“And you just arrived?” the man asked. “Just now?”
“Yep.”
“You don’t feel ill?”
“Nope.”
“Remarkable. When my companion and I came through, eight years ago, we arrived desperately ill. I had a fever, cramps, and severe diarrhea for two days. My companion was so ill, I feared for his life. I’ve been told that two young men died after coming through, some years before we did.”
“How about two women and one man, a month ago?”
“What did they look like?”
“The women looked young, like maybe twenty years, one of them pretty, the other one twice as pretty. The prettiest one had red hair, the other reddish brown.”
“And green eyes?”
“Green and tilty. What happened to them?”
“I understand they were provided with horses and an escort, and left. I didn’t actually see them. They’re said to belong to a powerful, um—it translates to Sisterhood, but actually it seems to be some sort of politically influential power group.” He paused, curious. “What do you know of them?”
“I’m married to the red-headed one. Her name is Varia. She’s a sort of witch, but nothing bad. No deals with the devil or anything.”
“I’ve heard,” the man said, “that one arrived manacled.”
“That’s her. That’s my wife. They came and took her away while I was in town. I followed them to get her back, but didn’t catch up with them, so I got me a rifle and pistol, and waited till the gate opened again.” He drew the .44. “Lost the rifle when I came through, and this didn’t work when I tried to use it.”
“Ah. Ours didn’t either. We’d thought perhaps it was the ammunition, but if yours didn’t . . .”
“Maybe guns don’t work in this world.”
The old man shook his head. “Our human biochemistry functions properly here. I can’t imagine why nitrocellulose wouldn’t explode.” He sighed, got up carefully and held out a hand. “Excuse my lack of manners. I am, or was, Doctor Edward Talbott, a professor of psychology at the University of Missouri. Just now my profession is slave, and normally at this time of day, I’d be working at some sort of hard labor. Yesterday, however, I was quite ill, with a fever, so I’ve been given a day to recover. My health has been surprisingly good here, so far as infections are concerned. My problems have been structural: arthritis, actually.”
“Mine is that sonofabitch’s spear. I don’t suppose you’d look at my rear end and see how bad he stabbed me?”
“I can look, but I’m afraid I have nothing for bandages. Just a moment.” A fat stub of candle squatted on the table. He took it to the fireplace and lit it at an ember, then came back. Macurdy pulled down his overalls and trousers and bent over a bit. “They don’t seem severe,” Talbott said. “The bleeding has stopped, though obviously there was quite a bit of it earlier.”
Macurdy pulled his trousers up and sat down on the bench, hissing with pain as he did. Then they talked. Macurdy didn’t have to pump Talbott; the professor was starved to talk with someone newly from the other side. Mostly he talked about this side; things the newcomer needed to know. He also speculated that the sergeant who’d brought Macurdy in might suspect him of connections with the Sisterhood. “That would account for your arriving functional,” he added, “and for his treating you with restraint, despite what you did to one of his men.”
He changed the subject. “You referred to your wife as a witch. What does she do that seems ‘witchy’? I’m very interested in the paranormal; it’s what drew me to Injun Knob.”
“What she does ain’t any kind of normal,” Macurdy answered. “For one thing, when I was five years old, she could pass for twenty. And when I was twenty-five, she could still pass for twenty, just as easy. And she can lay a spell on you, at least if you’re willing.
“She says I’ve got the blood line for magic, too—that my great-great-grampa ran away from the Sisterhood. For a couple of weeks she spelled me about every evening and had me doing drills. To ‘open up my powers,’ she said. Which might be why I didn’t get sick, crossing over. But I never showed much sign of magic powers.”