Stokes’s Diachronicle, in her handwriting
After requesting a safety deposit box here at the private offices of the Fugger Bank on Threadneedle Street, and giving the agent my name, I was informed I already owned a box. Amazed, I asked it to be brought to me, and saw that it contained a sealed envelope. Addressed to me. In Mortimer’s gangly penmanship (albeit somewhat ink-blotted).
I have memorized its contents and will leave it here in the box, attached to my Diachronicle, for thoroughness.
I depart the bank in far higher spirits than I arrived.
Handwritten note on Fugger Bank stationery
Came back to 1848 to leave this for you to read in 1851—trippy, huh? We’re trying to Home you. If you’re reading this before July 28, 1851, cross the Channel ASAP to Collinet—aka Norman Language campsite. Near Le Havre, inland, on river Dives, if you don’t remember. The B&B in our era is Chez Envouteur and the family women were openly witchy (descendants of Thyra and Imblen, talk about clan loyalty w00t!) until magic stopped so if you ask for the witch’s house the locals may know where to send you. Fingers crossed witch of 1851 is cooperative—have her Send you to her own backyard in our time where (if you get this) there will be an ATTO waiting to receive you.
Keep your head down and stay low when you arrive.
Gotta go, writing this wearing nothing but Mr. Fugger’s greatcoat and he’s really not amused lol —Mortimer
Exchange of posts on
“Ops” GRIMNIR channel
1.5 HOURS LATER
Post from Esme Overkleeft, 12:17:
You there?
Reply from Tristan Lyons, 12:19:
Yeah. Just got bars.
From Esme Overkleeft, 12:20:
Welcome back to the world! I’m on Jersey.
From Tristan Lyons, 12:23:
Glad there’s a world to get back to. Didn’t know what I’d find on the other end of the ocean.
From Esme Overkleeft, 12:27:
It’s been a little hairy while you were gone . . . lots to report. But no major Shears as far as we can tell. In spite of Magnus’s best efforts.
From Tristan Lyons, 12:28:
Yeah . . . I’m reading the message from Rebecca . . . wow.
From Esme Overkleeft, 12:36:
The ferry with Magnus and the other Vikings (and Rebecca) is going to reach Le Havre shortly before you—you might even be able to see it out the ATTO door as you’re approaching Le Havre. Taking into account the time zone change, your ETA is around 5:30—a little after sunset. Then, unloading should happen as per usual.
From Tristan Lyons, 12:40:
Let’s talk a little more about “per usual.” Port operations isn’t my strong suit.
From Esme Overkleeft, 12:45:
Actual unloading of the ship probably won’t start until tomorrow morning. Your container will come off almost immediately because of where it is. The crane will set it down on the wharf. That’s when you disable the radio tracking device. A straddle carrier will pick it up and take it to a temporary storage location farther from the ship. There’ll be some customs formalities—we’ll take care of that, but if you have any contraband you should throw it overboard now. A forklift puts it on a tractor-trailer. The driver of the tractor-trailer works for us. He’ll drive it away and take it where we told him to.
From Tristan Lyons, 12:48:
And where is that? I’ve been a little out of the loop.
From Esme Overkleeft, 12:50:
Nice little town in Normandy. I think you have been there . . . many times as it were:)
From Tristan Lyons, 12:53:
:) What are the Fuggers going to think when their ATTO makes a wrong turn?
From Esme Overkleeft, 12:56:
We don’t know their plans of course, but presumably they were going to take it someplace safe. And Magnus and his crew mean to intercept it along the way although we’re not sure about the Magnus/Gráinne relationship at the moment. Neither Magnus nor the Fuggers know about us . . . hopefully. So when we get it to the farmhouse, we’ll have at least a few minutes’ breathing room to turn it on and open a window for Mel to come home.
From Tristan Lyons, 13:05:
Okay, here’s where this time travel shit gets really mind-bending . . .
The Fuggers and Magnus might not know about us TODAY but they’ll sure as hell know about us TOMORROW when they notice that their ATTO has gone missing. And they have at least one ATTO of their own, dockside in Portsmouth. So what’s to prevent them from, I don’t know . . .
From Esme Overkleeft, 13:15:
Don’t torture yourself. The most they can do is Send a naked Viking into our ATTO when we turn it on to receive Mel. She already has instructions to hit the deck and stay safe as soon as she arrives.
From Tristan Lyons, 13:20:
Have re-read your last transmission several times, and don’t understand. How is “hitting the deck” going to keep her safe from a naked Viking?
From Esme Overkleeft, 13:22:
That’s your job.
From Tristan Lyons, 13:24:
????
From Esme Overkleeft, 13:26:
Keeping her safe. Got any weapons in there?
From Tristan Lyons, 13:28:
Tossed them overboard, as you just instructed.
From Esme Overkleeft, 13:30:
Hmm . . . how’s your hand-to-hand combat skills?
From Tristan Lyons, 13:32:
A little rusty, frankly. Fortunately I have Felix to practice on. Or vice versa.
ALTHOUGH THERE IS NO LONGER need of it, I suppose out of habit I shall write this in a tone akin to the Diachronicle, that is to say, in accordance with the literary inflections of my most recent (and enforced) DTAP.
I fell through fragrant darkness, and fell tumbling hard to ground on a painfully cold, metallic floor that shook and rumbled as if it were a truck being pulled down a country road somewhere, which meant—the ATTO! I had arrived! I was safe!
—No, I wasn’t!—there were three figures grappling violently above me in the eerie amber-green glow of the ATTO. Their efforts caused the rumbling. Two were clothed, and they were fighting with a third who was naked.
And who was winning.
“Stokes! Turn it off! TURN . . . IT . . . OFF . . .”
Tristan’s voice was familiar even though sounding a little strangled: as my eyes focused I saw that he was in a headlock, his neck crooked in one of the naked man’s massive arms. With his free hand, the man was swatting away Felix Dorn with an almost casual air. The stranger had tangled blond hair tumbling down over his shoulders, and a reddish beard. He was immense.