Excerpt: The Time Table

In a large mansion on the outskirts of Oxford, England, there is a table that is decidedly out of place. It's not a pretty table, roughly hewn from wood, battered and beaten it look like it was made by a person with no taste in aesthetics, not a table expected found in a mansion. It was also decidedly out of place in the room that it was in, not a dining room, but a sterile vault surrounded by computers and security cameras. Upon closer inspection of the table it revealed why. The ancient table wasn't a useful table in the traditional sense, anything placed on the flat of the table would be lost, for the table top wasn't solid. It opened up into a hole where you could see another place, another time, move by.
An older man in a pair of slacks and a sweater sat on a stool, staring at the table, watching. Nigel Wellington was a well known historian in the area, a professor of history at Oxford. He owned the table and the house, and he and few others knew of the table which was the key to his success in history. The table had been in his family for 12 generations, always a portal through time, though no one ever used it, and Nigel was the only one to use the information gained for his own gain. It was perhaps a little dishonest, but it helped the rest of the world too, revealing things that might otherwise never be known.
Recently, however, the table had not been working properly. It wasn't going through all of time, but stuck going through the same 20 years or so in what Nigel had deduced to be the 13th century. It had been stuck on those years for the past three years. It was something Nigel couldn't explain and he wished to fix it so that he could go publish more articles. Luckily, Nigel had taken up teaching before the table got it's glitch, so he could always claim he was busy teaching.
Behind Nigel, the door to the vault opened, which caused the older man to jump slightly. His son sauntered into the room looking at the table with slight disdain and then to his father. He was a man of average height, pale with curly dark hair and a goatee, both needing to be trimmed.
“Father, after how many years, why don't you just jump in and take a spin? You know where you're going to land this time, since it's broke. Or better yet, chuck it, since it is broke.” The man said loudly, looking over his father's shoulder.
“We've had this discussion before, Richard, the table has been in the family for 12 generations, even if it is being dodgy, I'm not going to just chuck it. As for going through the table, how would I get out? What about the timeline? The entire future, our past, could be completely changed. We could cease to exist! The paradoxes, oh the paradoxes... No, no, we have to stay out of it and just observe.”
Richard, or Rick as it were, shook his head again. “It can't be too bad, and can you just imagine it? It'd be bloody brilliant heading through time, living in it instead of just looking at it.” Rick leaned over the table, looking into the table to see a road with a couple of shabby huts that looked like they were going to fall over with a good strong wind. “Or maybe you could just teach them how to make some better huts.”
“Most of them did quite fine on their own making huts, given the technology they had. Really, it's quite amazing how they managed to do it. Now lean back, you're in the way of my view.”
Rick grunted, then moved back and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Well, I'm headed off to the pub with Chuck, if you need anything, I have my mobile on me. We'll probably be back late, so don't wait up for me.”
His father's response was a grunt, followed by a nod as he continued to make a few notations on his clipboard. “I'll just be in here trying to figure the table out. Or perhaps I'll grade some papers later on in the study.” He said quietly, although he was fairly certain that his son hadn't heard him, as he heard the door shut before he finished. Now if only he could figure out how to fix the table, or at least what was wrong with it. Maybe he should just start specializing in 13th century English history. He had already spent enough time watching it to learn Anglo-Saxon, which seemed useful enough.
Inside the table, a large tired looking man walked through the streets in dirty torn clothes. Nigel watched the man carefully. It was the village's blacksmith, Wellington knew that much, having observed the town for a while. If the historian was right, the blacksmith would be heading into the small pub, as he did about once a month, he would drink for a few hours, then go back to his hut and sleep until dawn when he would start work again.
The village was that of Oxford, hundreds of years prior. Sir Hugh de Vere was the Earl of Oxford, but was off on crusades and the area was being controlled by Lady Hawise, his wife, and Richard and Robert de Vere, his sons. The castle was a mile or two away, and could at times be seen in the table. Because of who was in charge, Nigel was able to place the time. He was interested to watch the going-ons of the village, and made several notations on it. In truth, over the 3 years that he had watched, he had written enough to write a novel on the area. Still, despite how interesting the area it was, he wanted to go to different times again.
Then Nigel saw something that threw him off a little. A new man, in odd clothes with a staff coming from by the forest. Well, the clothes weren't very odd, mostly fur and leather robes. He had red hair and a beard that jutted down to the middle of his chest. Despite the bulk of the fur it was obvious he was a scrawny man, thin and emaciated. Under his red beard, he had a worn look and eyes that were wild. The few people walking the streets of the village moved out of the way to avoid coming near him. This was a man Nigel had not seen before, but he was familiar somehow.
The red-haired man walked quickly to the pub. After he entered, nothing happened in the street for several minutes. Then he came out even faster, with several men coming out behind him yelling things too fast for Nigel to be able to translate it properly. Something about demons and devilry, it was certain, and possibly something about wizards.
Nigel sighed and leaned back as the men exited the view of the table. That was quite possibly the most interesting thing that had happened during the three years stuck in this time-frame. However, it added another puzzling aspect to the entire thing. Perhaps this man, this wizard, was responsible for the table being stuck there? If he really was a wizard and wasn't just a hermit who was stuck with a false reputation.