"Meaning twentieth-century Ohio, of course." Nonetheless, Bayard nodded, interested. "You did not even have to lie—only slanted the issue a bit. Excellent, Harold! In fact, the study may even yield positive results. Very well, then, I'll proceed to analyze this fantasy universe to the best of my ability. I am afraid it will be rather difficult to apprise you of my results, though."
"Once a year would be enough," Shea said. "An end-of-the-year summary, as it were."
"Well, yes, I believe I could manage that—visit Ohio for a few days, once a year. Perhaps I might even work out a way of sending the report in without me ..." Bayard gazed off into space again, then gave himself a shake. "No, we'll deal with that issue at a later time. So, then, once a year it will be."
"Thanks a lot, Walter," Shea said fervently. "It will help me a lot. I'll tell you what, though—for the first year-end, I'll come visit you, okay?"
"That would be convenient," Bayard conceded, "and in return for the favor, I shall make a copy of my notes to date, detailing the magical system of Eriu."
"Not much written yet, eh?"
But there was—fifty pages of cryptic, telegraphic statements that took three hours of explanation. Bayard had the time, though, sitting by the campfire and chatting with Shea and Belphebe till almost midnight. He had not said that he would copy the notes— he had said that he would make a copy, and he did: by magic.
They parted company the next morning, as dawn was lightening the forest. Shea and Belphebe stood by the campfire, shaking Bayard's hand; his fellow druids waited impatiently at the edge of the clearing.
"Do not forget to drop by at the end of the year," Bayard admonished.
"Oh, you can be sure I will," Shea assured him.
"I shall look forward to it. And, Harold ..." A trace of anxiety crossed Bayard's face. "... if New Year's Day passes some year, and I do not arrive ... look in on me again, will you?
"You're afraid of something?" Shea tensed. "Enemies already?"
"Oh no, nothing like that," Bayard said quickly. "Well ... perhaps a jealous husband or two. But nothing beyond my capabilities. No, it is merely that I suspect that I may tire of this universe someday, but will have become so accustomed to it that I may lack the will to leave it. It is, after all, a very pleasant milieu for me, so I may require assistance in summoning the resolution to leave."
"I'll make sure to check," Shea assured him.
"I should appreciate it." Bayard clapped him on the shoulder with a nostalgic smile. "So good to have seen you again, old friend! And you, my dear." He stole a quick kiss, then turned away before Belphebe could do anything more than look amazed. He strode quickly over to his companions, then away down the path. But he turned just before they went in under the leaves, to wave; then he was gone.
"Well, it was good to see him again," Shea sighed. "Never thought I'd say that, but it was. Ready to go, dear?"
"Yea, assuredly, Harold." But Belphebe was gazing off after Bayard with a very thoughtful look. "Those spells he explained last night, and the principles beneath them ..."
"Lets not try them just now," Shea said quickly. "After all, we still need to catch up with Doc and Florimel." He caught her hand, taking out his copy of the sorites. "Ready, dear?"
"Um? Oh, certainly!" Belphebe took out her own copy. Together, they began to recite the sorites for the universe of the Orlando Furioso. The world seemed to dim about them as their concentration deepened—but no, it wasn't an optical illusion, the world really was dimming, its colors swirling and fading into mist and smoke, gray nebulosity that thinned and stabilized and blew away, to reveal a hillside covered with heather and wildflowers.
Belphebe gasped and leaned against him. Shea clasped her to him, holding her upright, though he was leaning as much on her as she on him. Finally, they caught their breath and looked about them.
"There's no assurance that we've come to the right universe," Shea cautioned.
"Oh, but there is." Belphebe looked about her with sparkling eves, breathing deeply of the scented air. " 'Tis within me. This is very similar to mine own world, Harold, that gave me birth and nurtured me. Tis not quite mine own place, but nearly."
Harold stared, then looked away, wondering why he did not feel that way about Ohio.
"Enough!" Belphebe turned to catch both his hands, her eyes bright, vitality fully restored. "How shall we seek out Reed?"
"The usual way, I suppose." Shea reached into his wallet and took out a small black notebook. "I rifled his desk, too."
This time he was a little more careful with the spell.
Chalmers was just coming out the door to breathe in the scents of the new day when a flicker of movement caught his eye. He turned, and his jaw dropped. "Harold!" He stood frozen for about a second, long enough for Shea to derive a great deal of satisfaction from seeing his former boss staring at him in total amazement. However, there was no small amount of amazement on his own side—Dr. Reed Chalmers' rejuvenation spells had worked very well. His bushy hah was glossy black and covered his whole head, showing not the slightest trace of gray, and the only lines on his face showed when he smiled.
Then Reed recovered and hurried over to them, seizing his hand and pumping it. "My dear fellow, so good to see you! And Belphebe, how charming! How wonderful, how wonderful! He released her hand and turned back toward the house, a hand on each one, ushering them inside. "Florimel will be delighted—we have so little company these days. The disadvantage of being a magician, you see—very few wish to take a chance on your friendship; only neighbors, and they are few, here in the forest. Oh, this is a genuine delight!"
"I regret that we could not inform you of our coming," Belphebe apologized.
"Of course not, my dear! Why, I haven't even perfected the spell for projecting objects into another universe, myself! No, how could you have sent word? Florimel will be so pleased!"
She was.
Unlike Reed, she did not seem to feel there was any shortage of social life. "In truth," she confided to Belphebe, "I am quite relieved to be free of the incessant maneuvering for favor of the Court, and the constant seeking to discover whom one could snub, and upon whom one must needs fawn."
Belphebe smiled. "I could not agree more. I have ever preferred the solitude and directness of the forest to the intrigues and deceptions of the castle."
"Sounds as though a quiet cottage in the forest would be very welcome indeed," Shea commented.
"Another glass?" Chalmers held up a flask of ruby liquid.
They were sitting in hourglass chairs, sipping wine and nibbling little cakes, in Florimel's solar—a spacious, high-ceilinged room with tall clerestory windows facing the morning sun. The walls were hung with tapestries, and a rich Oriental carpet covered the floor.
"I thank you, but I've scarcely tasted the first," Belphebe said, dimpling prettily.
"I'm still nursing mine." Shea looked around at the decor. "You've done very well for yourselves. Doc'
"Why, thank you." Chalmers nodded, looking around. "My experiments have been progressing quite nicely"
"Experiments?" Shea swung back to him, staring. "You mean you made all this?"
"Oh no, certainly not! But furnishings like these are not available for purchase this far into the interior of France, quite yet; I have had to work out spells for transporting myself to Flanders, for the tapestries, and to Persia, for the carpets." Chalmers frowned. "Though the inhabitants are quite insistent that I not call them 'Persians'; apparently, their ancestors drove out the people of Xerxes long ago, and they were the only ones who could properly be referred to by the name ..."
Shea saw a need to steer the conversation back onto the tracks. "But once you were there, what did you pay with?"