The Basingstoke Chronicles (25 page)

"And he passed them on to you after all."

Lord remained silent while re-packing his carrier. As he slung it over his shoulder,
he held out his hand, before speaking his final words to me.

"Grow them well and be wary, my friend. God speed, Pacal. Oh and by the way, for
a native name, how about Patrick Walton?"

I took the folded parchment and clasped it in both hands. "Thank you, Lord, for
everything, and fair fortune to you, my friend."

There he smiled and walked across the shingle to the cold sea. I watched as he
swam out to the craft that bobbed alone on dark waves, to the restless future awaiting him. As the
vessel vanished, I turned to face inland, a new man on a new shore, never more excited in my life.
For if an Englishman could conquer history, what could I, a man out of history, make of
England?

Eleven years have passed since that Devonshire farewell. The flowers' aroma has
grown more pungent of late. The seeds are now a garden, but I hesitate to inhale the pollen. Am I
fearful of knowing too much about the future?

My name is Patrick Walton, formerly Pacal Votan. I have been a science teacher at
the Whorley Acres Primary School for the past four years. My previous jobs were as a fisherman
and a shop assistant in Torquay. Through the latter, I met and married a wonderful girl named
Claire, the rarest flower in all of England. That was ten years ago. For a wedding present, I
brought home a fortune won on the FA Cup. My promise to visit each of the finalists' home
venues, Sheffield and Southampton, has, as of today, been fulfilled.

All told, Lord Basingstoke's tale has taken me eighteen months to write. Hopefully,
one day, he will come to read it. As I put the finishing touches to this account, Claire and I wait
in Southampton for a voyage I know he would be proud of. England is without doubt the centre of
the world, yet I am ever hungry for new horizons. We set sail in two days for America--from what
I hear, a land of great opportunity. What a fitting turn of fate this is, to at last undertake a
journey denied me eleven thousand years ago.

Embarking on her maiden voyage, the vessel to give us passage is causing quite a
stir in England. Alas, what mere ship could ever usurp the esteem of a time-traveler, a man
literally reborn through the bravery of two fellow men?

Indeed, what greater achievement is there than turning epilogue into
prologue?

Patrick H. Walton

April 8, 1912

An Englishman with a telescope, Robert Appleton maintains he was born a century too
late. His love of science fiction began with boyhood jaunts through the worlds of Wells, Verne
and E.R. Burroughs. A natural adventurer, he often writes stories set in Earth orbit, or
survival-themed odysseys on alien planets. Dogged Englishness abounds! But like those speculative
authors', his tales are tinged with hope and the excitement of discovery.

When he isn't reading, Robert can be found either gliding on the sea in his kayak or
racing around the football pitch like a madman.

To catch up with him, go to http://www.robertappleton.co.uk, or visit his blog at
http://www.robertbappleton.blogspot.com

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