Written: July 1993 - May 1994
Word Count: Approximately 52,000 words
Background Notes: This story was the second BTTF one I wrote, which I began a couple months after the BTTF4 debacal. More wince-able things in it -- not to mention the plethora of anachronisms. Like the way people spoke in the middle ages. Having done a lot of painstaking research into this time period since then -- most recently for the second book in my original series -- I both smirk and grimace at my former naiveness.
And this tale contains more blatantly obvious, completely pointless scenes of Marty in some form of unconsciousness or sleep that I drooled over while writing this out. I was a high school freshmen, m'kay? I can't believe that I actually turned in this story as I wrote it for credit in my creative writing class.... Man, I had a patient CW teacher!
But it's curious in one respect -- seeing how my writing style was evolving and jumping from the first story.
Friday, November 22, 1985
5:34 P.M.
Hill Valley, California
The letter came suddenly, without warning. It was lying on the table next to the entryway and was the first thing that Marty McFly saw when he walked into the house from school. It captured his attention for two reasons. One, it had no stamp and the postmark looked like it was hand drawn. And two, the envelope that it was in was yellowed and crumbly, as if it had been dropped in water then laid out in the sun to dry. But, Marty noticed, the ink was not smeared, as it would have looked if it had indeed been submerged in water. He also saw that the letter was addressed to him.
"Weird," he whispered, letting his backpack slide down to the floor as he carefully picked up the letter. Marty turned it over and over again in his hands, trying to figure out who it was from, but getting nowhere. After a moment he shrugged and slowly tore the letter open, being careful not to rip the paper that lay inside.
As soon as Marty unfolded it, he knew who it was from. The handwriting was unmistakable. The date confirmed it. December 19, 1285. No one else he knew but Doc Brown could have written him a letter from that time. But why would Doc write him a letter when he could have easily phoned him? It made absolutely no sense. Marty looked down at the aged paper in his hands and figured out the only way he might get some answers was to read the letter, which he did quickly. It was not good news. Marty read it over again, not believing his eyes. Nothing had changed though.
The letter still read -
Dear Marty,
I am writing you from Medieval England. The boys were begging for a vacation through time so Clara and I thought that a trip through the Middle Ages would be fun and educational. Except for the clothing, Jules and Verne have enjoyed it here. But by now you must know that if I am writing you, it is not for staying in touch. Something is wrong.
Upon entering this time, the DeLorean was struck by a flying arrow which broke through the windshield and pierced the flux capacitor, causing a malfunction. We have been here two months now and I have still not been able to fix it. The only solution is to have you take the train and, by bringing all the materials I have listed on the back of this paper, allowing me to fix the DeLorean and return back to 1985. It should only take a few days to fix the time machine and during that time you could experience the Middle Ages firsthand.
The small village that we have settled into is called Mountain Crest. You should be able to find our house fairly easily. To avoid suspicion and make some money to survive on, I have become a blacksmith once again, since I already learned the profession in 1885. Our house that we are living in is right on the edge of the courtyard, with a tree in front of it. It is the only home that has a tree in the yard in this area.
Please come as soon as possible. We're counting on you.
Sincerely,
Marty sighed and stuffed the letter back in the torn envelope. Hadn't he just gotten back from time traveling? It seemed like for this past month he had spent more time in others then in his own. Marty looked at his watch. If he left now, no one would notice his absence or ask questions, like they would if he left after dinner or something. Nevertheless, before leaving the house, Marty wrote a quick note to his brother and sister, since his parents were camping that weekend, explaining that he might home late. But he didn't go into detail why he might be late. He certainly couldn't tell them the truth.
It only took about fifteen minutes to reach Doc Brown's house. Marty tried the front door, but it was locked, as expected. However, when Doc had moved into the house a few weeks before, he had shown Marty where the spare key was kept, just in case of emergency like this one. Dragging a wicker chair that was on the covered porch over to the door, Marty stepped up on it and grabbed the key from off the doorframe where it was resting, just out of sight. A minute later he was in the house.
Marty closed the front door behind him and bolted it, surprised how the sounds echoed and seemed so loud in the empty house. He didn't think that he had ever been in the house when no one was there. It was eerie. Marty walked quickly through the house and went out the back door, heading straight for the detached garage that Doc had turned into his lab. Again, the door was locked, but again Doc had shown him where the spare key was, so getting in was not a problem.
Once in the lab, which was looking almost completely empty since the DeLorean was not sitting in front of the big doors like it usually was, Marty took the letter out of his pocket and slipped the paper out, turning it over to see what materials he would need to bring to Doc. Their were about ten of them, mostly boxes that were listed. Most of them Marty knew where they were or what the tools looked like, but some he had no earthly idea what they could have been.
"Doc could've left descriptions of the things," Marty said under his breath as he thought about how to figure out what a hydrometer was. After a few more minutes and not reaching an answer, Marty decided to just bring the whole box of tools that Doc had. That way, he wouldn't accidentally bring the wrong thing.
After gathering everything listed in a big pile on the floor, Marty went over to the trap door in one corner of the room and rolled back the rug that was laid over top of it to keep it hidden from strangers and prying eyes. Grabbing a flashlight, Marty lifted the trap door up and turned the light on, shining it into the pool of blackness. The place where the train was stored was down a tunnel and in a large basement under the farmhouse. If you didn't have a flashlight with you, it would be a dangerous walk. The steps that lead down were steep. Marty went down them carefully, one hand holding firmly onto the handrail that was installed in the earthen wall. After getting off the steps, it was only a short walk through the tunnel before he came upon the large room that held the train time machine. Marty went directly over to where the light switches were located and flipped them all up. A second later the room was flooded with bright light.
The train sat large and silent on the tracks that Doc Brown had built especially for it. Flicking off the flashlight, Marty walked over to it and pressed the button to open the door. He climbed in to set the flashlight down and was about to exit to get all the materials that Doc had requested, when a piece of paper hanging over the controls caught his eyes. It had not been taped their a week before when Doc had taught him how to work the train. Marty leaned forward to read it. It said, in big bold capitals, 'UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES SHOULD THE TRAIN BE USED BEFORE 12AM OR AFTER 5AM'.
"Perfect," Marty muttered, dropping down in the chair that was in front of the controls. "What am I supposed to do for the next seven hours?"
After loading all the stuff into the train, Marty still had about six and a half hours left to kill. He stood in Doc's living room, debating what to do next. Since his parents weren't home, it didn't matter if he went home before midnight. Marty knew Dave and Linda could care less. Marty also knew that Doc wouldn't care if he stayed here until then, either.
Sighing, Marty looked around the room. The TV that sat in one corner of the room caught his eye. He could always watch that for the next several hours. That would probably make the time pass quicker too. Marty took the remote control from where it was resting on top of the TV and sat down in the armchair across from it. As he turned the TV on, Marty glanced at his watch. It was 6:24. Marty sighed again and began flipping through the channels.
The rope that bound his wrists was too tight. Marty tried moving his hands around in hope of loosening the rope, but it just dug in more.
"You can't get out," a voice said. Marty turned his head and found himself looking into the face of Biff Tannen. Or was it? The man looked exactly like him, but he was dressed in medieval looking clothes. Marty looked down, realizing he was still in his regular 1985 clothes.
"Why am I tied here?" he asked, catching sight of a sharp, pointed arrow that the Tannen guy had in his hand, along with a bow.
The Tannen smiled. "For target practice, of course." He grinned wickedly as he brought up the bow and put the arrow into it, pulling it taut.
Marty gasped as the Tannen stretched the arrow tighter, concentration and determination etched into his features. Was their any way he could get out of here?
The sound of a chime was heard. Marty jerked his head up and instead of a Tannen about to shoot him with a silver arrow, their was a TV with a medieval movie on. At the moment in the movie, Robin Hood was robbing a rich man on horseback at arrow point.
"What a nightmare," Marty whispered sitting up, it all coming back to him. The grandfather clock chimed again and continued ten more times before stopping. It was midnight. Time to go back.
Pushing himself up out of the armchair, Marty walked over to the TV and clicked it off. The room became completely dark, since no lights had been on. The last time he had see the clock before he had fallen asleep, it had been a little after eleven. The lights had been on then but Doc must have had them timed to go off at a certain time since as far as Marty could tell, all lights in the house were out.
Groping his way through the darkened house, Marty reached the back door of the kitchen and twisted the knob, squinting at the sudden, bright moonlight when he stepped out of the house. Locking the door behind him, he walked quickly across the damp grass and several minutes later was opening the door to the train. It was a tight squeeze inside with all the equipment and materials that Doc had asked for stored in the train, but Marty was left with enough room stand.
The door that the train went out through was a pair of huge cellar doors that probably took a ton of energy to lift. But luckily, Doc Brown had installed a special door opener for it and all Marty had to do was flick a switch in the train to open them. They did, without fail. Taking a deep breath, Marty flipped the time circuits on and looked at the letter again. Deciding that the day after the letter was written would be the best time to come, Marty punched in December 20, 1285, Mountain Crest, England. He paused at the time of day, wondering what to put in. After dark would probably be best, Marty finally decided, punching in 12:00AM.
Looking around the train one last time to make sure he wasn't forgetting anything, Marty slowly and carefully started the train, holding his breath as it jerked forward and picked up speed. Looking out the window, he saw a succession of images. The frame of the cellar doors as the train rushed through him, the house and the area surrounding it grow smaller as the train took to the air and the big, bright, bold moon. The moon was the last thing Marty saw as the train hit eighty eight miles per hour and then vanished into the past.
'Doc' Emmett L. Brown
December 19, 1285
Friday, December 20, 1285
12:00A.M.
Mountain Crest, England
After the flashes of light that came when the time machines went through time, it was dark. So dark, Marty couldn't see a thing outside. A glance at the time display told him that he was in the right place. But where exactly was here? Squinting, Marty peered out the window again. This time he saw a big, black shape rise suddenly, out of nowhere, right in front of the train. Gasping, Marty looked down at the controls in front of him, searching for the steering mechanism. But it was too late.
The train, already de-accelerating from the trip through time, didn't hit the object with that much force, but it was enough to make an awful crunching noise and shatter something made of glass. Marty, his hands gripping the back of the chair that was in front of him so hard that his knuckles were turning white, could only pray that the train didn't crash in a twisted heap on the ground.
Luckily, it didn't. Their was a scraping noise that went the length of the train on the floor, then he was past it. Hands trembling, Marty quickly landed the train in the first empty field he saw. As soon as he touched ground, Marty jumped out of the train and went to the front to inspect for damage. It didn't look good. The whole front end was crushed and the flux capacitor, that was on the outside at the front on the train, unlike inside like the DeLorean, was shattered and looked like twisted pieces of metal.
"What did I do?" Marty moaned, taking another step closer to the wrecked end of the train. A small branch of a fir tree was caught in the mess. That must have been what hit the train, he realized.
Marty felt something wet and cold hit his face and realized that it was snowing. Looking down, he also saw that a few inches had already accumulated on the ground. Marty shivered, suddenly noticing the major temperature difference. All he had on were some sneakers, jeans, a t-shirt, and his denim jacket. Not the best clothing to wear when it felt like it was fifteen degrees out. A strong wind blew, feeling like icicles being raked across his skin. Teeth chattering, Marty went back into the train to escape the wind and figure out what to do next.
Looking at the letter once again, Marty wondered why Doc didn't include a map of the town. How was he supposed to know where the town was? Sure, the time machine went to the location, but that didn't mean that he was right on top of the houses or buildings. For all Marty knew, he could be five miles away from the town! If he was that far away he'd probably freeze to death before he got there. Though it was out of the wind, the temperature in the train was already rapidly decreasing. Glancing around, Marty saw nothing in the train that he could use to keep warm. Though it was risky, he decided to use the flashlight. As far as he could see, no people were around and if he didn't bring the flashlight, he wouldn't be able to see even three feet in front of him!
Closing the train securely up, Marty began to hike through what was beginning to feel like a blizzard. The wind had picked up and the snow felt like grains of sand that were being propelled through the air. Less then a minute after leaving the sanctuary of the train, Marty felt like he would never be warm again. The flashlight, though powerful, ran into a wall of impenetrable darkness five feet ahead.
"Where is this town?" Marty muttered, keeping his head low in the blowing wind. A minute later his left shoulder brushed against something. He looked up to see a hand carved sign. After chipping off the snow and ice that was caked on it with the help of the flashlight, Marty saw that it read 'Mountain Crest' with an arrow pointing to the right. Turning that way, Marty saw a path that led through some woods. Breathing a sigh of relief he began to walk through it. Here, the snow and wind was not as bad, but it was still bitterly cold.
After walking down the path for about ten minutes, Marty saw a huge stone wall with a metal gate. The gate was open, so he walked on through. If he remembered correctly from his history classes, all towns and villages in the Middle Ages had these to protect them from attacking armies. The village must have not been at war with anyone, otherwise the gates would probably closed and locked. Tilting his head back, Marty looked at the top of the iron gate, with it's large pointed spikes rimming the top of it. He shivered, this time not from cold, thinking what might have happened if he had to climb it.
The buildings started appearing right after the gate. Marty thought they looked like blocks that were stacked on top of each other, then had the ground shaken beneath them. The corners were sharp, angular, and the second stories of the buildings were larger then the first stories. The buildings were also narrow and had only inches of space in between others. If one caught fire, the others would probably go up too, Marty noticed.
Marty heard a scurrying sound behind him and turned to see a big fat rat, the size of a guinea pig. He gasped and backed away. The rat looked at him through glowing red eyes, pausing for a moment before continuing across the road and vanishing into the shadows. Marty swallowed hard and picked his pace up a little bit, keeping the flashlight's beam low and not moving his gaze from the center of the road. He couldn't believe the size of the rats!
Marty suddenly heard footsteps behind him and switched the light off, pausing to listen, his head cocked to one side. Without the flashlight, it grew completely dark, except for the strange, faint glow that the snow gave off. The footsteps grew closer. It sounded like someone running. Suddenly, something leapt out from behind him and, with a shout, grabbed his arm. Marty choked back a scream and yanked his arm out of the person's grip, then ran away as fast as he could. The flashlight dropped from his grasp but he didn't turn around or try to retrieve it. The snow stung his face, and the air was so cold it hurt to breathe, but Marty didn't stop running. He could hear someone chasing after him and didn't want to get caught. Who knew what that person wanted!
The road was slick with ice and, since his shoes didn't have much traction for that, Marty slipped a few times. But he didn't stop running. Coming to some wide stone stairs, Marty ran up them, figuring that where they led would be better then where he was, no matter what! Halfway to the top, he slipped again and fell forward. The last thing Marty saw was a stone step rushing to meet him.
Then there was complete blackness.
Marty opened his eyes, straining them to see anything. But it was completely dark. Yet, he knew that their was someone in the room, someone he knew.
"Mom?" he whispered. "Is that you?"
He felt someone wipe his forehead with a damp cloth. "Just relax now," Marty heard his mother say. "You've been asleep for almost seven hours."
Marty frowned. Since when did his mother speak like she was from England? He decided to ignore it for now. It was probably his imagination.
"I had a horrible nightmare," he moaned, closing his eyes. "I dreamt that was lost in the middle of a blizzard and being chased by something."
Marty heard his mother sigh. "Well, your safe and sound now, here in Tannen Castle."
Marty opened his eyes with a start. "Tannen Castle?" he repeated, sitting up as a match flared and lit a candle. The glow showed a young women dressed in a long, green dress that looked like it was made of silk and a golden wool cape wrapped around her shoulders. Her hair was long, down to her waist, but other then that she looked exactly like Marty's mother.
Marty stared at her for almost a minute before he managed to speak. "Who are you?" he whispered, shocked.
The young women smiled softly. "I'm Princess Marian Tannen," she replied, looking at him. "And who might you be?"
Marty frowned for a moment. Her last name was Tannen? Did that mean she was a relative of Biff Tannen? He decided to think about that later. Right now he had to give her a name. But what?
"Robin Hood," he told her, the name popping into his head. Princess Marian Tannen smiled again.
"Nice to meet you, Robin Hood," she said, then asked, "If you don't mind my asking, wherever did you get your clothes? I have never seen anything like them."
Marty looked down, noticing that he was in a four poster canopy bed that was covered with velvety blankets, and also seeing that he was still wearing his 1985 clothing. His eyes widened, wondering how he was going to explain this.
"Oh, I got these imported from America," he finally said, hoping that would answer her question.
Princess Tannen frowned. "What's America?" she asked, puzzled.
Whoops. America wasn't discovered yet, Marty remembered. "Never mind," he said quickly.
That seemed to satisfy Princess Tannen. "I was going back to the castle from my friend's house when I found you on the castle steps. You would have froze to death if I had not come along then," she said.
Marty suddenly remembered running up some steps, trying to get away from whoever was chasing him, then slipping. He must have hit his head on one of the steps. He swallowed hard, realizing how close he could have come to dying. Marty looked around the room, hoping to take his mind off that.
The walls and floor were made of stone and most of the walls were covered with big blankets, covered with symbols or pictures. Marty remembered that they were called tapestries and were used for keeping heat inside castles. The room was large enough to contain the bed, a large fireplace that took up half a wall, a chair and footstool, a bookshelf, and a desk that rested next to the bed. Their was also a small window that had thick glass in it.
"This is my room," Princess Tannen said, breaking the silence. Marty looked at her, once again noticing how much she looked like his mother.
"Who is your mother?" he asked finally. Princess Tannen suddenly looked sad.
"My mother was Queen Alice Tannen. She died ten years ago, when I was only seven, from a deadly fever."
"No, I mean what was your mother's name before she was married," Marty said, looking carefully at her.
"She was Alice Cooper before she married Father," Princess Tannen said, standing up.
Marty frowned. He couldn't remember if any of his ancestors had the name Cooper. It was probably just a wild coincidence that Princess Tannen looked like his mother.
The wooden door suddenly flew open, slamming into the wall behind it. A broad shouldered man stood on the threshold. "Marian, get over here!" he yelled, stepping into the room. The man looked like he had just stepped out of the pages of a history book. He was wearing a gleaming gold crown, a silver and gold shirt with puffed sleeves that went down to his knees, copper colored pants that looked like tights, and a iron belt around his waist. A few gold necklaces, one with an expensive looking jewel on it, rested around his neck. And... Marty blinked, wondering if he was imagining things. The man looked exactly like Biff Tannen!
The princess dashed over to the man. "Right here, Father," she said, curtsying. She turned toward Marty and pointed at him. "This is Robin Hood. Robin, this is my father, King Midas Tannen."
King Midas Tannen? Marty almost groaned out loud. It couldn't be! Not here and not now! He wondered if Biff Tannen knew that he had a royal ancestor. Probably not.
"King Midas Tannen?" Marty asked the scowling man, climbing out of the bed and standing up. It was only then he realized that he was King Tannen's height, unlike in the future where Biff and all the other Tannens towered over Marty. King Tannen scowled at him.
"King Tannen to you," he growled, then asked, no nicer then before, "What were you doing outside in this weather after curfew? Are you trying to get yourself killed by some barbarians?"
Marty looked at King Tannen, puzzled. "What do you mean?" he asked.
King Tannen rolled his eyes. "Never mind. I can see that you are too stupid to know what I am talking about." He walked over to the window and peered out. "It's light out now. Go on home."
Princess Tannen ran to her father, looking over his shoulder at the outside. "It is not that light," she said, then looked at Marty. "Why don't we have Robin Hood stay for breakfast, then he can leave."
King Tannen turned around, looked at Marty with a frown, then looked at his daughter. His face softened. "If it will please you, I give my consent," he said tenderly as he looked at her, then turned to Marty again. His face hardened. "But as soon as he is done, he must leave. I am sure that Daniel would not be happy if he knew that you were having breakfast with someone other then him."
"Daniel?" Marty asked, not having the fainted idea who that was.
Princess Tannen turned to face him. "My fiancee," she said softly, looking at the floor.
King Tannen pointed a pudgy, ring encased finger at him. "Breakfast in five minutes. If you do not show up, do not expect any food." With that he whirled around and left the room, slamming the door behind him.
Princess Tannen looked up. "I'm sorry if you think my father rude. He is awfully protective of me. I'm the only thing he had besides Harley, my twin brother. He has spent almost a year searching the country for the perfect husband for me."
"Is that who Daniel is?" Marty asked her.
Princess Tannen nodded, then frowned. "I sometimes wish that father would let me do what I want. I have only met Daniel Covington once, and he is not my type. Not like William Gardener at all -" She stopped abruptly, putting her hand to her lips, like she had said something she wasn't supposed to.
"Who's William Gardener?" Marty asked, looking at Princess Tannen carefully. She shook her head.
"No one. No one at all," she said firmly, then grabbed his arm and pulled him out of the room. "You heard Father. If you're the slightest bit late, no food. Come, we must hurry."
Princess Tannen dragged Marty down a spiraling stone staircase and through a long narrow stone hall before they reached a huge room. Marty gasped at the high ceiling and the long, long dining table. It was empty except for King Tannen, sitting at the head of the table in a fancy carved chair. Food was spread out all across the table.
"Come, have a seat." King Tannen said to his daughter, then catching sight of Marty, grudgingly waved him over. "You too, Robin Hood."
Marty did as he was told, staring at the food in amazement. Maybe it was because he was used to American food, but the food on the table looked...interesting. Their was what might have been bacon but was lathered in some kind of sauce and had a few flies crawling all over it. Next to it was some bread, but it looked as hard as a rock. Marty looked at the other food spread out on the table but it either had something moving in or on it, smelled really gross, or was a strange color.
King Tannen grabbed the fly infested bacon and bit into it, not even bothering to try and get some of the insects off. Princess Tannen carefully cut a slice of the stale bread and lathered butter that had a spider or something crawling in it. Marty turned away, feeling sick. If this was what medieval food was like, he would probably starve to death before he got to go back to the future.
King Tannen, still chewing the bacon, glared at Marty. "What's wrong, don't you like my servant's cookin'?" he asked, swallowing.
Marty looked at the food set out on the table and shuddered. "No, it's just that I'm not hungry," he said, trying to be polite and pushing the green sausage further away from him.
King Tannen shrugged and had a sample of everything off the table. Princess Tannen stuck to the bread and butter. When King Tannen finished, he pushed his plate away, leaned back in the chair, and let out a loud belch. "That was good," he said, sighing.
Princess Tannen stood up and pushed her chair in. "I'll lead Robin Hood to the door now," she said softly, grabbing Marty's arm and pulling him out of the chair, then dragging him through the castle again.
As soon as they were in front of two, large metal doors that must have been the castle's front doors, Princess Tannen yanked something out of her leather shoe. "Do you know the Gardeners?" she asked Marty, fingering what might have been a folded piece of paper.
"No," Marty said, puzzled. "Who are they?"
"They live right next to the blacksmith's house," she added. "Do you know where that is now?"
Marty shrugged. "More or less," he replied, remembering Doc Brown's directions to his house. If the Gardeners lived next to the blacksmith's, that would have to mean that they had to live next door to Doc.
Princess Tannen thrust the folded up paper in Marty's hand. "Give this to William Gardener. He will know who it is from and what it means." Princess Tannen went over to the doors and flung them opened, letting in a blast of snow and cold. "Now hurry, leave," she said, shoving him out on the doorstep. "And don't tell anyone about the letter." She slammed the door in his face.
Friday, December 20, 1285
7:56 A.M.
Trudging through the early morning streets, snow lightly falling, Marty looked for what Doc had called the 'courtyard'. As far as he saw, there were no trees or empty spaces, aside from the street. A few townspeople were out, and all stared at him strangely as he walked by. Marty wished desperately that he had been able to dress in some medieval clothes before coming.
The snow covered street widened and Marty found himself in a large area with a few trees in the center of it. Marty looked at the nearby buildings for a tree in front of any and almost immediately spotted the large oak. He walked over to the building behind it and tried peering in the dark windows, but saw nothing except blackness.
"Why don't you try the door?" a voice said right next to him. Marty jumped, almost hitting his head on the top of the windowsill, and spun around. Verne Brown, Doc's youngest son, stood in the doorway with a quilt wrapped around him.
"I was trying to see if this was the right place," Marty replied, stepping over to Verne. "I guess it is."
Verne nodded. He looked different, Marty noticed. It took him almost a minute before he realized that Verne was not wearing the coon skin cap that Marty had always seen him in. "Where's your hat?" Marty asked him.
Verne scowled. "Mom and Pop said that since they didn't have those now, I can't wear it. I think it's so unfair."
Marty leaned forward and tried to peer around Verne. "Is Doc up yet?" he asked, not seeing any lights on inside.
Verne stepped aside, back into the house, and motioned for Marty to enter. "Everyone is. We've been waiting for you all day and night."
Marty stepped into the house. Verne shut the door and bolted it behind him with a long plank that he lowered into notches at each side of the door. The whole floor was dark. "I thought you said everyone was awake," Marty said, walking slowly though the room. Something hard hit his shin and he grimaced in pain.
Verne, creeping ahead of him, replied, "This floor is for Pop's blacksmith work. The second floor is where we all live and hang out."
A square of light suddenly appeared from the ceiling. "Verne, what are you doing down there?" Marty heard Doc call.
Verne dashed over to the steep, narrow stairway that Marty could now see was beneath the light square, grabbing hold of Marty's jacket and pulling him behind him up a few stairs before letting go. You'd think that people would be happy if they just asked you to follow them, Marty thought, realizing how much he had been pushed and dragged somewhere ever since he arrived here.
"I saw Marty standing in front of our house and went down to meet him," Verne called back, climbing the steps and climbed through the hole in the ceiling. "I didn't say anything 'cause I wanted it to be a surprise."
Doc leaned down, with a candle in a holder Marty could see now. "Marty! Thank goodness you made it here!" Doc exclaimed, coming quickly down the stairs. "We were afraid you might have lost your way in the snowstorm."
Marty shook his head. "Your instructions were very precise."
"Good," Doc replied, looking pleased. "I trust that you brought all the materials that I listed with you."
Marty nodded. "I left them all in the train, which," he added hesitantly, "plowed right into a tree when I entered this time."
Doc paled a bit in the candlelight. "What do you mean it 'plowed into a tree'?" he asked, his voice rising slightly.
"When I got into this time, the train slammed right into the top of a tree," Marty explained. "The front got the most damage. I think that the flux capacitor may be busted."
Doc sighed and set the candle down on to a small carved table, turning to look out the window. Marty looked in amazement for the first time at the clothing that Doc was wearing. It was similar to what King Tannen had been wearing but much, much plainer. The shirt was not gold but tan, with no puffed sleeves or jewelry, the pants or tights, whatever they were, was a plain black color, and Doc had no belt.
"Just out of curiosity, what am I going to have to wear while I'm here?" Marty asked, eying Doc's clothes suspiciously.
Doc looked back at Marty, noticing for the first time what he was wearing. His eyes immediately widened. "What are you doing, wearing those clothes at this time?"
Marty shrugged. "Doc relax. Not many people saw me, and I never even thought of changing clothes until it was too late."
Doc stepped away from the window and picked the candle up again. "You must change clothes immediately! If the wrong kind of people saw you, the results could be fatal."
Marty shook his head. "Whatever," he said, following Doc up the stairs. He guessed that would make sense, since wearing something a little strange looking in 1885 when he had first arrived had almost got him hung.
The room that the stairs led to appeared to be the living room or something similar to that. Clara Brown sat in a chair at a small table, looking out at the snow falling from a window. She was also dressed in medieval clothes, a long dress that looked a bit like Princess Tannen's, but also not as fancy. The dress was a dark blue and was very long and loose, except for the chest, where it was pulled tight. Clara's hair was partially pulled up in a bun, with the rest falling past her shoulders and down to her waist. Marty realized that she must have not cut it when going to live permanently in 1985, since it had been that long in 1885, when he had first met her.
Jules Brown, Doc's other son, was lying on his stomach on the floor dealing out cards, a blanket wrapped around him. Verne sat across from him. They must have been in the middle of a game when Marty arrived. Marty couldn't tell what either boy was wearing, since they both had blankets around them. With good reason, too. Except for a fire going in a fireplace that took up one whole wall, the room had no other visible source of heat. The temperature, except for right in front of the fire, was not much warmer in the room then it was outside.
"Look who finally showed up," Doc announced, stepping in the middle of the small room. Clara looked away from the window and stood, walking the few steps it took to get to the center of the room.
"Marty, we're so glad you could come!" Clara said softly then looked around the room, frowning a bit. Marty looked too and didn't see anything especially awful. The room was on the small side, with hardwood floors and walls. For some reason, hay was packed down on the floor, like wall to wall carpeting. It was probably for insulation, but it didn't make the room that much warmer. Across one wall what might have been a very early couch was placed. It had a carved wooden frame and looked like a bench. Some giant pillows were placed on the back and bottom, which would make it more comfortable to sit on than if it didn't have those. Next to the 'couch' was the table, with four chairs pushed in and a lace tablecloth over it. The window was above it, the curtains matching the tablecloth. Glass, though distorted and wavy, was in the window.
"You guys have this place fixed up nice," Marty commented, noticing two closed doors that were set in another wall. "What's behind those?"
Clara and Doc turned around to see what he was pointing at. "Those are the bedrooms," Doc replied, walking over to them and opening one of the doors. Marty noticed that he had to duck to go through the doorway. It was probably because people were so much shorter now, whoever built the house didn't take into account what might have happened if people grew taller than about five feet, eight inches, which was the height of the doorway. For once in his life, Marty was glad he was on the short side. It would really hurt if you forgot to duck while going through the door. "Follow me," Doc said, walking into the room.
Marty did so and strained his eyes in the dim candlelight to see what was in this room. This one had no window in it. Two beds, one made, the other not, and both with small canopies for some reason, sat at opposite sides of the tiny room, along with what looked like and old fashioned dresser that had half the drawers open and clothes oozing out. That was all the room contained. This must have been Jules's and Verne's room. A set of more narrow stairs were parallel to the doorway that they had just walked through and Doc headed straight for those.
"What's up here?" Marty asked, looking up past Doc at the rectangle of darkness that was at the top of the stairs.
"Your room," Doc told him, stepping into the blackness and shielding the candle with his hand from what seemed to be a light draft in the room. Marty noticed that this room was also really small, but with an extremely low and slanted ceiling. He almost hit his head on one of the beams when he stepped into it. Across from the stairs, against the only wall that was normal and not angled funny, was a narrow bed, piled high with quilts and blankets. It also had a canopy. That, a small table with a wooden chair next to it, and a wooden wardrobe that was pushed against one low wall were the only room's furnishings, not counting the floor of hay that was up here too.
"This is my room?" Marty wondered out loud, walking around it. "Why do all these beds have canopies anyway?" he added.
"This would normally be the workmen's room in a house like this, but we don't have any so it is all yours," Doc explained, "and every bed during this era has some form of canopy because of the rats that run around in the ceiling's hay insulation. Imagine if you woke up every morning to find yourself covered with rats that fell during the night."
That made lots of sense, Marty thought, glancing up at the canopy suspiciously as if it was going to split open and dump a pile of rats on him any second. He shifted his gaze down on the bed to see clothes laid out on it. "Is this what I'm gonna have to wear while I'm here?" he asked slowly, holding the dark brown tights up with distaste.
Doc nodded. "I know that the clothes aren't the best looking, but since this is how people dress now, we must too," he said sympathetically.
Marty looked at the clothes again. "Could be worse, I guess," Marty sighed. But not much, he thought to himself.
Doc pointed to the wardrobe. "You can place your other clothes in there. The wardrobe also contains a cloak for when you go outside." He set down the candle on the table then turned and started for the door. "I'll give you some time to change, then come down to the main room. I want you to show me the train so that I can calculate the damage and get the materials out of it to fix the DeLorean."
Marty nodded. "Fine," he said, watching as Doc paused and drew a curtain in front of the stairway before disappearing down them.
"For privacy," he added, then vanished.
Marty looked down at the clothes that he was going to be doomed to wear for the next few days. Groaning, he began to take off his jacket.
Doc Brown looked out the window and lit another candle, setting it in the center of the table. It was still snowing, though not as heavily as it had been before. The streets were all covered with a few feet of snow, making it look much better then it did without, Doc thought. He had never realized that the medieval times were anything like he had seen.
"Is Marty getting settled?" Clara asked, coming up behind him and leaning to look out the window better.
Doc nodded. "He's changing clothes right now, then we're going to go out to where the train is, so I can see how bad the damage and get all the things that he brought so I can fix the DeLorean."
Clara straightened up and looked over at him, frowning. "What do you mean the train has damage?" she asked worriedly. "Did something happen to it?"
Doc sighed and sat down in one of the chairs. "Marty said that when the train came in this time, it hit a tree. He said the front got most of the damage and I want to check it out."
Clara gasped. "You mean that if you weren't able to fix the car, we would be stuck here permanently?" she asked, her voice rising higher.
"We're stuck here?" Verne questioned Doc, coming up behind them and looking into their faces.
"We're stranded?" added Jules from behind Clara, looking concerned.
"No, we're not stuck or stranded here permanently." Doc said firmly, looking at his worried family. "Marty said that he brought everything that I listed in the letter, and that is all I need to repair the flux capacitor in the DeLorean. Even if the train is unable to be repaired now, we can still tow it behind us when we go back to the future, or use the DeLorean to go in the future and get the correct items to fix that."
Clara sighed and looked out the window at the drifting flakes. "I hope your right Emmett," she said, still sounding worried. Jules and Verne went back to their game of cards and the room once again grew quiet.
The door behind him suddenly flew open and Doc turned to see Marty standing at the edge of the room, frowning. He was dressed in the clothes that Doc had set out for him and didn't look one bit happy.
"Doc, do I really have to wear this?" Marty moaned, stepping into the room and making a face. "Couldn't I just wear my normal clothes and stay up here all the time?"
Doc stood up and shook his head sharply. "Certainly not! Even if you were to do that, their is still the off chance that someone outside of the family could come up here and see you."
Marty sighed and looked down at his clothes. Doc thought that they weren't particularly bad, considering some of the things that he had seen here. Marty was wearing a loose long sleeved white shirt that went to almost his knees. It was also supposed to be used as a nightshirt during times like these. A dark green vest, unbuttoned and loose, was over that, just as long as the shirt. The brown leather belt that Doc had received as a gift from a neighbor for shoeing their horse was around Marty's waist, over the white shirt. Brown tights and some high leather boots completed the outfit.
"I look like a complete dork in these tights," Marty complained, pointing to them. "Plus, they make my legs itch. I must be allergic to them or something."
"They're made from wool; they make everyone's legs itch," Doc explained. "But you'll forget that as soon as you walk outside and realized how warm they keep you."
"I guess I don't have much of a choice about wearing this stuff then, do I?" Marty asked glumly, looking up at Doc.
Doc smiled. "I'm afraid not," he replied, walking over to the table and taking his long coat that was hanging over the back of the chair off it. "Are you ready to go?"
"Just a minute," Marty said, turning and running out of the room, returning a second later with the long black hooded cloak that Doc had given him to wear outdoors. "How do you wear one of these things, anyway?" he wondered, holding it up and looking at it puzzledly.
Doc put on his coat, then walked over to Marty and took the cloak out of his hands. "What you do is drape this over your shoulders, then button it right here, under the neck," Doc explained, showing him how to do so. "Then you can just pull up the hood outside."
Marty nodded, then pulled the hood up. "Are we going to ride horses or walk?" he asked Doc.
"Walk," Doc replied, turning and walking to the stairs that led downstairs. "The horses spook easily when it snows," he explained, then added, "plus the walking will be good for us and we will be able to carry more. Come on."
Friday, December 20, 1285
11:23 A.M.
The train was almost unrecognizable from all the snow that had been piled up on it. Marty stopped and squinted, not sure that it really was the train for a minute. But then he saw the glint of black metal at the top and knew that it couldn't be anything else.
"This is it," he told Doc, who was a few feet behind and dragging some sleds. They would be used to carry all the boxes of materials that Marty had brought for the DeLorean.
Doc let go of the ropes that he had been holding that were attached to the sleds and walked up to the train. "Where exactly did it get hit?" he asked, taking a long look at every snow covered inch of the train.
Marty stepped carefully through the snow toward the front. The snow must have been about a foot deep and it was extremely hard and exhausting to walk in. "It was over here," he said, waving to the front, then using and end of his cloak to brush some of the snow off. "See?" he added, pointing to the edge of scraped and torn metal that was uncovered.
Doc rushed over and brushed more snow off until, with Marty's help, the whole front of the train was bare. He then walked slowly around the front and stared it for a long, long time.
"Do you think you can fix it?" Marty asked nervously, breaking the long silence. What if he had permanently wrecked it for good?
Doc was silent for a minute more, then he nodded slowly. "I'll have to re-construct the flux capacitor," he said mostly to himself, bending down and picking up a small twisted and broken wire that might have come from it. Doc examined it for a moment, then looked over at Marty. "But their seems to be no structural damage to the frame and all I will need to do is take apart certain areas of the front, then push it back to it's natural shape."
Marty let out all the breath that he had been holding. "So does that mean I didn't break it permanently?" he asked hopefully.
Doc shook his head, putting the wire in his pocket and walking over to the train's door. "No, this is nothing that can't be fixed. I'll have to repair the DeLorean first, then use it to go to the future and purchase the materials that I need to fix this. But the first thing we have to do is move the train to somewhere safe and get the things out that you brought to fix the DeLorean."
Doc Brown opened the train's door and vanished inside, then reappeared with a box that was marked 'Spare and/or Leftover Parts from Flux Capacitors'. He handed Marty the box and Marty set it down on one of the sleds. In a few minutes all the boxes and bags had been unloaded out of the train, and were heaped on to the two sleds. Doc climbed down out of the train and handed Marty some rope.
"Tie this over the boxes on the sleds to secure them better for when you drag them back," he explained, then climbed back into the train. "I'm going to go hide this somewhere, so you'll have to drag those back by yourself. We can meet back at the house." Without waiting for an reply, Doc shut the door and a minute later the train slowly rose, then carefully flew up the sky until it vanished behind some tall pines.
Marty sighed and looked at the rope in his hands. He carefully untangled it and discovered that their were two pieces that had just been twisted and knotted together. Marty quickly tied the ropes on to the sleds and secured the cargo, then took one of the tow rope in each hand and began to walk, dragging both sleds behind him.
Halfway back the wind began to pick up and it began to snow again. Marty pulled the cloak tighter around him and tried to walk a bit faster. By the time he reached the house, it was snowing harder and he felt drained of all energy. His legs felt like frozen blocks of wood. Doc had been wrong about the wool keeping his legs that warm. Wading through a foot of snow had ruined that. Shoving open the door, he pulled the sleds into the room, then slammed the door shut, fighting to drop the wooden plank in front of the door , while keeping the door shut against the howling wind. It took him almost a minute to do so.
"Good thing you're back," Marty heard Doc say from behind him. Turning, he saw the scientist hurry over and begin to untie the ropes, still speaking. "Another storm is brewing and I suspect that it is supposed to be a big one before it blows over."
Marty trudged over to a stool and flopped down in it, looking around the room for the first time. "What's down here, anyway?" he asked, not seeing anything the slightest bit home-like in the room.
Doc stood up, lifting a box off one of the sleds. "This is my business," he replied, "I do all the blacksmith work down here. People lived like this during these times. Could you get some of these boxes?" Doc asked quickly, walking toward the back of the room.
Marty stood up slowly, his legs complaining. "Sure, why not," he said under his breath, lifting up a small box that rattled when shook and following Doc. After going into another room, Marty saw from the low light level, since their were no windows in this room either, just a few candles, a large sleek shape that was covered with a drop cloth. A desk and a table sat at opposite corners of the room. "Is that what I think it is?" he asked, gesturing to the shape.
Doc set the box down on a table and nodded. "It's the DeLorean," he confirmed, walking over to it and pulling the cloth back off it. The DeLorean sat silent, it's silver finish glittering slightly. The time machine looked perfectly normal except for the fact that their was a hole in the center of the windshield with long spidery cracks extending from it. The flux capacitor was missing out of the car and out of the corner of his eye, Marty saw it resting on the table that Doc had set the box down on, it's insides spread out.
"What are you gonna do about the window," he asked Doc, putting the rattling box down next to the car.
Doc grabbed the cloth and began to cover the car up again. "I have a repair kit for that in one of the boxes. The kit will mend it temporarily until we can get back to 1985 and get it fixed permanently."
It only took a couple of minutes to get the boxes moved into the back room between the two of them. As soon as they were done, Marty realized he had to do something important, something he couldn't put off any longer.
"Um, Doc?" he began as Doc was unpacking one of the boxes.
"Yes?" he asked, turning around.
"Where is the uh, you know, outhouse?" Marty asked hesitantly. "I kinda need to use one now."
Doc frowned. "They're aren't any."
"They're aren't any?" Marty repeated, his eyes widening. "Then what do you do?"
"Use the woods at the end of the street," he said, turning his attention back to the box. "Be careful, however. The weather is getting bad."
Marty stayed in the room a moment longer, debating his choices - he either could go and feel a whole lot better or wait and suffer some more - before going out of the house, standing for a minute in the middle of the street, trying to figure out where the woods were. At the far end, through the blowing snow, he caught a glimpse of some shadowy pines and began walking as fast as he could under the circumstances. It took him about five minutes to get to the woods.
"I hate the Middle Ages," he muttered as he stalked through the forest, swatting branches back from his face. At least he could see now, since the trees gave him some shelter from the snow. In fact, the ground was completely dry and bare of any snow. What he wouldn't give for a nice clean bathroom, especially one with heat! It was freezing cold out here!
Marty waited until he could no longer see the street before stopping next to a big round pine. He stood their for a moment, realizing how bad he had to go and also thinking how much he hated this. Outhouses suddenly seemed like the best thing in the world.
Ducking behind the tree, Marty leaned against it a moment and took a deep breath, shaking his head. "I can't," he whispered to himself. But he had to. He had no other choice. If he didn't go soon, he would be in trouble.
Marty turned around to face the tree and started to unbutton the tights. It seemed to take forever, since his fingers were half frozen and he was so desperate he was shifting his weight from side to side. But finally it was done and Marty aimed for the base of the tree and let it all out, tilting his head back and closing his eyes with a long deep sigh as he felt the immense relief as it was all released. The sound of it hitting the side of the tree was the only thing that broke the heavy quiet of the woods. When he was finished, a couple of minutes later, Marty buttoned himself back up and stood in the woods for a minute.
"Wow, now I know what the expression 'relieving yourself' really means," he said under his breath. Marty turned around and started to walk back to Doc's house, glad that was over with, for now.
When he reached the house, Marty went straight upstairs to take the cloak off and to take a better look at his room. Picking up a candle that was sitting on the table in the family room, which was empty, he climbed the narrow stairs that led to his room.
The wind was louder up here and the room colder. Wasn't hot air supposed to rise? Marty thought, shivering a little. It was cold enough to see his breath up here! At least it was better than the outside. Marty walked over to the table next to the bed and set the candle down, right next to an old, wind up alarm clock that he hadn't noticed before. It was a little before 2PM.
Taking off the cloak, Marty folded it and placed it on top of the chair. He then sat down on the edge of the bed, looking around the room. The candle cast strange and eerie shadows on the walls and ceiling. Marty wished that they had at least lanterns at this time. He shivered from cold and stood up, taking one of the thick quilts that was folded up at the foot of the bed and wrapping it around him, then lay down on the bed and gazed at the canopy. The bed felt like it had feathers or hay used for the stuffing in the mattress. It wasn't particularly uncomfortable, but Marty was glad that they decided to improve things by 1985.
The candle flickered and the shadows shifted on the walls, making it look like things were moving out of the darkness. Marty shut his eyes, not wanting his imagination to go overboard. Immediately he felt more relaxed. His thoughts drifted to various things. Meeting the royal Tannen's, walking in the snow, getting to Doc Brown's house, more walking in the snow. The wind had picked up and Marty could vaguely hear it blowing and making the house creak and groan. But it didn't seem that important at the moment.
Without intending to, Marty fell into a deep sleep.
Clara set down a steaming pot of soup and sat down, looking around the table to make sure that everyone was present. She frowned and asked, "Where's Marty?"
Doc looked up from the papers that he had been reading about repairing the flux capacitor and glanced around the table, then around the room. "I don't know," he replied. "I haven't seen him since he helped me transport all the materials here, early this afternoon."
"I saw him go up to his room earlier," Verne said suddenly, jumping to his feet. "I'll go see if he's still there."
Doc nodded, pre-occupied. "Go ahead," he said, looking down at the papers again.
Verne ran out of the room, glad to have something to do, even if it would only take about a minute. He couldn't believe how boring the Middle Ages were. Verne had thought that all people did now were fight with swords and have really cool parties with brave dudes who got to fight evil dragons and defy danger at every turn. Instead, no one fought unless it was in the Crusades, the only parties were at King Tannen's castle, who didn't invite people who were not royalty, their were no dragons, and the biggest danger that had to be defied was not getting sick.
Before climbing up the stairs, Verne went over to the dresser that he and his brother shared and fumbled around for the candle and the box of matches. That was another bummer about the middle ages - no electricity. It was almost completely dark in the room, except for the small bit of light that came from the main room where everyone else was gathered for dinner. His hands came into contact with the half melted candle and the small matchbook that held about 20 matches left. After a few strikes, the match caught and Verne hurriedly put it to the candle wick, before it could go out or burn his fingers. The candle grabbed the flame and put out a weak, but steady glow.
Putting the match into a small dish of water to make sure that it would not re-light and burn down the house, Verne picked the candle up and went over to the stairs, climbing them slowly. He strained his ears to hear any sound from upstairs, but hearing nothing except the slight distant conversation that came from the main room. Keeping his hand in front of the candle's flame so that any sudden breeze would not blow it out, Verne carefully pulled the curtain back that was strung across the doorway and looked in.
The room was dark except for the faint glow that came from on a small table that was set up next to the bed, which was piled high with quilts. Verne walked cautiously over to the table, his eyes darting around nervously. Once at the table, he could see that the faint glow had come from an almost burnt out candle that was sitting in a pool of melted wax. Verne leaned over and blew it out, knowing that if the candle had burned all the way down, a fire could have possibly started. Setting his own candle down on the table, Verne looked around, seeing no sign of Marty. Where could he be?
"Marty? Are you in here?" Verne called softly, walking around the room and peering in all the dark corners. He shrugged and turned back to the table, then saw something that made his blood run cold. The pile of blankets and quilts on the bed were moving!
"Help," Verne whispered, backing away toward the stairs, then retraced his steps and decided to grab the candle before splitting. Otherwise he would have to go back to the main room in the dark and that was almost as scary as facing the blankets.
Verne had his hand out and was reaching out to snatch the candle, when the pile shifted again and something looked at him. He stared back into the dark, glittering eyes for a moment, frozen with fear before both he, and the pile, started screaming simultaneously.
Footsteps, fast and heavy, thundered up the stairs and suddenly, Doc, Clara, and Jules were standing in the room, all with candles. With the extra light, Verne could now see that the monster was really Marty!
"Marty!" he yelled, just as Marty cried out, "Verne!"
"What's going on here?" Doc shouted, looking at the both of them for and explanation.
"I just came up here like you told me, to get Marty for dinner, when he jumped out of the blankets scaring me to the edge of death!" Verne exclaimed, crossing his arms across his chest and looking up at his father.
"Dinner?" Marty asked, his eyes wide, pushing himself up to a sitting position. "You must be kidding."
Doc shook his head. "What would make you think we were?" he asked.
"Because last time I looked at the clock, it was only two PM," Marty replied, pointing to the alarm clock that was resting next to the dead candle.
Jules looked down at his watch, even though, Verne thought sourly, it was battery operated. He couldn't see why Jules was allowed to wear something like that when he couldn't even wear a hat that wasn't invented yet. But then again, Verne thought, perhaps Mom and Pop thought that no one would notice that the watch had a battery instead of wind up gears. The watch looked authentic, after all.
"It's exactly seven twenty four, and thirteen seconds," Jules announced, letting his arm drop back down. "Almost five and a half hours after two."
Marty looked at the clock next to the bed for a moment. "I guess I must have fallen asleep then," he said, shrugging. "I hardly got any sleep last night, what with coming here then meeting the Tannens."
"You what?" Doc asked, sounding like he wasn't sure as if he had heard correctly.
"I didn't tell you guys?" Marty asked, pushing off the layers of quilts he had around him.
"No," Verne replied, speaking for them all. "You really met the Tannens?"
Marty nodded. "Someone was chasing me and while I was trying to run away from them, I slipped and hit my head. When I woke up, I was in the Tannen's castle and got to meet King Midas Tannen and Princess Marian Tannen."
Verne looked at Doc, along with Jules and Clara. Marty pushed himself off the bed and walked over to the family. He began to look uncomfortable when a minute passed and no one said anything. "What, did I do something wrong?" he asked, sounding confused.
Doc let out a huge sigh. "Did they ask you any probing questions?" he asked, looking at Marty with a penetrating gaze. Verne knew the look all too well. It was the look that his father always gave when he was trying to see if the victim was stretching or manipulating the truth or out and out lying.
"They asked where I got my clothes from and for my name," Marty said, looking into Doc's eyes and not flinching in the slightest. He must have been telling the truth then, Verne realized. He knew that when he was trying to make something up, he didn't stand straight and firm and he never looked anyone in the eye. That would be instant death if you were trying to lie.
"What did you tell them?" Doc asked, sounding slightly curious.
"I told them that my clothes were imported and that I was Robin Hood," Marty replied seriously.
Verne burst out laughing. "You, Robin Hood!" he said in disbelief, his shoulders shaking with the laughter.
Marty shrugged. "It's the first name that I could think of, under the circumstances," he said.
"Well, we better go down and eat dinner before it gets cold," Clara said suddenly, turning and heading down the stairs. Jules followed, but Verne stayed, wanting to see if anything else happened up here.
"You really told them that your name was Robin Hood?" Doc asked raising an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth turned upward, in what Verne could tell was a hidden smile.
Marty grinned. "Absolutely," he said, going down the stairs.
Doc turned toward Verne. "We better go follow Robin Hood to dinner," he said, chuckling as the two of them went down the stairs.
Friday, December 20, 1285
8:09 P.M.
It wasn't until after dinner that Marty finally remembered the note that he was supposed to give William Gardener for Princess Tannen. By then, it was pitch black outside and the sky had cleared to reveal a moonless night.
"Do you know where the Gardeners live?" Marty asked Doc suddenly while they were sorting through all the repair materials for the DeLorean that he had brought, in the back room.
"You mean Doctor Gardener and his family," Doc said, straightening up and setting a box that was full of screws on the table. He turned to look at Marty, puzzled. "Why do you what to know?"
"I, ah, found something of theirs that I have to give back to them," Marty said slowly, hoping Doc would belive that.
"What exactly did you find?" Doc asked, turning his attention back to the unpacking.
"Oh, just something," Marty replied vaguely, edging toward the door. "I'll be right back, okay?"
Without waiting for an answer, he darted out of the room and ran up the stairs, ignoring the looks that Clara, Jules, and Verne gave him as he ran through the living room. Marty took the stairs that led to his attic room two at a time and dashed over to the wardrobe where he had put his 1985 clothes. Picking the jacket up, Marty felt around in the pockets for the piece of paper, then took it out. He looked at it for a moment, curiosity building. It was folded four times and was not that big. It wouldn't be his fault if, say, the paper just fell open and his eyes just happened to see what was written on it, would it?
Marty gave his wrist a quick jerk and the letter quickly unfolded. It was way too dark to see anything up here though, especially without the candle. After putting his jacket back where it had been, Marty went over to the table and quickly lit the candle with a box of matches that someone had put there. Holding the letter close to the light, Marty carefully read it. The handwriting was in looped, slanted cursive that was a little hard to read.
Dearest William,
The plans are all prepared. On the morrow, December 21, join me behind my castle. I shall have some horses and a wagon ready for our escape. I beg you, tell no one of this. If Father found out of our eloping, you shall most surely be killed or at the very least imprisoned in the dark dungeon with all the diseased rats. Be on time, at 1:30. It will be dark then and no one should be up. The less we have to witness our departure, the best.
I know that it will be hard to leave everyone behind forever, but you know that their is no other way. It is either this or me to marry Daniel the day after Christmas. You know that it would be death if we were parted forever. I love you so much and I am sure that you feel the same. We may not be rich, but we will at least be together forever.
Much Love,
"Whoa," Marty whispered, re-folding the letter. Princess Tannen was going to elope with a doctor's son instead of a prince? That was heavy. He looked at the clock and noticed that it was almost eight thirty. If William Gardener needed to meet Princess Tannen at one thirty in the morning, he better get this to him right away.
It was easy to get outside. None of the Browns noticed him going out the front door. The house may had been cold and drafty, but the temperature drop outside made Marty gasp. He had forgotten to wear his cloak, so all he had on to keep warm were the clothes on his back. Marty walked a few feet away from the house and examined the other two buildings. Both had lights burning in the second story windows, but only one had a candle in a first story window. Marty remembered reading somewhere that in the old days, doctors kept lights burning in windows all night in case of emergencies during the night. The one with the candle in the first story window was probably the doctor's. He headed for that house.
It took over a minute after Marty knocked on the door before it was answered. "Can I help you?" a thin, wiry young man with blond hair asked, holding a candle out in the doorway. He looked like he was about the same age as Marty.
"I have a letter for William Gardener from Princess Marian Tannen," he said, holding the folded paper up.
"I'm William Gardener," the young man said, looking at the letter, but not taking it. "Come in."
Marty stepped inside and looked around. Unlike the blacksmith tools that had been on the first floor of Doc's house, the Gardener's first floor had strange looking metal and wood instruments that were against the wall, a bed that was neatly made, and a table full of jars of different colored liquids, gels, and pills. Their was also a big bowl of something that was black and moving in one corner of the room.
"You must be a friend of Marian's to be giving me this," William said, shutting the door and taking the letter from Marty's hand. "What's your name?"
"I'm Robin Hood," Marty said, his eyes on the squirming black mass. "What is that?" he asked William, pointing to it.
William glanced over and shrugged, unfolding the letter. "That is just father's collection of leeches," he said calmly, beginning to read the letter.
"Leeches?" Marty said incredulously, wondering if he had heard right. "Those are leeches?" William nodded, still reading the letter. "They are for sucking the ill out of patients," he said absentmindedly.
Marty walked cautiously over to the bowl and looked down at it. They really were leeches! He bent down closer and saw that they were in about three inches of blood that rested at the bottom of the bowl. "Gross!" Marty said under his breath, making a face.
"You'll have to come with me," William said suddenly, putting the letter down and looking at Marty.
"What?" Marty asked, turning around.
"You need to come with me to meet Marian," William repeated. "It says so right here," he added, picking the letter up and holding it out. Marty took the letter out of his hand and re-read it. Sure enough, at the very bottom in small messy script it said 'Please bring Robin Hood with you'.
"Why do you guys need me there?" he asked, puzzled. If Princess Tannen wanted no witnesses, why ask someone to come?
"I don't know," William said, shrugging. "But meet me in front of my house at one fifteen. We can go to the castle together, that way there is less of a chance of being attacked by barbarians."
"Barbarians?" Marty repeated. "What are those?"
William looked at him, confused. "You don't know what barbarians are?" he asked.
"No, what are they?"
William shook his head. "You do not want to know. But it is best to never meet one." He paused, then went on. "We must also be careful so that we aren't caught after curfew. It begins at nine and does not end until the dawn."
Marty caught sight of a small grandfather clock that was hanging on the wall. "That's in three minutes," he blurted out.
William turned to look at the clock. "You must hurry and leave then!" he exclaimed, his green eyes wide. "The King's lawmen will be coming around and checking all the houses."
"Okay," Marty said slowly, heading for the door. "So, I have to meet you at one fifteen in front of this house?"
William nodded quickly. "Yes, and try not to be late. It would only hinder our escape." He strode to the door and threw it open. "Now go, quick."
Marty's eyes snapped open and he lifted a hand, feeling the table for the screaming alarm clock. He felt it brush against his fingers, then heard a crash as it clattered on the floor. But it was still ringing. Marty crawled out from under all the quilts and leaned over the side of the bed, reaching out and this time grabbing the clock, then pushing in the alarm button. He breathed a sigh of relief when the alarm grew silent. It had not been in his plans to fall asleep, though he had set the alarm just in case. It had been a wise decision. Marty just hoped that the whole house was not up. He had not realized just how loud the alarm would be.
After setting the clock back on the table, Marty stood up and carefully crept across the room where he put on the cloak that had been resting on the chair and as quietly as possible, went down the stairs. Perhaps it was from the dark and from getting woken up so fast, but he had a slight headache and felt a little dizzy.
He was almost out of the door that let to the living room when he heard someone whisper his name. Turning, Marty saw a dark shadow sitting up in one of the beds. "Where are you going?" he heard Verne whisper. "I heard that alarm clock go off."
"Shhhhhhh," Marty hissed. "I have to meet someone. I'll be back soon. Relax."
Marty heard Verne sigh. "You better. Pop won't be too happy if he knew that you were doing this."
Marty didn't answer that. He knew that Doc would probably have a heart attack if he knew that Marty was sneaking out to meet some people that he was probably not even supposed to see in the first place. But it was too late now.
"Don't worry, I'll be back before dawn, I can promise that," he said, stepping out of the doorway, then shutting it softly behind him before Verne could say anything else. Marty planned on being back by morning if it killed him. If he wasn't, Verne would surely tell Doc that he had gone out in the middle of the night then he would be in deep trouble.
The rest of the trip through the house went with no other hitches. It was snowing again outside, and colder than it had been earlier. Marty couldn't see anyone in the street, let alone William. He walked slowly over to the Gardener's house and stood in front of it, looking around. A minute later he felt a tap on his shoulder and spun around to find William behind him, with a hooded cloak on and something wrapped in a quilt under one arm. A lit torch was in the other hand.
"Are you ready to go?" William asked him.
"If you are," Marty replied, pulling his hood up to keep the increasing snowflakes from landing in his hair, then melting and making him even colder than he already was.
William nodded. "I packed everything that I own in this quilt," he said, holding the bundle up.
William began to walk down the center of the street. Marty followed him a few paces behind, glad that he seemed to know the way to the castle. It had been easy to find his way here from the castle, but going to it, especially at night, was a very different story.
It took only about ten minutes to get to the back of the castle. The snow had let up a bit during that time, but a slight wind had started. Marty saw William stop next to a wagon that had two horses tied up to a tree, with several rolled up blankets and quilts in the back. Princess Tannen was nowhere in sight.
"This is where she told us to meet her," William said, tossing his bundle in the wagon's back. "Marian is probably still packing."
"William! Robin Hood! You're here!" Marty heard Princess Tannen say. He turned and saw her hurrying toward them, her arms filled with jars of food.
William stepped forward and took some of the jars out of her arms. They both carefully set them in the back, then embraced and kissed. Marty looked at the snowy ground, feeling slightly uncomfortable. He was still wondering why Princess Tannen had wanted him to come if she and William wanted to escape without witnesses.
"Come, you both must help me carry more things down here," Princess Tannen said urgently, stepping away from William and looking toward the tall dark shape that was the castle. She started toward the castle, taking William's hand and pulling him behind her, running. Marty sighed and followed, beginning to feel like he was tagging along on everything. Didn't anyone have any patience?
Princess Tannen was waiting in the doorway and tugged Marty inside as soon as he was close enough. "We must hurry, but be extremely quiet," she whispered, softly shutting the door. "Father will hang the both of you if we are discovered."
Princess Tannen led the both of them to the kitchen, which looked a bit dusty, and told them to pick out some food, then bring it to the wagon. The only light came from torches that were in stands on the walls.
"Please be quiet," she said again, starting to leave the room with a big ham in her arms. "Father's bedroom is right next to here."
It took five minutes of carrying out food before their was enough in the wagon for Princess Tannen's satisfaction. Marty had to take the last load out, a large goose. He had it out in the hall when he stepped on something soft, probably a rat. The rat let out a high pitched squeak and Marty fell back onto the ground, to shocked to say anything. The goose flew out of his hands over his head and hit a closed door next to the kitchen with a solid thunk. Less then thirty seconds later Princess Tannen and William walked in the hall just as the door the goose had hit was flung open to show King Tannen, a large scowl on his face, standing in the doorway with a gold nightshirt that went to his knees.
"What's going on out here?" he roared, stepping into the hall. He looked at Princess Tannen. "Explain yourself, princess," he said in a low voice.
Princess Tannen stepped forward, her face pale. "You see father," she began and stopped.
"Yes?" King Tannen asked, sounding like he was really about to loose his temper. Marty wished that he was at least standing so he could run if things got violent, but he did not move at all, afraid that King Tannen might turn all his rage on him.
"What we were doing father, is getting some food together to give to all the peasants for Christmas," Princess Tannen said softly, and looked up with her father. "Could you understand that?"
"No!" King Tannen shouted. "I believe that you are trying to cover up the fact that you and this Robin Hood person were trying to run away together!"
"What?" Marty exclaimed, not believing what he heard.
"Father!" Princess Tannen cried indignantly. "Give me credit for having better taste than that!" Out of the corner of his eye, Marty saw William take a few steps back until he was hidden in the shadows, then turn and run out the door. Marty didn't blame him. King Tannen continued to swing his gaze of disgust at both him and Princess Tannen, not showing one sign that he ever saw William in the first place.
King Tannen was silent for a minute, then looked at his daughter. "You both do a bad job of fibbing," he said finally, still scowling. "Marian, go to your room. You shall stay in there all day tomorrow, packing for the wedding with Daniel. As for you," King Tannen said, glaring down at Marty, "you shall spend the night in the dungeon. The rats there love company. Guards!" he shouted, grinning with what looked like pleasure. Two big, mean looking men with swords drawn came running down to King Tannen.
"Father, you are making a big mistake," Princess Tannen cried, stepping over and looking him in the eyes. "We were not running away together!"
"Sure, you were taking food out of the kitchen in the dead of night with Robin Hood for the peasants," King Tannen said sarcastically. "Do you really expect me to believe that?" Without waiting for an answer, he pointed to Marty and said to the guards, "Take him to the dungeon, then come up here and bring all the food back that is outside."
The guards grabbed Marty's arms and pulled him to his feet. Marty didn't resist, remembering reading somewhere that if people tried to escape getting sent to the dungeon, they would be killed on the spot. The guards dragged him through what seemed like miles of halls before they descended a curved stairway that was lit by only one or two torches. After a minute of going down, there was a small, narrow hall that led to a room that had two dungeons at opposite ends of the room. One of the guards who had been carrying a lit torch with him went over and lit all the torches in the room.
"Get on in here," one guard said, shoving Marty into the cell that had a barred window.
The other guard, the one with the torch, chuckled as he shut and locked the iron barred door. "Good luck surviving the night," he said, grinning wickedly as he and his friend walked out of the room. Marty heard their footsteps slowly go up the stairs, a door slam, then silence.
A rustling from one corner of his cell caught his attention. Turning around, Marty saw a plump rat dash from a moldy pile of hay that lay under the small glassless window and vanish in a shadowy corner. Marty pulled his cloak tighter around him and sighed. He was getting used to all the rats that lived here. But not used to the cold. Marty imagined that normally, the dungeon was probably dripping water on the sides. But since it was below freezing, there were icicles hanging from the ceiling.
The torches gave off enough light so that Marty could see most of his cell. Their were four stone walls, one of which had a rusted iron barred door built into it. The stone floor was covered with a green, slimy substance. A small hole with bars in it, supposed to be a window, was parallel to the door. The cell was completely empty except for the pile of moldy hay.
"Cheery," Marty muttered, leaning against the wall and sliding down until he was sitting. He looked at his watch and saw that it was almost two fifteen. Some quick meeting. Marty rubbed his forehead, which was beginning to hurt more. Exactly what time did King Tannen plan on letting him go? What if he couldn't get back to the house in time and Doc discover that he was missing?
Marty hugged his knees to his chest, mostly for warmth. This dungeon was freezing. He wondered if he would still be alive by the time morning came.
Marian Tannen
Saturday, December 21, 1285
10:46 A.M.
Doc Brown looked at Verne in disbelief. "He did what?" Doc exclaimed, his eyes narrowing.
"Just what I said," Verne replied shrugging. "Marty snuck out of here around one thirty in the morning, saying that he had to meet someone. That was the last I saw of him."
Doc walked over to the window, looked out, and sighed, trying not to panic. He should have told Marty about the strict curfew laws and the robbers and murderers who roamed the streets at night, searching for victims.
"Who could he know now?" he said, half to himself. "It is not as if he has old friends that he visits all the time here."
"Maybe he decided to visit the Tannens," Jules suggested, seated next to Verne on the cushioned bench. "He did, after all, meet them. Perhaps they invited him to do something."
Verne snorted. "The Tannens? Get real," he said, sounding disgusted. "Throughout time Tannens have been the exact same. Mean, bullies, jerks, you name it!"
Jules turned to glare at his brother. "I was just trying to help."
"Boys, this is no time to fight," Clara said, looking at Doc in concern. "We have to figure out where Marty may have gone."
"And if he's still alive," Verne said under his breath. Doc turned sharply to look at him, then sighed.
"I hope that nothing happened to him," Doc whispered, turning to look out the window again. In the distance, the top of Tannen castle was visible. Doc wondered if Marty was indeed there.
The sound of metal scraping against stone echoed in the dim cell. Marty lifted his head up from where it had been resting on his folded arms and looked at the guard that was pulling the door open. "King Tannen wants to see you," he said, holding the door open.
Marty got slowly to his feet, keeping one hand against the wall for balance. He closed his eyes for a minute, trying to steady himself. His head pounded and their was no doubt about being dizzy now. Taking deep breaths didn't help at all. It just made his chest hurt, for some reason. But after a moment the dizziness passed, leaving Marty feeling drained.
"Why does he want to see me?" he asked, his voice hoarse. As soon as Marty was near enough, the guard grabbed his arm and held the sword at his back.
"Walk with me and don't try escaping, then you will come out with your throat in one piece," the guard hissed, pushing him up the long curved stairway. Marty followed the orders, trying to ignore the sword that was poking him in the back and also trying to ignore how rotten he felt. His head hurt, along with his throat, and every time he took a breath, his chest felt like something was pressing down on it. Occasionally it would give a sharp pain if Marty took in a quick breath, or deep ones. He hoped that there was nothing wrong. Marty was sure that nothing could be worse then getting sick in the middle ages, especially now that both time machines were broken.
After the stairs ended, the guard pushed him through another maze of endless halls until they reached a huge room with a high ceiling and a long red carpet that led to a tall carved wooden throne that King Tannen was sitting in. The room was decorated with lots of tapestries that looked like they were made out of silk, very rare in the Middle Ages, Marty remembered. A stained glass window was set behind the throne. The sun was behind it at the moment, casting warm pools of red, green, blue, and gold on the stone floor.
"You may release him, Sedgwick," King Tannen said, wearing a long red velvet robe that was trimmed with white fur. The guard nodded and stepped back.
"Robin Hood," King Tannen said slowly, leaning toward Marty. "What is your work?"
"What is my work?" Marty repeated, puzzled. "What do you mean?"
King Tannen rolled his eyes. "What do you do for a living? Your job!"
"My job?" Marty asked, thinking hard for a moment. "I help my...uncle. With his business."
"And what might he be doing?" King Tannen asked, leaning on one of the arms of the chair and looking bored.
"He's a blacksmith, sir," Marty replied, dying to look at his watch and see the time, but was afraid that it might cause suspicion, especially if King Tannen saw that the watch was from 700 years in the future. The last time he had looked at it, the time was 10:30AM. There would be no doubt that Doc would know that he had left.
"I see," King Tannen said. He stared at Marty for another minute, looking thoughtful. Suddenly, he turned to the guard and motioned him over. After King Tannen whispered something to him, the guard turned and hurried out of the room. King Tannen turned back to Marty.
"I am not an unfair man," he said, slowly grinning. "If you would have come to me and asked me about wedding my daughter, the princess, I might have considered." He paused for a moment, then chuckled. "Never mind that. I would not have considered. You would have been thrown out of here so fast, it would make your head spin."
"I never wanted to marry your daughter!" Marty exclaimed, feeling frustrated that King Tannen didn't believe that.
King Tannen scowled. "Do not lie, or I might decide to sent you back in the dungeon with the rats. And you should know by now that that is not pleasant."
Marty nodded and swallowed hard. The night was still far too fresh in his head. The freezing cold and the rats that, after the guards had left and it had grown quiet, spent the whole time crawling and running all over the cell. Marty wondered if part of the reason he was feeling so bad was because he had stayed up the whole night and watched the time pass slowly. Plus, he was afraid that if he fell asleep, rats would crawl all over him. Just the thought of that made Marty shudder.
"Now then," King Tannen began again, "if you want to wed my Marian, you must do what any other man would do."
"And what is that?" Marty asked, deciding to play along.
"Father," a voice called from the hall, "what do you want?"
King Tannen smiled. "Robin Hood, I'd like you to meet my son, Prince Harley Tannen. He and Marian are twins."
A young man, looking exactly like a younger version of King Tannen, walked into the room. He was frowning and looked irritated, like he didn't want to be there.
"What do you want with me?" Prince Tannen asked, sounding impatient.
"This is the deal," King Tannen said, looking at Marty. "You and Harley, the day after the morrow, will fight a tournament. If he wins, Marian must marry Daniel Covington, as arranged. If you win, you may marry her." King Tannen laughed. "In fact, if you win I shall let my Marian wed whoever she wishes!"
Prince Harley Tannen looked at Marty for the first time. Standing up straighter, he smiled. "Don't worry Father, Marian will be a Covington," he said confidently, looking up at King Tannen. Father and Son exchanged grins.
"The tournament shall take place on Monday, on the noon hour, at the commons. Be prepared to show your fencing, archery, and jousting skills. The one who wins the two out of the three skills shall win the tournament and the direct the fate of Marian." King Tannen waved his hand. "You may leave, Robin Hood. Sedgwick shall show you out."
At the sound of his name, the guard that had taken Marty from the dungeon appeared next to him again and pulled him out of the room, to the big wooden door that Marian had led him to the day before. Sedgwick opened the door and gestured outside. "You are free to go," he said.
As soon as he stepped outside, the guard slammed the doors shut and Marty heard the sound of something being scraped against the doors. He shrugged and began to walk quickly back to Doc's house, realizing that the sun was shining in a clear blue sky which was causing the snow to melt. Already the slate roofs of the houses were beginning to show through patches of slushy snow.
Marty wasn't even twenty feet near the house when the door was flung open and Doc ran out, his face contorted with worry. "Marty, where have you been?" Doc cried, taking his arm and pulling him toward the house. "We've been thinking all sorts of things!"
"It's is a long story," Marty told him, sighing. "I need your help."
Doc looked at him carefully. "On what? Is it something that should not be tampered with?"
"I don't know," Marty replied honestly. "Do you know anything about the original history of Princess Marian Tannen, Daniel Covington, or William Gardener?"
"No, but we can easily find out," Doc said as they walked into the house. "First, tell me where you have been for the past ten hours, then I will answer your question."
"When I met the Tannen's, Princess Tannen gave me a letter with instructions to give it to someone named William Gardener," Marty began. "As it turned out, the Gardeners lived right next door."
"That is why you asked about them earlier?" Doc asked him, raising an eyebrow.
Marty nodded. "I know that you've told me tons of times that I shouldn't mess with history, but what if originally Princess Tannen gave the letter to someone else and they gave it to William? I knew that if I didn't give it to him, I might mess something up, so I went over there to give it to William. But as it turned out, the letter said that I had to go with William when he met Princess Tannen so they could run away together, since King Tannen had it planned out that Princess Tannen was going to marry someone named Daniel Covington, and she didn't want to."
Doc was beginning to look confused, but Marty didn't stop. "So I went with William to meet Princess Tannen. I guess she wanted me to help load up their wagon, because that was what I did the whole time. I was carrying a goose out when I stepped on a rat, and the goose flew out of my arms and hit a door, which turned out to be King Tannen's room. He never saw William, so he thought that his daughter and I were trying to elope, instead of William and Princess Tannen. Then I was sent to the dungeon and kept there until after ten thirty. Then King Tannen said that the day after tomorrow I have to fight his son, Prince Harley Tannen, in a tournament of jousting, archery, and fencing to see if Princess Tannen can marry anyone she wants to, or Daniel Covington. And that is what has happened to me."
Doc shook his head. "You've had quite a night," he commented, heading for the back room. "I am certainly glad that we can find out how history went originally for those people."
"How can you find that out?" Marty asked, following him. "This happened so long ago."
"Simple," Doc said, bending over a box and pulling something out. It looked like a computer the size of a calculator.
"What is that?" Marty asked, leaning over to get a closer look at it.
"This is a computer I got in the future right before we left 1985 and programed in the family trees of everyone who knows about the time machines," Doc explained, flicking a switch at the back and making the screen light up. "In other words, I have yours, Clara's and my family trees entered in here."
"So how is this going to help us find out about people none of us are related to?" Marty wondered.
Doc typed in something and names connected with a maze of lines appeared. "This is your family tree from 1000 to 1500." He pointed to something on the screen. "Notice anything familiar?"
Marty looked to where Doc was pointing. The name James Cooper was connected to Mary Parker. A line went down from them to their children David Cooper, Elizabeth Cooper, Noel Cooper, and Alice Cooper. According to the years of birth and death, only David and Alice lived past the age of 9. Both had married, David to a Anne Parkington, and Alice to a Midas Tannen. Marty blinked, not believing his eyes. But the names remained.
"One of my ancestors married a Tannen?" he asked, his voice rising with shock and disbelief .
Doc nodded. "Apparently so. But the side of your family that your mother came from is David and Anne. Harley Tannen died from going off to the Crusades, six years from now. Right before leaving he married and had a son. This probably why Tannens are still around. But Marian died in childbirth, with the firstborn."
Marty shook his head, still in shock. A Tannen, related to him! "Is this the original history?"
"Yes. The first time around, it says that Marian married William Gardener. They went through with the elopement, and King Tannen cut her out of the family. It became that as far as he was concerned, no Marian Tannen ever existed."
"So, I'll have to fight in the tournament, and win?"
"You must." Doc said firmly. "If you don't, then Marian will wed this Daniel Covington, and that may tamper with someone else's future. And if you do and Marian weds William Gardener, perhaps her father will not disown her and it will make both of their lives happier."
"Doc, I don't know anything about jousting, archery, or fencing!" Marty cried out, exasperated. "How am I supposed to beat Prince Tannen, who's an expert, on this stuff?"
"Don't worry," Doc assured him, holding up a hand. "One of the reasons that we came here for a vacation was because Jules and Verne were interested in learning those kind of things. Since we ended up stuck here for a while, they've become quite the experts at jousting, archery, and fencing."
"Do you mean to tell me that an eight and ten year old are going to teach me how to fight with swords, shoot arrows, and knock someone off a horse with a long pole?" Marty asked incredulously.
"It's called a lance," Doc corrected, "and yes, the boys can teach you. There is an empty field a few blocks away. It is where they hold the tournaments, so you can get used to the area and terrain."
"But Doc, what if I don't win? What will we do then?"
Doc got that stubborn glint in his eye that Marty recognized from whenever they were faced with the near impossible, like getting the DeLorean up to 88 miles per hour by a train, or arranging it so that in 1955, lightning could be captured for the flux capacitor to send the car back to the future.
"Don't worry about that. We have two days for you to become an expert at those skills. We've been faced with worse." Doc turned and left the room, taking the calculator thing with him. Marty looked at where the DeLorean sat, still covered with the drop cloth. He put a hand to his head, which was still throbbing, and sighed.
"Yeah, but everything we've faced before has been scientific," he muttered. What if he did mess up? Doc's calculations couldn't help him now. Marty just hoped that maybe he would end up being halfway decent at jousting, fencing, and archery. After all, he only needed to win two out of the three. How hard could it be?
Saturday, December 21, 1285
2:57 P.M.
"Try to hit me," Verne said, holding up the silvery sword.
Marty picked the other sword that was lying on the ground and gasped. "How can you hold these? They're so heavy!"
Verne shrugged. "Lots of practice, I guess."
"I can hold them too," Jules said, standing a few feet away. "It gets easier when you fence many times. The muscles in your arms grow stronger. Many people don't know that fencing-"
"Thank you very much, Mr. Encyclopedia," Verne interrupted, "but we don't have to know all that. Pop said that we had to teach Marty all the basics of fencing, not the history!"
"Fine, go ahead," Jules muttered. "I bet you don't even know what the winner gets to do to the looser."
"Yes I do! They get to cut off there heads!" Verne cried out.
"Can we please get back to the original purpose for being here?" Marty asked them, feeling uneasy. What exactly did Verne mean by saying that the looser in fencing got his head cut off? "If I have to get good at this, then we better start practicing."
"Okay," Verne said, shrugging. He lifted the sword up. "Unguard!" he cried, holding the sword out.
Marty held his sword up awkwardly. "What am I supposed to do?" he asked.
Verne rolled his eyes. "Just block my sword from hitting you," he replied. "And try to knock it out of my hand."
Marty did as Verne told him and almost immediately, Verne knocked the sword a good five feet away from where Marty was standing.
"How did you do that?" Marty breathed, looking between the sword and Verne in amazement.
"Easy," Verne replied. "You weren't expecting it. You have to also make sure that your sword is not in a weak position."
"Most people's weak spots are in the wrist," Jules added. "It takes time to learn the proper handling of the sword."
"But we have only two days!" Marty exclaimed, throwing up his hands in frustration. "We don't have that much time!"
"Let's try fencing tomorrow then," Verne suggested. He dropped the sword to the ground and went over to pick up the bow and arrows that they had brought for archery. "Let's do this."
There was a wooden board already nailed to a tree with a red and white bulls eyes painted on. Hundreds of holes from previous arrows were embedded in the wood.
"Archery is the most scientific of these skills," Jules announced, taking a bow and arrow out of the bag and stepping back ten feet from the target. "All you need to know is the correct angle to shoot the arrow in, taking into account the wind speed and the weight of the arrow."
"Yeah, but you need luck too," Verne added, grabbing the bow and arrow out of his brother's hands and shooting it. The arrow struck the edge of the last ring of the target.
"You could be hung for that," Jules stated. "Now let me show you how an expert would do it."
Taking another bow an arrow out of the bag, Jules put the arrow on the string and stretched it tight, eyes narrowed in concentration and holding it like that for almost a minute, turning a bit to adjust the position before letting it go. The arrow hurtled toward the target and came within two inches of the bulls-eye.
"You were saying?" Jules asked his brother, smirking.
"Luck," Verne muttered, frowning.
"Why don't you try it now," Jules suggested, handing Marty his bow, and a new arrow for the bag. "It could help if you aim for the tree branch that is suspended over the target."
Marty put the bow string in the niche that was at the end of the arrow and pulled it back until it was stretched as far as it could go. He leaned back and aimed it up at the tree branch, then let it go. The arrow headed straight for the tree branch and embedded itself in it, the force causing some of the remaining snow that had been on the branch to fall to the ground with a splat.
"That wasn't exactly what I meant," Jules said slowly, as the three of them gazed up where the arrow had stuck. "Perhaps you should aim a tad bit lower."
Verne handed Marty another arrow and this time, when he tried aiming directly at the bulls-eye, the arrow hit the tree trunk right above the target. After six more times of trying various ways of aiming the arrow, it finally hit the target.
"You are the kind of person who needs to aim low to get the arrow high," Jules stated when Marty found that aiming at the tree root let him get close to a bulls-eye. "Try it a few more times and we can see if this one time was not a fluke."
The 'few more times' turned out to be fifteen before both boys were satisfied that Marty could shoot a decent arrow. "Now," Verne announced, getting the bows and arrows together and putting them back in the bag, "it's time to do the most difficult, jousting."
"Can't we do that tomorrow?" Marty asked with a yawn, leaning against the tree. The only thing he wanted to do was get back to the house, and go to bed. Maybe all he needed was some sleep and he wouldn't feel sick anymore.
"We could do the fencing today, then joust tomorrow," Jules suggested. "That way, we have all day tomorrow to do the most difficult skill."
"Fine," Marty sighed, knowing that it would be almost impossible to get them to change their minds to go home now.
The swords were picked up again and this time, Jules and Verne did a demonstration while Marty stood and watched, a few feet away. It took close to five minutes of the swords clanging against each other before Verne emerged the winner.
"I'm better than you," Verne sung out, stabbing an invisible opponent in the air in front of him as his brother retrieved his sword.
"In this perhaps," Jules replied calmly. "But I am the expert at archery."
Verne rolled his eyes. "Oh, put a cork in it," he said, then grinned. "Hey, since I won, does that mean I get to chop off your head?"
"I don't think so," Jules told his brother firmly, handing Marty his sword. "Remember, keep your hand tight around the sword, thrust and block as much as possible."
"I'll try my best," Marty said seriously. He stepped up and was lifting the sword up when he began to cough suddenly. The sword dropped to the ground as he put a hand to his chest and struggled to catch his breath. It took almost a minute before Marty was able to quit coughing. His chest felt like it was on fire and taking short light breaths didn't help to ease the pain in the least.
Jules and Verne were staring at him. "Are you okay?" Verne asked, sounding worried.
"I'm fine," Marty replied softly, afraid to raise his voice and having another coughing fit.
"Maybe we should quit for the day," Jules said slowly, bending over and picking the sword up where Marty had dropped it. "You look kind of tired."
"That's an understatement," Marty whispered under his breath.
"Fine, we can go. But that will mean twice as much work tomorrow," Verne agreed reluctantly. He put the sword in it's iron case that was lying on the ground near his feet.
"I won't mind," Marty replied in a low voice. He went over and picked the up the bag with all the archery stuff in it and slung it over one shoulder. "Let's go."
"Prepare to lift," Doc Brown said to Clara, his hands buried in the prickly branches of a fir tree.
"I'm ready when you are," Clara replied, arms wrapped around the tree's trunk.
"On the count of three, lift and push," Doc told her, looking into the main room. "We only have three more steps to maneuver. One...two...three...lift!"
Doc and Clara pushed the tree into the main room, a few twiggy branches snapping off as they brushed against the door frame. "Where shall we set it up," Clara asked breathlessly.
Doc looked around the room. "How about in the corner next to the table," he suggested.
Clara nodded. "That'll be fine." The both of them lugged the tree over to the corner, then set it down with a thunk. At that moment, Doc heard the door open downstairs, voices, then the door slam shut again. "Hello, where is everybody?" Verne yelled from downstairs.
"We're up here," Clara called back. "We have a surprise for all of you." A second later, Verne, followed by Jules, ran into the room. "What is it?" he asked, looking around.
"Have you repaired the DeLorean?" Jules asked hopefully.
Doc shook his head. "Not yet, but I was planning on getting started tonight, with Marty's help. Where is he?"
"Right here," Marty said, climbing up the last step and into the room. "What's going on?"
"We thought it would be nice, since we will probably be spending Christmas here, to get a Christmas tree," Clara told all of them, smiling and gesturing to the tree in the corner.
"That's the surprise?" Verne asked, looking disappointed.
"Yes. Don't you like it?" Clara asked, her face falling a bit. "We even brought the decorations."
"Of course we like it, Mother," Jules said, shooting his brother a look. "We just weren't expecting it, that's all."
"You boys can help your mother decorate the tree while Marty and I start repairing the DeLorean," Doc announced, heading for the stairs.
"But Doc, I was going to-" Marty started, but Doc cut him off.
"I really need your help with getting all the tools and spare parts together. All I need you to do is read out the name of whatever tool or part is on the list, then check it off when I find it. It's not that hard," he added quickly.
Marty glanced back at the dark doorways at the other end of the room, sighed, then looked over at Doc. "Fine, I'll do it," he said reluctantly, then coughed.
Doc looked at him, concerned. "You aren't getting sick, are you?" he asked, noticing for the first time that Marty looked a little pale.
"I'm fine," Marty snapped. "Could we get started, please," he added softly.
Doc frowned. "Sure," he said slowly. "It shouldn't take that long, you know."
"That's good," Marty replied softly, turning around and going back down the stairs. Doc looked at Jules and Verne, who were going over to the tree and starting to unpack the box of Christmas tree decorations.
"How did the practicing go?" he asked them.
"We got the archery down, but we're going to do the other stuff tomorrow," Verne said, lifting a reindeer ornament out of the box.
"We'll need the horses and the other accessories for the jousting tomorrow," Jules added, pulling out several fancy candles in holders that were decorated with Christmas tree drawings.
"That won't be a problem." Doc left the room and went down the stairs and into the back room where the DeLorean was. Marty was bent over the desk, lighting some candles.
"Where do we start?" he asked Doc, turning around with one of the candles in hand, leaving the other ones on the desk.
"First, we take the tarp off the DeLorean and open it up, seeing which materials we would need to fix the windshield. When that's done, we'll gather the materials for repairing the flux capacitor, then we'll be done for today."
"Where's the checklist that I have to use?" Marty asked, setting the candle down on the table again, then stepping over to the car to help lift the tarp off.
"It's over on the desk, in the clipboard," Doc explained, taking the edge of the tarp and tugging it off with Marty's assistance.
"You really think that you can fix this?" Marty asked doubtfully as he picked up the clipboard, pointing to the scrambled mess that had once been the flux capacitor that was on the table.
"You brought all the parts I need," Doc said. "I should be able to fix it then. You can sit in the car while we do this, if you want. You don't have to stand."
Marty gave a small smile. "Thanks," he said, sounding relieved. He picked up the candle again and opened the driver side door, setting the candle on the time circuit switch box before sitting down.
"So, what is the first item on the list?" Doc inquired, bringing his candle over to the table next to the pile of boxes.
"A screwdriver," Marty answered, looking down at the checklist.
Doc went over to the tool box and pulled the screwdriver out in less than a minute. "Got it," he called back.
"Check," Marty replied. "The next one is a box of bolts."
Doc found that one quickly and the pile of materials for each different repair started to grow. Between the two different piles was a heap of things that both the window and the flux capacitor would need to be fixed.
"Hydrometer," Marty told Doc half an hour after they started, checking off the glass plate that was for the flux capacitor. The boxes were almost empty, so Doc knew that they were almost finished. Nevertheless, it took him almost five minutes of digging around before he found the hydrometer, an instrument that was used for measuring the exact gravity of liquids and would be used in the flux capacitor's repair.
"Check," Doc announced, holding up the hydrometer, then turning and setting down in the flux capacitor repair pile. "What's next?"
Scanning the boxes, Doc waited for the next item. When two minutes passed and Marty didn't say anything, Doc wondered if Marty hadn't heard him. "What is the next thing on the list?" he repeated.
Another minute passed. Frowning, Doc turned around, went over to the DeLorean, and peered in. "What is the next - " he began, then stopped.
Marty had his eyes closed and was leaning back against the seat. He was hugging the clipboard to his chest and his breathing was slow and sounded slightly raspy. Doc carefully leaned over him and picked the candle up off of the time circuit switch. As he brought it back toward him, Doc stopped and lifted the candle up so that it was directly in front of Marty's eyes. After holding it there for a minute and not seeing even the flicker of an eyelash, Doc moved it back toward him. He sighed and set the candle down on the hood of the car. Only a few more materials were left and it wasn't essential for Marty to help anymore, but Doc couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.
Doc leaned back in the car and gently pulled the clipboard out of Marty's arms. Doc half expected Marty to wake up, but he didn't even move. Doc frowned, still having the feeling that something was not quite right. He thought for a moment about anything that could have caused that feeling, but found nothing. Doc shrugged as he took the pencil off the dashboard and checked off the hydrometer. Everything was fine. He was probably just worried about fixing the time machines and the tournament on Thursday. Doc looked at Marty once again in the car. Hopefully nothing serious would happen. Doc hoped that Marty would be able to defend himself against Harley Tannen. It was common knowledge around here that Prince Harley Tannen had killed hundreds of men in tournaments. He was known to be an expert. It would take lots of luck if Marty could win the tournament. And Doc had this awful feeling that they were running out of that.
Sunday, December 22, 1285
11:06 A.M.
As soon as Marty opened his eyes, he was aware of four things. One, he felt worse than he did yesterday. Two, he was in the driver's seat of the DeLorean. Three, there were several heavy quilts piled on top of him. And four, someone was pounding on the window.
"I'm awake, I'm awake," Marty muttered under his breath, pushing the quilts off and reaching to open the door. As he did so, an edge of one of the quilts caught on the time circuit switch and pulled it on. As soon as Marty heard the beep that meant the time circuits had been switched on, he twisted around and looked at the time display, expecting to see nothing but a blank screen, since the flux capacitor was broken. But instead it was lit up like it normally would have done. The display read December 22, 1285, 11:07AM, Mountain Crest, England. The red light, which appeared when a new time was achieved, was on so the time machine had obviously not been re-set since coming here the first time.
"Come on, open the door!" Verne yelled, pressing his face against the window and looking in. "You already know where and when we are, and we have to start practicing the jousting and fencing!"
Marty pulled his eyes from the display screen and reached over, turning the time circuit switch off. The display screen went dark and Marty opened the door, pushing it up and stepping out of the car.
"It's about time," Verne muttered, leaning on the hood of the DeLorean. "We haven't got all day you know."
"Why don't we?" Marty asked as he shut the gull wing door. He coughed, his throat dry and still sore. His chest gave him a bolt of pain as Marty tried taking a deep breath after he quit coughing. What was wrong with him? On top of the usual pains, now he was freezing cold.
"Well, we do I guess. But fencing and jousting are hard and the more time we have to practice, the better." Verne started walking toward the door. "Jules is waiting for us in front of the house. Come on."
Marty paused to cover the DeLorean with the drop cloth before following Verne out of the room and outside. Doc, who was doing some blacksmith work with a horseshoe, looked up as he passed. "Good luck in the practice," he called out, placing the glowing orange horseshoe in a bucket of water with some tongs. Steam rose up and the water sizzled.
Marty went over to the glowing coals and stuck his hands over them. The heat did nothing to penetrated the chill that seemed to come from inside him. "Do you have any warmer cloaks that I could wear, or maybe some sweaters," he asked Doc. "I'm freezing."
Doc lifted the now silver colored horseshoe out of the water and stared at Marty strangely. "How can you possible be cold? You are standing in one of the hottest places to be in this town."
Marty kept his eyes fixed on the fiery red coals. "I don't know, I'm just really cold, even standing next to these hot coals."
Doc looked at him, his eyes narrowed. "Maybe you shouldn't go out today. You look pale," he said slowly.
Marty stepped away from the hearth. "Doc, relax, I'm fine," he replied firmly, knowing that he was anything but that but not want to worry Doc any more than he already was. "I'm a little cold, that's all. Now, I have to go and master the art of jousting and fencing so that I can let Princess Tannen marry William Gardener." Marty turned and headed out the front door, ignoring the wave of dizziness that hit him as he did so. He had an awful feeling that he was coming down with more than the common cold.
It was almost four thirty when Jules and Verne decided that Marty was good enough to defend himself against Prince Tannen. "It will still be amazing if you beat him though. Prince Harley Tannen is the tournament champion in four towns," Verne explained as he threw the swords, shields, lances, and other equipment that had been used during the day in the back of the wagon.
"Really?" Marty commented, fumbling with the harness that hooked the horse up to the wagon. Though nothing remained of the snow except for piles of slush and the sun had been shining brightly in the sky the whole day, Marty still hadn't been able to get any warmer than he had been in the morning. Even with all the exercise. The fencing practice had gone on for almost two hours before Marty had been able to knock the sword out of Verne's hand.
The jousting was worse. At least with fencing you were on stable ground and did not get knocked off the horse two dozen times. But eventually Marty had been able to hold the ten foot tall lance pole while riding, get on the horse with all the heavy metal armor, and hit the dummy that Jules and Verne had set up for practice, all without falling off. Marty knew that he had never been as sore, as tired, or felt as sick as he did now.
"It's a good thing that we were able to finish now and not later," Jules said, adjusting the bridal on the horse. "It will be dark soon."
Even as he spoke, the sun was setting and dusk was beginning to fall. The slush was beginning to freeze up into chunks of ice and the ground was getting slippery again. As they drove home, the wagon slid across the road more than it rolled. Marty was relieved when they made it home without having the horse slip and break a leg, or the wagon crash into a building.
"You can go in the house. Verne and I can put the wagon away," Jules told Marty, pointing to the front door. "We know where to put everything."
"Fine," Marty agreed, stepping down off the wagon and heading for the door. Inside it was quiet and no one appeared to be either downstairs or upstairs, at least in the front and living rooms. Upon entering the living room, Marty noticed immediately that the table and chairs that had been under the window had moved right next to the huge fireplace. In it's place was a Christmas tree, decorated with everything except for lights and gifts under it. Ornaments, old ones mixed with totally modern ones, along with some that probably came from past 1985, decorated the tree. A strand of gold and red beads was wound around the tree, along with some silver tinsel. Tiny white unlit candles in elaborate silver holders were fastened at the end of some of the branches and a bright silver star sat at the top of the tree, it's top point touching the ceiling.
Marty looked at the tree for a moment, thinking how weird it was for Christmas to be here before Thanksgiving had even come. After a few minutes, he went over to the table and sat down in the chair closest to the roaring fire. He held his palms out toward the flickering flames and after a few minutes the heat finally began to seep into his bones. Marty suddenly felt the tiredness that he had been fighting all day come over him like a thick, heavy blanket. Yawning, he lay his head down on the table, closed his eyes, and almost immediately fell sound asleep.
"Is this what you need?" Clara asked Doc, who was inside the car, preparing to repair the windshield.
Doc glanced at the hand held gas torch that Clara was holding out to him. "Yes, that's right," he told her, taking it out of her hand and setting it down on the passenger side seat. "Could you hand me the pliers now?"
Clara smiled and nodded, going over to the windshield repair pile and rummaging through it. Doc was covering the dashboard and the time circuits and wires that were under the window with an old sheet when Jules and Verne ran in.
"Hey, what are you guys doing?" Verne asked, leaning over Doc's shoulder and trying to look in.
"Your father and I are repairing the windshield," Clara answered, finding the pliers and holding them up. "Did everything go all right outside?"
"As well as could be expected with someone as inexperienced as Martin was," Jules replied, walking over to the table and looking through the piles.
"In other words, Marty has as good a chance beating Harley Tannen as much as snow could be expected in Hill Valley during August," Verne said cheerfully as he jumped up on the hood of the car and sat there, peering at Doc through the windshield.
"Get down from there," Clara said sternly as she crossed the room to hand Doc the pliers. "All it could take was for you to slip and fall on the windshield and all the glass would shatter."
"Then we would not have a windshield anymore,"Jules added, examining the glass.
"Fine, I'll get down," Verne sighed, jumping off the car. "But only because I want to go back to the future where I can have pizza and hamburgers again instead of the things that they call food here. I never thought that anything could beat cafeteria food, but medieval food wins the prize," he added, making a face.
It was almost ten minutes later when Doc realized something. "What did you boys do with Marty?" he asked Jules and Verne as they began to divide all the tools that were alike in the same piles.
"We dropped him off at the front door," Jules replied without looking up from the table. "He should be in this building somewhere. Perhaps upstairs."
Doc climbed out of the car, frowning. "You didn't see him on your way in?"
"Nope," Verne said, turning around with a pair of scissors in one hand, the point extended upward. "But then again, we came straight here and never went upstairs."
"I'm going up there," Doc said, feeling a little worried. He picked up one of the several candles that were on the desk. "Don't anyone go inside the DeLorean until I get back."
"Don't worry Father," Jules said, tossing a screwdriver on the table, then turning around. "We won't even touch the time machine."
"I'll stay here and keep an eye on them," Clara assured him, stepping forward. "Don't worry."
"I won't about that," Doc said under his breath when he was out of the room. Even if Clara hadn't been with the boys, Doc still wouldn't have worried. They knew that playing with the time machine, especially in the state it was in now, would be causing perhaps even more damage than there already was.
As Doc began to ascend the steps to the second floor, he began to feel that same, almost familiar, feeling that something was wrong. He had felt that several times before in his life, like when he and Marty had gone to the alternate 1985 during the sports almanac incident. Even before Doc had noticed that it had changed, he had this gnawing feeling that something was wrong. Just like now.
The main room was dark, except for the glow that came from Doc's candle and the fire that was in the fireplace. Dusky light filtered through the warped glass of the window, but it caused more shadows than light. Doc took a few steps in the room, then stopped and looked around. The Christmas tree sat silent next to the window, it's tinsel glittering eerily in the flickering light from candle and firelight. The cushioned bench, which Doc had constructed with some straw filled pillows set on the hard wooden seat and back, was empty. He turned toward the table and chairs that he and Clara had moved the night before, to give the tree more room. Doc sighed when he saw Marty seated in one of the chairs, slumped across the table.
Doc Brown slowly walked over to the table and pulled a chair up next to Marty, setting the candle on the mantle of the fireplace. Leaning over, he reached out and gently shook Marty's shoulder. "Wake up," Doc called softly.
After a minute, Marty slowly lifted his head off his folded arms and looked over at Doc, blinking a few times. "What is it?" he whispered, his face pale in the flickering light.
Doc stared at Marty for a moment before saying something. "Are you sure that you are feeling okay?" he asked, looking at Marty carefully.
"Doc!" Marty exclaimed, sounding exasperated and wide awake now. "I'm fine. I've never felt better!" He opened his mouth to say something else, but began to cough hard, his shoulders shaking with the effort.
"You are not fine!" Doc said firmly when Marty had managed to catch his breath. "Fine people do not cough like that every time they try to talk!"
"I'm just tired," Marty whispered, one hand gripping the side of the table as he bent over and took slow deep breaths. "I'll be fine tomorrow, I promise."
Doc still knew that something had to be wrong. Even if he needed just a good night's sleep, that didn't explain why Marty was coughing. "You're sure that nothing is wrong?" he asked doubtfully as Marty stood up.
"Yes. It's not like I'm getting pneumonia or something," Marty replied, trying to smile. He turned and disappeared in the room that led to his.
Doc sat for a moment, wondering why Marty's last words bothered him so. It was supposed to be a joke. But even hours later the comment was still nagging at Doc.
Monday, December 23, 1285
12:55 P.M.
"Don't forget this," Verne told Marty, holding the sword out. They were behind the bleachers that were built next to the field, getting ready for the the last event. "You might as well sign your own death certificate if you don't bring this with you out there."
"I won't," Marty promised, taking the sword out of Verne's hand. "It's tied, remember? If I don't win this..." His voice trailed off, thinking of the possibilities. Were Jules and Verne serious when they had said the person who lost got their head chopped off by the winner? So far, he had been extremely lucky to win the archery by getting a bulls-eye. But Prince Tannen got even in the jousting. Marty could already feel bruises forming where he had hit the ground. Sure, he had been wearing a suit of armor and all, but that just made sure that the lance didn't go through him, not to protect his body as he fell off the horse.
As if he could read Marty's mind, Doc asked, "Are you feeling better today?"
Actually, Marty felt worse than yesterday, even though he had gotten over twelve hours of sleep the night before. It seemed strange that every time he woke up, he would feel worse than he did before getting any sleep. His chest hurt every time he took a breath and nothing seemed to help. Aside from constant coughing now, Marty's head hurt worse and he felt dizzy every time he stood up or started coughing. Something was wrong, but now was not the time to mention it. He had to win this tournament first!
"I'm fine," Marty told Doc, forcing himself to smile. "I just hope that I can win this thing."
"We never thought you would even get this far," Jules admitted, going over to the side of the bleachers and peering around the side. "It looks like they're ready for you now. Harley Tannen certainly looks angry," he added.
"Oh, Perfect," Marty muttered, coming up behind Jules and looking over his shoulder. Sure enough, Prince Tannen was standing in the center of the field. The sword in his hand was drawn and looked sharp. The expression on his face was tight, full of anger and determination.
"Come out here, Robin Hood," Prince Tannen yelled when he caught sight of Marty looking at him. "Let's get this over with so Marian can go home and get ready to be a Covington!"
Marty turned back and looked at Doc, Clara, Jules, and Verne. "Wish me luck," he whispered.
Doc nodded. "Good luck," he said seriously, reaching out and giving his arm a reassuring pat.
"Knock 'em dead!" Verne cried enthusiastically, giving Marty thumbs up.
Jules looked at his brother and frowned. "You cannot say that!" he told Verne, sounding horrified. "Good luck would do."
"Do the best you can, Marty," Clara said, smiling.
Marty smiled back weakly. "I'll try," he replied, then began to walk out to the center of the field. It looked like all the people who lived in Mountain Crest were there, sitting or standing in and around the bleachers. Ten feet away from the townspeople was a smaller, covered row of bleachers, these ones surrounded by walls. Seated in it was King Tannen, Princess Tannen, and a young man who Marty didn't recognize with sleek black hair and a haughty expression who might have been the infamous Daniel Covington. He was seated next to Princess Tannen and, by the look on her face, Marty could tell she wished he wasn't. King Tannen looked smug, as if he already knew who the winner would be.
"You can't see the future," Marty whispered under his breath as he slowly walked to meet Prince Tannen in the field. When he got there, Prince Tannen smiled.
"Can we start now?" Prince Tannen asked the man who was acting as a judge through all the events, sounding impatient.
"You may begin now," the judge, who was standing a few feet away, agreed, stepping back.
Prince Tannen gave a gleeful smile. "Prepare to die!" he exclaimed, lunging forward.
Marty brought up the sword and blocked Prince Tannen's sword. Prince Tannen took a step back, looking surprised. Then he frowned in determination and took another shot. Marty forgot everything around him, thinking only about getting that sword out of Prince Tannen's hand. But five minutes later, when he did knock the sword out of that hand, he was so surprised he almost dropped his own sword.
Prince Tannen fell to his knees. "Please, don't kill me," he pleaded, his eyes wide and fearful. "You've won fair and justly! I beg of you, do not kill me!"
Marty looked down at the frightened Tannen. "I don't -" he started to say, then stopped and put a hand to his head. Things were beginning to blur. He turned to look over at the bleachers, catching sight of Doc and his family. They were staring at him, along with everyone else. It was so quiet you could have heard a pin drop.
Marty blinked, but his vision didn't get any better. Instead it got worse. "I don't -" Marty began again but was interrupted when he suddenly began to cough, hard. The sword slipped from his hand and clattered on the frozen ground. Bent over almost double, Marty tried to catch his breath. Every time he coughed, his chest would explode in a burning pain. It took over a minute before the coughing subsided.
Trying to breathe normally but not succeeding that well, Marty straightened up and looked straight ahead at the tree that had the target from archery nailed on it, his eyes wide. "I don't....feel so good," he moaned, his legs feeling too weak to support him anymore. The tree and target began to vanished behind a curtain of darkness. Right before everything went completely black Marty knew, for sure, that something was seriously wrong.
Doc Brown felt his heart drop to the soles of his boots when Marty suddenly collapsed to the ground. A murmur swept through the crowed when a minute passed and he didn't move. Prince Tannen stared down at Marty in surprise for a moment, then dove to the side and grabbed his sword, scrambling to his feet. "How swiftly the tables turn," Doc heard him say, lowering the sword toward Marty's neck.
"Don't!" Verne yelled, ducking under the rope that was strung across one side of the field, so that the townspeople would not get in the way of the tournament. He ran out to the center of the field.
"Verne!" Jules exclaimed, chasing after his brother. "Stop!"
"Boys!" Clara gasped, following them.
"Family!" Doc cried, running after them. "Come back here!"
"You said that he won!" Verne told Prince Tannen when he reached him, pointing down at Marty as he blocked the sword with his body. He scowled. "You're cheating!"
Prince Tannen looked bored. "Move, boy. Or do you want to taste my sword too?" he sneered.
"Um, you must excuse my brother. He doesn't know what he is doing most of the time," Jules explained, stepping in front of Verne and smiling at Prince Tannen. "A little crazy, you know."
"I am not -" Verne started to say, but Jules slapped a hand over his mouth.
"Crazy," Jules repeated with a shake of his head, looking serious.
"Wait a minute!" Clara exclaimed, reaching the center of the field and stepping in front of Jules. "What are you doing?"
"What do you think?" Prince Tannen asked sarcastically. "I'm going to kill Robin Hood, and these two if they don't move!"
"Over my dead body!" Clara shouted, her eyes narrowing as she shield her sons and pushed the sword away.
"So be it," Prince Tannen said, shrugging.
"Hold it!" Doc yelled, lifting a hand up. "Put the sword down."
"Why should I?" Prince Tannen asked, raising an eyebrow. "I won."
"No you didn't, you big bully!" Verne cried, peering around Jules and Clara.
"Hush Verne!" Clara said sharply, not moving her gaze from the pointed sword still drawn in Prince Tannen's hand.
"You didn't win," Doc said firmly. "We all heard you. You said that Robin Hood won fairly. Ask the judge."
"You did, your royalness," the judge added meekly, looking away as Prince Tannen turned to glare at him.
Prince Tannen looked over at his father. King Tannen, though scowling, gave a slow nod. Prince Tannen looked around at all the people, then at Doc and his family one last time before throwing the sword down. "Someone will pay," he hissed, glaring at Doc, then walked slowly and dejectedly toward his family.
A cheer rose from the bleachers. Doc didn't have time to feel relief that there would be no bloodshed. Turning around, he knelt down next to Marty. He lay on his back, his eyes closed and his face was the color of the snowflakes that were beginning to fall. Doc didn't like the way Marty was breathing either, raggedly, like he couldn't get enough air. "Something is wrong," he whispered.
"What did you say?" Clara asked, kneeling down next to Doc.
"We have to get him back to the house," Doc said, standing up.
"Why? Is something wrong?" Verne asked, suddenly looking worried.
Doc stooped down and put his hands under Marty's arms. "I think so," he replied slowly. "Will someone get his feet for me?"
Clara nodded and bent over. "What do you think is wrong?" she asked.
"I'm not sure," Doc admitted as he and Clara lifted Marty up. "We'll see when we get back to the house."
It was normally a five minute walk from the field back to the house. But it took almost ten minutes to get to the house that day, since Doc and Clara had to stop every minute or so to rest their arms. It was lucky that Jules and Verne were with them to open the doors, otherwise it would have taken even longer.
"Let's put him on the bench for now," Doc gasped when they had managed to get up the one flight of stairs. "That way we won't have to struggle up more stairs."
Clara gave a quick nod. In less than a minute, she and Doc had laid Marty out on the bench. Doc straightened up, looking down at him for a moment.
Clara sighed. "Now what do we do?" she asked, kneeling down and putting a hand on Marty's forehead. She gasped. "Emmett, he's burning up!"
"Let me see," Doc commanded. Clara stood up and moved back a few feet, allowing Doc to feel Marty's forehead. He frowned, noting that it was hot and dry. There was no doubt that Marty had a fever, most likely a high one. Doc turned around, his family watching him with worry. "Clara, get some water and a washcloth. Jules, get the first-aid kit. It should be under the front seat of the DeLorean."
What can I do?" Verne asked in a small voice when the other two hurried from the room.
Doc thought for a moment. "You can get a blanket from upstairs."
Verne nodded seriously and ran from the room. Doc walked across the room then lifted up one of the wooden chairs, setting it down next to the couch. He then went over to the fireplace and heaped more logs on the dying embers, adding some newspaper that the Christmas decorations came wrapped in, to let the fire re-start easier.
"I got the kit, Father," Jules said breathlessly as he entered the room. He handed it to Doc, then looked down at Marty. "What exactly do you think is wrong with him? Anything potentially fatal or serious?"
"I really don't know," Doc sighed, opening the first-aid kit and getting out the smelling salts that he kept in there. Sitting down in the chair, he leaned over and waved the salts under Marty's nose. Marty moaned softly, coughed, and then his eyes fluttered open.
"What happened?" he whispered hoarsely, squinting up at Doc and looking confused. Doc noticed that his eyes looked fever bright.
Doc set the smelling salts back in the first-aid kit before answering Marty's question. "You fainted, don't you remember?"
Marty closed his eyes for a moment. "I think so," he whispered. "Was it during the tournament?"
"Yes," Clara replied softly from behind Doc, and setting the bowl of water and folded washcloth on the table. "How do you feel?"
"Terrible," Marty replied. Doc noticed he wasn't speaking above a whisper. "I have an awful headache and my chest hurts."
"Here's the blanket that you needed," Verne exclaimed as he ran into the room. He stopped suddenly when he noticed no one was saying anything. "What's wrong?" he asked.
"Nothing," Jules told Verne, sitting down in one of the chairs next to the table. "Mother and Father are just talking to Martin."
The blanket fell to the floor. "Marty's awake?" he asked, going to the foot of the bench.
"Yes, but we have to ask him some things," Clara replied, dipping the washcloth in the water, then wringing it out and folding it before setting it on Marty's forehead.
Doc reached for the thermometer that was also in the first-aid kit. "I want to take your temperature," he told Marty, holding the thermometer out.
"Fine," he said softly, slowly taking the thermometer out of Doc's hand and sticking it in his mouth. Marty looked surprised when Doc took it out after ten seconds.
"Future thermometer," he explained, looking at the line of mercury. 103.4 degrees. Doc took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to keep from panicking.
Clara looked over his shoulder. "Does that say what I think it does?" she asked in a low voice so Marty couldn't hear.
Doc nodded. "Perhaps we should ask one of the boys to fetch Doctor Gardener," he told her quietly.
Clara's eyes widened. "You think it's that dangerous?"
"I am almost sure that I know what he has, and it is dangerous," Doc whispered. "Let's go downstairs and I'll tell you. If I turn out to be wrong I don't want any unnecessary panic."
"Where are you guys going?" Verne asked the two of them loudly as they stood up and started for the stairs.
Clara answered before Doc had a chance to. "We're just going to put the coats away. Do you want to give us yours?"
Jules and Verne looked at one another, as if to silently question themselves whether or not to believe their mother. Without a word, they pulled their coats off and handed them to Clara, still looking suspicious.
"We'll be right back," Doc promised them as he and Clara began to go down the stairs.
As soon as they were out of ear shot, Doc told Clara what he suspected: "I think that Marty could have pneumonia."
Clara gasped. "Are you sure?" she asked, her face paling in the dim light of the candle that Doc held.
"Almost," Doc said quietly. "The symptoms are all there; coughing, chest pains, a high fever."
"How would the doctor help at all then?" Clara asked. "Pneumonia was not discovered until the sixteen hundreds."
"I'm not sure it is that," Doc reassured her quickly. "It could be some long forgotten illness that people used to get now, but was cured or tapered off."
"But what if you're right? What will we do then? Pneumonia can kill so easily!" Clara exclaimed fiercely. Doc remembered that she lost a younger brother to pneumonia in 1868.
"I'll have to fix the DeLorean as soon as possible, even if Marty doesn't have pneumonia," Doc told her calmly. "The methods that people used now to cure sickness were not the least bit healthy or scientific. Many times people would die from the cure, then from the sickness."
"I'll get one of the boys to go to the Gardeners," Clara volunteered, setting the coats on a table, then going quickly up the stairs. Doc followed her, hoping that his guess was wrong. They had been so lucky that no one had ever become seriously ill on time trips. Once again, Doc had a feeling that their luck, and time, was running out.
"I got the doctor!" Verne cried out, running into the room, snow covering the coat and scarf he was wearing so that he looked like a living snowman. "It's also a snowstorm outside," he added, almost as an afterthought before vanishing into his room and slamming the door behind him.
"What does he mean by saying that he got a doctor?" Marty asked Doc suspiciously from his position on on the cushioned bench. He felt so helpless lying here and no one would tell him anything! If something was seriously wrong, he had a right to know. It was his body, after all!
"I sent Verne to get Doctor Gardener," Doc explained, standing up from the chair that he had been sitting in, next to Marty. "I just want him to look you over and see if anything is wrong."
Marty frowned. What could a doctor from this far in the past know about being sick? From what he could remember, they didn't have any drugs or medicine that they gave people if they were sick. But maybe Doc knew more than he did.
"Okay," Marty replied uncertainly. He watched as Doc left the room and returned a moment later with a short, grey haired man who bore a striking resemblance to William. The man was carrying a black bag, like doctors in the olden days, in one hand.
"What is the problem?" Dr. Gardener asked, settling down in the chair and looking up at Doc.
"He has a high fever, a bad cough, and chest pains," Doc told the other doc.
"Now wait a minute, what do you mean I have a high fever?" Marty interrupted, starting to sit up. He stopped when the room began to spin and lay back down on the bench, closing his eyes for a minute and taking a slow deep breath, though it was unbelievably painful. "Whoa," he whispered.
Dr. Gardener nodded slowly. "I see," was all he said, then put a hand on Marty's forehead and ordered him to open his mouth so he could see down his throat and cough. Coughing was awful, almost torturous. It seemed forever before Marty could breath normally. Doc and Dr. Gardener just both looked at him, looking concerned.
"Are you okay now?" Doc asked him when he had managed to breath once without choking.
Marty managed a nod. "I'm okay," he gasped. Doc looked at him as if not sure he was telling the truth, then told the doctor to follow him downstairs. Marty could hear the murmur of their voices, but no specific words. The living room was empty now. Marty closed his eyes, exhausted, and was almost asleep when he heard Doc and Clara coming up the stairs. They were talking, but as soon as they reached the room they stopped. Marty held still and strained his hearing, thinking maybe if they thought he was sleeping, they might talk about him. They did not disappoint him.
"What exactly did the doctor say," he heard Clara ask Doc in a low voice a minute later.
"Just what I thought he would, that Marty has a bad fever and cough." Doc told her softly. "But you said yourself that pneumonia was not known until the sixteen hundreds, almost three hundred years from now."
"You still think that it could be that?" Clara questioned Doc.
"I'm sure," Doc whispered. Marty heard him walk over and knew that Doc was looking down at him. "But we mustn't tell the boys or Marty. It might make things worse."
"Won't they find out eventually though? You can't hide something like this!" Clara asked, her voice shrill.
"SHHHHHH!" Doc hissed at Clara. After a moment of silence, Doc continued quietly, "I'm going to get the DeLorean repaired as soon as I can, hopefully before Christmas. I can then go and get the medication we need to cure Marty. The doctor here suggested that we let him put leeches on Marty so that they could suck out all the disease. I told him no, of course, that we had our own ways of dealing with sickness in my family."
Marty swallowed hard. Leeches! They wanted to put leeches on him! The thought made his skin crawl!
"What if you run out of time?" Clara asked softly as Marty felt a quilt being tucked in around him. He held his breath as he waited for Doc's answer.
"That will not happen. It can't. I'll work on the time machine 24 hours a day if I have to," Doc whispered firmly. "But in the meantime, we should take Marty's temperature at least three times a day, keep him warm and comfortable, and most importantly, do not even hint to him how serious this is!"
A door clicked shut and the voices vanished. Marty opened his eyes and gazed up at the ceiling in what little light came in through the window and from the fire. "Pneumonia," he murmured, a cold chill settling in his heart. This was definitely heavy.
"What did you hear?" Verne asked Jules impatiently as he was crouched down, one ear to the door.
Jules was quiet for a minute more before he replied. "Father told Mother that he believes Martin has pneumonia."
Verne frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?" he asked.
Jules stood up. "It means, oh innocent sibling of mine, that if Father doesn't repair the DeLorean in a few days, Martin might become deceased."
Verne leaped off his bed, where he had been sitting. "Quit talking in another language, will you, and tell me what's going on!"
Jules heaved a sigh. "Fine, this is what's happening in 'your language'. Mom and Pop think that Marty might die, since he's real sick, if the car is not fixed soon. Is that bland enough for you?"
"Why didn't you say that in the first place!" Verne complained, sitting back down on the edge of the bed. Sometimes he really, really couldn't understand his brother, not that he normally did anyway.
"They also don't want us to know about the pneumonia, so you must not let on that you found out," Jules added. "And, don't tell Martin about it. Mother and Father seem to think that it would be best if only they knew what was going on."
"That's stupid. If Marty's as sick as you say, won't we notice after awhile?" Verne asked.
Jules nodded. "My thoughts exactly. My theory is that Mother and Father hope to correct the problem before it get to that."
Verne was silent for a few minutes. "What if they don't fix it? Will Marty really die?" he asked softly.
Jules stared hard at the floor, as if trying to memorize the grains of wood. "I really don't know. I hope not. But if Father can't repair the DeLorean in a few days, he very well could."
"What are you doing?" Clara asked that night, breaking the silence in the room.
Doc Brown turned around in the chair he had been sitting in. Clara was standing in the doorway, looking at him curiously. "I'm trying to reconstruct the flux capacitor," he explained, gesturing to the scattered wires and objects that were spread out on the desk. "The windshield is fixed and this is all that remains. It will take at least a day though, just to fix what can be fixed, and replaced the other materials. Then another day to put it back together and install it." Doc paused, then asked in a lower voice, "How is Marty doing?"
Clara walked over and sat down on the stool that was next to the desk. "He's sleeping right now. The boys and I helped him upstairs after dinner to his room, that way we won't be disturbing him when we use the main room."
Doc turned back to the flux capacitor. "Did you take his temperature again?" he asked, picking up a hammer and a curved piece of metal and started to pound on it, trying to straighten it out back to it's natural shape.
"Yes," Clara said quietly. "It's gone up a degree."
Doc didn't say anything. He thought if only this metal was straightened out, everything would be fine again. Marty wouldn't be sick, the time machines would be in perfect condition, nothing would be wrong. "How high is it now, exactly?"
"If memory serves me will, I believe that it is about 104.2 degrees," Clara told him, then frowned. "You don't have to grip that hammer so tightly. It's not going to jump out of your hand."
Doc stopped and unclenched his fingers on the handle. He hadn't realized that he had been holding on so tight that his knuckles had turned white. The metal was now pounded back to it's straight smooth shape so Doc dropped the hammer back into the tool box and began to try and fit the metal back into the case that contained everything that was the flux capacitor. "I'm sorry," he said to Clara, who was looking at him, concerned. "I'm just worried about Marty."
Clara sighed. "I would like to tell you that everything will be fine, but I don't know that. The best we can do is hope that Marty will get better, and hope that the DeLorean is repairable."
"I know the second one will happen, it's the first one is the one I am afraid of the most," Doc told her. "I feel like it's my fault that he's sick. I brought him here."
Clara stood up and put her arms around Doc's shoulders. "It's not your fault that Marty is sick. It's nobody's. You didn't know that this would happen when you wrote that letter," she said softly. "Don't think for a moment that this is all your fault!"
Doc took a deep breath. "Your right," he said slowly.
Clara leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "Perhaps things will look better in the morning. I'm going up to bed now. Are you coming?"
"In a minute. I want to finish something first." Doc picked up another piece from the pile and began to fiddle with it, trying to look busy. He listened as Clara walked out of the room and up the stairs, listening carefully for the sound of the bedroom door shutting. When it came, Doc waited a minute then stood up, tossing the chipped circuit that he had been holding back on the desk. It was irreparable anyway, so it wouldn't matter if it got more roughed up than it had been originally. Picking a candle from one of the dozen that were placed strategically around the room, to give it as much light as possible, Doc went out of the room and up the stairs.
The main room was empty, but the fire was still flickering warmly. Doc paused for a moment and went over to the window that was now behind the Christmas tree. Outside it was dark, but he could tell that it was snowing hard. The window was caked with ice. Stepping away from the window, Doc crossed the room and as quietly as possible, opened the door to the boy's room. He was expecting them to be asleep, but when he stepped in, they were sitting on their beds, looking wide awake, and talking. The conversation halted as soon as Doc came into the room though. "What are you both doing?" Doc asked them as they both stared at him and didn't say a word.
Jules cleared his throat. "We were just discussing the political situation that takes place here," he said quickly, then looked at Verne. "Isn't that right, dear sibling?"
Doc raised his eyebrows. "Dear sibling?" he repeated, not believing this for a second. Something was undoubtedly up, especially since Doc doubted Verne even knew what the word 'political' meant.
Verne smiled brightly. "That's right, my bestest brother," he replied.
"You boys aren't getting sick now, are you?" Doc asked the two of them anxiously.
"Of course not, Father," Jules said. "We are perfectly fine."
Verne nodded. "We're just getting along for once. What's wrong with that?"
Doc looked at them suspiciously. "Nothing, I think," he said slowly, then crept up the stairs. Pulling back the curtain that was across the doorway, Doc stepped into the room and looked around. The table, once empty except for a wind up alarm clock, now had that, three candles, the thermometer, a bowl of water with a washcloth and a towel draped over the side of it, and a glass of water on it. Outside it was easy to hear the wind blowing and snow pounding the outside walls. Doc stepped next to the bed and looked down.
Marty lay still, his face without one drop of color in it, and his eyes closed. His breathing was light and shallow. Two thick quilts were pulled up to Marty's chin and he was sweating heavily. Doc reached out and lay his hand gently on Marty's forehead. It was, as Clara had said earlier, burning up. Doc was about to pull his hand away when Marty suddenly opened his eyes and looked up at him. "I thought I heard someone come up here," he murmured, his eyes half closed.
Doc jerked his hand back, startled. "I didn't mean to wake you," he apologized, sitting down in the chair that had already been pulled up next to the bed. "How are you feeling?"
"Like I was before, except worse," Marty whispered, then coughed. "I can't breathe right. What's wrong?"
"Ah, we're not sure," Doc said hesitantly.
"It's serious, isn't it? This isn't just a cold or flu, right?" Marty said softly, looking at Doc carefully.
Doc thought for a moment before answering. He couldn't tell Marty the truth, but he didn't want to lie to him either. "We don't know what is wrong, but I'm trying to repair the DeLorean so that I can go to the future and get some medicine."
"If you don't know what I have, how do you know what could make me better?" Marty asked weakly, lifting a hand to his head.
Doc decided to change the subject before Marty decided to ask any other questions. "Are you warm enough up here? There's a blizzard outside right now, if you're wondering why it is so noisy."
"I'm freezing cold," Marty said quietly, letting his hand fall back on the blankets. "Are there any more quilts I could have?"
Doc nodded. It amazed him how Marty could be cold when he had such a high fever. But that was one thing that doctors had yet to explain with people. "Of course," he replied softly, reaching over to the foot of the bed and pulling two more quilts over the original ones.
"I really appreciate you guys taking care of me like this," Marty mumbled drowsily, his eyes falling closed and his voice growing softer. Doc had to lean forward to hear his next words. "Let me know if I can do...anything...."
Doc sighed and leaned back in the chair. "I've got to get the time machine fixed," he said aloud, standing up. Before leaving the room to go back to the temporary lab and work on the car some more, he blew out all of the candles so that there would be no way that a fire could start in the middle of the night. They already had enough problems, as was.
Tuesday, December 24, 1285
8:52 A.M.
It was early the next morning when someone pounded on the front door. Verne, who had been going downstairs anyway to go to the lab and get some extra candles since he only had one left in his room, ran over and looked out the window. Standing in the foot of snow that had gathered on the ground overnight were King Tannen, Princess Tannen, and Doctor Gardener's son, William.
"What are they doing here?" Verne wondered aloud, frowning. The knock came again, so Verne figured he better answer it.
"Is Robin Hood here?" King Tannen demanded when Verne opened the door.
"Um, yeah," Verne said slowly. Not that Marty could have visitors, since he was so sick, but these people didn't know that.
"Do you think we could perhaps see him?" Princess Tannen asked, leaning forward. "It is so very important."
"I don't think that's a good idea," Verne told them. "Goodbye." He started to shut the door but King Tannen stuck his boot in it so that Verne couldn't.
"I'm sure that you will reconsider, since this is an order from the king," King Tannen said flatly. "And you should know what happens to people who disobey the king's orders."
Verne gulped. He had heard plenty of times from people in town and from his parents that anyone who intentionally disobeyed the king would be either hung or get their head chopped off. "On second thought, go ahead," he said slowly, stepping back. "But first, you might want to know that Robin Hood is real sick."
"What is wrong with him?" William asked as all three of them entered the darkened work room.
"Pneumonia," Verne said, nodding solemnly.
"What?" King Tannen, Princess Tannen, and William all asked at once.
"You don't know what -" Verne started to say, then stopped. Hadn't Jules told him last night that he had heard Mom say that the sickness hadn't been discovered until later? "Never mind," he told them.
King Tannen was looking around the room with obvious disgust. "Where is Robin Hood?" he asked, scowling as he looked at the old ashes scattered across the dirt floor from the forge.
"He's upstairs," Verne said, running up the stairs. "Follow me."
Jules was sitting on the bench in the main room, reading a thick book. He looked up in surprise as Verne dashed right by him with the three adults in tow. "What's going on?" he demanded, tossing the book on the floor and darting over to the bedroom door to block the entrance before everyone went through it.
Verne stopped and folded his arms across his chest. "These people want to see Robin Hood," he told his brother, "so I'm taking them to do just that."
"Oh no you're not!" Jules exclaimed, shaking his head firmly. "I absolutely forbid it and so would Mother and Father, if they were up."
Verne sighed. "But Jules, this is an order from the king. Remember what happens to people who don't follow king's orders?" Verne drew one finger across his throat in a slashing motion as a reminder.
Jules looked at the frowning King Tannen, his daughter, and William Gardener, all who looked increasingly impatient. "Do they know that he is ill?" he asked Verne.
"Yeah, I told them. They don't seem to care though," Verne said, rolling his eyes with exasperation. "Come on, let us through. Do you want to be responsible for a death in the family?"
Jules sighed, then stepped to the side. "If I might offer a word of advice, you better go up and warn Robin Hood first about the visitors."
Verne realized that his brother was right. "Okay. You guys wait right here. I'll be right back."
Someone was calling his name in an unescapeable, insistent way. Marty pulled the quilts over his head and kept his eyes shut, hoping to discourage whoever was doing that. He felt awful and the last thing he wanted to do was get up.
"Marty, wake up! Some people are here to see you!" Verne said urgently, shaking him hard.
"Quit it," Marty groaned, pulling the quilts tighter around him. He was so cold!
Verne gave a gusty sigh and reached over, yanking all the quilts off the bed. "King Tannen, Princess Tannen, and William Gardener are all here and ordering to see you, or else," he said, then stopped. "Gosh Marty, you look terrible!"
"I feel terrible," Marty whispered, shivering. "Could I please have some of those quilts back?"
"What? Oh, sorry," Verne said, handing him the bundle, which Marty gratefully wrapped around him. Even with all the quilts, he was still cold. If he had a fever, shouldn't he be hot?
"Anyway, the two Tannens and the doctor's son want to come up and see you," Verne continued, lighting the three candles that someone had placed on the table as he spoke. "I don't know why they want to see you, especially now, but they do. Do you know why?"
Marty had to think a moment before answering. "I don't think so," he said slowly.
Verne shrugged. "I guess you'll find out now then. I have to get them now. Be right back." Verne ran down the stairs.
A few seconds after Verne left the room, King Tannen, followed by Princess Tannen and William Gardener came into the room. They all stared at him for a minute before saying a word.
"We heard you are sick," Princess Tannen said, breaking the silence in the room.
Marty nodded weakly, then coughed hard. Maybe that was one of the reasons he still felt tired, even though he had slept most of the day before and all night, since a few times during the night he could remember coughing, sometimes for a few minutes straight. His chest hurt continuously now, even if he took the lightest breath. Marty had no doubt that Doc was right about the pneumonia guess.
"I just wanted to tell you that Marian has made her decision on who should wed her," King Tannen growled, jerking a finger to William. "It's him."
"You do not mind, do you Robin Hood? I told Father that you would want this," Princess Tannen said, leaning forward. The look in her eyes seemed to say, if you object to this, you're in big trouble!
"No, not at all. You guys can both get married."
William stepped forward. "I want to thank you for what you have done for me and Marian," he said softly, looking at Princess Tannen and smiling. "If it had not been for you, I do not know what would have happened."
Marty was about to answer, then stopped. A strange feeling came over him. One minute he was thinking clearly, the next everything became fuzzy and disoriented.
"You would have both still gotten married," Marty said softly to Princess Tannen and William, feeling detached from everything. "Even if I never came here."
"Why do you say that?" Princess Tannen asked, sounding curious.
"Because I was never here originally," Marty whispered. He felt confused and oddly lightheaded, even though he was lying down.
William looked confused. "What do you mean that you were never here?"
Marty shook his head, though it made his head hurt even more and took so much energy to do so. "I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for the time machine or the Doc."
"Time machine?" Princess Tannen repeated. "What is that?"
Marty didn't answer her. He caught sight of something that made his heart stand still. "Fire!" he gasped.
King Tannen looked startled. "What? Where?" he asked, looking frantically around the room.
They couldn't see it? It was everywhere! "Just look!" he cried, pointing around the room. "Can't you feel the heat from it?"
King Tannen, Princess Tannen, and William all looked at each other, bewildered. "There is no fire, anywhere," King Tannen said slowly and carefully.
Marty moaned softly and shoved the quilts off, where they landed in a heap on the floor. He was so hot now! "It's fire," he whispered.
"Perhaps we better go now," Princess Tannen said, edging toward the door, tugging on William's hand. "Come on, Father," she added as she hurried down the stairs.
After casting one last look at Marty, King Tannen fled the room too. They had been out of the room less than a minute before both Jules and Verne ran into the room. "Wow, they sure hurried out of here quick," Verne remarked, looking down the stairs. "What did you say to them?"
"Don't come in here!" Marty told them urgently, causing the boys to stop dead in their tracks.
"Um, why not?" Jules asked, looking around the room as if expected someone to jump out of the shadows.
"Can't you see that the room has fire in here?" Marty told them weakly. "We've got to get out of here while we still can!"
"I don't see any fire," Verne said, looking around the room carefully. "Do you, Jules?"
Jules shook his head. "No, but perhaps we should get Mother and Father," he said slowly, giving Marty a strange look. He sat down in the chair and reached for the thermometer then stuck it in Marty's mouth, though Marty thought that the last time his temperature should be taken would be when they should be running from the house with there lives. But it took too much energy to resist. When Jules had the thermometer out, he looked at it, his eyes widening.
"What is it?" Verne asked, sounding scared, leaning over his brother's shoulder.
"This says that Martin has a temperature of over 105 degrees," Jules whispered, still looking at the thermometer as if he thought it would vanish any second.
"That's bad, right?" Verne asked.
"Get Mother and Father, now!" Jules told his brother, setting the thermometer down on the table and soaking the washcloth in the bowl of water, then setting it on Marty's forehead. It didn't feel the least bit cool. It felt as hot as everything else in the room, since the bright flames were coming closer and closer toward them.
Verne, looking very solemn, ran from the room. "Bring fire extinguishers," Marty called after him, then began to cough. The smoke that was becoming thick in the room was beginning to hurt his lungs.
Jules was looking down at him with concern. "Don't worry, everything will be fine," he said reassuringly, separating one of the quilts from the others that had fallen on the floor and covering Marty with it.
"Fine," Marty repeated in a whisper, closing his eyes. He hoped that someone would come soon, before the fire got them all.
Doc and Clara had just walked out of their room when Verne ran into the main room in a frenzy. "Mom, Pop, you've got to come quick!" he gasped, grabbing both there hands and pulling them toward his room.
"What is it?" Clara asked him, wondering what on earth he could be causing such a fuss over.
"Is it about Marty?" Doc asked Verne, sounding worried.
Verne nodded hard. "I'll say! He's saying all these weird things that make no sense, like the house is burning down, when it is easy to see that it isn't."
Clara looked at Doc. "What do you think is wrong?" she asked as they were being pulled up the stairs.
"I'm not sure yet, but I have an idea," Doc said, sounding preoccupied and distant as they entered the room. The room was not bright, since only three candles were lighting the whole space, but Clara could see well enough. Jules was seated in the chair next to the bed, gazing down at Marty and frowning. Marty was lying in the bed, one of the quilts covering him. His eyes were shut and his breath was coming in short gasps.
"What happened?" Doc asked Jules, picking up the thermometer bending over Marty.
Jules shook his head. "No need to do that, Father. I took his temperature a few minutes earlier. It is 105.3 degrees."
Clara thought it looked like Doc paled a bit. "You're sure?"
Jules nodded. "Positive," he said, standing up.
Doc set the thermometer back on the table. "Tell me exactly what happened," he said, sitting down in the chair that Jules had just vacated.
"I'm not exactly sure. Verne brought King Tannen, Princess Tannen, and William Gardener up here. I tried to stop them, but the king ordered to be able to see Robin Hood, and we couldn't disobey him," Jules explained. "We both waited down here while they were all up here and the next thing we knew, the three of them came sprinting out of the room and out the door, like they had just witnessed a ghost."
"We thought that something might be wrong so we came up here," Verne said. "Then Marty started to say things like the house was on fire and we should get out. He didn't seem the least bit like that when I got him up to see the Tannens and William. It's very strange," Verne finished in a spooky voice.
"Marty," Doc called softly, leaning over. "Can you hear me?"
Marty groaned. "Have you bought the umbrellas yet?" he murmured without opening his eyes.
Clara sat down on the edge of the bed. "There are no umbrellas in the middle ages," she said. "What do you mean?"
"You need umbrellas when it rains, like it is doing now," Marty said drowsily. "Have you bought some?"
Clara looked at Doc, who looked extremely worried. "What is wrong with him?" she asked in a low voice.
Doc nodded, as if confirming something he was thinking. "The fever is so high now, Marty is delirious."
Verne looked confused. "What's that mean?"
"When someone is delirious, that means the person witnesses things that are imaginary and raves incoherent phrases that make absolutely no logical sense," Jules recited, sounding like a dictionary. "Someone can become delirious if they have an unusually high fever, like Martin."
Verne looked even more puzzled then before. "Huh?"
"What your brother is trying to say is that Marty's fever, since it is so high, is making him see things that aren't real and say things that make no sense," Clara explained, reaching over and dabbing the damp cloth across his face. Marty stirred slightly, but still did not open his eyes.
"The fire's going to get us," he mumbled, tossing his head from side to side restlessly.
"Oh, I get it," Verne said nodding and leaning on the table. "Is it dangerous?"
"It means that we're running out of time," Doc said, reaching over and tucking the quilt around Marty. "The time machine has to be fixed today!"
"Hey, I just realized something!" Verne exclaimed. "Today is Christmas eve!"
"What does that have to do with anything?" Jules asked, frowning.
Verne shrugged, looking hurt. "Nothing. I just thought that everyone might want to know."
"Here's what we will do," Doc explained, standing up. "Clara, Verne, you stay here and keep an eye on Marty. Keep me updated on his condition throughout the duration of the day. Jules, I'll need your help with finishing the flux capacitor, then installing it."
Everyone nodded seriously. Doc turned and went down the stairs, with Jules following. Verne looked after them for a moment longingly, then flopped down in the chair with a sigh. "How boring. They get to go and have fun fixing the DeLorean, and we have to watch Marty sleep!"
"You can go ahead with them if you want," Clara told him. "Just tell your father that I said it was okay. He'll probably enjoy the extra help."
Verne's face lighted up. "Cool! Thanks Mom!" he called, leaping out of the chair and thundering down the stairs. Clara winced as he slammed the bedroom door downstairs so hard the walls shook.
"I guess it's just you and me today," she said softly, looking down at Marty.
"Here we are, on Christmas Eve, in Mountain Valley, England, 1285. It is exactly 7:34PM and right now you are watching Jules and Pop put the flux capacitor in the DeLorean," Verne narrated, holding the video camera up.
"Where did you get that?" Doc asked, lifting a screwdriver and screwing in the final screws that held the flux capacitor where it should be, inside the car.
"I found it in one of the boxes. Their's film in it and everything, so you should know that this is really filming as we speak," Verne told him, lifting a hand as fiddling with something on the lense. "I'm zooming in now," he explained.
"Why don't you go film someone else," Jules suggested, holding the flux capacitor in place for Doc.
"This is the most interesting," Verne replied, turning in a slow circle and filming everything as he went, along with talking to the camera. "We've been here for about two long months because the DeLorean broke when we got here when an arrow came through the windshield and hit the flux capacitor. Almost hit me too. Then a few days ago Marty came here and brought the train with repair materials for the car, but the train was wrecked and now Marty's on his deathbed with pneumonia."
Doc had been listening to Verne's dialog with half an ear. But as soon as he heard the word pneumonia, he dropped the screwdriver and straightened up so fast he almost hit his head on the ceiling. "What did you just say?" he asked turning around, not sure that he had heard correctly.
"I said that -" Verne stopped suddenly. "Nothing. Never mind."
"I heard that last sentence," Doc insisted, climbing out of the car. "You said that Marty has pneumonia. Where did you get that from?"
"I said that?" Verne asked innocently, turning the camera off. "I never said such a thing!"
"Oh, give it up Verne," Jules said from inside the car, still holding the flux capacitor. "Father will find out eventually."
"Oh, fine," Verne sighed. "Jules and I were eavesdropping on you and Mom when you guys were talking about Marty last night and we heard about the pneumonia. Didn't you both think we'd figure it out after a while?"
Doc sighed wearily. "You boys were both..." he started to say, but stopped when he caught sight of Clara standing silently in the doorway. "What is it?" he asked, hurrying over when he saw her expression.
"Oh, nothing," she said brightly. "I just think that you might want to hurry it up," she added in a lower voice.
Verne brought the video camera up and began to film again, keeping the camera fixed on his parents. Jules was also staring intently at the both of them through the car's driver's side window. "Why?" Doc asked, his heart starting to pound.
"Marty's worse," Clara said quietly. "His fever has gone up some more and he is coughing without stop now."
Doc nodded curtly, then rushed over to the DeLorean. "All I have to do is finish connecting the flux capacitor in the time machine, then we'll be ready to go."
" 'We'll'?" Jules asked.
"I think it's best if I bring Marty with me," Doc explained. "He's far too sick now and their is not enough time for just me to go and get some medicine."
"I want to come too," Jules and Verne both said at the same time. Doc and Clara looked at each other.
"I think that will be fine," Doc said slowly. "Do you think that you can get ready to go in half an hour?"
"Yes," they both said. Verne ran out of the room, taking the video camera with him , but Jules stayed where he was.
"I'll help with the car first," he said pointedly, adjusting his grip on the flux capacitor.
"I'll come too," Clara added before leaving the room.
It took less time then expected to finish connecting the last few wires and cables back up to the flux capacitor. After sending Jules upstairs to get ready and double checking everything one last time, Doc slowly reached out and, crossing his fingers, switched the time circuits on. The display screen lighted up like normal and, after a moment, so did the flux capacitor. Doc sighed with relief and climbed out of the car. "It works," he said aloud, then went upstairs to tell everyone the good news.
The main room was deserted, but Doc heard Jules and Verne arguing about something in their room and Clara trying to settle the fight. Doc entered the room just as the fight was ending. "Fine, Verne can do the picture," Jules said, sighing. "But I get to do it next time."
"Fine with me," Verne replied, shrugging.
"What happened," Doc asked all three of them, feeling left out.
Clara turned, startled. "Oh, the boys were fighting on who got to take the picture that changes the clothes when we go back to the future. It's settled now. Is the time machine ready to go?"
Doc nodded. "It is repaired like new, or almost," he said, thinking of the nearly invisible cracks that still remained in the windshield, and would stay there until he got the car to a repair shop in the future, or bought a new windshield completely.
"Which year are we going to?" Jules asked, standing up from the bed he had been sitting on.
Doc thought about that. They had to go far enough into the future that Marty would be able to recover, but not too far when pneumonia was just a bad memory, or so rare that it would cause much suspicion. "I think that 1993 would do."
"I get to set the time display!" Verne cried out, running from the room.
"You do not! I get to!" Jules yelled, chasing after his brother.
"I never even said the place, day, or month that we're going to yet!" Doc called after them, but they ignored him and ran down the stairs, still arguing.
"Why don't we get Marty now?" Clara suggested, walking toward the narrow stairs. "It will probably take the both of us to get him down to the DeLorean, since their is no way he can walk down there."
Doc nodded in agreement and followed her. "Just exactly how high is his temperature now?"
"I think the last time I checked, half an hour ago, it was about 106." Clara said as she pulled back the curtain and went into the room. The first thing Doc noticed when he entered the room was the darkness of the room. Only one candle was lit now and it didn't reach the deep, dark corner pockets of the room. Clara went over to the bed, bending over and speaking softly to a pile of quilts. It took Doc a moment to see Marty under all of the quilts, shivering like he was caught in the midst of a blizzard. Clara looked up when Doc stepped up next to the bed.
"I can't get any response," she said worriedly.
"Let me try," Doc told her, leaning over like she had been. "Marty, wake up!" he ordered.
Nothing happened. Doc looked over at Clara, who was standing a few feet away and looking scared. Doc felt strangely calm, now that the time machine was fixed and they had a way out of here now. Doc reached down and grasped Marty's shoulders, shaking him hard. Marty didn't exactly become wide awake, but at least his eyes opened a little. "Am I late for school?" he mumbled, coughing hard.
"No, but we still have to leave now," Doc said, straightening up and gesturing to Clara that she should come over and take one of Marty's arms. She got the clue and helped Doc pull Marty up into a sitting position.
"Are you taking me shopping?" Marty asked groggily, squinting at Doc and looking confused.
"No, we're going on a little trip through time," Clara said softly, one hand gently tugging all the quilts off Marty and setting them back on the bed. "Just relax."
Marty looked at Clara for the first time, through half open eyes. "Have I seen you before?" he whispered, coughing again.
Clara looked at Doc again. "This is from his high fever, right?" she asked nervously as she and Doc lifted Marty to his feet and placed his arms around their necks.
"Correct. It's the fever talking," Doc replied, half carrying, half dragging Marty down the stairs with Clara. Jules and Verne met them in the main room, both looking mad.
"He said that he gets to set the time display because I get to take the picture," Verne complained, pointing at Jules.
"It's perfectly fair," Jules insisted. "If he gets to do the photograph, I should get to program the time circuits."
"If you boys can't settle this argument by yourselves, I'll do both of the things!" Doc told them sternly. "The least of my concerns right now is which one of you gets to use the camera or type in the time!"
Jules and Verne looked surprised. "Okay, we'll settle this. Jules can do the time circuits," Verne said softly.
Doc sighed, shifting his weight. Marty wasn't the lightest person in the world to hold up, even if Clara was helping. "I'm sorry that I snapped at the two of you. Their is just no time to spend arguing right now. We've got to get Marty to a hospital in the future!"
"That's fine Father," Jules said, grabbing Verne's sleeve and dragging him to the stairs. "We'll meet the both of you downstairs."
"Do you hear that bell ringing?" Marty murmured. Doc glanced over at him and noticed again how pale his face was. His eyes also had this glazed, unfocused look that probably came from the fever.
"Come on, let's get him downstairs," Doc said.
"Yes, we better," Clara agreed. She and Doc hurried downstairs as fast as they could to the back room. Verne was sitting in the driver's seat of the car, the door open, and fiddling with the clothing conversion camera that was able to change the clothing of all who were in the frame to the style that was popular in the year and location that was programed in at the back. It was a very valuable item, since carrying clothing around for every year in time for every person would be impossible. Jules was seated in the passenger seat, his hand poised over the time circuit keyboard.
"What's the day?" both boys asked at the same time, sitting up straighter when Doc came into the room.
Doc considered their question for a minute. "How about October 18?" he said, picking the date out of the air.
"Where will this be?" Jules asked, putting the date and year in as he spoke.
"Hill Valley will do," Doc told them, easing Marty into the desk chair then began to check the DeLorean for it's flight through time. It hadn't been used for over two months, which was nothing compared to 70 years, like it had once been, and he wanted to make sure that everything was in working order.
"Where should we stand for the picture?" Verne asked, crawling out of the car and holding the camera out.
"Let's just gather over here," Clara said, kneeling next to Marty and keeping one hand on his shoulder. He was only semiconscious and looked like he might slide to one side and the floor at any moment. "It will just be easier."
Jules finished programming the time in and jumped out of the car also, going over next to Clara. "Are you ready for this, Father?" he asked.
Doc finished the trip around the car and nodded. "Ready," he said, joining his family.
"Here we go," Verne sung out, setting the camera on the hood of the car and pressing a button in. A timer began to beep and Verne darted over next to Jules just as the timer ended. "Smile!"
The room flashed blindingly white. When it returned to normal, Doc looked around and saw everyone was in clothing from 1993, down to the last stitch. "Okay, everyone into the car, now," Doc ordered, taking Marty's arm and helping Clara get him over to the passenger seat.
It took a little rearranging, but by the time they were ready to leave, Jules and Verne were in the backseat, Doc was in the driver's seat, and Clara was in the passenger seat with Marty seated on her lap. The large doors that were originally for letting horses and maybe a wagon in the room were open and the key was in the ignition. All Doc had to do was turn it, bring the car up into the air, get up to eighty eighty, and then they could leave this time, for a while anyway. Their were still some things that had to be done, like finding a way to get the train back to 1985. But that could wait until later.
"Is everyone ready to depart this time?" Doc asked, scanning the controls one last time.
"We've been ready for the last one and a half months," Verne muttered, then said in a normal voice, " Yes."
"Let's hurry," Clara said, frowning as she looked down at Marty, who was resting his head on her shoulder with his eyes closed, again. He was unusually silent, not coughing like he had been doing continuously for the past twenty four hours. Clara put a hand up, brushing some of the bangs off Marty's forehead before resting her hand on it. "I think his fever is still climbing."
Doc took a deep breath, feeling incredibly anxious. "Here we go," he whispered, turning the key. The car roared to life on the first try and Doc eased it slowly out of the doors, being careful not to brush against his house or the Gardener's. As soon as they were past the tight spot, Doc flipped the flying circuits on and, as soon as the car cleared the roofs of the houses, floored it, holding his breath as the speedometer crept up to 60...70...75...80...85...88.
There was a blinding flash of light, triple sonic booms, then darkness once again.
Monday, October 18, 1993
8:20 P.M.
Hill Valley, California
Voices, lights, noises, all swimming together. Marty tried escaping from it, but it was impossible. It was all around him.
"Are we in the future?" Verne asked in a hushed voice. Marty opened his eyes at the word future, even though most things did not make sense to him now, and what made sense to him confused other people.
"Future?" he whispered, blinking as he looked at his surroundings. For some reason, he was in the DeLorean with Doc and his family. It was dark and raining hard outside, with occasional flashes of lighting and thunder.
Doc pulled his eyes away from the windshield long enough to look at Marty. "We're out of the middle ages now," he said as lightning lit the sky up again.
"Middle ages?" Marty repeated. He looked at the digital time display. "It's not the middle ages. This says that it's 1993."
"We just left the middle ages, 1285," Clara explained gently. "Don't you remember?"
"Yes," Marty said softly. "Is the heater on? It's so hot in here." He groaned, lifting his head up and looking around the interior of the car. The colorful lights hurt his eyes and the rain was making his headache worse than it already was, if that was possible. "Where are we going?"
"The hospital," Jules said, "which we should be arriving at in a few minutes."
"As soon as I set the car down outside town," Doc added, leaning close to the windshield and squinting, trying to see out into the darkness and rain.
"The hospital?" Marty said, suddenly feeling some of the fog that had been in his brain leave. "What to you mean "the hospital"?" He coughed suddenly, pain slicing through his chest until he couldn't breathe! He leaned over toward the floor, feeling like he just got the wind knocked out of him with a lightening bolt.
"I can't breathe," he gasped, his vision beginning to blur. Marty slowly sat up again, feeling unbelievably tired and heavy, then fell limply back against Clara. As his eyes fell shut thoughts, too numerous and quick to count, flew through his head. The most logical and frightening one that stood out the most was death.
"Can't you go any faster?" Clara pleaded. "Marty's having trouble breathing now!"
"Let me land this car first, then we'll see," Doc told her. "But even so, I'll have to keep the car under the speed limit. We don't need the police to pull us over."
Verne was quiet as he listened to his parents talk. It was true that Marty, after coughing really hard that one time, was breathing strangely. But why did Mom sound so scared?
No one spoke for the next few minutes. The only sound was the raindrops pelting down on the car and the occasional crash of thunder. The ground grew closer and closer, then there was a soft jolt as the car came back to the earth. In the front seat, Marty stirred restlessly and moaned. "We're almost there," Clara whispered softly to him.
"Watch out for the train approaching," Jules warned, pointing to the railroad gate lowering, the lights flashing and the bells clanging.
Doc let out a sigh of frustration. "What else can go wrong?" he muttered, slamming the car to a stop.
Just as the train began to cross the tracks in front of them, their was a flash of lightning and clap of thunder so loud the ground shook. Then every single light outside went out, except for the headlights from the cars and the train. The train finished crossing a moment later, but the bars that had lowered did not rise. Horns began to honk, but the DeLorean was sandwiched on all four sides, three sides from other cars and the front from the railroad crossing gate.
"We're stuck," Verne commented, craning his neck to look out the window. "Is the power out?"
"Obviously," Jules said, then turned to Doc. "Can we used the flying circuits to get out of here?"
Doc frowned, looking outside at the rain poring off the windows. "It looks like we'll have to. The storm shows no signs of letting up and we have to get to the hospital!"
Glancing around outside one last time, Doc switched the flying circuits on again and flew over the railroad gates. As soon as they were past the obstacles, Doc landed the car again and drove normally, ignoring the honking horns and the people jumping out of their cars and staring at them. "We'll be there soon, just wait," he said absentmindedly, his eyes on the road, which had only the headlights to light it up.
The hospital was the only place that was lighted up. That made no sense to Verne at all. "If the power is out all over town, which is what it looks like, why does the hospital have electricity?" he asked.
"Hospitals have emergency generators, since if the power went down in a hospital for a while, people on life support would die," Jules explained.
"Should we go to the emergency room entrance?" Doc asked Clara, stopping the car at a two way intersection. One sign said "Emergency" and pointed to the left. The other read "Patient Admittance" and pointed to the right.
"Emergency, definitely," Clara replied, looking down at Marty's white face. "It is much quicker that way."
Doc nodded and turned left. About a minute later, they reached a small parking lot at the back of the hospital with a bright red lighted up sign that read 'Emergency' in capital block letters. Except for an ambulance that was sitting silently next to the curb, there were no cars around, not counting the several dozen or so that were in the parking lot.
"Okay, here's the plan. I'll park the car, then meet you all in the emergency room. Jules, Verne, you stay close to your mother and don't wander away. This is a rather large hospital and we don't want either of you to get lost," Doc explained, pulling up in front of the big double glass doors under the covered and lighted area and stopping the car. He got out of the car and ran through the pouring rain around to the other side of it, opening the passenger side door and helping Clara bring Marty into the building. Verne watched out the open door as a hospital worker ran out to the three of them, pushing a wheelchair in front of him. Doc and Clara explained something to him, then Marty was set in the chair and wheeled inside with Clara following.
"He'll be fine, I'm sure," Jules said softly, putting a hand on Verne's shoulder. "We're in the time that can help him recover completely. You'll see."
"I hope your right," Verne replied quietly as Doc turned and headed back to the car.
"You boys can go join your mother inside now. I have to go find a place to park the car and then I'll meet you in there," Doc told them, getting into the car and slamming the door behind him.
"Where is Marty right now?" Verne asked as he pushed the passenger seat forward and crawled out, with Jules following him.
"The doctors are examining him now." Doc started the car again. "Hurry in, before you get too wet!"
Jules pulled the door down and shut it. The DeLorean drove off, it's headlights vanishing around a corner. "We better get inside and see what's taking place now," Jules said, running to the covered area with Verne following.
The dream was of fire. Flames licking everything, heat coming in rolling waves. Voices, fast and sharp, grew closer and closer until Marty could actually tell what the words were.
"...It looks like a bad case of pneumonia..."
"...Better get him down to X-Ray..."
"...Get a room ready..."
"...Go tell the family..."
"Watch it!" a voice broke through the other ones, loud and clear. "That hurts!"
Marty opened his eyes with effort. Lights, harsh and bright, shown down on him. It took him several minutes to realize that he was lying on some kind of bed or stretcher, with light grey curtains pulled around the bed. No one was in the enclosed area, but Marty could see the shadows of other people thrown on the curtains and moving.
"It's just a sprain," Marty heard someone else say on the curtain from his left.
"It still hurts," the person Marty had heard before retort. The voice sounded familiar, but he couldn't figure out why.
"I told you not to climb on the roof tonight," a women's voice, also sounding familiar, reprimanded. "You were so lucky that you weren't hurt worse when you fell off."
"Just stay off your feet as much as possible," the other man said. Marty saw his shadow turn. "I have to see another patient now, if you'll excuse me." As the man pulled the curtain back to enter Marty's cubical, Marty caught sight of the two people. He blinked, not believing his eyes. The person who was on crutches who he had been hearing complain was him! And the woman was Jennifer, his girlfriend! Marty's older self glanced at him, looked away, then jerked his head back and stared, his mouth dropping open and his eyes widening.
"I don't believe it!" Marty heard the older one whisper.
"Neither do I," Marty added under his breath, forgetting for one moment how horrible he felt. The curtain then dropped back into place, cutting off the view.
"How are you feeling tonight?" the bearded man asked, smiling. Marty could see his name, Chad Morrison, M.D., on a tag attached to his white coat.
"Not good, if that isn't obvious," Marty snapped, frustrated that he hadn't been able to see more of his future self and girlfriend.
"I see," Dr. Morrison said slowly. "Well, we're going to wheel you down to X-ray and take some pictures of your chest in about fifteen minutes." The doctor reached into his pocket and pulled out a syringe. As he took the plastic wrapping off it, he leaned over and opened a cabinet that was behind Marty's head. After rummaging around for a minute, took out a small bottle filled with a clear liquid.
"I'm going to give you a shot that will bring down your fever, but it might make you a little drowsy," Dr. Morrison explained, poking the needle in the bottle and filling the syringe halfway. A minute later, he rolled back the sleave of the sweatshirt that Marty was wearing, though he couldn't remember putting it on. The last Marty could remember, he had been wearing those awful medieval clothes.
Marty winced as the doctor slid the needle into his arm and injected the medicine into his bloodstream. After the syringe was emptied, the doctor removed it and tossed it into a trash bin. "I'll be right back," he promised, giving a curt nod before leaving the small curtained area.
"Oh boy, I can't wait," Marty muttered sarcastically, looking up at the white florescent lights shining down at him. A few minutes went by and the doctor still hadn't returned. Marty passed the time by listening to the other conversations going around him. Three car accidents, one poisoning, and two cases of appendicitis had come in before Marty's eyelids began to droop. The medicine's probably taking effect now, he thought, already half asleep.
There was a long period of darkness and silence. Then Marty faintly heard a strange voice say, "Uh...since you're the president of the United States, and you're like, in charge of the army and stuff, can you, like, go and invade a small country and ride in a chopper and say on a loudspeaker 'I am the president of ze United States, ze most powerful nation on earth and you must bow down and kiss my butt'!"
"Heh, heh, heh, that'd be cool," a different voice said, then put on a heavy accent like the first one had done to the last part of the sentence. "May ze streets flow with ze blood of ze disbelievers."
"Verne, turn that show off!" Clara said sharply. "It's junk, pure and simple."
"It's not junk, it's funny," Verne protested. "Anyway, this show gets canceled in a few years."
"Good thing too," Jules interjected. "I don't think I have ever see such a twisted, disgusting-"
"I think he's waking up!" Doc said suddenly, interrupting Jules's speech.
"Doc?" Marty murmured, slowly opening his eyes. He blinked a few times, looking at his surroundings in surprise. He was lying in a bed with Doc and his family gathered around it and staring down at him. All were dressed in clothes that looked a little like the 1985 clothing he was used to, but with a few differences. The room they were all in was large, with a color TV mounted in one corner of the room, just under the ceiling. A cartoon with two boys - one blond, the other brown haired - appeared to be on.
"Where am I?" Marty asked weakly, lifting up one hand and rubbing his eyes. He was surprised to feel a slight tugging sensation on his hand and looked down to see and tube running from the top of his hand to a bag filled with a clear fluid that was hanging on a stand. "What is all this?"
Doc and Clara looked at each other for a minute. "We're in a hospital," Clara explained gently, then pointed to the stand. "The doctors have hooked you up to an IV."
"Why, did something happen?" Marty wondered, his heart starting to pound as he imagined car accidents and other things in that might have landed him here.
Doc looked Marty directly in the eyes. "You have pneumonia," he said carefully. "The doctors want you to stay here for a few days, since it is a bad case."
"Oh yeah, pneumonia," Marty said under his breath, noticing again the pain in his chest whenever he breathed. "I should've known that."
The family exchanged looks. "What do you mean you should have known?" Doc asked suspiciously.
"Ah...the way I felt," Marty stammered, not wanting Doc to know that he had been eavesdropping. "I should have known that it was pneumonia."
Doc looked like he didn't believe that, but let the subject drop. "We have to go now. It took much negotiating with the hospital staff to stay as long as we have, since visiting hours were over about an hour back."
"Wait," Marty cried, feeling confused and a little scared. "How long am I going to have to stay here?"
"The doctors said only a few days, depending how quickly you recover," Clara said as she put on a coat. She picked up the remote control for the TV and set it next to the bed, then added. "Your fever has already gone down a couple of degrees, so that is a good sign. You're not delirious anymore."
"Don't worry," Doc reassured him, "we'll be here tomorrow as soon as visiting hours begin, and if you need anything, all you have to do is press the call button that's next to the bed and a nurse will be in here as soon as possible."
"I hope that you feel better," Jules added before following his parents out of the room. Verne hung back for a second.
"You should see what is on TV now. It'll blow your mind!" he said knowingly, then pointed to the cartoon. "That show is one of the most popular ones right now. It's called Beavis and Butt-Head. Trust me, you have to see it at least once." With that said, Verne waved and bounded out the door, shutting it behind him.
Marty sighed, feeling like everyone had abandoned him. Here he was, not only in an unfamiliar place but an unfamiliar time as well. "I hate hospital rules," he grumbled, picking the TV remote control up and taking his first good look at the show that was on, which Verne had called 'Beavis and Butt-Head'. At the moment, the two animated teenagers were standing at a microphone and laughing a really annoying laugh while a broad shouldered, grey haired man did too.
"This is the most popular show right now?" Marty said aloud, having trouble believing it. He had seen shows on foreign language channels in 1985 that had been more entertaining that this was. He switched the channel to what looked like a news program.
"...President Clinton sent a letter to Senate Leaders, defending the Military Powers and vowing to resist efforts to restrict his authority as the Armed Forces Commander-in-Chief," an anchor woman announced.
Marty frowned. "President Clinton?" he repeated with a cough. "Who is he?"
The TV showed a man who looked a lot like the grey haired man in the cartoon speaking at a podium into a microphone. "I think that the military power is absolutely necessary," he preached loudly in a faint southern accent.
After that story ended, the news went on to other things. All of it amazed Marty and he couldn't believe how much the world had changed in eight years. Just about all of the news was confusing or made no sense. Two teenagers injured and one killed from mimicking some kind of highway scene in a movie called 'The Program'. Some man named Reginald Denny, who had gotten beat up in L.A. during some kind of riot a couple of years before, was having his trial now. The Columbia space shuttle lifting off for two weeks in space with 48 rats.
The door to the room slowly opened and a tall, stout, nurse walked in. Her face was lined with deep wrinkles and her dark hair had streaks of silver running through it, but she looked sharp and strict. She was carrying a silver clipboard and had a pencil stabbed behind one ear. The tag attached to her starched white uniform read 'Nurse Strickland'.
"What are you doing awake at 11:30, in your condition?" she demanded crisply, reaching over and plucking something off a table next to the bed. "Nothing cures a body faster than lots of sleep, you know." Nurse Strickland shoved the thermometer she had taken off the table into Marty's mouth and continued talking.
"You shouldn't be watching TV now. The news puts it's goriest and most violent stories on at this time," the nurse lectured, snatching the remote control off the sheets and turning the TV off. "Not to mention this is keeping you awake. It is beyond me why the doctor let your family stay past visiting hours. If I had my way, all people who were not either working at this place or registered here with rooms would be kicked out at exactly ten PM, no later."
The nurse opened a drawer in the table and pulled out a stethoscope. She put it to Marty's chest and was actually quiet for a minute, then pulled the pencil out from behind her ear and marked something down on the clipboard. She pulled the thermometer out of Marty's mouth and glanced at it, then wrote something else on the clipboard.
"Your fever is still too high, so I expect you to go right to sleep," Nurse Strickland reminded him, dropping the thermometer in one of her pockets. She picked up the TV's remote control again, shut the TV off then placed it on the far end of the table, which was next to the bed. Then, after one more stern look, left the room, and flicked off the lights. The only light that remained came from a small nightlight fixed in one corner of the room, and the lights from outside that came in through the open blinds in the window. The storm that had been going on earlier was over and the sky had grown clear. A small digital clock that was above the TV told him the time was 11:32PM.
"How could they leave me here?" Marty whispered in the darkness of the room. A Strickland for a nurse! If she was anything like the Strickland he had to deal with at school, he was in big trouble. To be left in her care would be torture. Marty hoped that he could get out of here soon.
Tuesday, October 19, 1993
11:05 A.M.
Doc Brown stepped off the elevator as it reached the third floor. True to his word, he had arrived at the hospital at precisely 11AM, the time that the visiting hours for the Hill Valley Community Hospital began. Clara had taken the boys to the grocery store, so that they could have something to eat while they were in 1993 besides pizza and french fries. They hadn't wanted to come, but if they didn't, Clara would have ended up picking all the food out on her own, then Jules and Verne would complain that they never got anything good to eat.
The room that they had placed Marty in the night before was 324. The door to that room slightly ajar, so Doc wasn't sure if he should knock or not. After a moment's hesitation, he slowly pushed it open and stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. The TV was on, it's volume low, to a game show. Marty was lying in bed, wearing a hospital gown, his eyes fixed on the young woman screaming and jumping up and down as the host told her the amount she had won. He showed no sign of having heard Doc enter the room and as Doc got closer, he noticed Marty's eyes looked glazed over, like his mind was far away from the game show. Doc cleared his throat and he jumped.
"How long have you been standing there?" he asked, pulling his eyes away from the TV.
"I just stepped into the room," Doc said, sitting down in the chair next to the bed. "I never knew that you found game shows so fasinating."
"Their's nothing else to do," Marty said shrugging. He yawned. "I wish that I could get some sleep though."
"Why can't you?" Doc asked, noticing for the first time the dark circles that were under Marty's eyes. Now that he thought about it, Doc wondered why he hadn't noticed before, since Marty's face was so pale the circles stood out like emergency flags.
"Between coughing and the nurses coming in and out of the room every five minutes last night, it was kind of hard!" Marty snapped. He closed his eyes for a moment and sighed. "I'm sorry Doc, I just want to get out of here. I don't like being sick and I hate hospitals. The food here is awful and I have a Strickland for a nurse. She makes Hitler look like Santa Claus!"
Doc hid a smile. It was good to see that Marty wasn't delirious anymore. That had been frightening because it meant that the fever was rising so high that it was life threatening. "If you do want to get out of here as soon as possible, then you should try to sleep. It is a scientifically proven theory that sleep aids in the body's natural defence system to help you recover swiftly."
"Whatever. But I'm telling you, I can't sleep," Marty insisted. "Aside from the nurses in and out of here, this IV makes it impossible to get comfortable. I wish that we could go back in time and prevent me from even getting sick."
"That would be impossible. You could never pinpoint the precise time that a germ or virus entered you're body, and even if you could, their would be no guarantee that you would not still become ill with it." Doc lowered his voice. "Why don't you close your eyes and relax. Think of something you like, maybe that will help you get to sleep."
"The only thing I would like is to get out of here," Marty whispered, finally closing his eyes. Doc took the remote control out of his hands and turned the TV off. He never could stand those game shows.
Doc stood up and walked over to the window. The day was bright, sunny, and warm, no traces of the storm left from the night before. It was a welcome change from the damp and cold that had been in England constantly. Doc thought back to last night and everything that had happened after their arrival at the hospital.
The parking lot had been rather empty, so Doc was lucky enough to find a space close to the entrance, which was good since it was raining so hard. Inside, Jules, and Verne had been sitting on some benches in what looked like a waiting while Clara had been filling out some necessary forms. The doctor had taken a long time to look Marty over and it was not long before Jules and Verne, especially Verne, grew restless.
"How much longer will it be?" he asked, for the tenth time in the past fifteen minutes since they got there.
"We don't know," Clara told him, sighing as she leafed through a two month old copy of 'Time'. "It could be five minutes or it could be an hour. Why don't you look through some magazines?"
Verne glanced at the 'Time' and 'National Geographic' copies that they had. "Those are boring. Can I go to the cafeteria?"
"No, you might get lost," Doc said, growing impatient himself. What could be taking so long? "We can later."
Verne heaved a big sigh and looked at the people coming in and out of the big glass doors. He sat up straighter and leaned over to whisper something in Jules's ear. Jules nodded and the two of them stared at the people come in and out, occasionally whispering things to each other. Clara looked at Doc and he shrugged. As long as the boys had found something to do and it wasn't hurting anybody, he saw nothing wrong with it.
A few minutes later, Doc was in the middle of an article about lightning that he had discovered in an issue of 'National Geographic' when Verne suddenly gasped. "Look, it's Marty!" he exclaimed, pointing.
Doc looked up from the magazine and almost dropped it when he saw Marty walking out of the hospital on crutches, with Jennifer, his girlfriend in 1985. However, by 1993 they were married.
"Quick, hide your faces!" Doc hissed to his family. He didn't want to think what would happen if the 25 year old Marty happened to look over. Doc knew that Marty would be sure to recognize them, and that could lead to some very interesting paradoxic questions.
Their was a flurry of activity as all the Browns grabbed newspapers and magazines, opening them and holding them in front of the face. After a minute passed, Doc risked a look at the doors and saw with relief that they were empty. "That was close," he breathed. "Who knows what might have happened if he saw us."
After that little scare, Jules and Verne went back to people watching and Doc and Clara continued to read the magazines. Fifteen minutes later, a tall, sandy haired man with a beard came into the room. "I'm Doctor Morrison. Are you the Brown family?" he asked, looking down at a clipboard.
Doc stood up quickly. "That's us. How is our...cousin?" he asked, glancing at the rest of the family knowingly as he said that. They all gave small, almost imperceptible nods.
The doctor's face grew grim. "Your cousin seems to have a serious case of bacterial pneumonia. We've taken chest x-rays and blood samples to confirm this."
"Will, um, Cousin Marty be okay?" Verne asked, looking scared.
Dr. Morrison gave a small smile. "I think it would be best if he stayed here in the hospital for a few days. I've already moved him up to a room and started an antibiotic IV. I also gave him a shot to lower the fever, since it was dangerously high."
"When could we see him?" Clara asked, getting slowly to her feet.
Dr. Morrison looked at his watch. "I suppose it would be okay if you went up for a few hours. Visiting hours last until ten. Your cousin is resting comfortably right now, so I don't know if he'll be awake again tonight. The room number is 324, on the third floor."
They had gone up there and, when ten had come, been able to convince the doctor to let them stay an extra hour. Doc wanted to talk to Marty before they left for a hotel about what was going on. He didn't want him waking up and not having the least idea on what had happened. It was lucky that the doctor had let them stay.
Doc turned away from the window and walked back over to the bed. During the time he had been thinking, Marty had been quiet. Now, as Doc could see, the reason was because he had finally fallen asleep. Doc watched Marty's chest rise and fall in slow, even breaths. He was relieved to see that Marty wasn't coughing nearly as much as he had been in the past. But he was still too pale.
Doc settled back in the chair and tried to think about what to do about the train. It was safe, for the time being, deep in a small clearing in some woods in 1285. But how to repair it would be difficult. It would take at least a week more of staying in the middle ages, if he had all the correct tools. If not, he might have to find another way to get the train 700 years through time. Just thinking of leaving the train in the past made Doc feel sick. Aside from the expense and all the work that had gone into building the train several years before, someone from the past could always find and use it, altering time so much that it may make even building the train impossible. Which, in turn -
"Excuse me sir, but you're in my way," a curt voice said, breaking Doc's train of thought. He turned to see a dark haired nurse standing behind a cart with different things on it. She had her hands on her hips and her lips were pressed together in a thin line. "Will you please move?"
Doc stood up quickly. "Of course," he said hastily, stepping to one side. The nurse looked at him suspiciously.
"Who might you be?" she asked, moving the chair and pushing the cart directly next to the bed.
"I'm his cousin," Doc explained to the nurse, deciding to stay with the story he had given to the doctor in the emergency room. "How is he doing?"
Nurse Strickland, as the tag on her uniform read, looked down at the chart she held in her hands while sliding a thermometer into Marty's mouth. He jerked awake as the thermometer touched his lips and, when he saw Nurse Strickland standing above him, glared at her silently. She didn't see this, since her eyes were skimming the chart and her back was to Marty.
"You're immediate family?" she asked flatly without looking up.
"That's correct," Doc replied, looking past her to Marty as he pointed a finger at the nurse and rolled his eyes. Doc had to fight keep his expression serious and not give the nurse any clue of what was going on behind her back. He had to agree with Marty that the nurse was a bit like a dictator.
"Your cousin's fever is down three and a half degrees from the time you brought him in last night, when it was at one hundred six and a half degrees, up to when I checked an hour ago," Nurse Strickland reported. "That is a sign that the antibiotics are working and he should be able, if progress continues the way it is, to return home in a couple of days."
"Then what would happen?" Doc inquired as the nurse set the clipboard down a moment and picked up a stethoscope off the cart.
"He will have to stay in bed for at least three days after the fever is broken, and continue to take antibiotics for a week or so after getting out of the hospital, to ensure that the infection does not return. But it will be taken in capsules, not through the IV," Nurse Strickland recited as she listened to Marty's breathing with the stethoscope.
"I will have to stay in bed for three days after the fever?" Marty repeated weakly.
The nurse nodded crisply. "It is essential if you wish to be well. We wouldn't want any relapses now, would we?"
"Three days? I'll go crazy!" Doc heard Marty mutter under his breath, frowning.
"No, we wouldn't want any relapses," Doc agreed, thinking of the middle ages where they would be returning to after Marty was released from the hospital. They would have to come all the way back here if he relapsed. Now that Doc thought about it, it probably would be best if he fixed the train back in the middle ages, that way Marty would have ample time to recover properly and have no subsequent effects to the illness that his family might detect if they decided to proceed directly back to 1985 from here.
The nurse finished taking Marty's blood pressure, checking the IV, and marking the chart, then left the room. As soon as the door swung shut behind her, Marty let out a long sigh. "See what I have to put up with here? At least you get to leave here at night. I can't escape from her!"
"I'm sure she's not that bad," Doc said slowly, though he thought otherwise. "Anyway, you will most likely depart from this place in a day or two."
"If I survive that long," Marty said rolling his eyes. "Every hour someone, usually her, comes in and checks all my vital signs. I think that I would get well quicker if we we're back in the middle ages."
"There is no way that I would risk that," Doc said, shaking his head quickly and taking a seat in the chair again. He waited a moment before asking the next question. "Why didn't you tell any of us that you weren't feeling well? Pneumonia is not something you get overnight."
"I didn't want to worry you guys," Marty explained quietly, then coughed. "I wasn't sure if it was serious and didn't want to get everyone all worried for nothing."
"No matter what you think, if you don't feel well you should let Clara or I know," Doc insisted, "especially when we are in the past. It can be extremely dangerous. What if I wasn't able to fix the DeLorean in time?"
"I'll let you know next time if I feel sick," Marty promised, then added, "I know this is off the subject, but I was watching the news last night and they mentioned someone named President Clinton. Who is he?"
"He's the President of the United States now, elected in 1992 after President Bush," Doc replied, then began to explain Marty all the political events that had happened since 1985. At first Marty listened intently and seemed interested in everything Doc had to say, but as time passed, Doc noticed he was sinking deeper and deeper under the blankets and it was getting harder and harder for him to keep his eyes open. Finally they closed and Doc stopped talking, knowing that Marty had fallen asleep again. He reached out and gently laid his hand on Marty's forehead. It was still hotter than it should have been, but Doc could tell that the fever had gone down from where it had been the day before.
"Get well," Doc whispered as Marty coughed in his sleep. Though the doctors here all said that Marty would make a complete recovery, Doc still couldn't help but worry. People still died from pneumonia in this time. What if the doctors were wrong?
Thursday, October 21, 1993
1:08 P.M.
"Don't forget, if you don't want to relapse, you must stay in bed and get plenty of rest," the blond nurse reminded one last time as she helped Marty in the DeLorean.
"I won't," he promised. He was so glad to be leaving the hospital, he was ready to say almost anything.
"Remember, when your temperature returns back to normal, you must stay in bed for a minimum of three days, or you run a high risk of becoming sick again," the nurse added, then handed Doc a few slips of paper. "These are the prescriptions for the medication that the doctor prescribed for your cousin to take if he wants to recover properly."
Doc nodded, placing the papers on the dashboard. "We'll get them filled, don't worry."
The nurse smiled and hesitantly shut the car's door, as if she was not sure how it worked. Marty let out a long sigh as she walked away.
"I am so glad to leave that place. I never want to stay in a hospital again as Iong as I live!"
"I'm sure that you will have to, at least once more in your life," Doc said as he started the car.
"So what are we going to do now? Go home?" Marty asked hopefully. Now that he was out of the place that people called a hospital, but seemed more like somewhere you would go if you wanted to have your life made miserable, all he wanted to do was go back to 1985, go home, and get some rest. The last thing he wanted to do was to go back to the Middle Ages.
Doc shook his head. "We're going to get these prescriptions filled, then return to 1285. I already dropped the boys and Clara off there, if you are wondering where they are."
Marty almost groaned out loud. "But why do we have to go there? Can't you at least drop me off in 1985?" Marty knew he was whining, but he couldn't help it. He was tired from getting almost no sleep at the hospital, and he still felt sick. Just because the doctor had discharged him, did not mean that he was completely well. In fact, Marty still had a slight fever, but according to the doctor, 101 degrees was nothing compared to what it had been when he had arrived in the emergency room. At least he could breath without coughing every other minute now.
"I have to repair the train before we return to 1985 and you have to recover completely before we return. The last thing we want is for your parents to notice that you are sick, especially with something that takes time to develope," Doc said in a voice that left no room for argument, as they pulled out of the hospital's parking lot.
"Fine, but don't expect me to like it," Marty muttered, turning his face to the window and taking his first good look of the 1993 Hill Valley. From the angle that his bed had been in the hospital, all he had been able to see of this time was a brick wall with sunlight on it. Not until the nurse had wheeled him outside in a wheelchair to the car to leave did he get to actually see what the year 1993 looked like. So far, it didn't seem that much different from 1985. Though as they drove deeper into town, Marty saw several new buildings that had not been there eight years earlier, and some new businesses. Doc was driving the DeLorean normally so apparently flying cars had not yet hit the streets.
"So, how much longer are we going to have to stay in the Middle Ages? A couple of days?" Marty hoped it wasn't longer than that. He was beginning to miss good old 1985. Ever since Doc had unveiled the time machine, Marty had felt that all he ever did now was spent time sometime else.
"A week at most, hopefully no more," Doc concluded, then added, "It all depends on how quickly the train is repaired, and how quickly you decide to get better. The DeLorean is fine now; I even managed to get a new windshield put in while we were here."
Marty looked and noticed for the first time the DeLorean's front window had no cracks in it, unlike the last time he could remember seeing it. "Just think about the train. Don't worry about me, I'll be fine."
Doc gave Marty a sidelong glance. "I've heard that before," he said as they pulled into the parking lot of the drugstore. The store looked the same as Marty could remember, except for looking maybe eight years older.
Before Marty could even reach for his seat belt, Doc shook his head. "You wait here. It's too risky if someone who knows you, or your future self, sees you. Or what if you future self sees you?"
Marty decided not to tell Doc that both he and his future self had already seen each other. Why let Doc worry about something that was already a few days in the past. They would know if that caused a paradox by now, wouldn't they?
"I could always duck or something if I saw myself," Marty suggested. So far, all he had seen of this year was the inside of the hospital and the outsides of buildings. Why shouldn't he be able to see what the inside of the drugstore looked like too?
Doc shook his head again. "I don't want to risk anything. Are you also forgetting that you are still sick? You don't want to make others ill, do you?"
Before Marty could answer, Doc was out of the car and already lowering the door. "I'll only be a few minutes," he promised before shutting the door.
Marty gave a frustrated sigh. "Right," he muttered, watching through the window as Doc crossed the parking lot and entered the store. Left behind, again! Why did Doc always do this to him? It was especially frustrating in the future, when Marty was the most curious about everything.
At least Doc hadn't told him he couldn't observe things through the window. Marty watched the people as they came in and out of the store. There was one thing that he always found interesting whenever traveling in the future or the past. That was clothing. It was fasinating to see the different styles what had been, and at times like this, what was still to be. Unlike the clothing Marty saw in 2015, 1993 was not too different from 1985's styles. The clothing that he was wearing was the same stuff he had on when entering the hospital. Some jeans, a large grey sweatshirt, a pair of high top sneakers that looked more or less like the sneakers Marty was used to. It was better than one of those thin itchy hospital gowns or, Marty realized with a groan, those medieval clothes that he was going to have to change into again all too soon.
The people that were passing by the DeLorean were giving it some strange looks, which was understandable. The DeLorean did not exactly look like other cars, no matter what time you were in. Marty tried to ignore the curious looks and pretend that he wasn't sitting in a time machine. It wasn't easy, considering all the wires, lights, and switches that were all over the car, not to mention the time circuits and the flux capacitor sitting in plain sight next to him. He was glad when Doc returned back to the car ten minutes later.
"Sorry that it took so long," Doc apologized, handing Marty the small paper bag that he had been carrying. "It seemed like everyone decided to do their shopping today."
"So I guess our next stop is the Middle Ages," Marty sighed, looking into the paper bag. Three different medications were in there, two in capsule form, one in liquid. "What is all this stuff?"
"The purple syrup is for your cough, and the capsules are different antibiotics that you have to take," Doc explained, glancing for a moment at the containers before answering. "You must take the antibiotics twice a day, and the cough medicine you take when needed." He paused for a moment and frowned before continuing. "As much as I hate to do it, we're going to have to go back to Mountain Crest in daylight, so that you will not end up taking more or less of the medication than you are supposed to today."
"Won't people notice the car in the air, since the houses are so close together and all?" Marty wondered, skimming the labels of the medication while he spoke.
"Maybe I should leave the car in the woods and come back for it after dark," Doc mused. He thought about that for a minute, looked at Marty, then shook his head. "I couldn't do that. Their's no way you could walk all that distance, especially in the cold."
"Don't risk anything on my account. I can walk fine," Marty argued, deciding to skip telling Doc that just standing up still made him feel lightheaded and weak-kneed. Maybe it was just from lying down so much in the past several days. He was also beginning to feel guilty about causing all this trouble from getting sick. If only he had told Doc in the first place that he hadn't been feeling well, none of this would have happened!
"I don't know if I should be telling you this," Doc said as they drove through the outskirts of town, "but you came very close to dying." He lifted his hands off the steering wheel for a moment and held them about an inch apart. "This close. If I had not been able to repair the DeLorean within the next day or so, you could very well have died. I am not going to take anymore risks."
"What day did we leave?" Marty asked, changing the subject. Once he had gotten sick, the days did not seem much different than the nights. They were both too long, hot, and painful. As Marty remembered that, his chest gave a quick twinge of pain, as if to remind him that he was still not well, and he coughed for almost a minute. Without looking at Doc, Marty knew that the inventor was staring at him with that deeply concerned look. It was beginning to get on his nerves.
"You should take some of that cough medication the doctor gave you when we return to the Middle Ages," Doc suggested, then said, "December 24th."
"Huh?" Marty asked, not understanding what he meant.
"December 24th, 1285 was the day we left," Doc quickly explained. "We'll be coming back the next day, December 25th. Would you program the time circuits with that?"
"That's Christmas day!" Marty exclaimed with surprise, reaching over to turn the time circuits on. He quickly typed in the month, date, and year, hesitating at the time. "What time of day do you want it at?"
"One thirty four, the time it is now," Doc answered, quickly lifting the car into the sky after glancing at his watch.
"Done," Marty reported as the ground grew further and further away. It only took another minute before they were back in 1285. It was another cold and overcast day there. Below them were the snow dusted slate roofs of Mountain Crest. They were lucky in no one seemed to be outside at the moment to see the DeLorean flying, or landing as Doc did that behind his house a moment later.
"I have to get out and open the doors to bring the DeLorean inside, so could you drive it inside?" Doc asked Marty, already out of the car.
"Sure," Marty agreed, climbing carefully out of the time machine and walking slowly around the front of the DeLorean to the other side of it. His legs shook a bit, but supported him. Doc, who had been looking at Marty intently as he changed seats, turned and twisted the latch that held the doors in place when he saw Marty reach the driver's seat safely.
"Ease the car in very slowly," Doc directed after the doors were opened. "I don't want you to hit the walls or anything and perhaps cause this building to collapse. Wooden buildings weren't constructed that well now."
Marty nodded and turned the key, slowly and carefully driving the car into the building. He slammed it to a stop when Doc held up his hands. "That's far enough!" he called, pushing the doors closed again before anyone could see inside, which Marty thought was highly unlikely. They were facing a solid wooden wall, the back of the house behind them!
"First things first, you must change clothes," Doc announced after the doors were securely latched, walking over to the car and leaning over Marty to open the glove compartment. A flashlight came tumbling out as Doc pulled out a strange looking camera. It looked like a camera, but had wires and other weird looking things that a regular camera did not on it.
"What's that?" Marty asked, looking at it like it might explode at any moment, which it could very well do for all he knew. He eyed it nervously as Doc brought it past him on it's way out of the car.
"This is what I call a Clothing Conversion Camera," Doc explained, fussing with some switches on the back of the camera. "It can convert the clothing of everyone in the frame into the style en vouge for the year and place you type in."
"How?" Marty wondered, looking down at the camera. It looked awfully small to do that big of a job. Then again, so was the flux capacitor and look what it could do!
"When the flash ignites, it scans everyone in the frame with a special invisible laser, choosing clothing that fits the configurations of one's body and dressing them it it." Doc took a few steps back and added, "Will you stand before the car?"
Marty slowly stood up, doubtful. "This won't hurt, will it?"
Doc quickly shook his head, bring the camera up to his face. "It feels like a regular snapshot. You already have had this done before, but you were too sick at the time to remember. Just don't look directly at the flash."
Doc reached for the button and Marty smiled, if not a bit uncertainly, an automatic reaction whenever someone was going to take his picture. A bright flash of light lit the room and when it faded, Marty saw that he was dressed in the same medieval clothes that he had been wearing before leaving the century. "Weird," he said under his breath, running his fingers over the fabric of his vest and shirt. It felt real enough.
"Now you better get up to your room and into bed," Doc advised, setting the camera on the desk and pressing in a button. He stepped next to Marty, who hadn't moved from his position next to the DeLorean, and a second later the camera clicked again and Doc was wearing medieval clothes too.
"Do I really have to stay in bed for three days?" Marty asked, making a face as he started for the doorway.
"If you want to get better you do," Doc replied as he put away the camera. Marty was halfway out of the door when Doc suddenly shouted, "Wait!"
Marty stopped. "What is it," he asked, coughing.
Doc held up the three containers of medication as he shut the car's door. "You should take some of this cough medication, and a dose of the antibiotics now, before you go up."
"Why?" Marty asked, taking a few steps back into the room.
"If you take one of these pills in the morning, and the other in the evening, that will be twice a day," Doc said, twisting the cap open and pouring one of the capsules into his hand. "Since the morning is already past, you can take one of these now, and the other at dinner tonight."
Marty reluctantly took the medicine out of Doc's hand. "Why the cough syrup, though?"
"You may not have noticed it, but you have been coughing ever since we left the hospital," Doc told him, reading the label. "The more one coughs, the more it irritates their throat and they cough even more as a result of that."
"So?" Marty said, shrugging. The thick purple colored syrup probably tasted about as unappealing as it looked. No way did he want to take some!
Doc sighed. For the first time Marty realized that he getting sick must have really taken a toll on Doc. He saw lines around his mouth that were not there before Marty had become sick. Doc had also, in all probability, saved his life. Marty suddenly felt guilty.
"I'll take it," he said quickly, reaching out a hand for the bottle. Doc handed it to him, along with a ring of measuring spoons that he had fished out of the bag.
"It says you are to take two teaspoons of this when needed." Doc looked around the room and grabbed his medieval coat off the back of the chair. "I'm going to hike out to where I have stored the train and begin repairs on it. You go straight to bed and I'll see you later."
After quickly packing a bag full of tools, Doc left the room. Marty heard the slam of the door in the next room as he went outside. The house was unusually quiet. When Marty reached the living room he found out why. Clara had left a quick note on the table, explaining that she had taken Jules and Verne with her into the marketplace to get some food for Christmas dinner. When Marty reached his room he found a box full of hand-held video games, comic books, a Walkman with tapes, and other things similar to that. Another note was taped to the box. This one said, 'Jules and Verne wanted you to use this, seeing that you will be bedridden for the next few days'. It was signed by Doc and Clara.
Marty smiled. "That's nice of them," he said, sitting down next to the box and looking at the medicine with dread. A glass of water still sat on the table next to the bed. Before he could think about it, Marty reached for the glass and swallowed the antibiodic, trying to ignore the odd taste of the water. The water here always had this strange taste to it. Marty preferred not to think about where it came from.
The cough syrup was next. Also quickly, Marty uncapped the bottle, poured the thick purple liquid in the teaspoon, put it in his mouth, and swallowed.
"Ugh!" It was so bitter! Before he could think about it anymore, Marty quickly took the other teaspoon, then downed the rest of the water in the glass. Even so, the medicine still left a bitter taste in his mouth. He hoped that Doc wouldn't want him to take anymore of it.
After placing the cough medicine bottle on the darkest corner of the table and lighting some candles, Marty began to go through the things in the box. The comic books were fasinating, since most of them came after 1985. There was even one about the death of Superman from 1993. Marty picked it up and set the box aside. After pulling a few quilts on and propping himself up with some pillows, Marty opened the book and began to read.
Wednesday, December 25, 1285
7:58 P.M.
Something cold touched his cheek. Awaking with a start, Marty turned his head and found himself looking into the shadowy face of Verne. "What is it?" he mumbled, yawning.
"Mom and Pop want all of us to eat Christmas dinner together, so they sent me to get you up and downstairs," Verne explained, snatching his hand back from where it had been resting on Marty's cheek and then grabbed his hand, tugging. "So come on, lets go!" he said, sounding impatient.
"Why do I have to?" Marty asked, pulling his hand away from Verne's grasp and burrowing deeper under the blankets. He felt too drowsy to get up and go all the way downstairs. It was so nice and warm where he was. "I'm not hungry."
"Just come on," Verne said, sighing. "If we don't hurry, Mom and Pop'll come up here and ask you a zillion questions on your health and we'll never eat!"
He had a point. The last thing that Marty wanted was for Doc to ask him how he felt, again. "Okay, okay, okay, I'll come," he said, reluctantly sitting up. Air that felt too cold hit his skin as he crawled out from under the blankets. "What time is it?" he asked, standing up and stretching.
"I think it's around eight or something," Verne replied before running down the stairs. Marty took a candle off the table next to his bed before following him.
Downstairs the table was covered with a deep red tablecloth. Five places were set and about five trays and bowls of various sizes were laid out, with silver covers on them. Several candles were lit and in the center of the table. The Christmas tree was also glowing. All the small candles at the edges of the branches were burning.
"We plan to snuff out those candles on the tree after dinner, as they pose a great fire hazard," Doc said, suddenly appearing behind Marty. Doc looked at him critically for a moment before saying those words Marty was beginning to dread hearing. "How do you feel?"
"Better," Marty admitted, after thinking a moment. Doc nodded.
"You don't look as pale as you did earlier," he agreed. "You certainly slept long this afternoon. I went up to check on you about four after returning from working on the train and you were sound asleep."
Marty shrugged. "I think it was that cough medicine you made me take," he said, taking a seat at the table. "Half an hour after taking it I quit coughing, but I also couldn't keep my eyes open anymore."
"You do look better though," Clara insisted, bringing another platter to the table from the open fire where all the cooking was done.
"If you keep recovering as swiftly as you are, and the train will not be that difficult to repair, we could be going home before the new year," Doc declared as he sat down at the table.
"I hope that we can," Verne muttered, his eyes locked on the flames of the candles. "If I never see the Middle Ages again, it will be too soon."
"How is the train coming along, Father?" Jules inquired after Clara had joined the rest of them at the table.
"I've started to press the frame back into it's natural shape," Doc explained as he lifted the largest silver platter and removed the domed cover from it. Marty saw that under the cover was a large cooked goose. As he picked up a knife to cut it, Doc continued to talk.
"The damage is not as extensive as it had first appeared. The flux capacitor got the worst of it and will need a few of the standard parts replaced that were shattered beyond repair or lost in the area that surrounded the crash. The rest I will try to fix."
"I thought for sure that the train would crash to the ground and be totaled when I ran into that tree." Marty almost shivered when he remembered the shuddering of the train when it connected with the tree. For a few seconds there, as the train made that crunching and breaking noise, he had honestly thought he might not live to see the future again.
"The time machines can be difficult to completely destroy," Jules said, taking a spoonful of some mashed potatoes. That threw Marty off for a second, since he knew that potatoes did not grow in England at 1285. But then he realized that most of the food at the table could have been brought from the trip in the future, and probably was.
"A train hit the first DeLorean about a minute after I came back from 1885," Marty recalled. "The time machine was certainly not able to withstand that!"
"Nothing could withstand a speeding train!" Verne declared. He awkwardly balanced the platter of goose that Doc passed him while trying to speak at the same time. "Except for maybe a brick wall!"
"At any rate, I expect to have the train ready for departure within the week," Doc jumped in. "So beginning tomorrow we should start to pack up and begin preparations to leave."
From downstairs, a sudden knocking of the door caused everyone to fall silent. Clara rose to her feet and went over to the window, looking out. "There is a horse before our house," she reported. "From what I can see in the moonlight it is one of the King's horses."
The knock sounded again, harder this time. Doc set down the basket of bread he had in his hand and jumped up, hurrying downstairs. Marty heard him open the door and a few words were exchanged by him and the guest. Then the door shut again and Doc's slow and careful footsteps came up the stairs.
"Who was at the door?" Verne asked, running over to look at the square piece of paper Doc held in his hand. "Is that for us?"
Doc nodded, looking a little puzzled. "One of King Tannen's messengers sent it to us. It is an invitation to Princess Marian Tannen and William Gardener's wedding tomorrow afternoon."
"They want us to come? All of us?" Clara asked, taking the invitation from Doc's hand and reading it herself.
"That is what it says," Doc replied, frowning. "I don't understand why though."
"Will we be attending?" Jules asked, joining his family's side so he too could see the invitation.
"Your father and I will discuss it," Clara told him, looking up at Doc.
"But when will we know?" Verne persisted, then added, "It would be a great Christmas present to go to this. And it would be very educational to see how people got married now."
Doc looked down at his son with some suspicion. "We will have the decision by tomorrow morning."
"If you decided that you're going, can I come?" Marty asked, turning in the chair to face them. He hoped that Doc would not remember the doctors orders of staying in bed for three long days. He didn't want to be the only one left behind if Doc decided that they would be going to the wedding.
"You know what the doctor said..." Doc began, folding the invitation in half and slipping it into his pocket.
"I know, I know, but I feel much better then I did earlier today, honest. I'm sure that I don't have a fever anymore."
"Perhaps a few hours out of bed won't hurt," Clara said slowly, looking over at Doc again.
There was a long pause before Doc gave his reply. "We will see what tomorrow brings."
Thursday, December 26, 1285
12:46 P.M.
The day dawned clear, with the threat of rain in the distance. Doc had reluctantly agreed to allow Marty to come with them, on the condition that he would promise to go directly to bed afterwards. Marty, who was feeling perfectly normal, or as close to it as you could expect to be while still recovering from pneumonia, was happy to go along with what Doc wanted. It was such a relief to be around people that weren't wearing white or stethoscopes.
The wedding took place in the castle where the Tannen's lived, in the chapel, according to Doc. Apparently all castles had these in them. The one in Tannen Castle was about as large as a school cafeteria, with huge murals of stained glass in the stone walls. The chapel looked like one of those big old Catholic churches on the inside, with about ten rows of wooden benches on each side of the room. A narrow aisle with a red carpet led from the front of the church to the doorway at the back.
The wedding service itself seemed to last a long time. Longer than present day ones, anyway. Princess Tannen stood at the head of the church, her back to all the people who had been invited. She wore a deep red dress and a long black cape. The dress looked very fancy and all, but Marty had to wonder why it wasn't white. It was probably one of those traditions that hadn't been invented yet.
William was wearing some outfit that looked like something a prince would wear. King Tannen had probably given it to him. In fact, everyone that the king had invited to the wedding were all fancily dressed, except for the Browns and Marty. They all wore the same clothing they normally did. They were leaving here soon anyway, according to Doc, so why invest in new clothes that would be very much out of style soon?
After what seemed like forever, the wedding service was over and the people moved into a large room of the castle - probably the ball room - that had what looked like a band set up in one corner and a long table filled with all kinds of food.
"Is this like one of those receptions after the wedding?" Marty asked Doc, looking around the room at the richly dressed people. Most people were in groups, just talking. Neither the new Prince and Princess Gardener, King Tannen, or Prince Tannen had shown up in the room yet.
"Yes, almost exactly so," Doc answered. "However, everyone will be sitting down to eat at once and it will be a very serious and solemn thing, unlike the carefree way wedding receptions are in the future."
Not too long after that, King Tannen walked into the room and the whole room full of people fell silent.
"I would like for everyone to sit at the table so we can begin to feast in the celebration of my new son." As he said these words, the two newlyweds stepped next to King Tannen. "It relieves me greatly that my Marian will have someone to take care of her after I am gone."
Princess Gardener gave a tight lipped smile. With a wave of the hand from the king, people began to take a seat at the long long table filled with food. Before Marty knew it, he was seated at the table with plates of different foods being passed every which way. Someone dumped a leg from one of the five cooked geese that were spread across the table on his plate. Before he could even pick it up, Prince Tannen suddenly appeared next to him.
"You will want seasoning on that," he decided. Before Marty had a chance to stop him, Prince Tannen reached into a pouch he held in his had and sprinkled something that looked like salt on the goose.
"This will greatly enhance the taste," Prince Tannen explained with a smile, one that looked oddly out of place on his face.
"Uh...thanks," Marty said slowly, looking at him slightly puzzled. The last time he had seen Prince Tannen had been at the tournament, before he had collapsed, and he hadn't looked or been nearly as thoughtful as now.
"You are most welcome," the prince said graciously, turning and walking back to his seat, way at the other end of the table. After a brief speech by the king, on how lucky he felt to have someone as good as William join his royal family, everyone began to eat. Marty wasn't that hungry and only ate that leg from the goose and a piece of some kind of pie with meat in it. Prince Tannen also appeared next to him and used the salt on the pie. Marty didn't know if it was the food itself or the salt, but the food tasted kind of strange. He decided not to think of how old the meat and goose might be and the different kind of food poisonings that their were in this world.
King Tannen had been right when he had called it a feast. It took nearly two hours before all the people had pushed their plates away. By that time, Marty was beginning to feel strangely tired. The feeling came out of nowhere. Maybe this party was taking more out of him than he realized. He was, after all, still getting over pneumonia.
Eventually the king dismissed the guests from the table and the actual party began. Marty was about to go over to Doc and tell him that he was going to go back to the house to lie down and maybe take a nap when he saw Doc and Clara go out to the center of the room, arm in arm, and begin to dance with the other couples. Not wanting to interrupt them he stood at the edge of the room, near the table, and watched them. For a second he felt like he was back in the old west again, when he and Doc had gone to the Hill Valley town festival in 1885. It was at the festival that Doc and Clara had first danced with each other, and Marty had watched them then. There were several things that were different now however. For one, Doc and Clara were now married with two kids. For another it was the Middle Ages and, instead of everyone wearing western clothes and dancing outside under the stars, people were wearing things like tights and ruffled bloused and really long dresses and dancing inside in the middle of the afternoon.
Marty felt someone tap him on the shoulder and turned to see himself facing Prince Tannen. "Might I have a word with you?" he asked, the casual expression on his face not reflected in his eyes. They looked tense.
"Well, I'm kind of tired," Marty said truthfully. He thought that if he didn't get back to the house soon, he wouldn't be able to make it there. All he had been doing the last few minutes was stand in one place and he felt like he had just run a marathon instead.
"It will only take but a minute," the prince insisted, taking Marty's arm and leading him down a short hall away from the party and into another large room. This room appeared to be someone's bedroom, with a fancy carved desk and chair in one corner. A canopied bed in dark velvety colors was across from the large stone fire place, which had a fire going in it. As a final touch, a deep red velvet rug lay on the floor. On the walls were fancy silver holders with large lit candles in them.
The prince shut the heavy wooden door behind them and the sounds from the party vanished. "Have a seat," he said to Marty, crossing the room and standing next to the fire.
Marty hesitated. The last thing he wanted to do was sit, now. What if he dozed off or something? "I'd rather stand," he replied, fighting back a yawn. Why was he so tired all the sudden?
Prince Tannen gave a shrug and moved away from the fire. "If you insist," he agreed. There was a long silence, during which only the crackling of the fire could be heard and the occasional shout from the party. Marty was just beginning to wonder if people could actually fall asleep on their feet when Prince Tannen spoke again.
"I suppose you are wondering why I asked you in here," he began, sipping from the silver goblet that he had brought with him from the party.
"The thought has crossed my mind," Marty admitted, rubbing his eyes. The chair and especially the bed was looking more and more tempting by the minute.
"I wanted to speak to you about Marian," the prince said, his voice dropping to almost a whisper.
Marty had to lean back against the cool stone wall to keep standing. "What about her?"
"You must know about how she was promised to Daniel Covington," Prince Tannen stated.
"Yeah, that's why I had to fight you in the first place," Marty answered. He wished that Prince Tannen would hurry up and get to the point. It was becoming a fight to stay awake, even standing.
"She never wanted to marry you." Prince Tannen hung his head, as if he was ashamed by the words. "I am sorry to be telling you this but...she never loved you."
Marty couldn't believe it. This was the important thing the prince wanted to tell him? "Wow, are you serious?" The sarcasm in his voice went right over Prince Tannen's head.
"Yes," the prince responded, nodding sadly. He then looked Marty directly in the eyes and frowned. "Robin Hood, you are not well."
Marty shook his head, both to Prince Tannen's question and to try and clear his mind. "I'm fine, just a little tired," he assured the prince, yawning loudly as he slid down the wall to the floor. His legs could simply not support him any longer.
Prince Tannen hurried over to his side and took Marty's arm, pulling him stumbling to his feet again. "Why don't you lie down for a moment? I could find your family then." He helped Marty over to the bed.
Marty tried to pull away from Prince Tannen's grasp but didn't have the energy. "I better not," he said faintly, fighting hard to keep his eyes from falling shut.
"You best will," the prince replied, removing his hand from Marty's arm when he sat down on the edge of the bed. He started across the room. "I will return shortly with your family." He smiled, but it looked forced and didn't reach his eyes again.
"Maybe you should," Marty murmured, falling back on the bed with his legs still dangling over the side. He felt so tired and it felt so nice to lie down. "Doc'll know what to do, I know...."
He was asleep before he could finish the sentence.
Prince Harley Tannen smiled as he lowered the heavy wooden plank outside the door to block it from the inside, then hurried down the dim hall to the celebration. Everything was going as it should. The special powder that the old hag had sold him had worked, putting Robin Hood to sleep for several hours, ample time to spring his revenge.
Harley crept in unnoticed into the ballroom and walked over to his father, who was talking to some nobles from the nearby town of Oakville. His father caught sight of the prince and Harley winked - the signal. The king excused himself from the conversation and headed over to him.
"Well?" Father asked, somewhat impatiently. Harley smiled again in response.
"Robin Hood fell for my kindness act and ingested the powder," Harley reported, smirking. "He is now temporarily dead to the world. I will take care of the permanent part later."
The king broke into a grin, reaching out and giving Harley a pat on the shoulder. "Well done, my son. Do you have the ropes ready?"
Harley nodded, full of happiness that his father was so proud of him. Life could not possibly be better. "They are in my room, waiting for the moment."
The smile faded from Father's face. "We must wait for a while before we take Robin Hood out. Is the room locked?"
"Yes, everything is set," Harley replied, rubbing his hands together with excitement. "All we must do is wait now."
Father and Son looked at each other and laughed, anticipating the bloody end to Robin Hood, who had humiliated and scorned their family, the Tannens.
Thursday, December 26, 1285
3:52 P.M.
The party was showing no signs of ending, but Doc Brown thought it was time to leave anyway. They had been there long enough for the wedding ceremony and the party could last until early the next morning. Doc waited until the song that he and Clara were dancing to had ended before pulling her through the crowd.
"What is it?" Clara asked when they were on the outskirts of the room.
"I think that we better leave now," Doc replied, looking quickly at the watch he had on before anyone could see it. "We have been here for about three hours and Marty must be exhausted. He needs to rest."
"I'll go get the boys," Clara agreed. "I thought that I saw them over with the other children outside." She vanished in the throng of people.
Doc decided to search out Marty. He hadn't seen him since the meal, over an hour before. Though Doc didn't want to admit it, he was a little worried. Making his way around the room a few times turned up no sight of Marty. The tiny bit of worry began to grow bigger and when Clara returned with Jules and Verne, Doc definitely knew something was wrong.
"I can't find Marty anywhere," he greeted them with. "I don't suppose any of you saw him?"
Everyone shook their heads but Verne. "I saw him go somewhere with Prince Tannen after the feast," he said, pointing to a hall. "They went thata way."
"Why didn't you tell us this until now?" Clara asked, frowning at Verne.
Verne shrugged. "I don't know, it wasn't that important."
"Have you seen him since?" Doc asked, looking around the room still while he spoke. He could still detect no sign of the teenager.
"No, not since Prince Tannen took him down that hall." Verne pointed again to a wide doorway in one corner of the room, next to the table.
"I'm going to investigate. Clara, why don't you take the boys back to the house?" Doc suggested.
"I don't want to go back to the house, I want to see what's going on!" Verne exclaimed stubbornly, his lips in a tight line.
"I agree, Father. I think that Verne and I should be able to stay here while you are trying to locate Martin," Jules added. "He is our friend too. We can also assist you in the search."
"I am not having you two boys missing too," Doc objected with a shake of his head. "You can only stay if your mother is with you and if she agrees."
"It is fine with me, Emmett," Clara replied. "We can search this room and you could search the hall."
Doc nodded in agreement and made his way through the crowd and into the hall. The hall was dark, only a few lit torches in holders that were in the walls. Doors, all of them closed, lined the hall on both sides. Doc, feeling like he was trespassing, slowly opened each and every one. They were all empty. Doc checked his watch before exiting the hall and saw that only twenty minutes had passed since he had first noticed Marty's absence. A feeling of worry, fear, and dread all mixed together settled itself in the pit of Doc's stomach. He went back into the ballroom and looked for Clara and the boys, relief flooding over him when he saw them standing next to the long table.
"Any luck?" he asked, realizing that as he asked the question it was unnecessary. If they had had luck, Marty would be with them.
"None of us have seen one sign of him," Clara explained, concern showing clearly on her face. "I take it that you have had the same."
Doc nodded. "I think that I will try and find Prince Tannen and question him about it. Wait right here."
King Tannen was talking to some richly dressed men and women in one corner of the room. Doc waited until the conversation seemed to stop before asking King Tannen where his son was.
"Harley has gone into the village to fetch the wedding gift for the princess and prince," King Tannen replied. "He won't be back until late tonight, seeing it is a very large gift. Would you like me to tell him something?
Doc thought for a moment. If Prince Tannen would be gone until morning, there would be no reason for him to ask about Marty's possible whereabouts. "No....but, have you seen Robin Hood in the last hour?"
King Tannen shook his head slowly, a puzzled expression on his face. "With so many people around my home today, I do not recall. Why, cannot you find him?"
"No, and I have searched everywhere," Doc told the king worriedly.
"I am sure that he will turn up soon," the king assured him. "Don't fret." The king began the conversation up again with the group, his back to Doc Brown. Doc walked away to join his family again, anxiety building up inside him by the minute. Where was Marty?
Marty drifted in and out of awareness, never coming completely up. He could feel someone carrying him in their arms, but who it was or where they were going he did not know. A heavy, pressing tiredness made it impossible for him to open his eyes or move. At some point, the dream began.
It was the day of the tournament again. Marty stepped forward. It was time for the archery contest. The bow and arrow he was to use had already been laid out for him, before the target for some reason. Marty walked over and was leaning down to pick the equipment up when he heard the sound of an arrow slicing the air past him. He felt a strange yank on his right arm and saw that the arrow had pinned his sleave to the target. Prince Tannen stood several feet away, his lips stretched out in a mean smile.
"What are you doing?" Marty called out, feeling strangely calm for some reason. He reached one hand over to pull the arrow out when Prince Tannen shot another one off. His left arm was now in the same state as his right one. He was stuck. He was trapped.
"Are you prepared to face death?" Prince Tannen drawled, taking another arrow and placing it carefully into the bow. Before Marty had a chance to answer, the Tannen released the arrow and Marty only caught a quick glimpse of it before he saw only darkness and felt a strange ache in his head. Had he been shot?
It was a struggle to open his eyes. Marty had to blink several times before he could see clearly. He was outside, leaning against something. He wasn't on the tournament grounds like he had been, but somewhere in the woods. It was getting dark out and he had a headache, one that made him feel like he wasn't quite awake yet. Marty tried to lift a hand to his head, which felt heavier than lead, but he couldn't. A glance downward and he saw that his wrists and ankles were tied together around the tree that his back was against.
Marty heard branches crack from behind him. The tree made it impossible for him to see who it was. Marty strained his ears and turned his head to the side as much as he could. The rope dug painfully into his wrists when he moved the slightest inch. The crunching stopped and Marty held his breath, his nerves stretched taut. The foggy feeling that had been in his head vanished, chased out by fear.
"Robin Hood," a voice said softly. Marty saw the dark shadow of a figure slowly approach him out of the corner of his eye.
"Who are you?" Marty demanded, his wrists aching horribly as he shifted his position in hopes to see the person better. Whoever had tied him up had done a pretty job of it.
The shadow chuckled. "Oh, Robin Hood, indeed you should know."
Marty paused to think deeply about the comment by the person. Before he had woken up here, he had been at the Tannen castle and at the wedding. No, not the wedding. It was the party afterwards. Something tugged at the edge of his mind that he couldn't quite remember. It was important, too.
"I don't know who you are," Marty insisted, shaking his head.
The shadow moved closer. Marty could make out high black boots and the hem of a silvery cloak, but the falling darkness and the fact that the person was keeping in the shadows made it impossible to see anything more. Not to mention the position that he was in was not helping matters.
"I am the one you tarnished the name and reputation of," the person said, taking a few more steps forward until Marty could see him. It was Prince Harley Tannen.
"What?" Marty asked, confused. Prince Tannen took another step and Marty caught sight of a bow and bag full of arrows slug over his back.
"Do not pretend that you know not," Prince Tannen snapped, glaring at him. "You had to show off in the tournament!"
"I don't understand," Marty said, frowning. "You tied me up here just because I beat you in the tournament?"
Prince Tannen sighed angrily. "The powder I gave you that I got from the hag must still be affecting your head," he muttered. "I do not do this to my opponents when they victor."
"Then why me?" Marty asked, wondering what the prince meant by the thing about the powder. Did he mean that the 'seasoning' wasn't really that? Had he been drugged?
"You dishonored the Tannen name for kingdoms all around," Prince Tannen said in a low voice. He stood right before Marty and looked at him for a long time, not saying anything. Rain began to fall during the silence, though it felt cold enough to snow.
"Is that why I'm out here?" Marty finally asked, shivering as a gust of wind blew. Doc wouldn't be too pleased that he was out in weather like this when he was still getting over pneumonia. Doc! Marty got a sick feeling in his stomach, thinking how frantic Doc was probably going to be, since he was missing. "Where is here?"
"You are in the deep woods behind the castle for the punishment you must take for the dishonorment," Prince Tannen said softly. "But before that may begin, I must wait for Father. He wishes to see this." Prince Tannen laughed.
Marty swallowed hard. He had a bad feeling about this. "What are you going to do?" he asked nervously.
Prince Tannen smiled. Marty saw that this one was real, not forced like his earlier ones had been. The forced ones were better. At least then you did not see the anger and craziness in the eyes.
"Robin Hood, I should think that you of all people know."
Marty looked at the arrows and bow, remembering the stories about the real Robin Hood, who was the greatest archery person in England. Prince Tannen wouldn't....would he?
"You aren't...I mean, you're not going to use those arrows on me, are you?" It was hard for Marty to look at Prince Tannen's face, for fear of what he might see there.
Prince Tannen just laughed.
Thursday, December 26, 1285
5:59 P.M.
It was time to panic.
They had looked everywhere. The castle, the house from top to bottom, even the streets of town, but no sight of Marty had yet turned up. Doc didn't know where to look next and now it was dark out. Freezing rain had been falling for the last few hours. He hoped that wherever Marty was, he was not outside.
"Have you asked Prince Tannen about Marty?" Clara asked when the two of them met up after going another round in the castle. Jules and Verne were staying at the house, in case Marty came back there.
"Not yet. Apparently he's still in town getting the wedding gift." Doc paused, a strange thought just occurring to him. "I wonder why it's talking so long."
"King Tannen has left too, isn't that odd," Clara remarked, glancing around the room. "You would think that he at least would stay, seeing it's his party."
"Do you think they have anything to do with Marty's disappearance?" Doc asked. "I keep remembering what Prince Tannen said to me after Marty won the tournament."
"What was that?"
"That someone would pay."
"That doesn't necessarily mean that they took Marty somewhere," Clara said.
Doc held up his hands. "Then where is he? We've looked everywhere and if he was going to go somewhere, don't you think that he would have told us beforehand?"
"I don't know, you may be right." Clara looked like she was going to say something else when her eyes widened and she pointed to behind Doc. "Look, there's Prince Tannen! We could ask him about it now."
"No," Doc said, putting a hand on Clara's arm to stop her as she started forward. "I have a better idea. Let's follow him to see where he goes."
Prince Tannen grabbed what looked like a knife off the dining table then left the room. Doc and Clara followed several feet behind. The prince went down a hall then outside through a wooden door, not glancing back, headed for some woods. Doc and Clara moved closer to Prince Tannen, since it was so dark out he would be easy to loose sight of. The prince was wearing all silver and black.
The prince walked for about ten minutes. Then Doc saw a faint glow in the woods that grew brighter as they got closer. When they were about ten feet away, Doc could see that the light came from a campfire in a small clearing. King Tannen stood next to it and Doc saw to his relief that Marty was with them. The relief only lasted a split second, the time that it took Doc to see the ropes that Marty had tied around his wrists and ankles and the fact that a dozen or so arrows and a bow were laid up next to the tree that Marty appeared to be tied to.
"What are they going to do?" Clara whispered as they peered out from behind a old thick oak tree.
"Whatever it is, it is not good," Doc told her grimly. "We have to do something."
"Here is the knife Father," Prince Tannen said, handing the king the blade. "The celebration is still going on."
"Did anyone see you?" King Tannen asked, examining the silver point carefully.
"I do not believe so," the prince replied, looking into the fire. "Are you ready to begin? It is getting cold out here."
"What are you going to do to me?" Marty asked softly, looking at the arrows. "Exactly."
Prince Tannen grinned and stood inches away from Marty. "The king and I are going to use these arrows on you, shooting each one so it hits you and when we are done, you will be no more."
Doc sucked in a quick breath and saw Clara pale in the dim light. Doc could see Marty pretending to be calm on the outside but could tell that all he wanted to do was run as fast as he could away from the Tannens. Doc did not blame him.
Even if they did get out of this, they were going to have trouble. It may had been a trick of the firelight or something, but it looked to Doc that, though Marty was drenched to the bone from the freezing rain, his cheeks were flushed and his eyes unusually bright. But it could have easily been from the fact that he was about to be slaughtered.
"What are we going to do?" Clara asked, her eyes big with fear.
Doc put a finger to his lips for her silence and turned back to the scene. Prince Tannen was giving his father a bow and several arrows. "You may have the first shot," he was saying.
King Tannen smiled and moved back a few feet. He lifted the bow up and readied the arrow. "Prepare to say farewell to everything in this life," the king said, pulling the string back. Marty shut his eyes and turned his head away.
Before he knew what he was doing, Doc reached down and grabbed a stone, heaving it at King Tannen. The rock hit his hand and the arrow flew through the air, embedding itself in the tree inches from Marty's face.
"Hey!" Prince Tannen yelled, spinning around to see Doc standing next to the tree. He walked a few steps and grabbed Doc's arm, yanking him into the circle of light. Clara pressed closer to the tree and Doc, because he knew where to look, was the only one who saw her.
"Doc!" Marty exclaimed, looking a little pale from the nearness of the arrow shot. "What are you doing here?"
Doc tried to shake off Prince Tannen's grip but was not successful. "I followed the prince out here on a suspicion that perhaps he might have something to do with your disappearance." Doc turned and glared, first at Prince Tannen, then at the king, standing a few feet away and rubbing his hand where the rock had hit it. "I apparently was correct."
King Tannen sneered at him. "Did you want to join your nephew in death?"
"Let him go," Doc said firmly. "What did he do to you?"
King Tannen stood in front of Doc and leaned forward so that they were nose to nose. "Robin Hood made me loose my daughter to a doctor's son," he hissed. "He soiled the Tannen name and he must die for it."
"And you must too," Prince Tannen announced, dragging Doc over to a tree that was next to Marty's. "We cannot have you running back to the celebration and bring back people."
Doc saw Clara turn and sink back into the shadows. He knew that she was going back for help, but would she make it back in time? Already King Tannen was handing his son a few feet of rope to tie him up with. They had minutes at most before the two of then would begin to shoot arrows off.
Your nephew was nice to us and did not try to escape when we had to tie him up," Prince Tannen said, then laughed. "But then, I had given him some special flavoring from the town hag that rendered him unable to. I hope that you will not try anything. My father and I would hate to kill you before the arrows."
Doc cooperated. They needed time and he didn't want to risk loosing any. Before long, he was in the same helpless state as Marty was. The Tannens took several paces back and talked between the two of them for a few moments.
"I'm sorry I got you into this," Marty whispered to Doc. "This is all my fault. I should have stayed at the house today."
"You're not to blame," Doc whispered back. "I wouldn't give up just yet. Clara has gone back for help."
Marty looked at Doc curiously but before he could say anything, the king and prince grabbed their arrows and bows and got ready to shoot them. "It's been great knowing you," Marty said softly, his eyes locked on the arrows.
"Father," someone said from behind them. King Tannen and Prince Tannen lowered their arrows and stared as Princess Marian Gardener emerged from the woods. "Let them be."
"Marian!" the king exclaimed, dropping his bow and arrow to the ground. "What are you doing here?"
"Saving Robin Hood's life," the princess replied. "Do not you know that he is not to blame? He did not rip the family name."
"Oh, he did," Prince Tannen muttered. "And he made you marry that William Gardener. You should want him dead."
"He did not make me do anything!" the princess exclaimed, her eyes flashing. "He gave me choice on who I was to marry. He saved me!"
"From what?" King Tannen asked. "A life of riches from the Covingtons?"
"From the Covingtons," Princess Gardener replied. "And a life of unhappiness. I despise Daniel! I love William. I have for a long time."
"Love? Love is meaningless," King Tannen declared with a wave of his hand. "I thought that Robin Hood was the one you were to marry, anyhow?"
"No," Princess Tannen said. "I scarcely know him." She looked at Marty, who was staring at her. "He helped me and for that I am forever grateful. You cannot kill him!"
King Tannen looked at his daughter for a long time. It was well known all over the kingdom how much the king loved his daughter. Doc hoped that this love would be enough to save them both.
"As you wish," he sighed. He looked over at Prince Tannen. "Put the arrow down, Harley."
"No," Prince Tannen said, his voice tight with anger. "I want to kill him."
"Harley Tannen, put down the bow and arrow," King Tannen said slowly. "No one is to die tonight."
"I should think they might," Prince Tannen said. He aimed the arrow and bow on Marty.
"Stop!" someone yelled. A shadow darted out from the forest and hit the prince from the side, knocking him to the ground. It was William Gardener. He and Prince Tannen rolled on the ground together, fighting. Princess Gardener darted forward and grabbed the knife from the forest floor, then ran over to Marty and sawed the rope with the sharp blade. After a moment, she had him freed and went over to Doc, doing the same to him.
"They have to die!" Prince Tannen shouted. Prince Gardener pinned him to the ground and the princess tossed the rope for her new husband to tie him up with. In one minute, Prince Tannen was tied securely.
"Are you alright?" Doc asked Marty, who was rubbing his rope burned wrists.
"Fine, just cold," Marty replied, looking at the prince. "Is he okay?"
Doc glanced over and saw the prince silently glaring at the both of them. "I'm not sure, but we should be very glad that Princess Gardener came when she did."
"No kidding!" Marty agreed, leaning back against the tree. "What time is it?"
"Almost seven," Doc said after a quick glance at his watch. He turned as Clara ran over to them.
"Are you okay?" she asked the two of them. "I ran to get help as fast as I could!"
Doc gave her a hug. "You were just in time," he said.
* * *
Marty was freezing. The rain was finally letting up but it didn't matter. His clothes were soaked and his hair kept dripping icy water into his eyes. Thankfully, they were almost home.
"Are you feeling okay?" Doc asked him as they turned on to the street where the house was.
Marty shrugged. "I don't know, why?"
Doc waited until they were inside. "Stop," he said, holding his hand up. Marty obeyed and Doc felt his forehead. "You're a little warm," he said after a moment.
"I sure don't feel that warm," Marty said, shivering. "I can't wait to get out of these clothes."
Doc frowned slightly and went with Clara upstairs. Marty followed the two of them and when they got into the living room, he went straight to the fire and stood before it, trying to get warm. Doc went into his room and came out a moment later with something in his arms.
"Here," he said, handing the bundle of deep red material to Marty.
"What's this?" he asked, looking down at it.
"A robe. I don't have any extra clothes for you to change into, so you will have to wear that while your clothes are drying before the fire."
"Thanks," Marty told Doc. He went upstairs to his room and lit a few candles until he could see well. It was so cold up here! Marty quickly took off his dripping clothes and dried off with one of the quilts. Teeth chattering, he slipped the robe on and tied the sash securely, then gathered his wet clothes together and took them downstairs.
Doc was piling some logs on the fire when Marty entered the room. "Here're the clothes," he said, handing them to Doc.
Doc wrung them out before hanging them on an line in front of the fire. "You have a fever again," he said, looking at Marty carefully.
"Why do you think so?" Marty asked, sitting down at the table and resting his chin in his hands. He had had a headache ever since being out in all that freezing rain, but didn't want to mention it.
"Your face is flushed," Doc told him. "You should spend the next few days in bed."
"Why? I don't want to be cooped up in that dark boring room for the next few days."
"You have to. I let you out for one day and already your fever is back. I don't want you to get a relapse."
"I won't get a relapse and I don't have a fever!" Marty exclaimed, standing up. A lock of his damp hair fell into his eyes and he angrily brushed it back.
"Marty, be reasonable," Doc said, a trace of impatience in his voice. "You are still sick. You have to rest and get over this. You don't want to still be sick when we return to 1985, do you?"
"No, but still don't see why I have to stay in bed all the time!" Marty crossed his arms and gave Doc a hard look.
"Marty, this is non-negotiable," Doc replied evenly. "Now go on up to bed before your fever gets any worse!"
Marty glared at him a moment, then spun around and stormed up to his room. He grabbed the walkman out of the box and slipped in a tape of one of his favorite groups, flopping down on his stomach on top of the bed and staring at the wall, silently seething. He could not wait to get out of here!
A few hours later Doc Brown collected all of Marty's now dry clothes and went upstairs to give them to him. He hoped that Marty had cooled down by this time. When was he going to see that the only way to get completely well was to stay in bed and rest?
The house was very quiet. Clara, Jules, and Verne had taken the DeLorean to 1985 to get a brief vacation from medieval times and to get some food to bring back. They planned to be back the following morning.
The sheet was down. Through it, Doc could see that some candles were lit. Not wanting to burst in, Doc softly knocked on the wall next to the doorway. "Marty, can I come in?" he called softly.
There was no answer. Doc pushed the sheet aside and cautiously took a step inside the room. "I have your clothes -" he said, then stopped and sighed.
Marty was lying on top of the blankets on his stomach, his head to the right, facing the table with the candles. He had the walkman on, with one hand resting on the case of it, his eyes closed, and his mouth hanging open a little. Doc wasn't sure if he was asleep or just resting. He set the clothes on the table top and reached out, gently taking the earphones of Marty's ears. The sudden blast of loud electric guitar music startled Doc and he quickly grabbed the walkman unit from under Marty's hand and pressed the stop button to turn it off. The silence that followed was deep.
Doc set the walkman on the table. Marty was sound asleep, he could tell that now. Not moving when Doc had taken his walkman away was a strong indication, and the fact that he was snoring softly was another. Doc took the box that had all the entertainment in it and set it on the floor, then tossed all the junk that was spread out across the bed in it. After that was done he took one of the blankets that was on the other side of the bed and covered Marty with it. Before he left he quickly felt Marty's forehead. He still felt a little too warm, but at least he appeared to be breathing easy and he wasn't nearly as hot as he had been a few days before. If he would only stay in bed, Doc had no doubt that he would recover completely.
Marty muttered something in his sleep and rolled over, so he wasn't facing Doc anymore. Doc quickly removed his hand and blew out all but one of the candles then went downstairs, hoping tomorrow would go better than today had been.
Friday, December 27, 1285
11:28 A.M.
"Rise and shine!" someone said cheerfully, right into his ear. "Time for you to have your breakfast and then we all have to get ready to leave!"
Marty opened his eyes and saw Clara smiling down at him, a tray of food in her arms. "Huh?" he mumbled, rubbing his eyes.
Clara set the tray down next to him on the bed. "Emmett has repaired the train, so we are planning to leave tonight."
"Really?" Marty asked, yawning. He glanced over at the clock and saw that it was close to 11:30. "What time?"
"After dark, I believe." Clara sat down in the chair next to the bed. "How are you feeling?"
Marty shrugged, getting annoyed by the question. The headache he had the night before had vanished and he felt pretty good, just a little tired still. Marty sat up and looked down at all the food. There was a bowl of strawberries, two cinnamon rolls and a cup of hot tea. "Where'd all this come from? You couldn't have gotten this from now, could you?"
Clara shook her head, standing up and beginning to clean off the table. "No, I bought the food in 1985. The boys and I spent a day there and I came back this morning. They're waiting for us in 1985, since I knew that we could return the exact minute I left."
Marty picked up one of the rolls and took a bite. It was so much better than medieval food! "Are my clothes dry yet?" he asked after swallowing, realizing that he was still wearing the bathrobe.
Clara handed him a pile of folded clothes from the table. "Emmett brought them up last night, but you must have already been asleep."
Marty remembered the fight the night before. It had mostly been his fault, he knew that now. He had been tired, cold, and not feeling the greatest. But Doc shouldn't have been bossing him around like that! "Yeah, I guess," he replied flatly, taking a sip from the hot tea. His fingers were freezing and the hot cup felt good on them.
Clara hesitated. "He told me about last night," she said finally.
"Oh," was all Marty said, then added with some sarcasm, "Is he going to make me stay here a few extra days so that I can get completely well when the rest of you go tonight?"
Clara looked shocked, but Marty couldn't tell if it was from what he had said or the tone of his voice. "Of course not! You will be coming home with us when we leave tonight. Emmett told me that he wants you to stay in bed today however, to get as much rest as possible before returning to the future and your normally busy life."
Marty shrugged again, chewing hard on the strawberry he had popped into his mouth. It figured! Oh well, at least by this time tomorrow Doc wouldn't be able to boss him around any more!
Clara left, after packing up most of the items from the future in the box and taking them downstairs to the DeLorean. Marty finished his brunch and then got up to change into his medieval clothes. He was looking forward to getting out of the tights and getting into his jeans again.
After changing the clothes and straightening up the room a little, since they would be leaving tonight, Marty lay back down on the rumpled covers of the bed and closed his eyes, intending to just lay there for a while. But he must have dozed off or something because when he opened his eyes again he could see that the candles that had been lit had burned down to near the holders and the clock had sped forward several hours. It was now a little after four. Doc was standing next to the bed, looking down at him. Having pneumonia must have wiped him out a lot more than he had realized. All he had been doing the last few days, except for last night, was lying around and sleeping. And yet, he still felt tired.
"What do you want?" he asked, closing his eyes again. Marty reached over, feeling for one of the quilts and pulled it over himself, cold. He had fallen asleep without anything covering him again. It seemed to be a bad habit with him.
"The Gardeners and King Tannen have come to see all of us, you included," Doc said, gesturing to the doorway that led downstairs. "I think that it will be okay if you get out of bed just to see them."
Marty stretched lazily, his eyes still shut. "Oh, I wouldn't dream of stepping one inch out of this room or bed. I might....relapse!" Marty opened his eyes and glared up at Doc for a moment.
Doc sighed loudly, and his voice gained a hard edge as he spoke. "If you don't want to see them, fine, but you don't have to be sarcastic about it!" He turned and left the room.
Marty knew he had pushed Doc too far. He really did want to see the Gardeners and King Tannen - as long as the king wasn't going to try and kill him again. Marty's wrists still ached where the rope had dug in the night before.
He got up and splashed some of the icy water that was in a bowl on the table on his face, then combed his hair, which was sticking up all over from sleeping on it when it was wet the night before. Their was no mirror in the room, but it's not like he had to look his best when meeting these people. In a world before things like shampoo, running water, and toothbrushes nobody looked that good.
Doc and Clara were talking with the Gardeners and King Tannen when Marty entered the room. The conversation stopped and they stared at him as he crossed the room and sat down on the hard bench, minus the cushions. They must have been already packed up. The whole room was looking kind of bare. The Christmas tree was gone, a scattering of dried needles remaining where it had sat, and all the extras that the room had had - rugs, tablecloths, etc. - were missing.
"So, what were you guys talking about?" Marty asked, when a minute passed and no one said a word. King Tannen glanced at his daughter and son-in-law then cleared his throat.
"I would just like to apologise for the treatment that the Prince and I did to you and your uncle last night. I hope you feel it in your heart to forgive us," he said, somewhat stiffly.
"Harley has decided to join up with the Crusades," Princess Gardener added, sitting next to her husband at the table. "He will be leaving tomorrow for the long journey."
"We are really and truly sorry," King Tannen interjected. "Your uncle has granted us forgiveness? WIll you follow?"
Marty looked over at Doc, who gave a short nod. "Sure, I guess," he said slowly, turning back to the king. "But if you try to kill me again I might not be as agreeable as I am now."
The king chuckled, somewhat nervously. "Do not fret about that."
"Would you like to stay for a drink?" Clara asked, standing up. King Tannen stood too and held his hand up, declining the offer.
"No, we must be getting back to the castle." He looked at Marty and nodded. "Thank you for your time Robin Hood. The best of luck to you and your family."
"Yes, thank you," Prince Gardner said, nodding in agreement. "You made one of my fondest wishes and dreams a reality." He looked tenderly at his new wife. "For that I am ever in your debt."
Doc rose to his feet. "Let me escort you out," he said, heading for the stairs. Their voices faded as they descended the stairs and went outside.
"So what's the deal on tonight?" Marty asked Clara, who had gone over to the window and was taking down the curtains in the window.
Clara carefully slid the curtains off the rod before answering. "From what I've heard, we aren't leaving until after midnight."
"Who's taking which time machines?"
Clara turned around, frowning as she folded the curtains. "I'm not sure. We'll have to ask Emmett when he comes up here."
It was several minutes later before Doc returned from the downstairs. "How much do we have packed so far?" he asked as soon as he entered the room.
"The bedrooms are all done, except for Marty's," Clara replied, "And we all have to still change clothes. Are we allowed to do that yet?"
Doc checked his watch. "I think we can after everything is packed up and darkness falls. In a few hours." He turned to Marty. "Do you think that you can take all the quilts, blankets, and pillows off your bed, fold them neatly, and put them in a box I give you?"
Marty stood, nodding, then said somewhat sheepishly, "Doc, listen, I'm sorry about last night and this afternoon. I was just kind of frustrated about being cooped up so much this last week or so and I'm sorry about loosing my temper."
Doc smiled. "I understand," was all he said before continuing with the orders. "Marty, I would like you to take the DeLorean back to the future. Clara and I will take the train, at precisely midnight, and you can follow at 12:15. I don't want to attract too much attention with both time machines leaving at the same time. I have written down the time you are to program the time circuits with on a piece of paper that is in the DeLorean."
Doc paused for a moment, looking like he was trying to remember if their was anything else he was supposed to say. "We are almost done with the packing and as soon as everything is loaded into the train and DeLorean we can change into our 1985 clothes. That's all for now, I believe."
Marty took the empty box that Doc gave him and went up to his room. He went to work quickly, having all the stuff folded in packed in a little under an hour. After that, Doc had him load things into the car and then go from room to room, making sure that nothing from the future world was left. It took about two hours for him to find a total of one hairbrush, a toothbrush, an earring, and a roll of camera film. When he brought them downstairs, he was surprised to see Doc and Clara bundling up. It was after eight now. Where would they be going at this hour?
"We're going to make a few trips to the train to get some boxes packed up," Doc told him before he could ask.
"Can I come? I finished all the stuff you told me to do." Marty dumped the future odds and ends into a box by his feet that was on the sled.
"We think it would be best if you stayed here," Clara said, slipping some gloves on. "Their is still a risk of you getting sick again with this weather."
Marty heaved a big sigh, but didn't argue. "What can I do then?"
"Change clothes. Your future clothes are still in your room, and when you are done, you can just leave your medieval clothes behind, if you want to," Doc said, bending over to stack another box on top of the two that were already on the sled. "Then you can just do whatever you want. We're all ready to go back, all that is left for time to pass and to load up the train."
"When will you guys be back?"
"We'll be going in and out for the next few hours," Clara explained, lifting a box into her arms. "If you need us, just wait down here until we come back for more boxes."
Marty watched them leave, feeling kind of deserted. He checked the back room where the DeLorean was and saw that, except for about six boxes that were on the floor, everything was packed and ready to roll. Then he went up to his room and switched clothes, taking great pleasure in leaving his medieval clothes abandon on the floor. Going downstairs again, to the living room, he felt almost back to normal. And bored.
Marty went back to the DeLorean, pouring through a box that had lots of electronic things in it. He came across what looked like a hand held mini TV with what it looked like to be miniature CD's that were labeled with different movie titles. A slot for putting the CD's in were in one side of the unit. It must have been some kind of thing from the future. Doc probably wouldn't mind if he used it for these last hours in the Middle Ages. Marty took the TV and a movie that looked interesting and brought them upstairs. He pulled a chair up next to the fire, which was still going strong, and switched the TV on, starting the movie.
The movie was good at first, then it got boring. After an had hour passed, Marty switched the movie off and went downstairs, packing it back up and unpacking two quilts. He was tired again and felt like lying down for a while and all the bedrooms were out. He went back to the living room and spread one quilt out on the floor directly before the fire, then folded the other one up for a pillow. He curled up on his side, facing the warmth of the fire and it didn't take long before he was asleep, but he didn't stay asleep. Marty kept waking up, feeling disoriented. Occasionally he could hear noises from the downstairs as Doc and Clara came back for more boxes.
Marty was dozing when his watch's alarm went off, informing him that it was now 12:05AM and he had ten minutes before going back to the future. He sat up and switched the alarm off, suddenly noticing the deep, heavy quiet that surrounded him. Doc and Clara were gone, making him the only one left in the Middle Ages. Marty didn't know why, but the thought made him uneasy, feeling like everyone else had abandon him. He quickly stood up and put the dying fire out, as Doc had told him to do earlier in the evening, then took the flashlight that Doc had given him before leaving to use in the dark and switched it on.
The batteries must have been low or something; the light was dim and weak. Marty gathered the quilts up and climbed carefully down the stairs and then went straight to the DeLorean. He tossed the blankets in the car's open door, then unlatched the back doors and pushed them open. Before getting into the car to leave for the last time, Marty stood in the middle of the room, sweeping the beam of light around. The room looked empty, like no one had been living here. Like it was supposed to look. Marty sighed, suddenly feeling sad that they would never be returning here again. So much had happened in the past week in this building. He had almost died for one thing!
Marty got into the car and shut the door, reading the paper Doc had left for him on the dashboard on the time he was to come back before switching the flashlight. Turning the time circuits on, he quickly put in November 23, 1985, 7:00AM, Hill Valley, California. Marty then started the car, feeling a wave of excitement wash over him, chasing out the sadness he had felt. He was going home!
Saturday, November 23, 1985
7:04 A.M.
Hill Valley, California
"Welcome home!" Verne exclaimed when Marty came inside Doc's house after putting the DeLorean safely into the garage/lab. "Are you glad to be back in the future?"
"Oh yeah!" Marty exclaimed, grinning. "The Middle Ages were a nice place to visit, but no way would I want to live there!"
"Did you check to make sure that nothing was left behind?" Doc asked as he carried a box into the house and set it down on the kitchen table.
"Yeah, it looked like no one had been living there for a while," Marty replied, taking a seat at the table. He then realized what time it was and stood up again, fast. "I better get home! My parents are gone this weekend and Dave and Linda will kill me if they find out that I've been out all night!"
Doc looked concerned. "I didn't know that I was getting you into trouble."
"I don't think you have, yet," he said, then ran out the door. "I'll see you later!"
It was still dark out, even though it was seven in the morning. Streetlights were still on as Marty ran the few blocks that separated his house from Doc Brown's. It was normally a fifteen minute walk, but Marty covered it in five. By the time he reached home, his chest was aching, reminding him again that he still wasn't completely recovered from pneumonia. Marty stood for a moment next to his bedroom window, bent over and trying to catch his breath before climbing inside. After a few minutes the dull pain in his chest completely vanished and he was able to breath without gasping. It had probably been a bad idea to run, but he had been in a hurry.
Marty lifted himself up on the windowsill and climbed inside, almost tripping over something, since he didn't have any lights on. He felt his way to a lamp and switched it on, his bedroom falling into place with the light. The last time he had been in it was only twenty four hour ago, but it felt like over a week.
"All right, where have you been?" someone asked from behind him. Marty spun around and saw his nineteen year old sister Linda standing in the doorway, glaring at him as she waited for an answer.
"Me?" he asked innocently, his eyes wide.
"Yes, you. Do you know how worry Dave and I have been?" his sister asked, stepping into the room. "We almost called Mom and Dad."
Marty froze. Perhaps he was in more trouble than he realized. "You didn't, did you?"
Linda sighed. "When I say 'almost', that means we didn't. Now tell me where you were and hurry, or Mom and Dad will definitely be finding out about this!"
Marty bit his lip, thinking. He couldn't tell her the truth, but maybe half of it wouldn't be that bad. "I was at Doc Brown's all night. He needed my help with a breakthrough invention and it took the whole night. I'm sorry I didn't call, but I guess I just forgot."
His sister looked at him, as if trying to figure out if he was lying or not. "Your girlfriend called last night," she finally said, then added, "You should get some sleep if you've been up all night. You look beat."
Marty sighed with relief when she left the room. That was close. For a moment he was sure that he was going to get into deep, deep trouble. Marty looked at the time and realized it would be too early to call his girlfriend, Jennifer Parker, back. He decided to take a shower and change clothes before doing anything else.
The hot shower felt so good. It was nice to get all the dirt from the Middle Ages off him. When Marty was done, he went back into his room and sat down cross legged on his bed in his blue bathrobe, thinking how strange his life had gotten in the last month. Only one month before he had been a regular seventeen year old senior, with nothing more to worry about then whether or not he got his homework finished on time. Then Doc Brown invented the time travelling DeLorean and he had to worry about time paradoxes, alternate years, and a whole bunch of other stuff that came with time travel, like watching how he acted, dressed and what he said whenever going to a new time. In the past few weeks he had been to the 1950's, the old west, the Civil War, the Middle Ages, and the future. What, Marty couldn't help but wonder, would be next?