Chapter Text
It was a night just like any other, without so much as an out-of-place storm cloud to suggest the possibility of anything breaking the peaceful monotony of the night. With the exception of the occasional cricket chirping, the clearing was devoid of sound. Every living thing within earshot was far too busy being fast asleep to bother with such a thing as making noise.
As such, when an unfamiliar machine popped into existence, the sudden, ear-splitting crack! it made seemed to be that much louder. Any creatures that had been sleeping peacefully up until that moment were surely awake now, and their flights to find new resting places were doubly ensured by the copious amounts of black smoke billowing from the unknown device.
Out of the remains of the machine stumbled two men. The first of the pair, a man with warm brown skin and dark, curly hair, immediately knelt down beside the wreckage and began examining it. His utter focus on the device was punctuated by the occasional remark about what pieces were salvageable.
The second man, meanwhile, paced around the field confusedly, as if he were trying to get his bearings. As he paced, he ran his fingers through his slicked-back dark hair, resting his hand against the nape of his neck as he muttered to himself in French, hoping to somehow make sense of his sudden appearance in the unfamiliar clearing.
After several minutes, the first man gave a sharp groan of frustration. “Blast, the whole system’s fried.”
At this statement, the second man gave a start, as if he only now remembered that he was not the sole person in that field. He turned back towards the other man and, with an obvious effort to regain his composure, addressed him.
“Qu'est-il arrivé? Où suis-je?”
The first man seemed not to hear the other’s questions. “I’ll have to replace at least half these parts, not to mention reprogramming the motherboard. Let’s see, where to–”
He was cut off by the second man, who, in a moment of frustration, burst out, “Monsieur! Je sais que vous êtes occupé, mais vous ne réalisez pas à qui vous vous adressez. En tant que comte, je vous demande de me dire exactement où nous sommes en ce moment!”
At this outburst, the first man looked up, clearly only now realizing he was not alone. “Ah, you’re here, are you? That explains it, then.”
“Monsieur, je–”
“Do you speak English?” the first man interrupted. “I figure you’ve got a few questions, and I’m a bit rusty in French.”
With a sigh, the other man reluctantly complied to this request. “Very well,” he said. He stiffly tugged his waistcoat back into place, assuming a more businesslike air. “If you could kindly point me in the direction of the nearest village, then I will gladly be on my way and leave you to… that.” He gestured vaguely towards the machine, which was now shrilly whistling.
“I’m afraid it’s a bit more complicated than that, Monsieur le Comte,” the first man said with a wry chuckle.
Monsieur le Comte’s brow knit in confusion. “I’m afraid I do not understand,” he said. “We cannot be more than a dozen kilometers outside of Paris, surely? We were there only moments ago.”
“Yes and no,” the first man said. “You see this part here?” he continued, pointing to a rectangular patch on the front panel of the machine. “According to this – and it seems to be one of the only parts that’s working, mind you – we are a little way out from London, England.”
The Count blinked in surprise, this news rendering him utterly speechless.
“As to that other bit, well… I wouldn’t say we were in Paris moments ago. Rather, we were in Paris just under two hundred years ago.”
At this revelation, the Count found his voice. “Two hundred years?” he asked incredulously.
“Yeah, sorry about that.”
“Impossible! How could we–” The Count cut himself off. “Ah, I see,” he eventually continued, “this is some kind of joke, no? It is very well done, I must congratulate you on that. Unfortunately, I do not find it very amusing.”
Silence met the Count’s statement. He turned back to the other man, only to find him once again knelt beside the machine.
“It… it is a joke, correct?”
The first man shrugged. “I won’t tell you what to believe,” he said without looking up from his work. “Not my place. But it’ll be a lot easier for both of us if you at least pretended to believe me. Besides,” he added in an attempt to lighten the mood, “I’m not much of a practical joker anyway.”
To this, the Count had no response. Gradually, he resumed his pacing. Was this man to be believed? Had he truly left his time centuries behind? No, it was not possible, the man had to be lying. The very notion was ridiculous. If there was one thing he knew, it was that time did not bend to the will of men.
And yet… what other explanation could there be? The man seemed too earnest to be lying, and too intelligent to be a victim of the same trick.
“If I were to believe you,” the Count started, “not to say I do. But if what you are saying is the truth, how do I get back to my own time and place? I have urgent business to oversee that cannot be delayed.”
The other man turned around to face the Count, a smile crossing his face. “Well,” he said, shifting into a more comfortable sitting position, “it’s complicated.”
“It appears that everything tonight is complicated.”
The man laughed. “You’ve got a point,” he conceded. “Here, sit down,” he said, gesturing to the patch of grass between them. “Come on, a bit of grass stains won’t kill you,” the man added upon seeing the Count’s dubious expression.
“I am perfectly content to stand, thank you.”
The man shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He paused for a moment. “I won’t explain all the ins and outs of it right now. Long story short: yes, time travel is possible. Time is a sort of fourth dimension. If you have the right tools, you can travel through it just as well as walking across the street. I was lucky enough to figure out what those tools were. Only problem is: the machine was only built for one passenger. When you tagged along, the system overloaded, which rather neatly explains why my machine is now a smoking pile of scraps.”
The Count pondered this statement for a moment before responding. “We are stuck in this time, that is what you are telling me? How perfect,” he muttered under his breath, too soft for the other man to hear. Just when every preparation was complete, the world decided to once again interfere. How fitting.
“Not exactly,” came the response that drew the Count out of his dark musings. “If I can get ahold of the right supplies, I can fix her up and get her good as new.”
“Then… then we can go back to my time?”
“That’ll be our first stop.”
Against his will, a trace of a grin flashed across the Count’s face. “I will hold you to that, Monsieur Time Traveller. Now, where can we find these supplies?”
The Time Traveller smiled at the title. “Well, Monsieur le Comte, rest assured that I am not a stranger to this era. I have a few, shall we say, associates that could point us in the right direction.” As he went on, his voice became more and more of a mumble. “We can start at… no, best not. He doesn’t take kindly to strangers, especially strangers that need a place to stay.” The Time Traveller fell silent for several minutes, deep in thought. “Well, he’s certainly an option,” he said eventually. The Time Traveller turned to the Count, the former’s expression one of – not hope, but optimism at least. “If you will follow me, I believe I have settled on a place to stay for the time being.”