Cursed Bones

Chapter 1: You don't have to believe this

Nothing you are about to read is remotely true.
None of this ever happened.
Time travel doesn't exist.
All people, places, and events are purely fiction. Any similarity to real people, places, or things, is entirely coincidental.
Therefore if you see a fair haired man who looks vaguely like a medieval peasant, probably carrying a worn out red backpack and wearing at least one article of clothing the wrong way out, probably stepping into traffic or ignoring very obvious announcements because he's wearing headphones and reading a book while walking and balancing an iced coffee in the crook of his elbow. Then that's definitely me.
But none of this happened.
There. Glad we got that out of the way.
If you happen to find yourself on Whidbey Island, you'll discover the weather is fair all year, from rainy and slightly cold, to sunny and still, well, slightly cold. And if you were to venture towards the bay, where fierce tides bring in hundred of pounds of smooth white drift wood. Then you could follow Pioneer Park Way east, and just where it ends, there's a very unimpressive turn in, lined with trees, to Skagit Valley College. An unimposing institution mostly home to redistributed students seeking a quieter campus, and military members and spouses looking to use up GI bill credits close to home. If you're unlucky, the naval base is doing something clever with airplanes and every few moments there's a boom louder and more annoying than thunder, overhead.
And if you were to see the above described person, rushing onto campus carrying an iced coffee, clearly late. Probably don't try to talk to me. I've got my headphones in and I'm reading a book while walking, despite being late.
Definitely don't snatch my book, and read off the title, that's rude, and interrupts my train of thought.
" 'Edward III: The Perfect King' Riker is never sending you back to the Middle Ages," meet Anna, tall, clever, well cleverer than me, and one of our top agents. She's been in the business longer than me, and somehow shows up to work in a comfy pair of matching sweats, with a healthy smoothie, and an osprey backpack that doesn't look like it's seen the trenches of Normandy.
"Just being prepared, my Norman French is almost perfect," I say, as we key our way into the main building. It's only five in the morning and not open to students just yet.
"And you would join the 100 years war again, and immediately die, he's not going to do it. Not unless he gets really sick of you," she says, sipping her smoothie, as we wait for the elevator.
"Which may happen, honestly," I say, taking my book back, "If he called this meeting for some boring policy lecture I will be truly pissed."
"Policies and procedures are important. And no, the text sounded serious he wouldn't do that. Probably," Anna says, looking at her phone.
Riker is our lead, well the lead. All this is his operation, and he's very touchy about making sure we adhere to strict policies and guidelines. 'Don't disrupt the space time continuum, don't come home with an incurable disease, don't die in a way that would be tricky to explain to your friends and family put down your hand DOWN Finlay there are no follow up questions that' and that sort of thing. My point was that death by crossbow bolt makes sense for me. He didn't like that. He didn't like that at all.
Marcellus Riker, on the outside he's an aging academic with an anger management problem, on the inside, he's an obsessive academic who is considering therapy. He said that while looking directly into my dumb blue eyes. So, I don't know if he actually did it.
Riker to us, he's in charge of all of the time travelers, has been since an academic friend who happens to be a prize winning physicist, wound up leaking something like state secrets to Riker regarding time travel and who else is able to do it.
You see artifacts are worth a fortune. Unscrupulous people might use time travel technology to go back in time, and steal an artifact.
We steal them back. And we either return the artifact to its rightful point in history, or we prevent the theft all together. Depends on how good our information is and what the artifact is. Riker's contact built us the time travel technology and now turned coat to our side. We were operating out of a university on the mainland, but had to go a bit undercover. Thankfully, Skagit Valley College has been generous with funding and not asking questions. We work in secret, not only because of the secrecy of the technology but also so our enemies don't find us. In reality that could be what the meeting is about. University of Washington got compromised, it's not a far stretch to assume we're here.
When the elevator doors open it's clear it is a serious meeting, not just another endless PowerPoint on avoiding infectious diseases in Europe. Riker is standing in front of his projector, but it's turned off. He's in a black button up, cup of hot coffee in hand. He's clearly been up and here for hours. Doc Hartz, our resident physicist who masterminded the technology and leaked it to us in general, is here as well. He's in a faded sweatshirt, and jeans, and is sitting at a laptop.
"What's going on?" Anna asks, walking in. There's a few camp chairs set up for us. I sling my backpack into one. "Is everything okay?"
"Rush didn't return from his last jump," Riker says, looking at us.
Anna and I look at each other.
Our third and at the moment final agent. We've had a few others. It's rare to want to keep doing it risking life and limb on every jump, as well as become fluent in whatever obsolete dialect is needed. It's rigorous at best and we had agents do some jumps, then call it quits. Anna and Rush and I are the only ones who've stayed for more than a few years, Anna the longest she's been in it since the beginning.
But, Finlay, you ask, how were you recruited to do something secret like this?
Well it was a very rigorous, intense process I not only had to be able to master the languages and customs, but I also had to be someone they could trust with this knowledge.