“Then did the High Warlock ride east to meet the beastmen who had come so strangely under a Flag of Truce, and His Majesty the King rode with him; for, though they were few in number, the beastmen were huge and fierce of mien, like unto Demons in their visages, who moved over the face of the Earth like ravening lions. They were tusked like boars, with their heads beneath their shoulders, and bore huge spiked clubs, stained with old blood; and ever and anon did they seek someone to slay. So, when they had come nigh the beastmen, His Majesty the King bade the High Warlock guard them closely with his magic, lest they forget their Truce or it proved to be vile Treachery. And the High Warlock wove a spell about them, standing tall beneath the sun, towering over the beastmen; and his eyes flashed like diamonds in dawnlight, and the aspect of his visage struck Terror into their hearts, so that they stood mute. Then he wove a Spell about them, a cage unseen, a Wall of Octroi, through which they might speak, but never strike. Then spake he unto the King, saying, ‘Lo, these monsters are now circumscribed, and naught can harm ye the whiles ye speak unto them.’ Then spake King Tuan, ‘What manner of men are ye, and wherefore have ye come unto this land of Gramarye?’ Then one among them did stand forth and say, in accents barbarous, that he was the highest Lord of their wild savage Realm, but the other Lords had risen up against their King and overthrown him, wherefore this small band had come beseeching King Tuan’s mercy. Then was King Tuan’s heart moved to Pity, and he spake and said, ‘Poor noble hearts! For I perceive that these treacherous villains who have laid waste my Kingdom have wasted ye likewise!’ And he brought them back with him to Gramarye; yet the High Warlock kept woven tight his net unseen about them…”

—Chillde’s Chronicles of the Reign of Tuan and Catharine

“Your name is what?” Rod stared, unbelieving.

“Yorick.” The beastman spread his hands. “Whatsa-matter? Ain’cha never heard the name before?”

“Well, yes, but never in real life—and as to fiction, you don’t exactly look English.” He glanced back over his shoulder at the soldiers who stood behind him with leveled pikes, then looked up at their companions who stood in a ring around the Neanderthals, pike-points centered on the beast-men. Rod considered telling them to lower their weapons, but decided it would be a little premature.

“A word from you, and they’d drop those spears like magic,” the beastman pointed out.

“Yeah, I know.” Rod grinned. “Ain’t it great?”

“On your side, maybe.” Yorick rubbed a hand over his eyes. “I keep getting the feeling I’ve been through this all before.”

“Nay, dost thou truly?” Tuan said, frowning. “I too have such a sense.”

The Neanderthal shook his head. “Really weird. Like I’ve lived through this already. Except…” He turned to Rod. “You ought to be about a foot taller, with piercing eyes and a wide, noble brow.”

Rod stiffened. “What do you mean, ought to?”

The Neanderthal held up a palm. “No offense. But you ought to have a haughty mien, too—whatever that is.”

“Indeed,” Tuan agreed. “And thou shouldst be hunchbacked, with fangs protruding from the corners of thy jaws, and a look of murdering idiocy in thine eye.”

Yorick reared, startled. Then his face darkened and his eyebrows pulled down to hide his eyes (he had a lot of eyebrow). He stepped forward, opening his mouth—and Rod jumped in quickly. “You, ah, both have this same, ah, sense of, ah, déjá vu?”

“Nice phrase.” Yorick nodded in approval. “I knew there was a word for it.”

Now it was Rod’s turn to stare. Then he said, “Uh—you’ve heard ‘déjá vu’ before?”

“Know I have, know I have.” Yorick bobbed his head, grinning. “Just couldn’t place it, that’s all.”

The handful of beastmen behind him growled and muttered to each other, throwing quick, wary glances at Rod and Tuan.

“How about you?” Rod turned to Tuan. “ ‘Déjá vu.’ Ever heard it before?”

“Never in my life,” Tuan said firmly. “Doth that signify?”

“ ‘Course it does.” Yorick grinned. “It means I’m not a native. But you knew that, didn’t you, High Warlock? I mean, it’s pretty plain that I didn’t evolve here.”

“Yeah, but I sorta thought you’d all been kidnapped.” Rod frowned. “But one of you was in on the kidnapping, weren’t you?”

Yorick winced. “Please! I prefer to think of it as helping place refugees.”

“Oh, really! I thought that kind of placement usually involved finding a willing host!”

“So, who was to host?” Yorick shrugged. “The land was just lying there, perfectly good; nobody was using it. All we had to do was kick out a few dinosaurs and move in.”

“You never thought we folk over here on Gramarye might have something to say about it, huh?”

“Why? I mean, you were over here, and we were over there, and there was all this ocean between us. You weren’t even supposed to know we were there!”

“Lord Warlock,” Tuan interrupted, “this news is of great interest, but somewhat confusing.”

“Yes, it is getting a little complicated,” Rod agreed. He turned back to Yorick. “What do you say we begin at the beginning?”

“Fine.” Yorick shrugged. “Where’s that?”

“Let’s take it from your own personal point of view. Where does your story begin?‘’

“Well, this lady picked me up by the feet, whacked me on the fanny, and said, ‘It’s a boy!’ And this man who was standing near…”

“No, no!” Rod took a deep breath. “That’s a little too far back. How about we start with your learning English. How’d you manage that?”

Yorick shrugged. “Somebody taught me. How else?”

“Dazzling insight,” Rod growled. “Why didn’t I think of that? Could we be a little more specific about your teacher? For one thing, the way you talk tells me he wasn’t from a medieval culture.”

Yorick frowned. “How’d you guess? I mean, I know they didn’t exactly send me to prep school, but…”

“Oh, really! I would’ve thought they’d have enrolled you in Groton first thing!”

Yorick shook his head firmly. “Couldn’t pass the entrance exam. We Neanderthals don’t handle symbols too well. No prefrontal lobes, you know.”

Rod stared.

Yorick frowned back at him, puzzled. Then his face cleared into a sickly grin. “Oh. I know. I’ll bet you’re wondering, if I can’t handle symbols, how come I can talk. Right?”

“Something of the sort did cross my mind. Of course, I do notice that your mates have something of a language of their own.”

“Their very own; you won’t find any other Neanderthal tribe that uses it.”

“I wasn’t really planning to look.”

Yorick ignored the interruption. “These refugees come from so many different nations that we had to work out a lingua franca. It’s richer than any of the parent languages, of course—but it’s still got a very limited vocabulary. No Neanderthal language gets very far past ‘Me hungry. That food—go kill.’ ”

“This, I can believe. So how were you able to learn English?”

“Same way a parrot does,” Yorick explained. “I memorize all the cues and the responses that follow them. For example, if you say, ‘Hello,’ that’s my cue to say ‘Hello’ back; and if you say, ‘How are you?’ that’s my cue to say, ‘Fine. How’re you?’ without even thinking about it.”

“That’s not exactly exclusive to Neanderthals,” Rod pointed out. “But the talking you’ve been doing here is a little more complicated.”

“Yeah, well, that comes from mental cues.” Yorick tapped his own skull. “The concept nudges me from inside, see, and that’s like a cue, and the words to express that concept jump out of memory in response to that cue.”

“But that’s pretty much what happens when we talk, too.”

“Yeah, but you know what the words mean when you say ‘em. Me, I’m just reciting. I don’t really understand what I’m saying.”