A Catastrophic Turn of Events

"Most extraordinary!" cried Monsieur Flaneur.

"Decidedly singular!" murmured his companion, Sir Wildred Bogue-Hampton.

The third member of the group, Count Ettore Metressori, merely shrugged his narrow shoulders and continued sipping from the demi-tasse in his pale hand.

"But I assure you," continued the object of their gazes, "I am from the past of the future! Well, 'a' future to be more exact. And a future that has every expectation of being 'the' future unless something -- perhaps a defluxation or a parabolic destabilization of the orbital..."

"Yes, that's all very well," Bogue-Hampton drawled, "but wherever -- should I say, whenever? -- did you find a hat-maker to construct such a fine topper in copper?"

"We have many in Milano who make such things, admittedly in finely brushed brass, but the rivets can be done in copper." Count Metrosorri dabbed at his thin moustaches with a delicately flourished square of mauve silk.

"Mon Dieu! That is the exact shade of mauve my grandmere's violets come up in," Msr. Flaneur said with a twinkle in his left eye.

"Don't you fools understand? I have time traveled here to issue a warning! And to help avert a catastrophic turn of events."

Three pairs of eyes again turned to the semi-transparent -- and exceptionally well-tailored -- apparition before them.

"Who did you say you were again?" Bogue-Hampton asked with a low chuckle.

"My name is Silas Penniworth. I am an inventor from the year 1794. Well, 1794 in my time."

"Not the Penniworths of Bath, I should say." Bogue-Hampton smiled.

"Please! You must...you must be my...allies. Together we may be able to avert this..."

"Forty-eight years from the past. This does not seem a very great distance to travel. I always presumed there might be centuries involved, didn't you?" Msr. Flaneur scribbled a quick series of notations in a small notebook.

Count Metresorri inclined his head to the right, then the left, and then shrugged slightly. "A millenium. Now that would be an accomplishment."

"Oh, very well, as you insist," Bogue-Hampton finally replied. "But, I say, couldn't you make yourself more...well, corporeal or something. You look rather like a ghost or something in that state."

And at that, Silas Penniworth vanished completely from their sight.

"Chap didn't even say 'by your leave."

"I agree, Sir Bogue-Hampton. Rude, very rude," added Msr. Flaneur.

The Count's eyes widened as a brilliant yellow flash semi-blinded them. "I think he's back," he whispered.