“After she's had six weeks of immersion in brine followed by two weeks of drying out in a hot, dry atmosphere.” Harold looked around the room. “Assuming Devious ever comes back, of course.”
“I don't understand.” Dill paused in stirring the resin mixture, the smell of which thanks to the incense, was now reminiscent of a church. “How can you say tomorrow if she'd got eight weeks of processing to go through?”
“Time travel, old chap.” Harold grinned. “As I understand it, the imps have made tunnels all over the place, and have been doing for centuries.”
“Millennia,” added Jasfoup.
Delirious put a paw to the side of his mouth and whispered. “Longer than that.”
“Anyway, the root is they can take things back in time and leave them somewhere they won't be disturbed to age. We've been doing it with books for years. Actually, if you ever need an original copy of Da Vinci's notebooks, just ask me.”
“But that's impossible.” Dill pressed his hands to his temples. “That goes counter to everything science has taught us about the nature of time.”
“No one ever said time was linear. That's just a construct that works for now.” Harold held up a finger. “Neither is it a wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey thing, the idea of which seems to have become a common misunderstanding.”
“But...What about the paradox of killing your own grandfather.”
Harold shrugged. “Why would I want to?”
Jasfoup chimed in. “Actually, Harold's rather unique in that regard. He couldn't if he wanted to.”
“Oh that.” Harold waved a hand as if the whole notion was of no consequence. “It's an odd circumstance actually. I either don't have a grandfather or...” He grinned at Jasfoup.
“Well, technically my grandfather is God.”