Soon, the transmigrator found himself in the dining room. The massive mahogany table was astonishing in size; if desired, thirty people could have dined there comfortably. Despite its grandeur, only two places were set—at opposite ends. One could say that only at the head of the table were plates and dishes laid out.
Richie found the arrangement of the food rather strange, but he remembered the saying about not bringing your own rules into someone else's monastery, so he let the oddity slide. At the moment, his attention was focused on something else entirely.
One side of the table was already occupied by a respectable elderly man of about sixty. He, too, was dressed in a business suit, though his was beige. He was not wearing a jacket; it hung neatly over the back of his chair. Instead, he wore a burgundy vest over a crisp white shirt.
Richie studied the man carefully, with whom he was about to have breakfast. He noticed that the man had the same light-colored hair, combed back and slicked with gel, as his own. Oblong glasses with platinum frames rested on his round face, partially obscuring cloudy gray eyes. A few wrinkles betrayed the man's age. The boy noticed the man's tall stature and slightly protruding belly.
"Good morning, son," the older man said, nodding. "How are you?"
"Um… good morning."
Richie was confused. Given his current age, he had assumed the man might be his grandfather, but it turned out he was his father. It was also strange that the boy's mother was nowhere to be seen.
"Enjoy your meal," Richie said awkwardly as he took his seat at the table. "Why are we sitting so far apart?"
"That is the custom of the Grosvenor family," his father replied. "My father raised me that way, and his father before him—your great-grandfather."
Not knowing how to respond, the transmigrator decided to focus on his food.
A maid served breakfast to the gentlemen. The valet was nowhere to be seen; apparently, he had gone to eat with the other servants.
The meal was worthy of its surroundings—three courses whose quality rivaled that of a three-Michelin-star restaurant.
So as not to give himself away, the boy followed the principle of when I eat, I am deaf and dumb. Still, questions swirled endlessly in his mind. For instance, why hadn't he seen a single holographic projector—or even an old flat-screen television—anywhere in the house? And the presence of archaic radiotelephones with retractable antennas in every room made him suspect that he had fallen into the past—perhaps even into the twentieth century.
After breakfast, his father approached him and said,
"Have a good day, Richie. You do remember that this Sunday we're attending the annual charity event with members of the royal family, don't you?"
Of course, the transmigrator remembered nothing of the sort. He was stunned.
The royal family?! My God! What country am I in? English language, a butler, a duke for a father… Could this be Great Britain?
Forced to respond somehow, Richie mumbled indistinctly,
"Uh-huh…"
"Do not embarrass me, son," the man said calmly.
At that moment, the young gentleman's valet entered the dining room.
"John," the duke addressed him, "has anything been discovered about yesterday's earthquake?"
The valet replied immediately.
"Sir, scientists from the Royal University report that no earthquakes were recorded anywhere in Great Britain. Presumably, there is an old underground chamber beneath the estate in which something exploded. That is likely what caused the tremor."
So this really is Britain… and from the past, Richie thought.
"This is unacceptable!" the duke exclaimed. "John, hire builders to inspect the basements immediately. I don't want anything else exploding and endangering my family!"
"It will be done, sir," the valet said with a bow. Then he turned to the boy. "Mr. Richie, it is time for you to go to school."
"Uh-huh…"
All of Richie's thoughts were occupied with processing the information he had just learned. He wondered whether the mysterious explosion in the basement might somehow be connected to his arrival in the body of a child from the past.
Lost in thought, he barely noticed when they stepped outside. Richie turned and looked back at the building he now called home. It truly was a huge palace—at least fifty meters long, adorned with arches and marble columns. The walls were made of white stone, and the enormous windows suggested that the structure had been built long after the Middle Ages.
The palace itself was only part of it. To the left rose a Gothic tower, almost an exact miniature replica of Big Ben, complete even with a functioning clock. Farther away stood additional buildings—most likely stables, garages, and cottages for the staff. Bushes and trees were planted throughout the grounds, all currently covered in snow. Lawns stretched in every direction, invisible beneath the white blanket, intersected by neat footpaths.
After putting on their coats, Richie and John walked down an alley lined with trees and bushes. After about fifty meters, they reached a parking area connected to a wide road that stretched off in both directions.
If necessary, four cars could easily drive along it side by side.
A beige vintage Bentley Eight waited in the lot. A thought flashed through Richie's mind.
Just imagine—a gasoline-powered Bentley! What a rarity! It must be from the 1980s. Please let this be a family of eccentric antique collectors. I really hope I'll get a proper holographic communicator with access to the holonet soon.
Beyond the road lay a massive rectangular pond, more like a swimming pool, roughly a hundred meters long and about ten meters wide. Behind it, perpendicular to the first, stretched a large oval pond.
Richie's vivid imagination instantly supplied him a bird's-eye view. From above, the two ponds seemed to form a penis with testicles. The thought brought a smile to the boy's lips.
Architects' jokes were not always immediately apparent—especially at such a scale.