Emma had no idea what just happened. Thankfully, she was pretty used to that by this point, and could pretend to be calm and collected, for a short time at least.
Edith? What's going on?
[Give me a moment. There's a lot to unpack here.]
The rifleman was still waiting for her answer, so Emma decided to go with what worked before.
"I'm sure you'll be fine, if all you're facing are slingshots and the occasional handgun. I'll be heading to the Palace now."
Her reply was a bit more abrupt than last time, but it wasn't as if the soldiers could tell the difference. In any event, Emma called Sir Bearington back out and climbed on board, ordering him onto the footpath without further hesitation. This time, she sat facing backwards, and didn't take her eyes off of the convoy as the surviving Scavenger was restrained and bundled into the back of a van. Only when they were reduced to blurs in the distance did Emma order her mount to stop.
[Light a Black Candle.
Black Candle (5/6) withdrawn.
Matchbox withdrawn.]
Emma didn't question the order; it took a bit of fumbling to light the match one handed, but less than a minute later, the world faded from view inside a bubble of darkness.
[Alright. From this point onward, mental communication ONLY. Even a single spoken word can put you in a hole that even I'd be hard-pressed to dig you out of. Am I clear?]
Emma nodded automatically, before realising nobody could see her.
[Good. So, as you've probably already gathered given my reaction, the situation at Blenheim Palace is FUBAR. The basement holds a teleportation gateway, not a time machine. It's designed to send people across vast distances in less than a second, a strict act of spatial manipulation. Except that's not true, because space and time can't be divided so neatly, despite the best efforts of physicists and philosophers alike.]
I'm not sure I understand, Emma protested.
[That's perfectly fine. Even a general overview of the subject matter is typically an optional module in the final year of an undergraduate degree in Physics, to put it into context. A deep dive would be strictly a postgraduate subject. All you need to know is that space and time are interlinked, to the point where when one breaks badly, there are ripple effects upon the other. For a teleportation gate to become capable of sending us backwards in time, even by a few minutes, well, it's not looking good.
Given the circumstances, your quest needs an update.
Vae Victis quest updated!
Given the extent of the changes, I can cancel this quest for you without penalty, and reassign it to a Magus who assists Paradox in maintaining the timeline. It will take longer, but he'll find this job far more familiar.]
But if the gate blows before he arrives? Emma pressed.
[Then Lough Neagh wouldn't be the biggest lake in the UK anymore. With your traits, you'd survive the blast though. Probably.]
And my family?
[Elizabeth is in Dover, so she should be far enough away. Felix is safe inside his dungeon. As for Noah, well, he might level up and get something to save him between now and then?]
...I'm keeping the quest, Emma shook her head. What can you tell me about the inside of the Palace?
[Nothing.]
Nothing? I know you're not a big fan of my Dad, but is this really the time?
[Indulge me for a moment, alright? Picture this: a young Johne Smythe is born in Wick, in county Caithless, one of the northernmost towns in Scotland. He grew up a typical young boy, fascinated by fishing and football. He wasn't good enough to be scouted by a football academy, nor did he enjoy academia, so he took an apprenticeship on the fishing boat of a close family friend. At twenty three years old, he was swept overboard during a storm and presumed dead, his body never found despite the best efforts of the coast guard. Does all this sound reasonable to you?]
Yes? Emma replied after a moment's thought. It's not the life I've known, but fishermen can and do die on the job.
[Which brings me to the point: prove to me that Johne existed.]
How? Emma retorted. I only know of him from your story.
[Right, which means that for you, Johne exists only insofar as I'm telling you he did. If you were to take the time to go north, you might find more substantial signs of him. Old legal documentation, or the accounts of friends and family. But if none of that existed? If the man is gone, and every trace of his passing extinguished, did he ever exist?]
I don't know.
[You don't know. This is a problem, the same one I'm facing right now, trying to look into the future of a certain basement. Space is so unstable that whatever I see exists only while my intent is focused upon it. In the time it would take to tell you what I saw, the world moves on.]
So what you're saying is...
[You're going in blind. Last chance to cancel the quest, if you want it.]
...Let's get this over with, Emma sighed, snuffing out the Black Candle, and ordering Sir Bearington to head for the palace.