(Untitled)

[border_princess]

What looked to be a very pretty, slim, dark haired boy, dressed like a slavic peasant of the 1640s, stepped into the Mansion. After looking around in bewilderment a well bred voice asked in Polish. “Pan Zagloba? Where are you?” The question was attempted again in Russian, Ukrainian, Ruthenian, and even broken French. “Hello? Can anyone tell

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[naturestrangled]

The Russian catches Vera's attention, and she responds in the same. "No one is quite certain where it is, I'm afraid."

[border_princess]

Helen's Russian is no where near as good as her Polish or Ukrainian, but it is passable. "This isn't Ukraine?"

[naturestrangled]

"No. It is simply . . . here. That is all anyone seems to know."

[border_princess]

"And you are a Muscovite, Panna?" The term Russian is not yet in use where she is from.

[naturestrangled]

"I come from Russia."

[border_princess]

"Moscow?"

[naturestrangled]

"These last few years, yes -- before I came here."

[border_princess]

"How long have you been here, Panna?" She is coldly polite. Her people have no love of Russians.

[naturestrangled]

"Nearly two years now. May I ask where you have come from?" Vera notes the coolness of Helen's manner, but, being inclined to helpfulness, does her best to disregard it.

[border_princess]

"Ruthenia. In the border lands of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth."

[naturestrangled]

"It will sound odd, but what year?"

[border_princess]

"The year of our lord 1648. What other?"

[naturestrangled]

"You might be surprised. When last I was in Russia, it was 1848."

[border_princess]

"Are you having a joke at my expense?"

[naturestrangled]

"Certainly not. There is a woman here who says she came from the year 2007. It is very strange, but it . . . is."

[border_princess]

Helen makes the sign of the cross. "Jezu Christye!"