The Schimmelhorn File-Memoirs of a Dirty Old Genius by Reginald Bretnor

Author:Reginald Bretnor
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2011-08-26T08:26:30+00:00

While the Lady Ermintrude had tried to tell the simple truth when she said she had touched none of the controls, she was mistaken, for her gown, in mounting, had flicked at one of them. Therefore poor Camellia Jo Pollard had to endure a difficult few minutes which she otherwise would have been spared.

When she and the time machine first appeared in the great hall of Drachendonnerfels Castle, her consternation was no greater than that of the multitude assembled there. She looked around her, at swords and spears and chain mail and ferocious faces, and panicked. She leaped from the machine, darted left and right, uttered a bloodcurdling cry, was attacked by a great slavering hound, took refuge behind a vast bearded blond man with a horned helmet on his head, was seized at someone's order by two knights, and then was set upon by a mitered archbishop with shrewd eyes, who seemed determined, at one and the same time, to question her and exorcise her. It was in this confusion that Ermintrude rashly made off on the magic horse — which did nothing to improve matters. Ermintrude's father, Graf Rudolf, red-faced and whiskered and mighty as a beer barrel, strode down from his high seat through the crowd and demanded what she had done with his beloved daughter. The archbishop at once cautioned him against being too rud e to a witch who, as they had seen, possessed unknown and terrible powers. And Mrs. Pollard, understanding none of this, and seeing that he was apparently a man of God, burst into tears, dropped to her knees before him, implored him to save her, and kissed his crucifix — which was, of course, the best thing she could have done, for instantly those present were split into two factions, one still afraid she was a wicked witch and doubtless a Tatar agent, the other sure she was a good witch sent by God to save them from the enemy. Tumult raged, some arguing loudly that they should waste no time in dragging her before the torturers, others that they should give her gifts, feed her with rich meats, and otherwise seek to win her favor. Several women shrieked. Then the archbishop placed his right hand protectingly upon her head and pointed out that wicked witches did not kiss crucifixes and argued wisely that any ill-advised decision might not only lose them a powerful ally, but also endanger the missing Ermintrude.

And at that point, the magic horse returned.

It returned dramatically. In that unreal pearly shimmer which is time travel, when the whole universe seems to consist only of the travelers and their time machine, General Pollard had been alarmed by an idea. "Papa!" he shouted. "How do we know there won't be other people? I mean, or things? There in the hall, in the same space where we'll appear?"

"Don't vorry, soldier boy!" Papa Schimmelhorn shouted back. "Dot iss impossible. Und anyhow der crystal in der box makes a vibration, zo efery

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