"I am the sovereign of Phoride — I am called Brook Scullion. This is my wife, Dearborne and our … servant, Boy!" said the host, the Lord Brook. He continued. "We know of that book, and about much more!"
There was quiet again for a few moments as their injured guest drank, his thoughts and fears sculpted across his wide hirsute face. "No!" said Brook. "It happens that we have common interests and like goals. You, however, have a strange courage, trying to speak out your knowledge. This is dangerous! — No, my friend, if I were to kill you, it would be like preventing a cure for a rampant plague!"
Dearborne neared the bed and looked at him while she explained to him, how he came to be there, in the room.
"I was in the market today. When I was leaving I saw you, shouting and waving a book over your head, but no one listened. I did not leave, for the sake of curiosity, then after you were hurt, Boy and I brought you back here." when Dearborne finished, a small, thankful smile drifted across his face, then finally grew into a sincere completion when Boy added his thoughts. "You're heavy!" she said, rubbing his arms.
Brook stood right up against the bed and checked the bandages. He sighed and shook his head in disbelief.
"You are a very fortunate man. Never before have I seen anyone survive a blast from those —- "
" — Electrophoric guns!" interrupted the man.
"Yes! You know much of the last millennia!" he smiled.
"I do, sir! So do others from where I come. I am Lloyd Bartlet, and I am from Besten."
Brook turned to Dearborne. They looked at one another, their expressions bordering on apprehension, puzzlement and a somewhat odd pleasure.