Kalvan blew out the light, waited for the wick to cool, and then twisted the strands of cotton as tight as he could. He doubted it would make much difference to a man accustomed to electric light bulbs, but then it wasn't the light, or lack of, that was bothering him. He sighed deeply and lit the oil lamp. Not so much flicker this time and certainly more light than he was getting from the candles this time last year.
For a moment the light flared, highlighting the lambskin parchment on his desk with the half-completed chart. The chart was the real problem. All afternoon he'd been trying to reconstruct the old Periodic Table, which had taken up a good quarter of the blackboard space in his high school chemistry class in Altoona, Pennsylvania. It was a distance that couldn't be covered by mere time or miles, nor did it appear by memory. Kalvan had been forced to rely on imperfect memory a lot, ever since that cross-time flying saucer had dropped him off in this cockeyed 16th Century world of here-and-now. It was his imperfect memory, in many cases, of college lectures and books he'd read, like Sir Charles Oman's Art Of War In The Middle Ages and its companion volume about the Sixteenth Century, that had kept Styphon's House from permanently putting Hostigos out of business. Besides gunpowder and new military innovations, Kalvan had tried to keep his 'contamination' to a minimum, knowing full well what had happened in his own world in South America when the conquistadors had introduced their own 'superior' culture to the native Indians. His only violation of this self-imposed prohibition was the founding of the University of Hos-Hostigos. And it was for the University, that Kalvan was trying to recall twenty-year old memories of a chart he had stared at in chem class every day for two long semesters. He was stuck at element number 37. Was it Sr, or Strontium, or did that come later in the table? Kalvan closed his eyes and tried to visualize the chart again. That side of the chart had been to his left and it wasn't as fixed in his mind's eye. He could see the right side all the way down to element 86. Even 37 was far beyond the known elements here-and-now, but it would be important someday.
Which explained why he was kneading his brains until his eyes watered. Suddenly Kalvan could see it, Rb #37, Rubidium-he couldn't remember what kind of metal that was and didn't guess it much mattered. He'd never see any of it here-and-now, nor know what to do with it if he did. Now he could visualize Sr #38 too, that was Strontium!
There was a knock at the door and Kalvan's wife, the Great Queen Rylla entered bearing a flask of hot chocolate, a costly import from the south that they usually couldn't find, but had been looted by Colonel Democriphon from one of Styphon's House's baggage trains after the victory at Phyrax Field. Rylla, despite the recent birth of their daughter, Demia, was back to her willowy girl-like figure-just like when they'd first met-wearing a pale blue dress with tight bodice that perfectly set off her eyes and curves.
"I like that dress!" Kalvan said.
"Thank you, sire." Rylla spun around like a runway model; it was amazing the things she could do naturally without artifice. It was hard to visualize this beautiful young woman, with her mane of blond hair in armor leading troops, but she was a general in the Royal Army and one of his best strategists. Rylla was just loaded with surprises-most of them pleasant.
"How is Demia?" Kalvan and Rylla's daughter had been up half the night with the croup.
"She's doing much better. Brother Mytron had just the right herbal tea for her. She's sleeping now in the nursery."
"Good." He probably worried too much, but then again he knew too much about how most here-and-now medicine was just one step above witchcraft and barber doctoring. He also knew about infectious diseases and the high child mortality rate in the Six Kingdoms.
"Ahhh, the spoils of war," Kalvan said as he sipped the dark brown confection, sweetened with honey. "It reminds me of home. Did I ever tell you about Hershey-a town built on the fortunes of chocolate? It's a nice place, for a company town."
"Yes, you told me all about it. Do you still miss Pennsylvania?" Rylla asked, in a wistful tone.
Kalvan wasn't sure whether Rylla wished she could be transported there, or if she suspected he might be homesick. He suspected the latter. "Darling, I would trade all the chocolate in Hershey rather than spend even one night away from you and Demia."
That must have been the right thing to say, for Rylla's face lit up like a beautiful sunrise. She bent over and gave him a kiss that demanded a sequel or two.
"I wish it could always be like this."
"Me, too." Kalvan sighed. "Sadly, our enemies will not leave us alone. Skranga tells me that Styphon's House has plots and counter-plots hatching in every capital in the old Five Kingdoms. It's easier on the battlefield, where your enemies are right in front of you and can be dispatched by sword blade or musket shot."
"We'll get plenty of fighting come spring, my love," Rylla said, her tone brightening. "Never fear."
"Sometimes, I think you enjoy this fighting more than a Blethan oath-brother!" Fortunately, Rylla's pregnancy had kept her off the battlefield most of this year, but it was doubtful anything would keep her away come the spring campaigns. A certain amount of bloodthirstiness was part and parcel of the ruder and cruder life here-and-now, but Rylla at times seemed to display more than her fair share. It wasn't a blot on her copybook, considering the war of extinction with Styphon's House was all Rylla had known since puberty, but sometimes he wished she'd show a bit less enthusiasm for all the fighting and killing.
Rylla looked down demurely, which was so out of character, Kalvan had to choke back a chuckle. "I only serve my Kingdom and my King."
At that, Kalvan could no longer contain his laughter. "How right you are. Our enemies are plotting right now how to overthrow our kingdom."
And, he thought to himself, put your lovely head on a spit. Which was why he had to do the work of ten men, for Rylla and baby Demia, and the fragile entity known as Hos-Hostigos.
"Whatever their plans, you will beat them, my husband. As you always have before."
"Yes, with Dralm's help." Her faith in his abilities was touching, but also worrisome, since one of these days his opponents were going to catch him asleep or off-step and his unwanted mantle of perfection was going to drop off his shoulders with a resounding clang. Even if no one else seemed to realize it, Kalvan knew full well it was only his luck and knowledge of back home military strategy and technology that had kept the headsman's ax from that pretty neck. "We gave Hos-Harphax a bloody-nose last year, which will take a while to heal. Next year, I'd like to catch Styphon's House with its pant's down."
Rylla gave a blood-curdling laugh that belied her sugarcoated exterior. Women were tougher here-and-now, he thought, than the ones he'd known back home-had to be to survive. And Hostigi women had to be the toughest of all.
"You have such a way with words, my husband; it's another thing I love about you. Oh, Kalvan, I almost forgot-I came to remind you of the meeting tonight at the University."
"Dralm damn-it, I almost forgot!" Kalvan stood up and pushed the parchment aside. He moved over to Rylla and drew her into his arms. "How much time do we have?"
Rylla smiled, lighting up the room. "It's a rule: Great Kings always have as much time as they want. It's their subjects who must watch the candle burn."
"Well, then, subject. I want a full candle of your time."
Rylla performed a here-and-now curtsey, saying, "As you wish, my king."