Sleeping Badly

“How did you sleep, Master?” George asked. At least, I assumed it was George. The name was supposed to pass down as part of the legacy. He was the man opening the crypt door for me, anyway, so therefore he was George.

“Do you know that sort of issue where you lie down to sleep and you just can't?” I asked. “Where you just keep going over thoughts in your head with your eyes closed? It was like that.”

George looked at me doubtfully. His clothes were odd, as was the style of his hair. His face was clean-shaven, too. “Uh, Master... it's been two hundred and fifty years.”

I leaned to the side and heard my back crack a few times. “Ugh. No wonder I feel exhausted from it. Worrying will keep you up forever. How did that whole thing with the Americas turn out?”

George set the latch that kept the crypt door from swinging shut. Next, he should be bringing my robe. Ah, yes, there, as is well and proper. My old clothing was rotting off of me in threads. “It's a lot to summarize. Suffice to say there are now quite a few new nations in place over there, only some of which keep any fealty to Europe.”

I shook my head, tearing off the last few rags to allow George to drape my new robe. A brilliant red silk. It felt glorious. “Ah, me. I did always tell the King to keep an eye on them. Nothing to be done for it now. Come, bring me the papers. I would read on the latest events.”

George bowed to the floor as I stepped foot into the dimming twilight. “If you'll permit, Master, I think it would be simplest if I introduced you to the internet.”

I paused and looked down at my servant. More willful than he should be. I would have to deal with that at some point. For now, though, I could humor him. “And what, praytell, is an internet?”