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Prince Dafydd had encouraged me not to touch it. It itched, though, and I just wanted to rip it out. I didn’t.
    Instead, I pulled at the handle on the surprisingly heavy door and poked my head into the hall. There was no one in sight. Tugging my pole after me, I exited the room, feeling stronger with each step. The hall matched the room, and I wondered why white was such a favorite color in this land. My home was filled with tapestries woven in beautiful jewel tones of red, blue, and green. Here, the walls and floors were white, along with the clothing of all the people. It was dull to look at. Given the wondrous machines they had, it surprised me that they had leeched their world of color.
    I passed other rooms like mine, picking up the pace as I went. In each, a person was in the bed, some with family and friends beside them. It appeared that sick people were comforted the same here as in Wales. The occupant of the room three doors down from mine was a Moor, his skin almost black. I stood in the doorway for a longer look, but when he spoke to me, he spoke English. I tipped my head at him, not understanding his words but not wanting to be rude, and continued walking.
    Further on was another door that opened into a small room, perhaps as wide as I was tall and half as deep. A large, brown metal box rested on a red counter, and beside it were a stack of cups (also white!), strange looking sticks, small square packages made of parchment with writing on them, and a pot into which dripped a dark liquid. I studied how everything was set up and then chose a cup. The stack separated easily and I found that the cups were soft and squishy. I squeezed one of them and then patted it back into shape.
    The liquid stopped dripping with a final, loud, spitting sound. I picked up the pot. Heat rose off it. I poured the liquid into the cup. It steamed and bubbled. I put the pot back and lifted the cup to my nose. The liquid smelled...bitter.
    “It’s called ‘coffee’, Ieuan, and it’s not good for you.” I turned to see Prince Dafydd, lounging against the frame of the door, his arms folded across his chest.
    “When Bronwen was in the room, she had one of these cups in her hand, but the liquid was a lighter brown,” I replied.
    “That’s because she filled the cup with cream and ‘sugar,’” Dafydd said, using an unfamiliar word. He gestured to the cup. “Take a sip and see what you think.”
    Hesitantly, I did. It was incredibly bitter, but the smell wasn’t unappealing. I took another sip. My lord laughed.
    “Here,” he said. “See how you like it with some cream and sugar.” He took two of the parchment packets, and a little pot of cream that I hadn’t noticed and poured them into my cup. Then he took one of the sticks and stirred it. I tasted it. Except for the ‘chocolate’ my lord had given me in that little room in the fort along Hadrian’s Wall, I’d never had a taste explode in my mouth in such a fashion.
    “Everyone likes sweet things,” Dafydd said. “Do you remember the candy I gave you from my mother’s pack?”
    I nodded.
    “It was also made of sugar.”
    “Is it possible to take some sugar home with us?” I said.
    Dafydd hesitated, and then reached across me and took three of the packets. “I’ll try. Come, the nurse is looking for you.”
    I allowed Dafydd to lead me back to my room.
     
     

Chapter Six
    Bronwen
     
     
    D avid found me that afternoon as I was leaving the archaeology building to get myself a diet soda.
    “Do you still have the weapons?” He’d come around the corner of the building, just as I pushed open the door.
    I nodded, still wary of him. He’d not changed his clothes, but oddly, didn’t look too out of place. State College, Pennsylvania was a good spot to be in if you weren’t quite normal in your dress. There were fifty thousand college students and that made it easy to blend in with some group.
    “Good,” he said. “Are they nearby?”
    “Still in my car,”