Chapter 1

Accidental Crossroads:

The odds of finding a single instance of scientific magic may be settled by the number of occurrences divided by the population of the earth at the time of the occurrences. Naturally, it is necessary for said occurrences to be revealed ... If it's not written down, it never happened.

Since we only know of one occurrence and the population at the time was seven billion the odds are 1:7,000,000,000. Since, on this particular occasion, the first instance was accompanied by a second bit of scientific magic, are the odds reduced to 1:3,500,000,000 or they magnified to 1:14,000,000,000?

What are these instances? A sapphire ring and a time travel watch.

Neither of said occurrences were predictable. Both were accidental, impossible, improbable but coincidental and completely uncalled for.

The house had been unoccupied for one hundred and seventy three years and, as such, the abode of many indigent ... and not so indigent ... who lived, roosted, hid or played in the house. The house was unoccupied because the heir had to survive until his ... or her... 25th birthday. None had.

The family was singularly unlucky in survivorship. Fortunately, there was a little hanky-panky that resulted in formal shotguns ... white with chrome ... and unfriendly judges. The first wedding was recorded ... the others were the stuff of legend.

"Say I do, boy."

"But..."

"All ye here, being of sound mind, stand witness that the young feller on the floor said I do before the unfortunate accident." The glare from the judge, best man, maid of honor and father of the crying bride convinced the assembled throng of Frogmorton, Virginia ... if the entire population of seventeen and a half people can be called a thong ... er ... throng ... that they did, indeed, hear young Jordan Flintkote utter the magic words that bound said Flintkote to Iris Shingle in Holy Matrimony.

Mrs. Flintkote, having yet to reach the thirteen years old age of consent, went home with her daddy Shingle and popped out... 7 months later ... a bouncing baby boy. Iris, was ... statuesque ... if five feet tall can be considered statuesque ... compared to her four and half foot tall elder sister, she was. She was also bounteous, mule ugly, and ... well ... you get the idea. Clocks had been known to stop when she requested the time.

Over the years, the Flintkote family name was continued by a series of unfortunate demises. Be it by fire, feast, famine, wars or pestilences the primogenitor of the sole male child was almost certain to meet with an unfortunate end before he turned 25. Nine generations were born, lived and died in that Virginia valley town. The tenth generation was born in 1943 and survived til 1968 when he was wounded in a small engagement east of Kontum and north of An Khe during the Tet offensive. It was the wound of the million dollar kind. He was sent to Saigon flown out of Tan Son Nhut, Saigon and then to Clark Airbase, Luzon, PI to Andersen Air Force Base, Guam, to Wake Island Airfield, to Hickam AFB, Hawai'i, to Travis AFB California to Virginia and Walter Reed Medical. After extensive surgery and physical therapy he was discharged, with 100% disability ... never to be a father.

The town being what it was ... very small ... where it was ... a small uninteresting valley in western Virginia ... with very little to choose from as far as prospective brides ... there being the aforesaid seven ... and a half families and not yet mentioned ... two last names ... Flintkote and Shingle. Sergeant John Flintkote was home. On his arrival, the Sheriff met him at the gas station and escorted him to the only lawyer, a Mr. Shingle.

"What we have here, John ... I may call you John? Thank you, you are very good. John, we have the last will and testament of one Jakob Flintkote, who died in 1779."

He broke the wax seal of the yellowed envelope and, affixing a pair of glasses to his nose, read ... with many a halt and stop, groan and what the hell is that ... the following.

I leave to my heir or the heir of his body, the house on Masters hill and its appurtenances, including the amount, plus interest, deposited in the Frogmorton Bank, to be distributed on his 25th birthday.

Being of sound mind and body this date 1779

Signed X (Jakob Flintkote. His Mark.)

Witness

Witness

Lawyer Shingle removed his glasses, fished in his coat pocket, retrieved a sodden florid paisley handkerchief and wiped his freely perspiring brow. The bright red kerchief was the only spot of color in an otherwise drab room.

"The bank is still in existence ... odd to have a flourishing bank in a town with a saloon, a gas station, and seven and a half families ... Do you have your paperwork?"

John produced his DD214, military ID, military drivers license, expired Virginia Drivers License and FAA pilots license. He had yet to speak a word.

"Ah, yes. These will do fine," said Shingle.

The Sheriff nodded.

Mr. Shingle returned the papers to John and stood, "Let's go to the bank," he said. He hoisted his large brown leather briefcase from beside the desk and slung it over his shoulder by its heavy and wide leather strap.

The Frogmorton Bank was approached easily ... next door ... a single teller graced the barred station. She pressed a button and the bank president entered from a room in the back.

"Counselor Shingle, Sheriff, and who is this fine looking young man?" He turned to the young woman in the tellers cage, "Miss Shingle, is this not a fine young man?"

"Daddy," she blushed.

He laughed at her discomfort. She blushed a deeper shade of red.

"This is Mr. John Flintkote, Banker Shingle, here to see about his inheritance."

"Oh my, I'll need to see identification and proof of antecedence."

Lawyer Shingle set the briefcase on the desk and produced copies of assorted papers from the clerk of the court.

"Do you wish to start from the front of the documents or from the back?"

"The back."

Shingle presented a registered photocopy of the original note of deposit and the interest rate guaranteed from date.

"Where is the original?"

"State Capitol Historical Society, as you well know ... you vouched for it's authenticity."

The note was one of the few records preserved from that period after the war.

"What's next?"

Certificate of Live Birth, Marriage License, Death Certificate followed after Certificate of Live Birth, Marriage License, Death Certificate, ten times. The last set was missing a marriage and death.

The photocopies attested to the passage of time by the ratty and folded condition of the originals.

"I had no idea those documents existed," said Banker Shingle. He was sweating now.

Certain irregularities in bookkeeping were about to be exposed.

Over the century and a half, Ducks and Drakes had been played with the interest from the Flintkote account. Banker Shingle himself drove a nice car bought with monies illegally withdrawn from the Flintkote interest.

Lawyer Shingle knew, of course he did; Banker Shingle was his younger brother. Lawyer Shingle had known of the encroachments of his younger sibling and highly disapproved. Counselor Shingle was an oddity ... an honest lawyer ... with old school ethics.

The Shingle Family had always owned the bank ... had swindled untold thousands without a care. There would never be a Flintkote heir ... they had always died before age 25 ... it was a Flintkote family tradition.