“What’s this?” snapped Foster. “When he stopped here, he told us that he was to be well received at the Scottish Court”
“And so he probably would have been,” nodded Harold soberly, “had he arrived at Alexander’s court. But as you know, Alexander had many enemies, more even than his brother and successor, James. Just north of Selkirk Mr. Collier’s party was taken by the Earl of Errol and a strong force of his retainers. By the time royal and episcopal pressures forced that noble-born bandit to give up his captives, only Collier remained alive … but he had lost his mind.”
“Then he was not, after all, with Alexander’s army, last year? And it was just happenstance that they besieged this hall?” inquired Foster.
“Oh, no, Bass,” said Harold. “For all that Collier was by then in his monastery cell, Alexander was certain that Whyffler Hall still was the site of the manufactory of unhallowed niter, his information derived of his spies with the English army, whose information was, of course, out of date, thanks to you.
“Frankly, Bass, I doubted it could be done, doubted that anyone could shepherd all those folk and heavy wagons from here down to York in the dead of winter. When you rode north, I did not expect to see you and what remained of your train before spring. It was Arthur had faith in your abilities and determination, he and the Reichsregent.
“I am told that when the late Duke of Shrewsbury informed His Highness that what you were about to attempt was impossible, Arthur replied: ‘Cousin, / know that and you know that Squire Foster obviously does not and let us pray that no one tells him until after he has accomplished it … as he will.”
The Archbishop sipped at his steaming drink, then sighed, “Ahhh, this ale is fine, truly fine. You know, old King Hal often remarked that Northcountry ale was the finest in his
realm.” His old eyes misted, then, “Good old Hal, bless his noble soul, I miss him right often.”
Foster slowly shook his head, saying, “I still find it hard to seriously think that you’re as old as you told Krys you are.”
Harold smiled fleetingly. “I was three weeks shy of my fortieth birthday when I received the initial longevity treatment, Bass. All those of us scientists who had had even a slight part in its development were given the full treatment, at the direction of the director of the project, before he turned it over to the government. Since that time, I have physically aged one year for every four point sixty-eight years I have lived, and that rate could be doubled or tripled, had I but access to the necessary chemicals and a modern laboratory in which to process them . . . which, friend Bass, is why your house is in the here-and-now intact, with all systems functioning.”
Foster sat in silence. He had heard it all from Krystal, but still he wanted to hear the original version of the story.
Harold extended his legs, so that the fire’s heat could beat up under his cassock. “It was fifteen . . . no, sixteen years after longevity had become a reality—for a few, and those carefully chosen by a dictatorial government, but that’s another tale—that I became involved in the Oamebird Project A hundred years after the prime of Einstein and still no one was certain as to the exact nature of time, and now, more than a century later and after all I have seen and undergone in that span, I can give no hard and fast answer or definition.
“Gamebird and its dozens of related sub-projects went on and on, lavishly funded by the government, which saw in the project a possible way to rob the past of the raw materials which were in such short supply—thanks in no small part to the greed and inefficiency of that very government and its predecessors, I might add. Most of our facilities were located in a complex built upon riverside land that once had been used for the purpose of raising small feathered and furred game for the restocking of designated wilderness areas. From . what occurred, I would assume that the main chemistry laboratory was on the same coordinates as was your house.