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Just like in the dream, Toby felt like something squeezed his guts through a keyhole.
The room spun. Threw up a little.
Clammy.
Needed to sit.
As his heart rate seemed to pick up, his brain picked up details, like the sun shining and the icy wind pushing past the large tapestry.
He wore that scratchy fabric he remembered from the dream.
Not a dream.
He stood, and the breeches attacked an inconvenient spot.
He adjusted the fabric away from this vulnerable anatomy and took stock: his tee-shirt was now a long-sleeved tunic made of something like burlap. Jeans were now long braies, socks were stockings, and running shoes were hobnail boots.
An icy wind came around the tapestry covering the window, so he pulled on the musty cloak on the chair.
The book bag, now tanned leather, smelled like shoe polish, and creaked when he put it down.
“Hallo, Tobias,” said Lela.
He continued staring at the chestnut brown leather. “Oh, sorry. Good... is it morning?”
“Aye, and I can assume yer stayin’ this time?” Her eye glanced down at the bag.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Do not call me ma’am.” She turned back to the table and started sharpening the point of an arrow.
He picked up his bag and looked for the zipper, but found a series of leather strips tanned into soft strands.
Once untied, he looked to see what else survived the trip.
A note for Teacher Sklavos from Dad and a message for Lela from Chase, both on yellow parchment.
He pulled out the last items: several pairs of underwear. Still white, but why were they shiny?
She looked over his shoulder. “Interesting.”
His first instinct was to close the bag.
He said, “What?”
She slipped a delicate finger under an edge of the cloth. “Silk knickers.”
His face was hot as he closed the sack.
She giggled and walked over to her table. “Fatha has set up a series of classes and exercises. Ye will spend the mornings with him and the afternoons with me. Fatha is waiting.”
He remembered. “Wait a second,” he reached into his bag and pulled out the note. “This is for you.”
“Ooh. From Chase?”
Great. Everybody loves Chase.
They walked through the corridors and halls while she read the letter. He remembered part of the way, but was glad she came along.
He walked by the door when Teacher said, “Tobias.”
“Yes, sir, I mean Teacher.”
Toby found an old stool but stood up when Raymond entered.
This had better be some stupid mistake.
“Raymond will assist in your training.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Not your decision.”
Raymond walked over to a desk and looked at some beakers filled with various fluids.
“After everything he did to me?”
“Raymond did his job,” Teacher said. “It’s necessary.”
“What?”
“Enough.” Teacher leveled his gray eyes at Toby. “I’ve been more than patient, and we’ve wasted enough time.”
Teacher turned toward his desk, walked around a pile of books on the floor to his desk, piled with random appearing stacks of books and scrolls.
“There are many things you do not understand.”
Toby waited, but the old guy didn’t elaborate.
As Teacher chose something for Toby to read, Toby glanced back at the criminal, but this Raymond was so different. It’s not the clothes. He’s playing a role: dutiful son helping Daddy at work.
“Your father showed such promise, as did your brother.” He stopped for a moment. “We were - disappointed.”
Teacher turned pointing at a stool across the room. “Sit.”
Toby sat on the old stool; it leaned at an uncomfortable angle. He watched the old man limp around the random stacks of books and scrolls, except it wasn’t random: Teacher knew the location of every scrap.
Raymond carried in a box holding several foul-smelling bottles.
“Whoa.” Toby jerked his head away from the putrid source.
Teacher’s head snapped toward Toby. “Do you think I am an ox, Candidate?”
“No, sir, I mean, no, Teacher. Those bottles reek.”
“As they should. Each has important properties you will learn.”
“Time out, old dude.”
Teacher straightened his ruined back, grew several inches taller, and his gray eyes narrowed to slits. The stare seemed to go on for days.
“You will stop trying my patience.”
Toby swallowed and sat in silence.
Teacher picked up a book and placed it on the desk. “Most preschoolers know more about the Messenger than you. Spend the next hour reading about the Prime Amulet. When I get back, we will discuss the functions.”
“Dad already told me about the Prime.”
“Did he? How do you activate the screen?”
“What?”
He tapped a bony finger on the book. “And read the section on shifting.”
“I know how to shift.”
Teacher nodded. “You meant to time-shift 12 hours into the future?”
“I... No.”
Teacher shook his head. “We’ve had the Prime for many centuries. We’d prefer you not shift it into a mountain, or miles out to sea.”
***
Toby read the parts about the jewels and the metal, but his mind kept seeing images of Mom lying in the hospital, fighting for her life because of this - knickknack.
Shook his head.
Concentrate.
If he’d flown here, they’d call it jet lag. The sun said morning, and his brain said sleep. He refocused on the book, but the writing was dense and indigestible.
Jerked awake.
No one noticed.
One page had lists of ancient symbols for Messengers: The Greek word ‘angel’ means messenger. Romans believed Mercury was the messenger of the gods. Celts thought hawks were supernatural messengers.
A sharp rap on the tabletop caused him to wake up and nearly fall off the stool. Toby found his balance and looked into a pair of angry gray eyes.
“You sleep well?” asked Teacher.
“No. I mean, yes. I... Sorry, Teacher.”
“Sorry, is no excuse.” He picked up the book, closed it with a sharp snap, and tossed it at Toby. “Maybe physical activity is more interesting. Read the chapter tonight. Tomorrow,” he said through narrowed eyes, “you will be ready.”
Teacher turned and walked away. Without stopping or looking back, “You will find her in the Keeper’s room.”