When I blinked open my heavy lids I was met with the sight of an old man towering above me, his nose was hooked and beak-like and his dark eyes were set deep into his lines face giving him an overall disturbingly similar appearance to a bird of prey.
I shivered, realising to my embarrassment that I didn't have any clothes on. I hurriedly covered myself with my hands, my eyes flicking around the room for my clothes or frankly anything. I was met with the sight of a stone circular room filled with strange knick-knacks; books and scrolls were piled high on every surface, detailed mechanical drawings and maps of places I had never seen were pinned to every wall, but there was no sign of my clothes.
A foot collided with my ribs and I winced, glaring up at the old man angrily. He spoke sharply, his dark eyes harsh, but the words were incomprehensible, I'd never heard anything close to his language in my life.
"Where are my clothes?" I demanded, as my mind scrambled to remember how I had gotten here. It had been dark, I was walking to work... my mind shied away from remembering further. I felt a wave of nausea. Dear God, I hoped he hadn't done anything whilst I was unconscious.
The old man threw up his hands and tossed some balled up fabric at me, despite the language barrier, he seemed to have understood that much. I straightened it out to reveal a dark woollen shirt, thankful of the cover; I hurriedly slipped the scratchy wool over my head and stood.
Now that I was no longer viewing him from the floor I saw that the old man stood at least six feet tall. His grey hair fell past than his shoulders and his beard flowed down to his waist, he was oddly clothed, choosing to array himself in a white robe. Mental patient, I surmised; my growing fear mingling with my confusion as I stared at him.
"He started to approach me, and having learned my lesson for the foot to the ribs, I stayed just a few steps out of reach. He was not going to get close enough to touch me again, however panicking wasn't going to help either. Thinking back on it, I could understand how someone looking in would find this situation funny. Me running around, almost naked, in a circular room to escape from a madman in an oversized dressing gown - at the time, however, my heart was drumming too rapidly in my chest from terror to find the humour in the situation.
He barked out something commandingly, but I had no intention of stopping, I dodged around him to the door and twisted the handle frantically.
He reached for a long pole with a grey orb set into a frame on top, he wasn't looking any saner. The door remained stubbornly unmoved as he flicked the top of the staff in my direction and strode towards me, I tried to back away but I was rooted to the spot. My mind scrambled for a reasonable explanation, hypnotism? It would explain the memory loss.
A reluctant statue, I watched helplessly as he came close, for the first time I noticed the wickedly sharp nails at his fingertips. Had I had use of my limbs I probably would have lashed out like a cornered animal. To my relief, he simply rested his hands on my head and began to mumble unintelligibly, I opened my eyes and stared, his face was strained in concentration as he spoke.
"...simple translation incantation," he said as he backed away, I felt whatever was holding me still relax a little, like loosening coils of rope; I shifted experimentally breathing a sigh of relief when my limbs obeyed me, though the sensation of being paralysed lingered as if it would return with a click of the madman's fingers.
My kidnapper straightened out a scroll and dipped a quill into a pot of ink, in my opinion, he was taking this medieval wizard delusion far too seriously.
"Tell me about the weapons of your land." He commanded, his quill poised just above page in readiness.
I stared at him for several heartbeats.
His dark eyes flashed thunderously. "Speak! I do not take kindly to those who waste my time."
"Erm, guns, bombs...k..knives." On the last word I hesitated, feeling a strange shiver of recognition, whatever it was my mind reeled a little.
"I know of the others but explain to me the operation and use of a gun." He demanded, the quill already scratching out foreign spider-like runes on the paper.
"Well, it uses gunpowder to propel a small piece of metal at a high speed to cause damage."
He stared at me with rapt attention, "blasting powder is used as a means of propulsion? How do you prevent the machine from exploding in the operator's hands?"
I swallowed; spending my time trying to fix the damage caused by guns had left me with little inclination to learn anything more than the basics. "I don't know. I'm not an expert in such things." I admitted hesitantly.
He narrowed his eyes and wrote a little more on the parchment, "It was a mistake to kill the one who knew of blasting powder." He muttered to himself.
Fear jolted through me, kidnapping and delusions were cause for concern but if he had actually killed someone then I was in a whole lot more danger, I wondered if I could get to a phone.
"You can be of some use to me at least." He declared as he strode across the room and fastened his hand around my arm with surprising strength for a man his age. Without saying anything further I found myself being unceremoniously dragged from the room and up a spiral staircase. I stumbled in places but his hand on my arm was like a steel vice, keeping me upright as my bare feet I caught brief glimpses from the windows of snow-capped mountains and rolling plains, I was a long way from home and it was definitely not good.
I was breathless by the time we reached the top of the stairs, but strangely the madman didn't seem the slightest bit ruffled. He flung open a heavy wooden door and pushed me through, I stumbled and regained my balance to be met with the sight of another old man, more shabbily dressed than the first, huddled miserably on the platform. Beyond him was a panoramic view of the vibrant landscape I had seen snatches of through the tower windows.
During my brief slip of attention the situation between the two old men had gotten tense.
"Can you watch her starve or freeze to death, you sentimental fool?" Hissed the madman.
The other old man regarded him with a regal serenity, his wrinkled face as implacable as a statue.
Angered, my kidnapper stormed off the platform in a flurry of robes, slamming the door forcefully behind him.
Silence stretched between us for several long moments, interrupted only the wind howling savagely around the tower and making me shiver. I moved closer to where the old man sat, he seemed to be in deep thought. "I'm Ellie, did he kidnap you as well?" I asked.
"I suppose he did," he smiled, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. His whole body seemed to be tense and his concentration on something other than our conversation.
I noticed he had still not told me who he was. "What's your name?
"Most call me Gandalf," he replied shortly, "Gandalf the Grey."
I frowned at the odd name but I had more pressing questions. "Do you have a phone or any way we can call for help?" I asked desperately.
He gave me a strange look, "No," he said, as if he were speaking to a slow child. He shifted, occasionally looking out to the horizon, but his eyes did return to me with a curious glint. "From where do you hail?"
It took me a moment to decipher Gandalf's archaic way of speaking, "Ealing, west London," I replied.
His brow furrowed in a way that reminded me of a look long-standing resident doctors made when an intern gave a bad diagnosis. "Is London a kingdom?"
I stared at him, wondering if he was as mad as my kidnapper, he was certainly dressed for the part. "No," I replied, "the city of London, the capital of England, you've heard of England, right? We're speaking English!"
There was no comprehension in his face. He stroked his beard, looking everywhere but at me, pontificating as if I had said something profound. Whenever I did manage to catch his eye, there seemed to be slightly droopy-eyed look I had made myself so many times - whenever I was given an interesting chart with a truly terminal diagnosis. I felt the stirrings of panic, but I quelled them quickly, either Gandalf was mad as well or... I didn't know, I didn't want to consider other possibilities.
"Mayhap we can continue this intriguing conversation later, Mistress Ellie. It is past time I leave," he paused for a moment, seeming to weigh his options, "and I think you should join me." Apprehension on his part was more than apparent at this prospect.
Gandalf was strange... and a little grumpy. I didn't completely trust him, but I liked my chances of making it home a lot better if I was able to get off the tower. I barely hesitated to accept his offer. "Alright, how are we going to do it?"
