He tramped after me, his sword clinking on every step. It seemed there were a few other things he didn't want to be seen in battle without, either. There was the sword, for one, a hairy pouch that hung in front of his red tartan kilt and a leather bottle that he only took an occasional sip from. I got a whiff of strong alcohol on one of these occasions, so I didn't ask what it was.
"Right, tell me what you're not telling me, boy. Helen didn't need to know, for she'll worry enough, but I need to know what I'm fighting. Where are you from?"
"I'll show you," I replied, opening the door of my ship. "Take a seat. We'll be flying and the time travel is still a bit tricky."
"Time travel? You telling me this thing, your fancy clothes and you aren't from my time? Is this some sort of magic?" he demanded.
I sighed. "It's not magic, they're all devices that can be explained and constructed. But if you want to think of it as magic, go ahead. It's probably hard to tell the difference. Now if you sit down, I'll take us back to New Zealand and my time, where I'll answer all your questions."
He enthroned himself in the chair I'd pointed at and looked at me eagerly. "Well, what are you waiting for, boy? Take me to the future. Helen will never believe me when I get home."
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Curvaceous Kevlar and other inspired tales
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