Compass in hand Ed slowly revolved. Before pausing and turning back. He licked one finger, holding it up in the air for a while. Then he pointed to his left before turning right. Biggie followed him.
"It's this way according to all my calculations." There was a skeptical look on Biggie's face. "I could explain what those calculations were, but it would take far too much time. I'm open to answering any of your questions, except those regarding my calculations. Is there anything?"
"Let me think for a minute. A lot's been going on recently. I need time to process it." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "There is one thing that's been bothering me for a while. Who actually won the Battle of Balloch Glen?"
"We did, my friend. Those Romans had no idea what hit them. A powerful military machine laid low by two ordinary men."
"Two ordinary men fighting against pointy sticks, with 21st century weaponry."
"That's beside the point. We won. Whether it was down to superior strategy and tactics or a total mismatch between weapons systems, has little to do with it. Are you absolutely certain the Romans didn't possess the technology necessary to create firearms?"
"Yes."
"Absence of evidence is not evidence of absence. Were any of these archaeologists and historians actually there? Did they meet with the military of Rome to discuss armaments? No they did not. It's pure guesswork on their part."
"Yes but, as I seem to recall, you and I were there. Are you claiming they didn't bring the right equipment with them? That they forgot their assault rifles and grenades in their rush to enter Scotland?"
"You can use logic and facts to prove anything you like. I choose not to use either. They just muddy the waters. The truth and reality obscure things. Distort them into shapes they do not wish to be twisted into. Are you buying any of this?"
"No I am not."
Ed took on a wistful look.
"I hate to admit it, but I'm starting to miss Andy. That gullible buffoon will believe almost anything you tell him. Apart from the truth. Luckily I steer clear of the truth. It's far too unpredictable."
They trudged onwards along a footpath beside a canal. Occasionally a steam powered barge would pass by. Every now and then, Ed would consult his broken compass. Sometimes making a slight course correction. It was a mystery how these were calculated as well. The needle was stuck. It never moved. Biggie knew better than to inquire. He really didn't want to know. Fearing that should he himself use the compass, he'd end up understanding. When you could understand something that illogical, there really wasn't a lot of hope left for you. That tiny bit of theoretical hope was about to vanish.
The transition from one zone or time period to another was always seamless. The landscape might change, it might not. It depended on where you'd come from and where you'd gone to. All of a sudden Ed and Biggie found themselves in a place no one wanted to be. Even the people who lived there only used it as an excuse to die a lot younger. To some it might appear to be a dystopian nightmare. It was definitely a place full of suffering and injustice. A world of pain and misery heaped upon a larger pile of pain and misery. Even before they took in the surroundings the air of oppression told them where they were. You didn't need to look at the faces of those around you. Those false smiles and "friendly" greetings from complete strangers, told you all you needed to know. A place with a total absence of hope. A bureaucracy straight out of the imaginings of George Orwell.
There was no doubt in either of their minds. They cursed their fate. Why couldn't they have stepped into something much less horrifying? Like The Somme Offensive. Ed and Biggie looked around in horror. A woman riding a bicycle side saddle sped by. Ringing her bell. Not as a warning. More of a passive aggressive threat. You could blink and rub your eyes as much as you liked. There was no getting away from this. The dread they felt filling their souls was unmistakable. fate had not smiled on them. She'd pissed all over their cornflakes. This was a place where a stiff upper lip was essential. You needed one to stop your lower lip trembling. You couldn't panic here. It was frowned on. Possibly against the law. Regardless of that, it would surely get you arrested on some trumped up charge. Stepping on the cracks in the pavement. Smiling with intent. For this was 1950's Britain in all its finery. As finery was still being rationed, you could only have an inch and a half of it.
It was an "Oh Bollocks" moment. It was the one every other "Oh Bollocks" moment was based on. Everything was frowned on, even frowning. Children were seen and not heard. Trained to keep that stiff upper lip, heedless of the huge amount of physical and sexual abuse they were subject to. Women knew their place. It was that small area over there with no facilities. Hot water was an expensive luxury. The less well off huddling around a health giving cigarette to keep warm. This was pre-global warming Britain. The summers were damp and chilly, interspersed with heavy showers of rain and hypocrisy. The nation was slowly retreating from empire and they weren't happy about it.
The two of them would have to tread carefully through this abysmal, soul destroying shithole. One misstep would be all that was needed to plunge them into more trouble than anyone could handle. But on the other hand, they were Ed and Biggie. Give either of them a stick and a starving grizzly bear and they'd be poking that potential rug with a vengeance. So instead of lamenting their fate, all either of them could think about was the amount of mayhem they could cause. The staggering number of people they would be able to offend. This was almost as good as social media for offending people unintentionally. It was almost as judgmental and you didn't need broadband to become a social pariah.
Meanwhile on the other side of the compass bearing, so to speak, the situation had become somewhat fraught. The previous day Andy had hallucinated he was a holiday rep. Spending the entire day playing stupid games and trying to sign up people for trips and excursions. Caroline and Daisy had humored him. They had always humored him from the moment they met. Taking part in the nonalcoholic drinking competitions without any drinks. Putting their names down for scuba diving and windsurfing lessons. Even going along with the offer of tasting sessions at a local winery. Completely unaware they were playing with fire they'd dosed him up with a lovely mushroom omelette that very morning. It couldn't do any harm could it?
How were they to know? They were pushing the envelope with their drug experiment. It had been fun up to now. As previously stated, this was Andy. Someone who shouldn't be permitted to think outside the box. Of course it wasn't long before the first signs of the mistake they'd made appeared. They had no idea the can of crazy worms they'd opened. It started innocently enough. Andy began using his imaginary theodolite as soon as they'd set off after breakfast. Before long Andy was chattering on about residential buildings, public buildings, parks, factories, roads, traffic contraflow systems and the public spaces necessary for the well being of the residents.
Before they knew where they were Andy had come down with a chronic case of hallucinating he was a Town Planner. It had sneaked up them, due to the fact town planning was mostly made up of hallucinations. There he was, racing all over the place. Arranging for the demolition of decaying industrial buildings. Putting in the imaginary foundations of an underground mass transit system. Bus lanes were sprouting in his diseased brain. Town planning is a disease of course as any doctor worth his salt will tell you, after you get him or her drunk enough.
By mid day they knew what they had to do. Sit on his chest until he tired himself out and went to sleep. Knowing they might have to endure a sleepless night while he drew up plans for the routing of utilities and the placement of out of town retail parks. Sticking their fingers in their ears as he endlessly went on about building a bypass to improve traffic control. To say nothing of all the traffic lights. Oh boy how they wished he'd said nothing about the traffic lights. As the night wound on and his struggles became weaker Andy drifted off to sleep while waxing lyrical about the system of revolving roundabouts he was going to have built.
Nothing good came out of it. Nothing good ever comes out of town planning. They'd learned a valuable lesson though. From this point on the pharmacological experimentation on Andy was over. Not to be resumed. At least until they returned to their own time and place. They could always find a room or a box to lock him in if anything like this happened again.