The Wheel of Osheim

“Professor O’Kee,” Kara said.

He stood, frozen as Taproot had been, studying one of the glass panels and the pattern of lights glowing from it. Also in the alcove, somewhat surprisingly, was a messy pile of dirty bedding, a scattering of books, halfeaten food on a plate, and a stained armchair. Just before him, perhaps knocked by the hand resting on the semi-circular desk that ran along the length of the alcove, a small object, a slim cylinder, narrower and slightly longer than my finger, had been captured just after falling from the flat surface. It hung in mid-tumble about three feet off the ground.

I drew my sword and moved forward to prod it in the old man’s direction. I ran into the invisible wall well before I’d expected it, almost smashing my face into it as I’d only just begun to raise my blade.

“It’s big!” I said, to cover my embarrassment.

“Taproot called it stasis,” Kara said. “A stasis field.”

Snorri set his hand to the smoothness of the boundary between time and no time. “Use the key.”

“He’s not frozen,” Hennan said.

“Yes he is.” I patted myself for the ever-elusive key.

“That . . . thing . . . falling from the table is lower down now.”

I looked. The stylus did look a little closer to the ground, but it could easily be a trick of the eye. “Nonsense.”

“He’s right.”

It took me a moment to realize that I didn’t recognize the voice backing Hennan’s opinion. I turned to find that Snorri already had his axe uncomfortably close to the newcomer’s neck. “Who are you?” A Viking growl.

“You don’t recognize me?” The man wore the same long and closefitting white coat as O’Kee, with black trousers and shiny black shoes beneath. He was in his twenties, perhaps a few years older than me, dark hair in disarray, standing up in tufts as if he was in the habit of tugging on it, and thinning at the crown. His wide eyes sparkled with amusement, certainly more than I would show with a barbarian’s axe just inches from my face. Something about him did seem familiar.

“No,” Snorri answered. “Why should I recognize you?”

Kara stared at the man, brow furrowed. “You’re a Builder magician.”

“Oh come on! I’m staring you in the face.” He waggled his fingers under his chin and gestured with the other hand toward the alcove. “See?”

O’Kee had his back to us so it was far from obvious, but that was where the familiarity came from. He looked a bit like the older man, or at least how I remembered him from the picture. “You’re his son? Brother?”

“Son. In a manner of speaking.” A broad smile. “Call me Larry. In any case, your lad is right. Look, the pen has reached the floor.”

We all turned, expect for Snorri, too much the warrior to fall for simple misdirection. The cylinder had indeed hit the floor and was perhaps in the process of bouncing.

“It’s slo-time,” Larry said. “A year spent in there sees a century pass out here.”

“We need to speak to the professor,” I said.

“You could ask me?” He smiled.

“It’s a pretty big question,” I said. “We really need to talk to the man in charge. We’re going to turn it off.”

“What are you going to turn off?” Larry asked.

“This.” I waved my hand at the machine, which was nearly as big as a castle keep. “All of it.” I gestured toward the tunnel mouths at either side of the chamber. “The Wheel.”

“The professor can do it for us.” Snorri’s voice left no room for choice. “It’s his creation.”

Larry shrugged. “It’s the creation of hundreds, if not thousands, of the brightest minds of his age, but yes, he oversaw the project. He’s been working at turning it all off for the past thousand years—ten years in his time—but without success. There are a great many processes that must be exquisitely balanced for a successful termination of the operation. The smallest mistake in calculations could see the effect accelerate . . . or worse.”

“Even so, we will talk to him.” Snorri set a palm to the surface where the professor’s time met ours.

“Be my guest.” Larry opened his hands toward the professor. “But you’ll need the key. And if you don’t have that I’m afraid I’ll have to see you out.”

I glanced at Snorri, his face set in a grim frown, then back at Larry. Most people find an enormous Viking intimidating. Larry somehow conveyed the impression that he considered us all to be naughty schoolchildren.