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

<passage>:
BY RANDALL GARRETT Illustrated by Bernklau [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Astounding Science unknown scurrying, moving, changing—each half recognizable as it passed, but leaving only a vague impression behind. unfamiliar. For a moment, that seemed perfectly understandable. Why shouldn't the room look odd, after he had gone through— What? He rubbed his head and looked around more carefully. It was not just that the room itself was unfamiliar as a whole the effect was greater aware that only the pattern was different, not the details. He sat there on the floor and took stock of himself and his surroundings. He was a big man—six feet tall when he stood up, and proportionately heavy, a big-boned frame covered with hard, well-trained muscles. His hair and beard were a dark blond, and rather shaggy because of the time he'd spent in prison. 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. before. He looked down at the floor. It was soft, almost as soft as a bed, covered with a thick, even, resilient layer of fine material of some kind. It was some sort of carpeting that covered the floor from wall to wall, but no carpet had ever felt like this. fine wood. He walked over and touched it. And knew immediately that, no matter what it looked like, it wasn't wood. The illusion was there to the eye, but no wood ever had such a them he just let them flow. table was no more wood than the wall, and a touch of a finger to the surface verified the decision. The only thing that looked at all familiar on the table was a sheaf of written material. He picked it up and glanced over the pages, noticing the neat characters, so unlike any that he knew. He couldn't read a word of it. He grinned and put the sheets back down on the smooth table top. 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. things alone. There was no point in messing with things that undoubtedly controlled forces beyond his ability to cope with, or understand. After Time? What had Contarini said about time? Something about its being like a He shook his head. The more he tried to remember what his fellow prisoner had told him, the more elusive it became. some were lost entirely, while others remained clear and bright. What would a sudden jump of centuries do? His memory was improving, though. If he just let it alone, most of it —And gasped! It was night time outside, and the sky was clear. He recognized the impressions intelligently to his brain. What they were recording was so unfamiliar that his brain could not decode the messages they sent. with the soft carpeting it had a square, mosaic pattern, as though it well lit. For the first time, he thought of the possibility that there might be someone else here besides himself. He looked around, wishing 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." Well, it was that, all right. the unreadable characters on it. He wished fervently that he could decipher them they might tell him where he was. , he thought to himself. 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, 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 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. will die. This does not frighten me, death. I am not afraid of what men may do to me." He stopped and frowned. "But, of 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." I. I am not afraid of any man living. But you are afraid of neither the living nor the dead, nor of man nor devil—which is a great deal more than I can say for myself. Besides, there is the blood of kings in your veins. And has not a king protection that even a man of noble blood such as myself does not have? I think so. "Oh, I have no doubt that you could do it, if you but would. And then, 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 neither. He had to get back. The utter alienness of this bright, shining, lifeless wonderland was too much for him. 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 concentration, trying to bring back a memory that would not come. He did not hear the intruder until the man's voice echoed in the room. Broom's eyes opened, and instantly every muscle and nerve in his And he looked even more frightened than Broom had been a few minutes before. He was saying something in a language that Broom did not understand, and the tenseness in his voice betrayed his fear. Broom relaxed. He had nothing to fear from this little man. "I won't hurt you," Broom said. "I had no intention of intruding on your property, but all I ask is help." The little man was blinking and backing away, as though he were going to turn and bolt at any moment. 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 eyes widened. Total memory flooded over him as he realized fully who he was and where he belonged. 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?" But now it appears that we must wait until our ransoms are paid. And I much fear that mine will never be paid." "Nor mine," said the big man dully. "My faithful Blondin found me, but 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 space, a Mr. Edward Jasperson was speaking hurriedly into the telephone that stood by the electric typewriter on his desk. "That's right, Officer Suite 8601, Empire State Building. I was working late, and I left the lights on in my office when I went out to get a cup of coffee. When I came back, he was here—a big, bearded man, wearing a he was holding that in his hand when I saw him. What? Oh. Where did he go?" Mr. Jasperson paused in his rush of words. "Well, I must have gotten a

<question>:
What language was Mr. Edward Jasperson speaking?

<options>:
A Unknown language from the future
B Italian
C Unknown language from the past
D English

<answer>:

D