are cordially invited to

a two-week retreat at

château d’Eternité.

That was it. No explanation, no dates, no details. Just the embossed card in his hand.

Oh, and a round-trip plane ticket to France in his name, as well as a first-class ticket on the TGV from Paris to Marseille and the phone number of a car service in Marseille.

He was tempted to toss it all in the trash. He couldn’t find a name anywhere on the envelope other than the one on the invitation: château d’Eternité.

There was a solution to that. He sat down at his computer and typed the name into the search window, waiting to see what came up. Images displayed first, pictures of a house that could have come out of his Renaissance history books, with fanciful turrets and spires gracing the towers and a beautiful mishmash of styles that suggested renovations over time. Architecture wasn’t his forte, but he’d learned enough as a sidebar to history to place most European buildings in the correct century, anyway. He got lost once he crossed into Asia. Scrolling down a little more, he found a couple of travelogues from people talking about their amazing visit to château d’Eternité and how it had opened whole new worlds to them. He couldn’t find an actual Web site for the organization or person who ran the retreats, which seemed odd, but the travelogues were on reputable sites, so he figured he could trust them; especially when while reading through them he found enough differences in description and detail to feel like they hadn’t all been written by the same person.

The dates for the tickets corresponded rather freakily with the two weeks of vacation he had agreed to take because his boss had threatened to fire him if he didn’t use some of his accrued days. Russ didn’t think his boss could get away with that, legally, but he’d chosen two random weeks in March and then promptly forgotten about them.

It wouldn’t be so bad, maybe, if he had someone to plan a vacation with, but he’d never met anyone, male or female—he didn’t really care which—who would put up with him for more than a month or two.

Maybe going to France for two weeks wouldn’t be such a bad idea. It would be a change of scenery, if nothing else. It wouldn’t cost him anything, and it wasn’t like he’d made other plans. He could take the books he’d planned to read on the development of guns and their impact on warfare in the late Middle Ages and the Renaissance to read there, if nothing else. Then when people asked what he did on his vacation, he’d have something impressive to tell them instead of saying he’d sat around his apartment and read for two weeks.

ITWAS a lot colder in France than in Arizona.

That was the first thought that crossed Russ’s mind when the plane landed in Paris. Even with his warmest sweatshirt on under his jacket—more layers than he ever needed in Tucson—the wind bit through him, licking at his ankles, hands, and chin, swirling up his pants legs and down the back of his shirt and leaving him shivering. Fortunately the inside of the terminal was warm while he waited to get his bags, and the line for taxis was short. The driver spoke very little English, but Russ remembered enough of his high-school French to ask for the Gare de Lyon, s’il vous plaît. If the man rolled his eyes at Russ’s butchering of the pronunciation, he still took Russ where he wanted to go, and that was the important thing.

Navigating the train station was another exercise in frustration and freezing. The platforms were covered, but while the vaulted roof would keep out the rain and the three walls blocked some of the breeze, the fourth open wall did nothing to hold in the heat. He found a café and ordered coffee to warm up while he waited for his train to arrive. The waiter spoke enough English to ask where he was going. He answered only “Marseille,” figuring the waiter wouldn’t have heard of the château d’Eternité.

“It’s nice in Marseille this time of year,” the waiter agreed. “Is too cold to swim still, but the beaches, they are beautiful, and the flowers have started to bloom.”

Russ doubted they’d be blooming up in the mountains, but he settled for smiling and agreeing. “That will be pleasant, I’m sure. I can sit in a café near the beach and read.”

“A very agreeable way to spend a vacation,” the waiter replied, giving Russ his coffee and the check.

Deciding he might as well start, he dug his book out of his backpack.

“Guns, Germs, and Steel,” the waiter read from the cover of the book when he came back to check on Russ a few minutes later. “That is not light vacation reading.”

“It is for me,” Russ said, feeling defensive. “No messy emotions to get in the way, just historical fact and interesting theories based on those facts. Of course, someone else could take those same facts and come up with completely different theories. That’s where the joy comes from.”

“And none of us will ever know the truth,” the waiter replied.

Russ smiled ruefully. “Not until someone invents time travel.”

THE TGV was every bit as nice as Russ had been led to expect, rolling quietly out of the station exactly on time and picking up speed as soon as they cleared the Paris city limits. He pulled his book back out of his backpack and settled in to pass the three and a half hours to Marseille in the best of all possible ways.

When they slowed down to pull into Marseille, he looked up, finding it hard to believe the time had passed already, but he dutifully put his book away and retrieved his suitcase from the luggage vestibule at the end of the car.

He’d made arrangements with the car company mentioned on the invitation to pick him up at the train station and drive him up to the château. They had assured him a driver would meet him.

Stepping out of the train, he took a moment to appreciate the sun on his face. It still wasn’t as warm as Tucson, but it was definitely warmer than Paris had been, and he could smell the salt breeze off the ocean over the exhaust from the trains.

Looking around, he found a man in a dark suit holding a sign with his name on it. He identified himself to the driver, who took his bag and led him to a black car of a make and model Russ didn’t recognize. Then again, he’d already realized he wasn’t going to recognize a lot of things on this side of the ocean.

“Make yourself comfortable,” the driver said. “We will be at château d’Eternité in about forty-five minutes.”

Russ considered pulling his book back out, but then the architecture in Marseille caught his eye, and he stopped to remind himself where he was. He was in one of the oldest cities in France, founded by the Phoceans in 600 BCE. As a student of history, he could hardly justify burying his nose in a book, even a history book, when he could be drinking in the ambience and the reality of that history played out in all its myriad layers. Driving through the city wouldn’t be the same as getting out and exploring on his own, but maybe he could come down for a day or leave a day or two early and explore some of the historical sites he’d only ever read about in books. He’d kick himself later if he didn’t.

As they left Marseille and began to climb into the mountains, the sense of being surrounded by history faded somewhat, but the natural beauty of the region took its place, and Russ left the book in his backpack, enjoying the sight of the jagged, snow-covered Alps and the narrow, winding roads that traversed them. They passed through the occasional small village, tucked in a valley here and there, but for the most part, they could have been in the middle of nowhere or several thousand years earlier, before people had settled this region.

Russ scolded himself for his flights of fancy, but the sense of timelessness lingered as they passed beneath a wrought iron gate between two stone pillars with the same coat of arms on them as Russ had seen on the front of the invitation he had received.

The car stopped in front of the château, as beautiful in reality as it had been in the pictures. The lawn was not quite as green, unsurprising in this season, and patches of snow still lingered under the trees, but hardy pansies bloomed in the beds on either side of the impressive front staircase, and the fine gravel driveway was freshly raked and well-tended, giving the impression of luxurious elegance, an impression carried over into the façade of the building.

The carved wood door swung open and a distinguished gentleman of indeterminate age descended the steps to meet them. “Russell Peterson, I presume?”

“Yes, I’m Russ.”

“Bernard Dunevon, your host. Welcome to château d’Eternité.”

The man’s English was accented but flawless, easing one of Russ’s concerns. “Thank you, but I have to admit I’m a little puzzled as to why I’m here.”

“All things in good time,” Bernard said. “Come inside and we’ll get you settled. Then we’ll have time for a nice long talk. Are you a student of history, Monsieur Peterson?”

“Russ,” he corrected automatically. “And yes, I’m fascinated by history. Why do you ask?”

“Because that makes things so much simpler,” Bernard replied, an answer that gave Russ no information whatsoever. “Do you have a favorite time period?”

“Not really,” Russ said. “I mean, there are so many reasons to like so many different time periods. I’m focusing on the end of the Middle Ages right now.”

“Then the François1er room should suit admirably.”

Bernard led Russ through the front doors and into the main hall of the castle. He was sure the older man would call it a manor house or something like that, but as far as Russ was concerned, it was a castle. Elegant rugs covered the stone floors and candles burned in the sconces, adding a sense of timelessness to the room. Glancing upward, Russ saw an electric chandelier hanging where a true chandelier full of candles had once resided, but at that height and in this day and age, electric was far more practical. It was, however, the only identifiable change to the castle. If candles had burned overhead, they could have been in the sixteenth century as easily as the twenty-first.

“Your room is just at the top of the stairs,” Bernard said. “Hopefully it will be to your taste, but if it is not, please tell me and we will find something else that suits.”

“I’m sure it will be fine,” Russ replied.

The spiral staircase rivaled the one designed by da Vinci at the château de Chambord, a double helix of stairs that tricked the eye and the mind. The two men reached the upper floor, and Russ felt time slip away from him. His and Bernard’s modern dress seemed completely out of place as Bernard opened the door to show Russ his room. He stepped inside to a medieval bedchamber, from the curtained bed on its raised dais to the fire burning in the fireplace and the heavy tapestries lining the walls to keep out the damp and chill.

“I will leave you to get settled,” Bernard said. “When you have freshened up from your trip, please join me in the parlor for an aperitif. We have much to discuss.”

Russ had a feeling that was an understatement, but he simply nodded as Bernard left, shutting the door and leaving Russ alone. He took a couple of deep breaths, reminding himself he hadn’t somehow slipped through time to end up back in the Middle Ages. Bernard was dressed in a suit of modern, if slightly outmoded, style. The chandelier had been electric, even if he saw no electric fixtures in this room. The tapestries and rugs, beautiful as they were, had to be careful reproductions, because no one would actually use medieval pieces that way. No one could afford to. The originals in the museums were all so fragile they had to be displayed in climate controlled rooms or cases.

The best thing to do was get an explanation, and that meant “freshening up” and going down to talk to Bernard. He found a pitcher of water next to a basin on the dresser with a towel beside it, so he used that to wash his face and hands. His jeans and sweatshirt suddenly seemed out of place. He hadn’t packed a lot of dressier clothes because they didn’t travel well, but he had brought one suit, figuring the elegance of the invitation might correspond to some degree of formality. He hadn’t seen any other guests, so he couldn’t use that to judge what might be appropriate. Stripping down, he decided to err on the side of caution.

His suit wasn’t new, but since he didn’t have a lot of occasion to wear it, it was still in good condition, and it fit him well. He wouldn’t ever be a dashing hero, but he was presentable enough. He brushed his longish red hair out of his face. He never gave it any thought until it fell in his eyes and interfered with his reading, but it was maybe time to get it cut again. He couldn’t do anything about the paper cuts on his hands, the victim of too much time handling dusty, old books, but none of them were bleeding at the moment, so that was good. The lines around his eyes, which he’d developed from squinting to read the sometimes cramped handwriting of source texts, weren’t overly obvious in the candlelight, although he wouldn’t bet on them staying so well hidden under more modern lighting. All in all, he was as presentable as he was going to get.

After taking one final deep breath to steady himself, he returned to the front hall, hoping he would be able to find the parlor Bernard had mentioned.

“Ah, Monsieur Peterson,” Bernard said, coming into the foyer from somewhere else on the ground floor. “I didn’t expect you back downstairs so quickly. Our guests often take a little longer to settle in to the ambiance here at the château.”

“It certainly is quite atmospheric,” Russ agreed, “but fascinating. The attention to detail is astounding. You must have some incredible decorators to create such elaborate reproductions.”

Bernard smiled. “As you say. Shall we retire to the parlor? It gets chilly here in the front hall in the evenings. The fire will be most welcome.”

Russ nodded and followed Bernard into the parlor, another amazingly appointed room, this time in the Baroque style. The sideboards were heavily gilded with ebony veneer and beautifully lacquered scenes. The armchairs near the fire were similarly carved and gilded, the brocade on the cushions catching and reflecting the light of the fire. “I feel like I’ve walked into a museum,” Russ said.

“Not quite,” Bernard replied. “What can I offer you? A glass of champagne? Some sherry or vermouth? Or perhaps a kir?”

“Um, whatever you’re having is fine,” Russ said. “I… I’m not a big drinker.”

“Then we’ll have kir,” Bernard said. “A sweeter flavor than champagne.”

Russ shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other as Bernard prepared their drinks. He wanted to explore the room, but he didn’t want to seem rude. It struck him as equally rude to sit without being asked.

Bernard turned back around, glasses in hand. “Sit, sit,” he urged, herding Russ toward the fireplace. “We are not a museum. You should never hesitate to use our pieces for the purposes they were intended.”

Russ took one of the two chairs and the drink Bernard offered him. Bernard sat in the other chair and clinked his glass against Russ’s.

“To open minds and new adventures.”

“That sounds ominous,” Russ said, but he took a sip of his drink nonetheless. The light fruit flavor surprised him. He’d expected something harsher. “This is good. What is it called again?”

“A kir,” Bernard said. “Bourgogne Aligoté and crème de cassis. It’s a regional specialty of Burgundy, but one that is well appreciated all over l’Hexagone.”

Russ almost asked for a clarification of the last reference as well, but Bernard didn’t give him a chance. “You must be wondering what you’re doing here.”

“I’ll admit to a certain curiosity,” Russ said, fully conscious of the understatement.

“You’re here because your last round of medical tests at your physical indicated a genetic marker that is of particular interest to the denizens of château d’Eternité.”

“Denizens?” Russ repeated, nerves jangling at the thought of some stranger having access to his medical records. He forced himself not to freak out yet, though. He would hear Bernard out before he decided if a meltdown was in order. “I haven’t seen anyone but you.”

“I am the only resident at the moment,” Bernard admitted, “but there are about twenty people who live here for some portion of the year. The rest of the year, they are traveling.”

“Traveling where?” Russ asked. “Look, I don’t know what this is about, but stop talking in circles and just tell me. Am I sick?”

“You aren’t sick at all, Russ. You’re gifted, and to answer your question about where, the answer is anywhere, indeed anywhen they want.”

Russ rolled his eyes. “Anywhen? That’s not even a word, and you’re implying… what? That they can travel through time?” The very thought was so ludicrous he felt stupid even saying it.

“Yes,” Bernard said, “that’s what I’m implying, and no, I don’t expect you to believe it. Not yet, anyway. No one does when they first come here. I didn’t believe it when I first came here forty years ago either. Now I’m the guardian of the château and its secrets.”

Russ rose from the chair, pacing in agitation as he ran one hand through his hair. Time travel. If he understood correctly, the affable old man sitting next to the fire with a perfectly sanguine look on his face was telling Russ people could travel through time, that he could travel through time. “How? How is this possible?”

“That is a question for the ages,” Bernard said, “but if you sit down, I will tell you what I do know. It won’t answer all your questions, because some of them have no answers, but perhaps it will answer some of them.”

Russ returned slowly to his seat, trying to open his mind to the possibilities of whatever Bernard would say. His ability to look beyond the obvious made him an asset at the university history department as he pored over old records, seeing not just what was there but what was missing. He needed to turn that same sharp mind to this new problem. “Okay, I’m listening.”

“As I said, you have a genetic abnormality that was identified in your last routine medical exam,” Bernard said. “That mutation allows you the ability to move through time. Before you ask, no, it appears not to be an inherited trait. We know of no instances of two people in the same family having the ability. It appears to be a completely random mutation. Once the mutation occurs, the ability will manifest of its own accord on the person’s thirty-fifth birthday or, if it happens after that age, on their next birthday—if they haven’t already learned about the ability, and how to control it, before then. And no, we don’t know what it is about that age, or birthdays in general, that triggers the ability, but we have seen it happen consistently.”

“Okay,” Russ said slowly. “Assuming this is all true, assuming I believe you managed to get hold of my medical records despite all the layers of privacy surrounding them these days, that still doesn’t tell me why I’m here. Why not just let it happen in three years when I turn thirty-five? Why go to the expense of maintaining this place and bringing me over and all the rest?”

“Because the dangers of time travel are not inconsiderable,” Bernard said with a Gallic shrug. “Not only to yourself, but also to the stream of history and to life as we know it. Dangerous enough that the greater good supersedes those layers of privacy you mentioned. We can trace a number of catastrophic events in history to someone traveling back unprepared and leaving behind absolute chaos. The assassination of Julius Caesar and the ensuing war, the assassination of Archduke Ferdinand that triggered World War I, the sacking of Rome that led to the Dark Ages… there are others, but you begin to see the problem.”

“The world would be a completely different place if those things hadn’t happened,” Russ said, his mind racing as he considered all that might have happened and not happened if the knowledge held within the Roman Empire had not been forgotten, if World War I had not reforged the face of Europe, if…. “God, the possibilities!”

“Indeed,” Bernard said. “It is possible to shift through time without setting off such dire consequences, with training, care, and practice, but you can see why we might not want people discovering the ability without assistance. Once we identify them, we bring them here to teach them how to use their abilities before they manifest naturally.”

“Assuming I believe the rest of it, then, yes, I can see that,” Russ said. “So I’m here for two weeks of training?”

“Essentially, yes,” Bernard replied, “but you are still skeptical. Perhaps a demonstration?”

“A harmless one?” Russ asked.

“I do my best to make all my time travel harmless,” Bernard replied with a wry smile. He extended his hand.

Russ shifted his weight from one foot to the other, hoping his nerves weren’t as obvious in his movements as they were in the racing of his pulse, and accepted Bernard’s hand.

He couldn’t have said what he was expecting since he’d never actually thought about what it would feel like to travel through time, but he would have expected something, some physical sensation of displacement, disorientation, movement… something.

Instead, everything got blurry for a moment, and when it came back into focus, they were somewhere else. Russ had no idea where, but the elaborate baroque furniture was gone, replaced by simple, almost rustic pieces, and only a few. A bed with a mattress over a rope frame, a plain chest of drawers with wooden handles, and a single, straight-backed chair with a wooden seat and no cushion were the full contents of the room.

“Where are we?”

Bernard didn’t answer, gesturing toward the small, single-paned window on one wall. Russ went to the glass and peered out, but the quality was so poor he could barely make out the shapes of anything outside. It took him a minute to figure out the unfamiliar catch on the casement, but once he got it open and stuck his head out, the scene in front of him stole his breath.

He had never been to Versailles, but he had seen enough pictures to recognize it, except that he’d never seen it like this, with one wing still under construction—construction, not renovation—and the grounds only partially planted, with workers digging beds next to those other men were planting.

The men had horses and carts, shovels and picks, but not a single mechanical tool in sight. No electric wires, no tractors or backhoes—just saws and axes, shovels and the strength of their backs to carve out the gardens, levers and pulleys to lift the heavy stones, and mortar and trowel to fit them in place.

Russ pulled his head back in and sat down hard on the chair. “We’re in Versailles, probably in the 1680s because they’re still working on the gardens, and Le Notre died in 1700.”

“Impressive,” Bernard said. “You do know your history. It is, in point of fact, 1678. Jules Hardouin-Mansart is in the middle of adding the second story and the north and south wings. It will take several more years before everything is truly completed, but already Versailles is the crown jewel of the French royal palaces.”

“And we are in…?”

“The servants’ quarters,” Bernard said. “Shall we return to the château d’Eternité? I imagine you have questions.”

Russ wanted to protest leaving so soon, but they were hardly dressed to go exploring. He nodded and held out his hand. As Bernard took it, the door behind them opened and a man walked in.

The scene blurred out before Russ could speak.

When it cleared again, they were back in the parlor of the château d’Eternité. “That man,” Russ said. “He saw us. Is that going to cause a problem?”

Bernard chuckled. “Why do you think I chose that room to take you to, still in modern dress and totally unprepared for what you might see? That is Gilles. He works at Versailles in the kitchens when he is not wandering through time looking for more interesting adventures.”

“He’s one of us?”

“You are taking this better than most,” Bernard said, returning to his seat. “Yes, he is one of us and has given me permission to use his room during the day while he is working.”

“So explain this to me,” Russ said, sitting down again as well. “I can travel through time, or I can if you help me, anyway, but you said there were dangers, so there must be rules, or guidelines, at least.”

“There are,” Bernard said. “Would you care for another kir? Dinner will be served in an hour, and there may be others joining us. We never know when others will return.”

Russ blinked a couple of times, trying to sort out everything in his head, but he quickly gave up. This wasn’t about sense. It simply was.

“Um, no, thank you,” he said when he realized Bernard was waiting for an answer. “I need to concentrate so I’ll remember everything you’re saying. I don’t want to mess up later.”

“You don’t mind if I do?” Bernard asked. “Traveling is more exhausting than it used to be, and I find a little glass of something restorative upon my return makes quite the difference.”

“Of course,” Russ said.

Bernard refilled his glass and returned. “So, then, the rules, as you called them. The most important one, the one that you must not violate under any circumstances, is that you must not try to change history, your own or anyone else’s. The repercussions of doing so could be cataclysmic.”

“Isn’t my simple presence in the past enough to change it?” Russ asked. “If I wasn’t there before but am there now, doesn’t that change it by definition?”

“Yes, but there are changes and then there are changes. If you go to the past and do your best to fit in, to blend in, any changes your presence generates will be small ones, the ripples caused by a raindrop on a large lake, but if you go to the past with the intention of, for example, assassinating Hitler before he can rise to power, the changes you cause will be like a storm on the ocean, so destructive and far-reaching that you might not even have a present to come home to. For better and for worse, Hitler’s rise to power shaped the world as we know it today. Changing that would so change the present that you might not be able to get home. Indeed you might not exist anymore. It is a risk we will not take.”

Russ nodded. “I understand the difference. No messing with the history books.”

“Secondly, you must not return to a time in your own lifetime. Neither you nor your past self will survive that confluence. The universe knows there should only be one of you during the past thirty-two years. If you create a situation where there are two of you, something will happen to alleviate that overlap, and that will change your history irreparably as well.”

“You know this?” Russ asked.

Bernard nodded. “It has been part of our lore as far back as I have been able to trace, but twice in recent years, people have disregarded the rule and not returned. When I checked later, I found no records of the person beyond the date to which they returned and no trace of either body.”

Russ shuddered. His life hadn’t been all a bed of roses, but he couldn’t think of anything worth taking that risk to change. He hoped the people who’d disregarded the rule had gotten what they hoped for out of their sacrifices.

“Anything else?”

“The amount of time you spend in the past is the amount of time that will have elapsed here when you return to the present,” Bernard said. “If you are gone for five minutes, like when we went to Versailles, chances are no one will even notice, but if you go for a week or a month or more, be prepared to explain your absence when you return, or prepare for it before you leave, so no one will worry about unanswered e-mails, unreturned phone calls, absences from work. Time as a whole is fluid. Your timeline is not.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Russ said. “If I can choose a time in the past to go to, why can’t I choose a time in the present to return to?”

Bernard shrugged. “Because you can’t. Because none of us have ever been able to do that, even when we have tried to do so deliberately. You can move from one point in the past to another point in the past, but your return home will always take you to that amount of time after your departure, no matter how specifically you attempt to control it.”

“If you say so.”

“I do,” Bernard replied.

Laughter in the hall interrupted them.

“And if you don’t believe me, you can ask our new guests at dinner,” Bernard suggested. “I believe that will be Chou and Linda returning. They wanted to see the crowning of the Jianwen Emperor.”

“So space is as fluid as time?” Russ asked. “I mean, we were here, then we were in Versailles. You’re talking about them going to China.”

“Only from here,” Bernard replied, “and no, I don’t know why, before you ask. If you are at home, you can travel back to that location at any point in the past, but only from here can you move to other locations. That is why we bring everyone here to begin. If you travel to the past and then move away from that place, you may not be able to return there safely. If you need to get out in a hurry, you need a safe place to come. You will always be able to come here as well, even if you left from home.”

“That doesn’t—”

“Make sense,” Bernard finished. “I didn’t say it made sense. I said it’s the way it is. We didn’t make up these rules. We have just learned to abide by them for our safety and the safety of the rest of the universe.”

The door to the parlor opened wider and two people came in, obviously of Chinese descent and still wearing the garb of fourteenth-century China. “Hallo, Bernard,” the man said. “Got a new one tonight?”

“Good evening, Chou,” Bernard said. “This is Russ. Perhaps you should change before dinner. Your clothes are still in your room.”

“But I like these clothes,” Chou replied.

“The wardrobes are open for anyone to borrow from, but we expect them to be returned when you’re done with them,” Bernard reminded him. “We will see you at dinner.”

“Wardrobes?” Russ asked when Chou left.