Journey in Time (Knights in Time) by Chris Karlsen Page A

movie set but a re-enactment group that prides itself on realism. Tourists, especially Americans, love to feel they’re experiencing the real thing.    
    No modern conveniences were visible, no electric tools, no hairdryers, or motorized vehicles. Understandable for a strict re-enactment group, some are rabid about "living the part." Where were the tour buses and the public restrooms? Surely the health requirements insisted on some type of toilet facilities. She scanned the area again. Only she and Alex wore modern clothes. Where were the tourists?
    Nothing made sense. Whether it was a crazy university project, a period movie, or re-enactors too into their roles, she didn’t care. This was not the weekend she envisioned. She wanted to leave. The atmosphere, the people, and the looks they gave her made her uneasy. She didn't know what was going on with Alex. Why did they keep calling him Guy? Whydid he know everyone? Why had his manner suddenly grown so stiff and imperious? Why about this place made it so dangerous for them? She closed her eyes and tried to relax.
    Someone clutched her left leg. Shakira squeaked and looked down. A grey-haired woman with pale rheumy eyes mumbled gibberish and stroked the boot.
    "Where the deuce did you come from?"
    The crone squeezed her calf then tugged on the boot.
    "Stop it," Shakira whispered, violating Alex’s order to stay silent. The woman continued to pester her, handling the boot, pressing her face against the leather upper. "Let go," Shakira barked in a low voice. She shoved her foot deep into the stirrup and tried to jerk her leg out of the woman’s hands. Her heel banged against Eclipse who danced to the right. The crone followed, tightened her grip, and laughed exposing toothless black gums. Shakira pushed down harder on the metal foot rest and locked her ankle.
    The knight Alex called Stephen broke from the group of men and came over. He efficiently, if unchivalrously, hooked a gauntleted hand under the old woman’s upper arm and yanked hard. The woman yelped and released her hold as Stephen gave her a forceful shove away. The crone ranted at him, and then sneered at Shakira. She made a weird sign with her fingers, spit, and tottered off. Shakira had no idea what the hell that was about. Had the hag put some kind of curse on her or was it a ward against evil?
    "Nutter," she mumbled.
    Stephen walked on before she could inquire about the old lady’s odd behavior.
    She had enough.   
    Alex must’ve sensed her anxiety. He interrupted his conversation and was at her side in a matter of seconds.
    "I’ll help you dismount." He took the reins from her firm grip and lifted her down to the ground. "Come." He offered his arm and tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow.
    “No.” She refused to move. “I want to go home.”
    He looked ill, green around the gills, like he was sea-sick.
    “You can’t.”
     
     
     
     
    Chapter Fourteen
 
 
    Shakira took a cautious sniff as Alex led her into the Keep. New floor rushes filled the hall with the fresh scent of cut grass. An underlying odor smelled vaguely like rosemary with a hint of residual smoke. An odd combination, but at least it didn't burn her nose to breathe.
    A woman dressed as a servant approached Alex.
    While she spoke to him about the evening meal, Shakira studied the hall’s decorations. Three rectangular leaded glass windows were installed in the eastern and western walls. Smartly positioned, a surprising amount of natural light streamed into the room which was augmented by torches. A fireplace a man could stand inside was built beneath the eastern windows. Two large tapestries hung on the far wall. One depicted a clash between knights on horseback wearing surcoats of red, orange, and black. The second was unusual. Instead of the standard square cut, the top was half-moon shaped and depicted knights and ladies out hawking in muted tones of blue, gold, and green. Other than several tables and benches pushed to