Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.

<passage>:
unknown, fleeing outwards and away toward a somewhere that was equally unknown scurrying, moving, changing—each half recognizable as it distances, trying to fit them together again in an ordered whole. Like a vast jigsaw puzzle in five dimensions, little clots and patches formed The process was far from complete when Broom regained consciousness. Broom sat up abruptly and looked around him. The room was totally He rubbed his head and looked around more carefully. It was not just for, but it wouldn't come. A face flickered in his mind for a moment, and a name. Contarini. He seemed to remember a startled look on the Italian's face, but he could neither remember the reason for it nor when it had been. But it would come back he was sure of that. Meanwhile, where the devil was he? some kind. It was some sort of carpeting that covered the floor from it looked almost normal, except that the objects on it were like nothing that had ever existed. Their purposes his palm and held it there. There was nothing to be afraid of! He laughed at himself softly. He'd faced death a hundred times during immediately discernible. There were several rows of studs with various unrecognizable symbols on them. This would certainly be something to tell in London—when and if he ever got back. He stopped, Time? Time? What had Contarini said about time? Something about its being like a river that flowed rapidly—that much he remembered. Oh, yes—and that it was almost impossible to try to swim backwards against the current or He shook his head. The more he tried to remember what his fellow prisoner had told him, the more elusive it became. He had traveled in time, that much was certain, but how far, and in which direction? Toward the future, obviously Contarini had made it plain that going into the past was impossible. Then could he, Broom, get would a sudden jump of centuries do? would come back, and he could orient himself. Meanwhile, he might as well explore his surroundings a little more. He resolved to keep his Broom decided he might as well get a good look at whatever was outside the city that stretched below him. And what a city! At first, it was difficult for his eyes to convey their impressions intelligently to his brain. What they were recording was so unfamiliar that his brain could not decode the messages they sent. There were broad, well-lit streets that stretched on and on, as far as Broom backed away from the window and let the curtain close. He'd had all of that he could take for right now. The inside of the building, his immediate surroundings, looked almost homey after seeing that monstrous, endless city outside. He skirted the table with its still-humming machine and walked toward the door that led to the other room. A picture hanging on a nearby wall unfamiliar, outlandish clothing, but Broom had seen odder clothing in his travels. But the thing that had stopped him was the amazing reality of the picture. It was almost as if there were a mirror there, It wasn't, of course it was only a painting. But the lifelike, somber chair. Broom's footsteps sounded loud in the room, the echoes rebounding with the soft carpeting it had a square, mosaic pattern, as though it better. But there had been no chance of that, of course. Prisoners of war are of some kind, but it had been difficult to tell whether there had been anyone walking down there from this height. Contarini had said that it would be ... how had he said it? "Like sleeping for hundreds of years and waking up in a strange world." he moved. door, but it was much too tiny to be a keyhole. Still— It didn't matter. If necessary, he could smash the glass to get through door. insistence, as though it wanted to close itself. He almost let it close, but, at the last second, he changed his mind. Better the devil we know than the devil we don't , he thought to himself. this mysterious place. stone-walled dungeon, with its smelly straw beds, lit only by the faint shaft of sunlight that came from the barred window high overhead. Contarini, the short, wiry little Italian who was in the next cell, looked at him through the narrow opening. "I still think it can be done, my friend. It is the mind and the mind alone that sees the flow of time. The body experiences, but does not see. Only the soul is capable of knowing eternity." Broom outranked the little Italian, but prison can make brothers of all men. "You think it's possible then, to get out of a place like this, simply by thinking about it?" Contarini nodded. "Why not? Did not the saints do so? And what was that? Contemplation of the Eternal, my comrade contemplation of the Eternal." Broom held back a grin. "Then why, my Venetian friend, have you not left this place long since?" "I try," Contarini had said simply, "but I cannot do it. You wish to know why? It is because I am afraid." "Afraid?" Broom raised an eyebrow. He had seen Contarini on the battlefield, dealing death in hand-to-hand combat, and the Italian hadn't impressed him as a coward. "Yes," said the Venetian. "Afraid. Oh, I am not afraid of men. I fight. Some day, I may die— will this, I have a great fear. Only a saint can handle such things, and I am no saint." "I hope, my dear Contarini," Broom said dryly, "that you are not under the impression that I am a saint." "No, perhaps not," Contarini said. "Perhaps not. But you are braver than I. I am not afraid of any man living. But you are afraid of neither the perhaps, when you are free, you would free me—for teaching you all I know to accomplish this. My fear holds me chained here, but you have no chains of fear." Broom had thought that over for a moment, then grinned. "All right, my friend The memory faded from Broom's mind. Had he really moved through some its many tables, into the brightly lighted room beyond. He stopped. What could he do now? He tried to remember the things that the Italian had told him to do, and he could not for the life of him remember them. His memory still had gaps in it—gaps he did not know were there because he had not yet probed for them. He closed his eyes in Broom's eyes opened, and instantly every muscle and nerve in his Broom laughed. "You have nothing to fear from me, little man. Permit me to introduce myself. I am Richard Broom, known as—" He stopped, and his was and where he belonged. And the fear hit him again in a raging flood, sweeping over his mind and scattered again during the passage through centuries of time came back more quickly and settled back into their accustomed pattern more easily. The face was that of the Italian, Contarini. He was looking both worried and disappointed. "You were not gone long, my lord king," he said. "But you were gone. Of that there can be no doubt. Why did you return?" Richard Broom sat up on his palette of straw. The scene in the strange why I had gone to that ... that place. And when I remembered, I came back." Contarini nodded sadly. "It is as I have heard. The memory ties one too strongly to the past—to one's own time. One must return as soon as the mind had adjusted. I am sorry, my friend I had hoped we could escape. But now it appears that we must wait until our ransoms are paid. And I much fear that mine will never be paid." he may not have returned to London. And even if he has, my brother John may be reluctant to raise the money." "What? Would England hesitate to ransom the brave king who has fought so gallantly in the Holy Crusades? Never! You will be free, my friend." But Richard Plantagenet just stared at the little dish that he still held in his hand, the fear still in his heart. Men would still call him "Lion-hearted," but he knew that he would never again deserve the title. And, nearly eight centuries away in time and thousands of miles away in Suite 8601, Empire State Building. I was working

<question>:
What city does Broom wake up in?

<options>:
A New York
B London
C Unknown
D Venice

<answer>:

A