Chapter #4Guard Duty by: Unknown It's a funny thing, smell. The human body adapts to its environment, blocking out ever-present odors. The Tudor period isn't famous for its body hygiene, which is probably why you can smell the guard as he approaches. That makes it all the easier to step outside and shoot him with the black pen. The suit collapses, as do his clothes, armor and halberd. You grab them all and drag them into the bushes, stripping out of your modern apparel and burying it. The fabric, you know, will disintegrate rapidly; it's designed to leave no trace.
The guard was the obvious choice: male, and, despite his armor, the easiest to slip on unnoticed. The maid could be missed, and ladies in waiting have several layers of robe to don.
Speaking of which, you need to replace the guard. You grab the suit and begin to slip it on, frowning at the general level of dirt and sweat: this is a working man's body. You pull up the hair-covered chest, slip your hands into the half-bitten nails, and finally pull the matted, unwashed hair over your own head. Moments later you're adjusting to your new face, with its great, bushy beard. Then it's a matter of putting on his hosiery, then breastplate, and finally his helmet. You pick up the heavy shaft of the halberd, slot it on your shoulder, and resume your patrol.
You keep patrolling for a few minutes only: the guard's body is only a stop-gap, and you have no information about him at all. One of the greatest elements of future tech is your nanocomputer, constantly giving you information as you think of it. It even has a live translate function, turning the speech of others into a modern vernacular for you, and your speech the same. It's a relief: talking like Shakespeare for the next few days would be nigh-on impossible – it's all Greek to you.
The computer is drawing a blank on your current body; evidently the guard is a historical nobody. So instead you work your way into the palace. You know every stair and passage already from intense studying, but the computer still pulls up relevant information. You pass by maids polishing the tables and serving boys finishing their early morning chores. The King is out, you know – his party were out on a hunt. No....are out. You have to remember that you're now living this particular moment in time. It's not the past any more.
You stride up the stairs, and walk down a corridor draped in tapestries. Nobody pays you much heed, just as you expected. But now you have to make a choice for your next 'costume'. Staying as a guard is pointless, and you want to find and impersonate someone the computer knows and has details on. As the prominent men of court are out hunting at the moment, that leaves you with little option but to select the women.
To the left, you know, is the Queen's apartments. The lady in waiting you saw earlier is still outside. If she keeps to the schedule, at the moment Queen Anne will be alone, reading from her Book of Hours – private religious worship. You're confident you could slip in and make the switch.
Alternatively, across the hall is that of Lady Margaret Clare. The computer records state her as a court beauty of some note, although not to the king's tastes – he preferred small and skinny women, and Margaret's figure is described with language you suppose to mean 'curvy'. She is a widow at 30, previously married to Sir Henry Clare, one of the most powerful men in the kingdom before he died of the bloody flux. There's a lot of information on her, and you're confident you could pose as her too.
You scratch your beard and ponder which way to go.  indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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