“Can I?” Mildred asked, reaching out a hand.
Krysty dropped the tuber in her hand.
“Upon my soul, friend Ryan,” Doc said, glancing up. “These coins are English shillings. A half crown. There’s a florin here that was out of manufacture though still in usage in the 1990s when I was around.”
“I saw, Doc,” Ryan said.
“Then we’re back.” Doc closed his hand around the coins and looked out at the landscape. “We’re in England.”
“Mebbe,” Ryan said. “Don’t get your hopes up. And if we are, getting back home’s going to be tough.”
“Do you mind if I keep these?” Doc asked.
Ryan shrugged. “Don’t see as how I can use them.”
Reaching into his pocket, the old man produced a weathered and scarred coin purse. He dropped the new coins in with a clink, then jingled it. “Now, there’s a happy sound.”
Even in the near-darkness, Ryan could see Doc’s eyes glowing with the familiar light of the occasional madness that traveled with him. Being trawled through time, bereft of family, and thrown into situations that would have been impossible for most people to deal with had left its scars.
” ‘Let all the learned say what they can, ’tis ready money makes the man,'” Doc quoted. “William Somerville, Ryan.” He put the coin purse away and walked on toward the edge of the clearing. “Have you ever had a pint of English ale?”
“No,” Ryan said. He signaled Jak to stay with the old man.
“We should look,” Doc said. “Where there’s an Englishman’s pockets with coins in them for spending, there has to be a pub. The first dram is on me when we find it, and the loser of a gentlemanly game of darts shall buy the second.” He turned at the far end of the clearing, barely visible in the gloom despite the frost and the moonlight. The deep breath he took was audible, then he expelled a gust of gray vapor. “Breathe in that clean English air. You’ve never had such nectar.”
Jak remained in the brush, but hovered over the old man.
“Not food,” Mildred said, inspecting the tuber. “Not even when it was fresh.” She pinched off a small bit, crushed it between her forefinger and thumb, and smeared it against the inside of her lower lip. “Damn!” She doubled over and spit repeatedly.
“Poison?” Ryan asked.
Mildred made retching noises for a moment, then shook her head as she straightened. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Her eyes were reddened and watery. “Far from it,” she said in a hoarse voice.
Krysty popped the top on a ring-pull and passed it over.
Taking it, Mildred drank gratefully. “That,” she said, holding the tuber out, “is some kind of narcotic. If I played with it enough and had access to a labeven a modestly supplied oneI could make anything from a local anesthetic to a righteous, foot-in-your-face recreational drug that would open up whole worlds for your amusement.”
“Drugs,” Ryan said.
Mildred nodded. “A mean one, too. Somebody fooling around with that stuff would have to be real careful, because the line between recreation and rigor mortis has got to be a thin one.”
“Also means we’re close to a civilization,” Ryan announced. “Probably a large ville. Something like what you’re talking about, people got to have time on their hands to build up enough fear and paranoia to use. Small ville barely making ends meet, left on their own, they won’t put up with that kind of shit.”
“There were more bags on this man’s belt,” Krysty said. She lifted the cut end of a small rope. “Somebody took them off.”
“Whoever killed them,” Jak said. “Protecting territory.”
Ryan nodded. “Figures they won’t be very hospitable to us if they find us poking around. J.B., head us out of here. I’ll take the rear.”
The group fell into line and began moving. Doc was slower than the others, still acting as if he were having trouble keeping things together.
They hiked through the dense forest for two more hours. Though fatigued, Ryan didn’t hear any complaints from the others when he kept them moving. He changed positions with Jak first, then J.B.