FSE

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The gallery was mostly empty. James supposed the late hour and the fact it was a workday contributed to the lack of customers. He'd only seen one other customer in the 30 minutes or so that he'd been browsing the paintings, prints, and posters that covered the walls of this converted warehouse. A quick check of his iPhone confirmed that closing time was fast approaching.

He looked ruefully towards the back of the huge room. There had to be hundreds that he had not had a chance to look at yet. Too bad he had not discovered this place sooner. The tour group left this remote town at '8 AM sharp,' so there would be no chance to revisit the gallery tomorrow. Thursday was Edinburgh, and this particular village was just the nightly stop for dinner and a place to sleep.

Well, he had a few minutes yet. Instead of continuing further back, he returned to the one piece of art that had caught his eye. Oh, there were some beautiful paintings here, plus many classic prints all beautifully framed. Ironically, the item that stood out above all the rest was an advertisement.

He found it easily, bright colors and large size making the poster stand out from everything else around it. Bold brown and red letters proclaimed 'CAILLER'S Genuine Swiss Milk' over the scene of a uniformed boy selling chocolates to an elegantly-dressed woman in an Edwardian railway station. The woman's features were very attractive, and her clothing made it clear she was a person of wealth and breeding. The boy was thin and gawky-looking, with a pug nose and ginger hair, just as obviously one of the 'peasants.' Emblazoned across the top of the train car was 'London to Edinburgh.'

James grinned. He and the wealthy customer both had the same destination, and she obviously had the better station in life. He'd rather be the boy, though. Those were amazing times. The lithograph dated back to 1901, more than a century past. Horses ruled the roads and only a few primitive automobiles chugged across the whole world. The Wright Brother's first flight was two years away, and construction had not even started on the Titanic. A boy of that time would have seen an astounding number of changes in the world. World War I was 15 years away, World War II 25 years after that. With a little luck, that boy might even see man walk on the moon.

He gave the placard another hard look. One hundred and thirty-four pounds. That was about $200 at the current exchange rate. For an advertisement. To be fair, it was in amazing condition to be well over a century old. The colors were bright, and only a few stains and carefully repaired splits along the edges gave evidence of its age. But it was very large, and even rolled up it would not fit in his one suitcase. The local post office was closed, and there would be no time in the morning. He wondered if the owner would shop it to the States.

"Very nice piece, that one." A very Cockney female voice startled him from his thoughts. He turned to see the owner in question smiling at him. She was about his age, certainly no more than 60, but still had a sparkle in her eyes and pleasant features. Pretty much how he'd expect Eliza Doolittle from 'My Fair Lady' to look and sound at about that age. "Quite rare, too. You don't see many adverts from the period."

James nodded, still debating with himself. He really didn't have that much free cash to spend, especially this early in the 'Grande Tour of the United Kingdom.' The package tour including transportation, hotels, and most meals. But not all of them, and there were also side expenses such as optional side tours that would mount up pretty quickly. "I really like it, but I don't think I can manage to get it home. I'm with a tour group."

She chuckled. "Aye, you're not one of the locals. Most of them won't set foot in here."

"Art critics?" James grinned.

'Ach, no." She leaned close and said in a mock whisper "I'm a witch!"

He had to laugh. "You have to be kidding."

Although her smile was wide, she shook her head. "Not at all. They are convinced that I put people into the paintings."

"Some of these are your work?" James looked around. "Everything looked professional. You must be very good."

The woman laughed, a pleasant high chortle. "Goodness, no. I mean, I am not a painter. Can't even draw stick figures." Her smile widened when she saw James' look of puzzlement. "No, I mean actually put people into the scene that is depicted. Not so great when the subject is the Battle of Hastings, but possibly very interesting when the scene is something like this."

Waiting for the punchline, James raised an eyebrow. "And what might have given the population such a silly idea?"

She beamed. "Because it's absolutely true!"

He stared at her, still sure it was a joke. But the silence stretched on, and while she looked cheerful, she also seemed to be completely serious.

She misinterpreted his reaction as disapproval. "Oh, not against their will. Goodness, no! I'm not an evil witch. Now, Muriel Perkins still carries on about her husband running off to Dix's Metropolis. But it was his choice, and I swear that the Hawthorne boy begged to go into the Bucephalus print."

There was another long silence, but he broke it this time. "So, you are saying you turn people into paintings?" He took a step back without thinking, though he was also calculating the shortest distance to the exit. "Uh, wouldn't that kill them?"

The woman looked exasperated. "I don't kill anyone! No, I put them in the scene depicted!" She strode down about thirty feet and pointed at one of the pieces. "Look here."

Curiosity won out over caution, and he moved to stand next to her. The piece was a black and white lithograph of a classically handsome young man in a flowing loincloth holding the bridle of a huge, rearing horse. After a moment, he made the connection. "Alexander and Bucephalus?"

"Very lovely work by Schommer. Done just a few years before your advert." She got a faraway look in her eyes. "Such power and grace. So beautiful. You can hardly blame the Hawthorne boy."

James nodded. Alexander was depicted as an idealized youth, lean and muscular, perfectly proportioned and very striking. "Not sure I'd want to be that close to those hooves."

She snorted. "Not Alexander! I mean Bucephalus!"

"He wanted to be the horse?" James relaxed a little, the certainty that this was going to end up a big joke returning. "I suppose you waved a magic wand and he suddenly had four legs and a tail? Is he stabled close by?"

"Oh, he's nowhere around here." She grinned. "And I don't need a wand." The woman raised her right arm dramatically with the hand bent forward.

James was suddenly struck by a hundred strange sensations, not the least of which was he was going to fall on his face. It was suddenly bright daylight, and confused images reported rocky, if almost colorless and distorted, terrain. Something was pulling at his mouth, but it was too far from his face. His feet were numb, but it felt like he had gained a thousand pounds. And then he saw the boy before him, gripping the ends of leather straps that hung from James' muzzle. His... MUZZLE?

James came crashing down on his forehooves, bewildered. The boy was speaking softly, stroking James' long, lather-coated neck. None of the words made sense, but the tone was soothing, and he felt some of the fear and confusing draining away. His skin quivered, muscles trembling with excitement, hot air blowing from his nostrils. He was a horse! No, he was THE horse! Bucephalus! He felt incredible, powerful enough to move mountains, huge and magnificent.

Fear was gone now, leaving only the confusion. James struggled to comprehend the smells, the sounds, and the strange feelings. The boy had the strong odor of all his kind, but there was something in his voice and manner that appealed to the stallion, a growing link between them. He calmed even more, snuffling at the boy's hair and letting instincts and a different personality flood in. This was Alexander and he was Buceph...

James gasped, suddenly back in the gallery. He swayed on his feet, feeling disoriented for a moment until he got used to being on two legs again. It took a moment for him to realize the woman was helping steady him with one had on his arm.

She smiled. "If a picture is worth a thousand words, being put into one is worth a million."

"I was Bucephalus!" It was a statement, not a question, for there was no denying the experience. It had been too complete, too real.

"Well, almost." The woman patted his arm. "Animal identities always take over quickly. If I had left you there another couple of minutes you'd have been the horse completely. Still you, but you as Bucephalus. As far as I can tell, even trees retain some vestige of awareness."

"Trees?" James' voice cracked from tension.

"Oh, yes. More than you would expect. I suppose the tranquility appeals to some." She smiled reassuringly, and then started walking to the front. "Don't worry. I'm not sending you into a forest scene. Come on."

He stood gaping at her for a few seconds, and then followed warily. While he no longer thought this was a joke, the enormity of what he had experienced was still sinking in. James took a shuddery breath, aware that his original skepticism about young Mr. Hawthorne's fate had been replaced with understanding and even a little bit of jealousy. To feel that power again? But...

"Wait a minute! If you already made this Hawthorne kid into Bucephalus, how could I be him too?" James almost felt silly trying to apply logic to the absurd situation, but couldn't help himself. "There was only one Bucephalus."

"If what I did was limited to real people and events, I suppose that would be true." The woman stopped and turned to look back at him. Then she gestured around the gallery space. "I have over a thousand pictures, prints, paintings, and other types of art here. Probably less than a third of them depict something or someone real. I could make a dozen people into Bucephalus - it is not the real history they go to, but one created just for them. The scene becomes real for the person who goes into it."

He looked back towards the lithograph, then fought back rising desire. "This... this is crazy! Are you going to do something to me now no matter what I want? Is that why no one will come in here?"

The woman shook her head. "Of course not! You are free to leave. Walk out now, tell anyone you like. But, as you said yourself, this is crazy. No doubt many in the village will be sympathetic, but outside of them, you'll either be laughed at or locked up. Maybe both."

It was true, he realized. And that actually put him at ease. She did not look evil. And if she wanted to harm him, he might already be a tree, or left with Alexander as a horse. Well, that didn't seem like a bad thing now, but even now he still felt the strongest attraction to the old Cailler's advertisement. Which, he also realized, they were back in front of.

He touched the glass, his finger over the boy's face. There was nothing really holding him here. Friends and family, but no wife or children depending on him. Approaching retirement age with no plans for what to do afterwards. "What happens when you put me into the picture? Will I forget everything?" It occurred to him that he had said 'when' instead of 'if.'

"I don't think so." She shrugged. "But I don't know for sure. Best guess is that life here will eventually be more like a dream, and your new personality and situation will become normal. Based on the artwork, I expect the intent is to show a lower class boy at work. Little or no education, poor, and probably average intelligence at best. There was still a strong social class system in 1901 England, and you will be near the bottom."

James stared at the brightly colored lithograph, trying to imagine what life would be like. Medicine was comparatively primitive then, and a poor uneducated boy would have to work hard to make something of himself. Wearing a uniform and selling chocolates was probably pretty good progress for a kid who looked to be maybe 15. Who knows what he will be able to do from there?

He did not remember voicing his decision. One moment he was staring at the Cailler's advert, and the next he was staring up at an attractive woman wearing an enormous red, white and blue hat. He blinked, both in surprise and from smoke and steam that drifted alongside the train. The smell of hot water and burning coal filled his nostrils.

"Boy!" The woman was holding out a shilling. "Come. The train will be pulling out in just a moment."

James realized he had a paper-wrapped chocolate bar in his hand, and offered it to the woman. She took it, and pressed the coin into his palm. "You may keep the change."

"Thanks, M'um." He smiled uncertainly and bowed his head curtly, then backed away as the engine's whistle screamed a warning. "Most kind!" His voice was different, a boy's tenor with an obvious British accent.

As the train began to pull out, he caught his reflection in the glass windows and grinned. A young teenager grinned back at him, pale blue eyes shining under the polished black brim of his cap. Not handsome, but not ugly. A quick mental survey turned up only the most basic math and English skills, and while he remembered what a computer was, the concepts of how it worked or even what it did were already getting hazy. No genius, but hopefully not stupid, either.

Stupid? He blinked as the last car clanked by and then shifted the tray straps so his sweets were more visible. Mr. Pierce said he was the best boy the shop had! Jimmy carefully put the coin away in his pocket, delighted by the generous tip. The sweet was only sixpence, and she'd paid him double.

It would be ten minutes before the next train. He strolled back to the station to wait, whistling 'Hot Time in the Old Town Tonight.' It was a new American tune that the town's brass band had taken quite a fancy to, and though Jimmy's lack of musical talent might make some passengers wince, he was too happy to care. He had a feeling that his future was going to be picture perfect.

The end