Chapter 25

"Which Wendy?" Wendy said.

"Ja. Which Wendy Austin are you?"

"The first."

"When were you born?"

"1942."

"Ja, fer sure," he chortled. "One hundred and what? Twenty two?"

"Pretty much," Wendy said. "How about I prove it to you?"

She touched him on the shoulder. They flickered ... it wasn't much but the minions were upset ... just long enough to hit the dirt and start fumbling for pistols.

"Heilige Geschlechtsverkehr Scheiße. Wie in den sieben Höllen haben sie das getan?" Poor fucker lost his English ... again.

"Verdammt nochmal, Hans. Sie wissen, dass ich sie nicht Deutsch sprechen. In English, please. Und sie sauber zu machen ... das ist ein vierzehn Jahre alter kleiner," Wendy said.

Hans ... for, evidently, Hans was his name. He answered to it anyway. Hans visibly pulled himself together. He addressed Vee, "I'm sorry, your Highness. Please forgive my gauche language. What I asked your Grandmother, was how did she do that?" He turned back to The Wanzor, "How did you do that? You don't have a watch."

"You know about The Watchers?" asked Vee.

"Everybody knows about the time travelers. Your Junior made certain of that," he said. "The General Admiral of your country."

"You called?" said Junior. "Hi Wendy, Vee. Who is this?" She eyed him up and down and up halfway, "He's certainly a BIG one."

"Triplets!" Hans said.

"Grandmother!" said Vee.

"Junior! Quit that," said The Wanzor. "I found him first."

Hans, the German giant exclaimed, "Dieses Mädchen Frau Kind ist der General Admiral der Princessapality? Wer besiegt den großen Vereinigten Staaten von Amerika? Zweimal? Ich habe die Hand schütteln. ICH Küsse ihre Füße. Sie sind die Sandraudiga, sie, die Farbstoffe der sand rot!" This girl woman child is the General Admiral of the Princessapality? The one who defeated the great United States of America? Twice? I shake your hand. I kiss your feet. You are the Sandraudiga; she who dyes the sand red! He slapped his forehead and stared in wonder. Triplets ... each one as beautiful as the next. That flaming hair ... those deep green eyes and warriors ... warriors worthy of the Germanic Gods. A man could do no better with any one of these beauties by his side.

Ve started talking with The Wanzor and Junior started chatting with the Gestapo ... not really ... but ... he Is the Federal Police. Junior speaks German like a Bavarian ... according to a Berliner ... that should be like a barbarian.

"Grannie, what?" said Vee.

"If this arrangement is going to have any hope of success, you are going to call me Wendy," she said.

"Wendy? But that's me."

"No, you are Wendolyn. I have never been Wendolyn ... My birth certificate says Wendy," she grinned. "When Dad Austin discovered I didn't have a real birth certificate ... he pulled a little something with the Witness Relocation Program and got me a good one." She shook out a well worn and tattered piece of officialdom and sure enough ... Wendy von Wanzor.

"Wendy?"

"Yes, Vee?"

"I need a place to live."

"Vee?"

"Yes, Wendy?"

"WE need a place to live. How about a boat?"

Junior suggested we look at the pad to see what Sail was for sale.

"Since when to you care?" Vee and Wendy asked.

Junior was eying the cop. "Since I decided to stay."

"Cradle robber!"

"But he's so ... pretty ... and it's been a really long time ... it's probably rusted shut ... inquire ... SAIL ... no putt putt." Junior grinned and said, "Get a big one."

As V&W was moving away, Junior yelled, "One with lots of soft flat places!"

Locally ... as in Konstanz ... everything was too small ... or too too big ... for the pocketbook. They didn't need "the Big 28 meter wooden 1920 gaff schooner," and the 10 meter was too small. All the 15 meter boats were a class ... a very narrow racing class ... like two and a half meters narrow and mostly dry sailed. Dry sailed meant they were drawn and stored when they weren't actually racing.

They started padding all the Marinas on the Bodensee.