Two

"Master Lazerus?"

He jumped, snorting in surprise, even as his bleary eyes attempted to focus on the Goblin. His head felt heavy, as he raised it from his folded arms. "Hnnh?", he muttered stupidly, wiping away sleep from his eyes.

"You have been working for days, Master." Fingal wrinkled his nose in distaste. "You must rest, and eat -- and bathe. You have been wearing these same clothes for three days." He plucked at the dusty shirtsleeve with a pinched expression on his face. "Filthy, filthy. I have prepared a hot meal, and this time you will eat it. And what is this?"

Curious, the Goblin leaned to peer around his master at the strange objects arranged on the floor. He gasped, frightened, as Lazerus stood up abruptly and grabbed Fingal by the back of his elegantly-embroidered tunic, and lifted him up off the floor.

"It is none of your damned business, little fiend!" Lazerus shouted. Dark stubble lined his face, and his eyes, though pouched with weariness, were furious. "Go! Get out! And cease your interference, you nosy pest! Go!" With surprising strength, he tossed the Goblin across the room, and pointed his wand at him. Fingal stared at Lazerus with wide, horrified eyes.

"Master? Master? What is wrong?"

"GET OUT!" Lazerus roared. Angry red sparks shot out the end of his wand, and Fingal, alarmed, scampered out the door of the workroom. Lazerus could hear his little feet, in their patent-leather shoes, pattering up the stairs.

Lazerus stood there a moment longer, breathing hard. Then he sat down again, a wave of shame washing over him. "Oh, I am such a fool," he muttered softly. What had come over him? He hated himself for bullying the little Goblin. I'll speak to him later, he thought. That was too hard, he did not deserve such cold treatment. Lazerus sighed, exhausted. Then his gaze slid to the assorted objects on the floor.

It had been -- when? Yesterday? The day before? Fingal was right, he was losing track of time -- when he had finally attempted one of the spells from the Egyptian books. The "portal" spell, if he had deciphered it properly. And what hellish results had come forth!

The first time, a ring of pale blue flame had quickly appeared -- just long enough for a strange creature to emerge. He had never seen such a creature, and, alarmed, had aimed a killing curse at it. Once the animal was dead, Lazerus examined the creature more closely. It was approximately the same height as himself, and bird-like, but with scaly skin, vicious teeth, and cruel claws. It reminded him of fossilized skeletons that he had seen in various cabinets of curiosities, during his travels.

Whatever it was, Lazerus felt certain of one thing: it had not come from this period in time. As far as he knew, such creatures did not exist in this time, either in the magical world, or not. He had never heard tell of a living example of such during his studies and travels.

The next time he had attempted the spell, more gruesome artefacts had fallen from the ring of flame: a human arm, which appeared to have been recently severed from the rest of its body. Through the coating of blood, he had examined the leather gauntlet still attached to it. A short, broad sword was still grasped in the twitching hand. He was no expert, but unless he was mistaken, he was looking at the standard sword of a Roman soldier. He could only assume that the bloodied, severed arm had also belonged to the same unfortunate being. Curiously, he wondered what had happened to the rest of the soldier.

Excitement had gripped his insides. Clearly, the portal could connect the user to the past. He would have to study this much more extensively. But...what about the future? And was there a way to control it? If only he could make out more of those dratted heiroglyphics!

The third time he had attempted the portal spell, this time speaking slightly different incantations from the next page, he caught a glimpse of what appeared to be the streets of London -- but different. Far, far different. The noise! And the smell was different. He was used to the streets of London being dusty, and filthy, and smelling like animal refuse and unwashed humanity, noisy from milling crowds and squealing animals. But the brief whiff he caught through the ring of flame smelled cleaner, yet different. Mechanical, almost. Oily. And the carriages! Where were the horses?

But before he could begin to understand what he was seeing, a startlingly-lovely woman had walked by. She wore a dress of indecent length -- clearly, she was not of good breeding. Perhaps she was a harlot. The woman stumbled; she did not fall through the flames, which she did not appear to be able to see, but a small, silvery rectangular object fell from her hand and burst through the ring. He heard her utter words that no lady of his acquaintance would ever say.

Instantly, the ring of flame vanished, leaving Lazerus incredibly curious about the world that he had glimpsed. Instinct told him that he had looked upon the future, for he knew of no time in London's past when it appeared as such.

Frowning, he bent down and picked up the rectangular object. It was a type of metal, with a small square piece of glass embedded near the top of it, and a pad of buttons with numbers on them. The buttons were made of a curiously soft, pliable substance. He touched a few of them, experimentally, and nearly dropped the object in shock when the corresponding numbers appeared on the small glass window.

He had promptly set the bizarre object down next to the severed arm (which he then used a preservation spell on -- both on the arm, and on the dead animal, as they were beginning to smell.) Clearly, these were mysteries to be investigated further.

Lazerus had then returned to his books, feverishly muttering and making notes, and at last he had fallen asleep, only to be startled awake by Fingal hours later.

xxx

"Fingal." Freshly bathed and changed into clean clothes, Lazerus entered the manor's library a short while after the earlier incident. "Fingal, my dear companion. I must apologize for my harsh behaviour earlier."

He knelt beside Fingal's favourite old leather chair, where the diminutive Goblin was hidden behind the large volume that he was pretending to read. Lazerus felt another wash of guilt, as he heard a small sniff, and he reached up to gently ease the book from Fingal's hands. Hunched protectively into the chair, the Goblin glared at him. His eyes were ringed with red, and Lazerus felt terrible. He'd taken Fingal in many years before, when the Goblin's parents had been killed. There had been no one else who would take the child -- Lazerus could not leave him to starve. Fingal had been just under three years old then, and Lazerus was like a father to him -- as much as a human could be, to a Goblin.

"Come," said Lazerus, with a gentle, impish smile. "I was tired, and I was not myself. I am sorry, my dearest Fingal. Might I ask of you a great boon?"

"Perhaps." Fingal's small mouth pouted. "Perhaps not. Depends."

"Well, my old friend, I have bathed, and changed, as you have so wisely suggested. However, I have not yet eaten. Might there be some small crumbs of food still in the pantry? A drop of ale? Anything will be welcome, for I am very hungry. But if you have nothing for me --"

Fingal jumped up with alacrity, and leapt over the arm of the chair onto the soft carpet. His short legs scampered him along. "I fed the hot meal to the pigs! But I shall see if I can scrape up anything for you, Master Lazerus. Wait here, and I will return shortly. Oh," he added, turning back from the doorway. "The Daily Prophet has arrived. It is on the low table, Master."

"Thank you, Fingal," said Lazerus with a grin. He straightened up with a grunt, rubbing his lower back. He was still stiff and sore, despite the hot bath. "I shall await your return. And by the by, we do not have pigs."

"Stay there," said Fingal, pointing at the chair. Lazerus seated himself, endeavouring to look meek and obedient. It was an old game, an old joke between the two of them.

"Right here?"

"Right there." The Goblin frowned menacingly.

"Not over here, in this chair?", asked Lazerus, teasingly. "Or in this chair, closer to the fire, perhaps? Or mayhap the window seat --"

Fingal rolled his eyes and stomped out, leaving Lazerus chuckling. "I'll stay right here, Fingal," he called, still teasing. "I shan't move an inch!"

"See that you don't," Fingal replied, huffily.

Lazerus laughed gently, and spread open the Daily Prophet. On the table beside him, a bottle of ale and a plate of cheese and bread and meat appeared. There was a bowl of hot, thick soup, and a crock of sweet butter. It all smelled delicious.

"Thank you, Fingal, for finding me a dinner in the non-existent pigs' non-existent trough," Lazerus called out. He knew the Goblin could hear him. "I'm still in the same spot, you know! Haven't moved a speck!"

There was no answer, but Lazerus smiled. He knew that Fingal could hear him. One hasn't been properly ignored, he thought, until one has been thoroughly ignored by one's favourite Goblin. Taking a huge bite of bread, he began to read the Prophet.