Tyche
Copyright© 2020 by Old Man with a Pen
Chapter 9
“Ah ... Mr. Doubting Thomas Edwards ... you’re going with me.”
She reached out, touched him and flickered.
“Good Lord ... they really did burn her at the stake ... I always thought Joan was a myth,” Mr. Edwards was dressed as an English missile soldier. Longbow with quiver and assorted arrows, a sword, a dirk, a large hammer and a hodgepodge of battlefield pickup armor. He was ‘Fit’ and haunted looking.
“Well? How long?” I asked.
“Two years,” he said. “We were there two years!”
He blinked. “I didn’t believe you ... now I do.” He turned and said, “Tyche ... what is New Zealand like?”
“Glorious ... just turning to spring. Very green, the mountains on South are snow covered. Skiers are getting in the après-ski parties until the holiday. North students are studying for PATs and Science. I’d be second year secondary ... probably a bundle of hormones ... And cyclone season coming up.” I said. “What was the Hundred Years War like?”
“Bloody ... and bloody awful,” he said. “I’d be dead if it wasn’t for Junior. I got in so much trouble.”
“Easy to do when you have no chance to plan,” Junior said. “At the very least ... I didn’t just ‘drop’ you back then.”
“If I hadn’t had a Masters in Renaissance England History, I’d have been burnt toast ... and most likely well crispy,” Mr. Edwards said. “Witch hunters, everyone of them.
“Wait a minute... ‘drop me back then’ ... you said that with the voice of experience. You’ve done that?”
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