Time Scout

"All the above. I leave the outfitting choices to you and Malcolm."

"But not to Margo?' Co

He rolled his eyes. "Let's see what she picks on her own and judge from that."

"Fair enough. Rent or buy?"

"Rent what's rescuable when they get back. I'll buy what's ruined."

"Okay." Her glance traveled beyond Kit's shoulder to a group of tourists selecting accessories for the dresses they carried. "Oh, damn..." She bolted past Kit's shoulder. "No, no, no, not that fan, that's an evening fan for the opera, what you have there is a morning dress for strolling and paying calls. You'd stick out like an idiot, carrying that around London. Here, what you need is this, or this, or maybe this ...And that pair of slippers is completely wrong, what you need are these side-button boots. Size six? Hmm ...a little narrow, I think. Try this six-and-a-half."

The astonished tourists gaped at the figure Co

"Uh ...thank you..."

They accepted Co

Co

And Co

"No, no, Margo, not that, you've got a charity schoolgirl's cap paired with a lady's tea gown ...."

"Malcolm," Kit waved to get the guide's attention; "get over here! Co

Malcolm, looking for all the world like a truant schoolboy caught in a candy store, hastened over. "Sorry. Just catching up on the newest down-time styles.

There've been changes in top hats since last season, they're more tapered from crown to brim-and the new dress lounge coats are magnificent, with that new rolled collar. But did you see those hideous woolen jersey Jaeger suits?" Malcolm shuddered. "They wore those things in July and August, even while exercising. No wonder people died of heatstroke."

"Malcolm, I didn't know you were a clothes horse," Kit teased

The guide-currently dressed in faded jeans and a cheap T shirt gri

"You are an old fuddy-duddy," Kit laughed, "and so am I. Let's get this over with. Gad, but I hate shopping."

"Only when you're not stepping through the gate," Malcolm smiled.

"Too true. Now, about what she'll need-"

An animal scream lifted from Commons, high and piercing, followed an instant later by a woman's shriek of terror. Kit and Malcolm jerked around, then ran for the door. Surely another new gate hadn't opened? The warning klaxon hadn't sounded and Kit hadn't felt the telltale buzz in his skull bones. Someone started cursing. Then Kit rounded an ornamental garden plot and found a woman in medieval regalia staring at the ceiling and sobbing in rage.

"They killed her! Goddamn them, they killed her!"

The men with her, also dressed in medieval garb, were struggling to soothe terrified, hooded falcons on their arms. One bird had already sprained a wing trying to escape its jesses.

"Who killed whom?" Malcolm blurted.

A few spots of blood on the concrete and a couple of feathers gave Kit the clue. "I'd say those two bird things Sue couldn't identify made lunch of this lady's falcon."

The lady in question affirmed Kit's guess in most unladylike language. Malcolm coughed and turned aside to hide a grin. Pest Control came ru

"What happened?"

The woman whose valuable hunting falcon had just become a paleo-hawk's di

"Uh-oh. I was afraid of something like this. Where are they now? Ah ...there. Okay. Jimmy, Bill, Alice, we need capture nets and tranks, stat. We let those things keep feeding, we won't have any pterosaurs or Ichthyomises to study. And maybe a tourist will get hurt."

That last had clearly been an afterthought. Kit hid a grin. The tourist who'd lost her falcon began demanding reimbursement. Someone called Bull Morgan to mediate.

"C'mon, Malcolm. Looks like the fun's over. We have a trip down time to plan."

Margo, not surprisingly, hadn't even heard the ruckus. She was still flitting from rack to rack, cooing and all but drooling on the clothes. Even Co

"Well, let's see what our prodigy's chosen, shall we?"

"Don't I get an opinion?" Margo demanded. The three faces ranged against her grimaced simultaneously. If Margo hadn't been so flaming angry, it would've been comical. "Well, don't I? I'm going to be the one wearing these"

She held out the ridiculous embroidered smock; the baggy pants with their hideous flap front that fell open if a buttons popped loose-never mind the rags she was supposed to tie around her knees to hold the pants off the ground-then kicked at the scuffed, wide-toed leather boots. The shapeless felt hat was so pitiful she couldn't even bring herself to look at it

"This is only one of the outfits you'll be wearing," Malcolm Moore told her, sounding infuriatingly patient.

"But they're ugly!"

"You're not in training to be a fashion model," Kit said sternly.

Margo subsided, but not happily. "I know"

"Now, about the choices you made," he continued, "Co

"Starting with the ball gown," the outlandish outfitter said, hanging it back on its rack. "The first word is `No.' Your job isn't to go down time and party it up. It's to learn scouting. If you want to revisit London later for a vacation, on your own time and money, fine. Until then, the party dresses stay here."

Margo sighed. "All right. I'm supposed to go down time and be miserable."

"Not at all!" Co

Margo felt her cheeks burn. She hadn't thought of it quite like that. "I'm sorry. It's just I got so excited when you said I could go and that we could pick out clothes ...." She turned an appeal for forgiveness on Kit. "I'm sorry, really I am. I was just so disappointed after I saw those," she pointed to the glittering silks, velvets, and satins, "then you said what I would get to wear was these."

The humble farm clothing--men's farm clothing lacked only mud to make the hideousness complete.

"Apology accepted," Kit said quietly. "Once you learn your trade, Margo-and you have a great deal yet to learn-you can play dress-up as often as you like. But not while you're on the job. Never while you're on the job."

Margo felt like crying. She'd been rude and ungrateful her temper always got her into trouble -- and they were being desperately nice to her. It wasn't a situation she was accustomed to. She felt lost as to how she ought to respond.

Co

"We'd need a chaperon for that," Malcolm said slowly, "but I like the charity girl idea. Her hair's short and that'll either have to be disguised or explained. Charity girl is the perfect cover. As for a chaperon, I could hire someone from an agency and rent a flat for the week we'll be there."

"I don't understand," Margo said. "What's a charity girl? Why would that make a good cover story for me?"