"Geoffrey A. Landis - Interlulde at the Circus" - читать интересную книгу автора (Landis Geoffrey A)

About "Interlude at the Circus"
This one was originally published in SF Review in February 1992, and found a reprint in the
program book for MagiCon, the 50th World Science Fiction Convention, in August 1992. That
was a memorable convention for me, since I won a Hugo for "A Walk in the Sun" there.

Interlude at the Circus
Geoffrey A. Landis
The plaza was a bewildering babble of noise: voices, animal noises, and the clatter of chariot wheels on
stone. Jill barely caught the faint voice calling from the opposite side. "Hello? Does anybody here
understand me? Hello? Hello?"
She swiveled, trying to locate the speaker. "Over here!" she shouted. She waved her hands like crazy.
"Hey! Over here!"
"Hello? Does anybody speak English? Hello!"
She spotted him across the crowd, a short man peculiarly dressed--at least, peculiarly dressed for
first-century Rome: he wore a button-down shirt and pants. She pressed her way through the crowd.
"Hey! Over here!"
"Thank God!" he said. He rushed over and embraced her, then, before she could react, kissed her on
both cheeks. "At least I found somebody. For a while I thought that nobody here spoke English." He
looked at her.
She was an unremarkable woman, of medium height and with short brown hair, but with a disconcerting
way of focusing her attention so totally that it seemed that nothing else in the world mattered. She wore a
loose brown garment cut from coarse cloth. Beneath it could be seen a finely-woven filigree of silver. "I
know. I've been searching for ages, literally ages. Perhaps we should introduce ourselves? I'm Jill
Andress."
"Ciam Jardes. Pleased to meet you. God, I am so pleased to meet you."
They stood in front of the Colosseum, a Colosseum somewhat smaller and quite different from the one
familiar from calendars and picture postcards. It gleamed with fresh lime, and was adorned with gaudy
paintings of gladiators and exotic beasts. Vendors with charcoal grills on little wheeled carts--likewise
adorned with fanciful beasts rendered in bright primary colors--pushed through the crowd selling wine,
meat-pies, roasted nuts, grilled sausages, fried cakes and skewers of greasy black meat. They called out
their wares in a language barely recognizable as Latin. The air was pungent with the smells of fried
onions, garlic, burnt meat, and charcoal. "So," said Jill, dodging slightly to avoid a horse carrying a
patrician followed by his retinue and slaves, "just how did you get lost?"
"Lost? I'm not lost. I know just where I am. And when. It's home that's not where it's supposed to be. It
got lost when I went to visit the battle of Upper Tutlingen.
"Oh. . . Was that an important battle? I never heard of it."
"Important?" he said, widening his eyes incredulously. "Don't you know any history? That's the battle
when Alar Khan died, hit by an unlucky spear thrust, and so the Mongol horde turned back, thus saving
all of western civilization."
"Oh. Funny I never heard of it. I never was good at medieval history, though. Was it pretty much like the
records said?"
"Yes, just like the description, except that none of the histories mentioned the mud. After the battle it was
sticky red mud. And Khan wasn't hit in the chest at all, he was hit in the arm. He didn't die, either. The
history books badly distorted the facts, I can say that. When I get back there will be some changes
made, I can tell you that right now."
"Yes," said Jill. "I can see that."
"But when I went back home to report, nobody knew me! Nobody spoke English! The whole city of
Londinium was gone!"
"Londinium?"
"There were just mud huts! The people painted themselves blue and spoke in awful guttural grunts! It