Time Scout

Before new arrivals had finished clearing the gate, Malcolm reminded Margo to take a reading with her ATLS. He pulled her off to one side and put her through the drill of ATLS readings and log updates, then checked her work. He glanced carefully through her notations, double-checked her ATLS readings, and nodded. "Very good. You're getting the hang of it."

She beamed

He finished his own notations then put away his equipment in the carefully disguised bag he would carry. Malcolm then adjusted his slave's collar and scrutinized the drape of Margo's provincial garb.

"I want her to look like a trader from somewhere really remote," Kit had said in the back room of Co

"Roman Syria," Malcolm -had suggested at once. -Palmyra's perfect."

"Why Palmyra?" Margo asked curiously.

"Palmyrenes were almost unknown in Rome of A.D. 47. No one should question your complete lack of ancient languages-which also means they won't be able to question you about 'home.' And since they can't talk directly with you, I'll be able to `translate'-and I do know the answers. Palmyra was only incorporated as an autonomous part of Roman Syria thirty-seven years before A.D. 47, with very tenuous trading ties to Rome, at best."

The costume Co

When Margo heard the size of the estimated bill, she actually paled. "My God! Why so much?"

Co

Margo glanced at the half-finished garments strewn everywhere in Co

"The chain-stitch sewing machine was invented in 1830. The lock-stitch machine came even later. Before that, all clothing was assembled by hand."

"But not all your costumes are this expensive. Not even close. What are you going to do? Hand spin the thread for this thing?"

Co

She snagged an extraordinary gown from a peg. In three parts, it consisted of a coat-like overdress, a wide, skirt-like affair, and a triangular piece that was evidently meant to go across the front of the bosom, tapering to a point at the waist.

"This is an eighteenth-century English gown. One of our smaller gates opens into colonial Virginia every five years or so. It's due to open in about a month and a couple of researchers are going through for an extended sabbatical in Williamsburg." She chuckled. "Goldie Morran always makes a killing, exporting China metal to Williamsburg through whoever's going down time. The researchers carry the stuff through to help pay for their research trips."

"China metal?" Margo asked. "What on earth is that?"

"Ordinary nickel-silver," Malcolm gri

"Yes," Kit chuckled, "but in colonial Williamsburg it was worth as much as gold." His eyes twinkled. "Much like Co

Co

"Now, with your Palmyrene costume, I can't fudge anything. It'll take hours and hours of work to complete. I won't have to hand spin or weave, but the embroidery alone will be murder. I'll have to pull a couple of assistants off other jobs to finish it in time."

"Which is expensive," Margo sighed. "I guess," she said, giving Kit and Malcolm a hang-dog look, "I'd better not get it dirty, huh?"

Malcolm, like Kit and Co

But now, the overly cautious way Margo moved told Malcolm she was terrified of ruining Co

"Margo," he said, "one piece of advice."

She glanced up, trying to avoid a dusty stack of wine jars. "What's that?"

"That costume is meant to be lived in. It may have been expensive, but it isn't a museum piece. Keep walling around like that and some Roman snob is going to think you're a puer delicatus for sale."

Margo's face registered absolute bafflement.

"Pretty boys brought twice as much at the slave markets as pretty girls, whether they were destined for a brothel or a private bed."

Lips and eyes went round with shock.

"This isn't Mi

She closed her mouth. "Okay, Malcolm."

"Study wealthy Romans on the street for body language. That isn't the same here, either. Neither are common gestures like nodding and shaking your head.

To indicate yes, tip your head back. To indicate no, tuck your chin." He demonstrated. "Shake your head side to side and a Roman will wonder what s wrong with your ears."

"What if I screw up?"

"Intelligent question. Romans were notoriously rude about their cultural superiority. If you make any minor errors, they'll put it down to a rank provincialism without the saving graces of intelligence, ma

"Worse than the Victorians?"

"Lots worse," Malcolm said dryly.

"Too bad. It's a horrid thing to say about people who invented ... well, lots of things."

Malcolm sighed. -Margo, you really have to study."

"I know! I am studying. I'll study more when we get back! At least I can now tell you everything Francis Marion ever did, said, or thought!"

Still a sore subject. He was sorry, indeed, that she and Kit had fought about it. All La-La land had buzzed with the gossip when Margo had walked out of the Delight and headed for the library in tears-leaving Kit so rattled a down timer, for God's sake, had nearly gotten the better of him in a hand-to-hand with a croquet mallet. That was the primary reason Malcolm was here: to convince her how important those studies were. Malcolm took his job seriously.

Then he had to stifle a grin: If the Hilaria and Ludi Megalenses didn't convince Margo she needed to study, nothing would.

A Time Tours guide opened the outside door again to communicate with employees in the wineshop proper. The roar of noise from the Via Appia just beyond caused a wave of excited laughter to ripple its way back through the tourists. The soundproofed door closed and the Time Tours guide stepped onto a crate to command attention.