Britannia Unleashed

Temporalis-3

Belvedere gazed out over a scene of Jurassic proportions, an endless jungle broken only by scattered mountains of gigantic, jagged peaks.

“Good God, this damn place is denser than the jungles of Borneo. I’ve never seen so many trees. And not much else,” he added. “Pity Albert couldn’t be here; he’d have lapped it up. Not that he wanted me to, methinks.” He shook his head with disappointment, then chanced a look over the cliff edge. “Good God, I’m high up!” he exclaimed, then chastised himself for having taken the Lord’s name in vain three times in quick succession. “Well, well, well, what to do? There’s no knowing how long I’ll be here before the d**g pulls me back to the present, or is it the past? I’ll be buggered if I go back of my own accord,” he said, fingering the small phial of blue liquid that hung from a gold-link chain around his neck. He took another look behind to the blanket of trees that stared back in ominous darkness and weighed up his options.

Belvedere could have taken it easy, meandered around the top of the plateau, made a note or two, but that wasn’t what had made Britannia great. He stood considering what to do next when a light of such dazzling intensity it rivalled the sun blinded him. What it was, he could not be sure, but it emanated from a distant rocky spire. So high was it set on the shard of rock, it could have indeed been a second sun precariously balanced there in case the first should fall. The thing shone like a diamond cutting a blazing path through the primaeval air.

Belvedere took a few steps to the left, the intensity of the light lessening. “Hm, so it is refracting the sun,” he mused.

If ever there was a decision to be made that sealed the deal; he was going down, to go up. The adventurer in him had won out.

And that is why Sir Belvedere Wainthrop clambered over the edge of the abyss hoping the object he’d seen might be yet another impressive scalp claimed by him on behalf of Queen Victoria and the Britannian Empire.