“That the political system remained essentially feudal.” Father Al’s smile grew hard. “Though, with wizards providing kings with efficient communications, and even intelligence abilities, there’s a chance centralized governments may have evolved.”

“But never terribly absolute,” Rod noted. “The barons could get wizards, too. So they’d think of themselves as ‘Christendom’ as much as separate countries.”

“Not much nationalism,” Father Al agreed. “But how would the New World have been colonized?”

Rod shrugged. “No problem; Columbus came over shortly after the Wars of the Roses, and the Vikings set up a colony before him. With wizardry to help them, they shouldn’t’ve had as much trouble with the ‘skralings.’ ”

“The Amerinds, yes. I notice that most of these people are nowhere nearly as pale as Northern Europeans of the period.”

“Probably hybrids. And with their shamans’ magic added in, you’d have quite an assemblage of magic. But that indicates a big emphasis on trade, which means mercantilism. How come there’s no rise of the middle class?”

“There probably was, to a point. But the kings and barons would’ve entrusted fund-raising to their wizard-advisers, who, being probably of common birth, could participate in trade for them. No, I’d guess the ‘merchant princes’ were princes. And trade not being their means to rise, they wouldn’t push its development as hard.”

Rod spread his hands. “But—fifteen hundred years! Could a society really last that long, without changing?”

“Well, there was ancient Egypt—and the Chinese Empire. Dynasties changed, and styles; technology even improved a little, from time to time—but the society remained the same. And, come to think of it, India, before the Mongols… You know, Europe may have been the exception, not the rule, with its changing society.”

Rod shook his head in wonder. “All because they started being able to make magic work! What do you think was the dividing point—the alchemists?”

“ ‘Dividing point?’ Oh, you mean when this universe split off from ours. It didn’t have to, you know—both universes could have started at the same time, and evolved independently.”

“Could have,” Rod admitted, “but there’re just too many resemblances between this universe and ours. The language is even close enough to Gramarye’s so that I didn’t have any problem understanding.”

“Hmf. A good point.” Father Al frowned. “Who knows? Perhaps both theories are true. It may be that the model for multiple universes isn’t just one branching tree, with universes splitting off from one another at major historical events, but a forest—several root universes, each one branching at decision-points.”

“Maybe—but this one looks to have branched off from ours.”

“Or ours from it—we’re not necessarily the center of Creation, you know.” Father Al grinned wickedly.

“A point,” Rod admitted. “So what was it—the alchemists?”

“Perhaps. There was much talk of wizardry before that, of course—but the alchemists were the first ones to approach the topic rationally. And the astrologers, of course.”

Rod nodded. “So some alchemist-astrologer, probably totally forgotten in our own universe, happened to have the Power, and figured out some rules for its use. He probably wouldn’t have let anyone else in on the secret—but once he proved it could be done, others would figure out how. When would this have happened—Fourteenth Century?”

Father Al nodded. “Sounds about right—I haven’t seen any gunpowder here. That would be the latest point it could’ve happened, at least.”

“And styles have continued to change, and they’ve kept pieces of all of them—but the social set-up hasn’t.” Rod nodded. “Makes sense. A little on the sick side, but sense. Where did the elves come from?”

Father Al shrugged. “ ‘Summoned’ from another universe, or extremely thorough illusions made by a wizard, and kept ‘alive’ by the popular imagination. But they may have been there all along, and were only chased out of our universe by the combination of Cold Iron and Christianity, which gradually eroded the people’s belief in them. There’s some evidence for that last one—the Grand Duchess told us that the faery folk are tied to their own particular piece of countryside. That would seem to indicate that they grew out of the land itself, or rather, out of its life-forms. We aren’t the only beings that set up minute electromagnetic fields around themselves.”

Rod nodded slowly. “Ye-e-e-s. And in our universe, it would have been the 19th Century that finally undid that completely, as it laid Europe under a grid of railroad tracks, and sent telegraph wires all over the countryside, disrupting local field-forces.”

“Well, there were still tales told in the 20th Century—its early years, at least. But radio and television would have finished the job—those, and concrete. They are basically nature sprites, after all.”

The door swung open behind them. “We dine, gentlemen.”

“Well, enough of the fate of this world.” Rod slapped his knees and stood up. “Let’s get to the important stuff, Father.”

The boys cheered and beat them to the door.

They waked to the ringing of the noon bell. The old priest had returned, and the boys scampered out to find lunch. The old man was amazed at the table they set for him. “Cold hare, wild strawberries, grouse eggs, and trout simmering—thy children are most excellent hunters, Milord!”

“Why?” Rod asked around a mouthful. “Game getting scarce?”

“Aye, for some years. There were folk here who lived by trade through the mountains; and, when it ceased, they had need to scour the countryside for victuals. Many have wandered away, but there are still so many that our few farms can scarce feed them all.”

“Well, if it moves and is edible, my boys’ll find it. What stopped the trade, Father—Duke Foidin’s garrisons?”

“That, and the Redcap who lives in the Tower. Not even a peddler can make his way past it, now.”

“Oh.” Rod glanced at Father Al. “What does he do to them?”

“And what manner of sprite is he?” Father Al chipped in.

The old priest shuddered. “He doth take the form of an aged man, squat and powerful, with long snaggled teeth, fiery eyes, long grizzled hair, and talons for nails. He doth wear iron boots and beareth a pikestaff. As to what he doth to travellers, he hath no joy so great as the re-dying of his cap in human blood.”

“Oh.” Suddenly, cold roast hare didn’t taste quite so good. “Can’t anyone do anything to stop him?”

The old priest gave a short laugh. “What wouldst thou have? Armies cannot stand against him! ‘Tis said that reading him Scripture, or making him look upon a cross, will rout him—but how canst thou force him to listen or look?”

“Good question.” Rod turned to Father Al. “Any ideas?”

“One.” The priest nodded. “If religious symbols will repel him when he perceives them, a stronger symbol should banish him by its touch.”

The old priest chuckled. “Certes, Father—but where wilt thou find the man to chance the doing of it?”

“Papa will,” Geoff piped.

The old priest chuckled again, till his eyes met Rod’s, and the chuckle died. Then he paled. “Nay, thou wilt not attempt it!” He looked from Rod to Father Al, then to Gwen, and sat very still. Then he scrambled up, turning toward the door.

“Father,” Father Al said quietly, “I shall require thine altar stone.”

The old priest stopped.

Then he turned about, trembling. “Thou mayest not! The Mass must be said on the bones of the saints, embedded within the altar stone! How shall I say Mass without it?”

“We shall return it this evening.”

“Wilt thou?” The old man strode back, pointing to Father Al with a trembling forefinger. “Wilt thou come back at all? Redcap can stand against armies; how wilt two of thee best him?”

“Three,” Gwen said quietly. “I have some powers of mine own, Father.”