"Why… yes," Rod said, startled. "The longer the lever, the more it multiplies the force—and the two ends of a bow, and a spearman's arm, are all levers."
"And the longer bow can therefore be stiffer, but can still be bent?"
"Uh… yeah." Rod felt a faint chill along his back. She was understanding too quickly. "And the crossbow is more powerful, because it's so much stiffer."
"But the man who doth shoot it, can bend it by winding." Gwen nodded, seeming almost angry in the intensity of her concentration.
"Right." Rod swallowed heavily. "Well. Uh… in this world, there're other sources of power—but the most important one is the kind called 'electricity.' It's like…" He groped, trying to find an explanation. "It's invisible, but it flows like water. Only through metals, though. It's…" Then inspiration struck. "It's like the force you wield when you make things move with your mind." He waved a hand. "Even though you can't see it, you can feel it, if you touch the wire it's flowing through. Boy, can you feel it!" He frowned. "Though I shouldn't say you can't see it, really. Have you ever looked at a lightning bolt, darling? No, of course you have! What's the matter with me?" He could remember one occasion especially vividly—they had huddled inside a cave, watching the lightning slam the thunder about the skies. And when the storm's fury had thoroughly dazzled them… He cleared his throat. "Lightning's electricity—one kind of electricity, anyway."
"Thou dost not say it," she breathed, wide-eyed. "Have these people chained the lightning, then?"
Rod nodded, thrilled (and chilled) by her quickness. "They've figured out how to make it do all sorts of tricks, darling."
Her eyes were huge. "This glow, then, is lightning leashed?"
"That's one way to look at it." Rod nodded slowly. "But they use it for other things, too. Those bulbous things on their hips—they call them 'blasters,' and they use electricity to tickle a ruby into making a sword of light."
Gwen stared, aghast. Rod nodded again. "And there are other things they can make it do—lots of other things. Think of any job, darling, and the odds are these folk have figured out a way to make electricity do it."
"Caring for others," said the mother, immediately.
Rod sat still for a moment, just staring at her.
Then he smiled, and reached out to take her hand. "Of course. I should have known you'd think of the one thing they can't do. Oh, don't get me wrong—they do have machines that can take care of people's bodies—all their physical needs. Electricity runs machines that can wash clothes, cook food, clean houses. But to give the feeling that somebody cares about you, that another human being is taking care of you?" He shook his head. "No. They might be able to come up with a convincing illusion—but deep inside, everyone knows it's not real. Only people can really care for people. They haven't invented a substitute yet."
She gazed into his eyes for a long moment—and hers were filled with excitement, but warmed with her prime preoccupation—him.
Maybe that was why her eyes were so mesmerizing. They seemed to fill Rod's whole field of view, inviting, craving… "I remember the story about the monkey and the python," he said softly.
"In truth?" she murmured.
"Yeah. I just can't figure out which one I am…"
A shaggy figure moved into his range of vision, far away. Rod stared, stiffening. "Who's that, who just came in the door?"
Gwen heaved a martyred sigh and turned to look. "The soldier with the thatch of brown hair?" Her eyes widened. "My lord! It cannot be!"
"Why not? We know he's a time traveller—and don't tell me there ain't no such thing, when I am one!"
"I would not have dreamed of it. But how doth he come to be here?"
Rod shrugged. "As good a place as any, I expect. After all, he resigned as Viceroy of Beastland two years ago."
"Aye, though Tuan cried he still had need of him."
"Yeah, that was really fun news for the Viceroy-elect. Too bad it didn't reach his ears."
"How could it?" Gwen asked. "He had quite simply disappeared."
The goblin face was scanning the room slowly, a massive frown of its beetling brows. It saw Rod and broke into a grin. Then its owner was hurrying across the room, hand outstretched. "Milord!"
Half the room turned to look, and Rod thought fast to cover. He plastered on a grin of his own and rose to the occasion to grasp the proffered hand. "My lord, Yorick!" he echoed. "It's good to see you!"
The rest of the patrons turned back to their beers with disgruntled mutters—no nobility, just profanity.
Rod slapped Yorick's shoulder and nodded toward a chair. "Sit down! Have a beer! Tell us what you're doing here!"
"Why, thank you! Don't mind if I do." The caveman pulled up a chair. "I'll bet you're surprised to see me here."
Rod sat down slowly to give himself a chance to recover. Then he smiled. "Well, yes, now that you mention it. I mean, this is a good five hundred years before you disappeared." He frowned at a sudden thought. "On the other hand, it's about forty thousand years since your whole species died off."
Yorick nodded. "So why not here, as well as there?"
"Aye, wherefore?" Gwen cocked her head to the side. "How does it come that thou'rt in this place?"
"With difficulty," Yorick answered, "quite a bit of it. I mean, when you didn't come back that night, your kids got worried—but Puck managed to get 'em all to bed and to sleep, anyway. When you hadn't shown up by mid-morning, though, even he got worried—so he told his boss."
Inwardly, Rod quailed. Brom O'Berin, in addition to being King of the Elves, was also Gwen's father—though nobody knew about it except himself and Rod. If Brom had found out his daughter was missing, it was amazing that he didn't have the whole elfin army in this tavern, instead of one addlepated Neanderthal.
Gwen smiled. "And Brom did order the hue and cry?"
Yorick nodded. "Sent out a scout party of elves. With a hundred or so of the little blighters going at it, they picked up your trail in no time. They tracked you to a little pond, where they found some pretty clear signs of a fight that seemed to end with a couple of bodies being dragged someplace, and just disappearing."
Rod smiled, with sour satisfaction. "Nice to know the Futurian boys hadn't had sense enough to erase their tracks. Overconfidence works wonders."
"No, they did erase 'em." Yorick turned toward Rod. "Straightened up the grass, and everything. Can you blame 'em if they didn't stop to think how good elves are at tracking?"
"Quite unfair," Gwen agreed.
Yorick nodded. "I swear a fly couldn't land on a blade of grass without them being able to tell it."
Rod remembered how insistent Puck was about sipping only from the flowers where the wild bee sucked—after the bee had left, of course. "That's fantastic. But how'd they figure out where we'd disappeared to?"
"The tracks just looked too much like the ones you left the last time you vanished into thin air."
Rod nodded, remembering their involuntary trip to Tir Chlis. "I always keep underestimating Brom. What'd he do about it?"
"Same thing as last time—called me."
Rod frowned. "But you had disappeared, too."
Yorick shrugged. "So he told Korig. You remember him, the big guy with the heavy jaw?"
"Your deputy." Rod nodded. "He knew how to get a hold of you?"
"Oh, you just bet he did! Didn't think I'd leave the poor guy completely on his own, did you? I mean, what would happen if SPITE or VETO tried to make trouble in the Neanderthal colony again?"
"The Futurian time-travel departments." Rod nodded, and made a mental note that there was still a time machine in Beastland. One belonging to GRIPE, the democrats' time-travel company—but a time machine nonetheless. Might come in handy, some time. "So Korig called you?"