Felix Taylor Adventures 2-Book Bundle. Nicholas Maes
in Italy and other countries as well.
“Each flashing point,” the doctor explained, “is a temple that we know about from ancient times. Some were built after 71 BC, but that doesn’t matter. We’re establishing portals in each of these temples — including the one Mr. Taylor discovered. The second Panarium doesn’t contain any temple — that’s why we’re sending you to the one near Rome — but there are temples not too far from it, in Paestum or Pompeii. The point is, once you enter any temple’s inner recess, the portal will deposit you here.”
“But can’t anyone be transported?” Felix asked. “What will stop some Roman from being whisked to the present?”
“We have programmed bio-protocols in your DNA. Only you will be able to move through the portals.”
“How long will the portal stay open?” Carolyn asked. “Will we be working against time?”
“No. The portal has a half-life of two hundred years. And if it’s covered over, I mean, if it isn’t exposed to the elements, its “charge” could last indefinitely. Now do you see that blip in the Panarium near Rome? That’s your point of entry. It is a temple of Minerva — the goddess of wisdom. Let’s hope her wisdom rubs off on us.”
Again they nodded. Because the doctor had “unplug-ged” the sphere, they assumed he was done with them and rose from their seats. But he motioned them to sit again, as his face assumed a grim expression.
“Have you heard about the butterfly effect?” he asked.
“I have,” Carolyn volunteered. “It’s the change you can trigger in the present or future by travelling back in time and altering events. So if you killed my great-great-grandfather, say, his descendants would vanish, including me and my father.”
“That’s right,” the doctor said, nodding. “Now, our calculations tell us that you can change our present only if you harm someone or reveal some hidden aspect of the future — if you teach them about nuclear fission, for example. That is why, no matter what, you will not kill or injure anyone, even as a matter of self-defence. And you must not talk in any way about our future. The survival of our world depends upon your vigilance. Do you understand?”
The doctor glared at them. Understanding the gravity of his words, they promised to follow his instructions exactly.
“In that case,” he concluded, “I wish you both the best of luck.”
The trio stood. Shaking hands with them, the doctor revealed that the professor was in a room across the hall where he would provide them with some “travel” information. Without another word, he exited the cubicle and joined the general in his inspection of the TPM.
Carolyn and Felix crossed the hall and, sure enough, found the professor seated in a cubicle. In front of him were two bundles of cloth. Surrounding him were several stacks of books, many of them with Latin titles. At the sight of these, Felix grinned: books always made him feel optimistic.
And then there was the professor himself. He was peculiar-looking. He was bald and wrinkled and frail and stooped over: clearly he had rejected all revitalizing treatments. To judge by his vivid and lively expression, he had also turned his back on ERR. Finally, his glasses were so thick and clumsy — the frames kept slipping off the bridge of his nose — that they gave him a decidedly comical air. There was nothing comical about his gaze, however: his eyes radiated a vast intelligence.
“All right,” he began, motioning them to sit. “Our first task is to determine who you are. In the unlikely event you get stranded in the past, the ancients you encounter will ask where you’re from.”
“Tis pothen eis andron,” Felix murmured.
“Precisely!” the professor declared with delight, “I didn’t know you were trained in Greek! My, my, you are full of surprises.”
“What did you just say?” Carolyn demanded.
“It comes from a poem called The Odyssey,” Felix said. “It means ‘Who are you and where do you come from?’”
Chuckling still, the professor said the locals would ask about their Common Speak and why Carolyn didn’t know any Latin. They would inquire about their status too — were they peregrini (foreigners), slaves, or citizens? Finally, their relationship would stir their curiosity, as well as the fact that they were travelling solo.
“What do you propose?” Felix asked.
“First,” the professor said, “you are brother and sister.”
“They won’t believe it,” Carolyn snapped. “We don’t look at all alike.”
The professor laughed. “That’s not quite true. Both of you are tall, fair-complexioned, and blue-eyed. The Romans will assume you’re from the north; indeed, you’ll claim to come from Prytan — that is, modern-day Britain — and say you are descended from a line of Druids.”
“What’s a Druid?” Carolyn asked, with a touch of impatience.
Felix told her Druids were leaders among the ancient Celts — he didn’t dare mention they were priests as well because Carolyn would resent this reference to religion.
“Your father, Felix,” the professor pressed on, “has dispatched you to learn the Romans’ customs. You have spent three years with Sextus Pullius Aceticus who happens to live in Cisalpine Gaul — northern Italy, of course. This is where you learned your excellent Latin. Indeed, you have proven such an adept student that Aceticus has adopted you and rendered you a citizen.”
“What about me?” Carolyn asked.
“Ah yes. Your father died recently — the Druid and not the general — and that is why you have joined your brother. In your father’s absence, he leads the family. And before returning to Prytan, to become head Druid, Felix has decided to take a tour of Rome. That’s not a bad biography, if I say so myself.”
Felix was impressed. This story would account for their overall strangeness and grant them a certain freedom of movement. He was pleased, too, that his “adoptive father” was the author who had led them to the lupus ridens.
“Now then,” the professor went on, pointing to the two bundles before him, “after consulting my books, I have created two tunics for you — with help from an automated loom, of course. You have also been given a toga virilis, Felix, which will mark you off as a Roman civis.”
“Do I get a toga?” Carolyn asked, inspecting her clothes with a hint of suspicion.
“Women don’t wear togas,” the professor replied. “And that’s why I have provided you with a palla, or cloak. You’ll also find calcei, or leather sandals. As far as indumenta, or undergarments are concerned, we’ll dispense with the licium, an uncomfortable loincloth, and you’ll wear our modern products instead. If you’re asked about these, you’ll say they are worn in Prytan.”
“Why do I smell cinnamon?” Felix asked. He was sniffing a leather pouch.
With an elfish smile, the professor explained he’d had a stroke of genius. If the pair of them got delayed in the past, they would need some type of currency. Gold was impossible — the TPM would reject it — so something else would have to serve in its place.
“Why cinnamon?” Carolyn asked.
“Because back then cinnamon was very precious. A single pinch will buy you a bed for the night.”
Rising from his seat, he said they should go to their quarters and try their outfits on; quickly, too, as they would be leaving soon. He removed his glasses and polished the lenses, resembling a mole as he eyed them both.
“I envy you,” he said. “To think that you will escape our modern machines to gaze upon the Romans sends shivers up my spine. But be very careful. These people are as brutal as they are civilized.”
The pair nodded.