Rain from the previous night had washed into Asbury Street that morning and formed puddles that wicked up the hem of little Tim's luxurious red velvet robe, chilling his skinny legs to the bone as he walked. Prestigious heirs to the throne of England should not walk down gutters, but Tim did not care; he had become too angry at his father to give a rip. He flashed a mean and venomous sneer at an old beggar man as he passed. "Get out of my way old man, unless you intend to be beaten!" Tim squawked. His threats did not fall on deaf ears, for the old man scurried away, for he knew the young prince meant every vile word. Sixteenth century royalty could treat their subjects however they pleased.
Although Tim had just turned 10, his advisors had prepared him to take the throne. He would sit upon the glorious throne in a matter of weeks, his father's illness had grown worse and the end had crept into sight. King Ruford had called his son into his chamber to give him a long stern lecture. Ruford had decided to bestow the crown not upon his son, but rather to pass it on to his brother's son Ferdie. "Father! Surely you do not mean what you say you blasphemous old lump!" Tim erupted when his father told him the news.
"You have not learned the concepts of kindness, leadership and maturity that must be acquired before one takes the throne." His majesty whispered his last words as his soul drifted out of his body, floating upward and wafting through the ghostlike silk curtains encompassing his bed.
England's young former heir to the throne walked out of the King's bedchamber in a fury and huffed his way through the forlorn gray streets of his ex-kingdom. "I'll show them. I'll run away and they will never find me and will wish they had never taken me for granted." Tim said to himself as the peasants peered from their doorways. Then a curious thing happened; as he trotted along, he began to rise into the air. He shot a bewildered look at the peasants and then let out a bloodcurdling scream as he kept rising. As he did so, he noticed a kindly old wizard with his staff still glowing as if it had just cast a spell. People knew him as Lofiet, a traveling wizard with a confusing but colorful past of helping sick and angry people; however, many people still regarded him as rather queer. Lofiet smiled a knowing look at Tim as he rose and turned a corner, seeming to vanish into thin air.
Our young and rather puzzled prince continued to rise into the air, through the clouds and up so high that he could start to see the blue and green curve of the earth. Cold enveloped him in its icy grip as he passed into the bleak emptiness of space. Strange and familiar voices could be heard. "That lil' prince'll wreak havoc on our entire country if he inherits the throne." Said a gruff man's voice.
"Did I tell you he stomped on me toes as I prepared his breakfust?" Cried a distraught female voice. Tim suddenly knew somehow that these voices belonged to people in the past, talking behind his back after he had done some awful to them.
Suddenly Tim felt something pulling on his heart as if all his bad deeds had been ripped from their wretched holdings within him and exposed before a jury. "I'm so sorry! I know I have been bad!" Tim lamented. He suddenly missed his mother and father and his nurse Flutie. "I know I cannot do good on my own! Please help me to do the right things. I am sorry for everything bad deed I have committed!" In an instant Tim felt a burden lifted from him.
Then a faint voice prodded him, "Wake up Tim. This is mom!" and all of a sudden he woke and found himself safe and sound in his own modern home in California, and even more importantly, in his own century.
age = 17-18