by Robin Trent
Several days had passed when Rebecca brought Ophelia into Elizabeth's room. The babies needed to be fed and it was time for their mother to resume her duties. Elizabeth was laying on her side and Rebecca placed the baby on the bed next to her. Elizabeth let the baby latch on and caressed her silken head. She softly murmured endearments as Ophelia grabbed her finger. It was such a sweet tender moment, Rebecca thought surely Elizabeth must be over her hysterics and ready to feed Euphemia as well.
Rebecca removed the now sleeping Ophelia and carried her back to the nursery. Elizabeth sat up in bed, fluffed her own pillows and propped herself into a sitting position. Rebecca soon returned carrying that thing. It wailed and flailed its dark, brown leathery arms. She placed the changeling in Elizabeth's lap and the changeling smiled its evil, toothy grin. Elizabeth shrunk inside at the thought of breast feeding that. "I can't, I can't," Elizabeth said. She swallowed down her fear as it began to overwhelm her.
"Now mum, you have ta breast feed both your children," Rebecca said in a sing-song voice like she was talking to a child. "If you don't feed the little one, she'll die of starvation."
"I can't and I won't. I won't let that thing near me. That is not my baby." Elizabeth picked up the changeling and began to shake it. "Where's my baby? What have you done with her?"
Rebecca gasped and reached out to save the child from its mother. She put her hands around the baby's waist, up under its arms, and began to pull the child toward her.
But Elizabeth would not let go. "You foul, wretched little creature. I want my sweet Effie back. You had no right to take her!" Elizabeth continued to shake the changeling until she felt a resounding slap across her cheek that sent her head reeling. She let go and Rebecca took the baby from her.
Helen stood over her daughter with disgust and Elizabeth drew her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arm over her head protectively. "I'm not crazy,"she said.
"Oh?" Helen wondered if her daughter was acting or in earnest. "Sane people do not behave this way. No one sees what you claim to see. If you aren't mad then you are playacting. Seriously, Elizabeth, this needs to stop. Now."
Rebecca took Euphemia back to the nursery and gave her a bottle. If the missus wasn't going to nurse the child, Rebecca would undoubtedly make sure she ate. No baby was going to starve on her watch. Even so, Elizabeth made Rebecca uneasy. And she hated to see Helen dole out her abuse. Rebecca wondered. What if she tried feeding the baby solid food? Food the fae loved and couldn't resist. Would that prove that what Elizabeth was saying was true? If it did then maybe Helen would stop berating her daughter.
Nikolai had left England on the 3rd of July and after twelve days of travel, here he was in the port of Alexandria. The air was rich with exotic spices. It seemed so very far away from his country home in Cumberland. He already missed Elizabeth and the girls. He was greeted at the dock by one of his fellow archaeologists, Henry Wilbur.
"Nikolai, old chap. So very good to see you. I was beginning to feel like the only sane man here. The destruction has been just ghastly." Henry looked as if he had aged a few years, even though he had only been at the site for a few months. His haggard appearance being the result of a lack of sleep and too much drink, no doubt.
"Yes, I see the war campaign is in full swing. All the ships in the harbor. It's hard to miss." Nikolai squinted out over the water as he viewed the armada of ships anchored at port or staying out to sea just beyond reach. "Has the fighting reached full swing then?"
"Unfortunately. And most of the locals have turned hostile. It's only the highly educated that will cooperate, and that's because they understand the need to preserve the antiquities. However, I don't think they are happy about us shipping them back to England. Considered theft, you see."
His bags loaded into a wagon, they began the trek to the hotel. It wasn't far from port.
"You had a good trip then, old boy?"
"Yes, yes, the seas were quite calm." Nikolai stared out the carriage window. "I'm anxious to get this project underway and get back home."
"Of course, of course," Henry acknowledged.
The ride to the hotel was short. It didn't take long to get his bags placed in his room, and then he decided to join Henry for a spot of lunch before going over to the museum.
"Do you see those two over there?" Hoznac stuck an elbow in Strakx's rib.
Strakx jumped a little and rubbed his side. "Yeah, I see them."
Hoznac and Strakx were disguised as humans. And they were the ugliest humans imaginable. They hated humans, so it was hard for them to give pleasant looks to the forms they took. Both were fat, sweaty, had warty faces, knobby hands and feet, foul breath, and greasy hair. They thought their disguises were a hoot.
"We're supposed to report when the good guv'nor arrived. And that's 'im." Hoznac pointed a warty wizened finger at Nikolai and Henry eating lunch.
"So? Let's make the report then so we can get out of this infernal heat and go back home." Strakx was not used to the dry, arid conditions of Egypt. He felt his skin drying out with every breath he took. It was a little disconcerting.
"Don't get too excited there, old chum. I have a feeling reporting his presence here at the war is just the beginning of our assignment."
"Oh, bollocks."
Rhys cut a dashing figure as a human. He was dressed in officer's clothes and walking about the encampment unimpeded. He was tall, about 6 feet, which made him taller than most. Broad-shouldered and narrow-waisted, he looked like a hero in one of those romance novels the women were all atwitter over, except of course, for the scar. He liked it that way. Rhys loved to draw attention to himself and was vainer than most. He looked down on humans just like all of his ilk, but he wasn't going to belittle himself by being ugly, unlike the two that were approaching him right now.
"Good evening, sire." Hoznac bowed. Strakx doffed his hat and nervously played with it.
"Don't do that here," Rhys hissed. "The humans have no idea who I am, and I plan on keeping it that way. Follow me."
They went inside a tent and immediately went invisible.
"Explain to me again why we have to keep donning human disguises? Can't we roam around invisible like normal?" Strakx did nothing to hide his disgust.
"What's the fun in that?" Rhys grinned from ear to ear. "You can mix with the locals."
Strakx gave Rhys a dubious glare.
"Oh, of course, I am just here to investigate the male subject." Rhys winked at Strakx, and Hoznac snorted snot. "Besides, humans cannot appreciate my ferociousness if they can't see me, and I like the effect. So," Rhys swept his hands in an all-inclusive gesture, "what news do you bring me?"
"He's here, sire -- the archaeologist. You wanted us to inform you as soon as he arrived. He's staying over at the hotel." Hoznac scratched his behind.
"Ah, the human. Yes, I've been waiting for this chance. What a perfect setting, war, and all. Is he alone?"
"He didn't bring his mewling brats and simpering wife with him if that's what you mean." Hoznac ribbed Strakx with his elbow again.
"We know the rest of the family is in England, you idiot!" Strakx took a swipe at Hoznac's head. Hoznac jumped and turned ready to pummel Strakx. "There is a man he appears to be working with, Rhys," Strakx said as he dodged Hoznac's fist.
"Very well then, we can set our plans in motion. You two go back to the hotel and keep an eye on him. If anything unusual happens, report back to me here."
Strakx nodded, and Hoznac bobbed.
"And Hoznac, try to be a little less disgusting. Even I'm offended." Rhys wrinkled up his nose and lifted an eyebrow.
"Yes, sire." Hoznac grinned from ear to ear.
Nikolai retired to his rooms after a pleasant dinner and a few too many brandies with his good friend Henry. Billowy white curtains donned the windows and doorways and netting covered the four poster bed. The smell of incense wafted up from the street to scent his room as it stood open to the elements. It hadn't taken him long to fall asleep and dream of his wif
e and beautiful daughters. It had been a long day and tomorrow would begin his real work as he and Henry began salvaging what they could.
As he slept, he was unaware that a dark figure with a glowing copper eye stood at the foot of his bed. Rhys just couldn't stay away. He had to see the human for himself. He didn't see anything special about the man that would draw Queen Oonagh's interest. However, for Rhys, the man's occupation was enough to draw his ire. This was not the first time he had dealt with an archaeologist.
The man hadn't meant to destroy precious artifacts and a Sidhe mound that was sacred to the fae. No, this was just what humans do. All in the name of science or discovery, or what have you. In the old days of the faith, a man like the one before him would have met with a certain fate. Even the mere act of cutting brush on a fairy mound was punishable by death. But the queen wanted peace between the races so that no longer happened.
Ever since the peace ensued, humans had grown bolder, taking whatever they pleased without thought or consideration for the Good Folk or what they might disturb. It burned Rhys up. He watched them destroy, he watched them act as if nature were just a thing and not something living and breathing.
Rhys had been around for a thousand years and he had witnessed many changes. These new changes he did not approve of. It was better when the humans feared the fae. He had watched the other archaeologist from the woods in his native Ireland. He was poking around the faery forts, which were ancient dwellings built in the middle ages. These dwellings, when abandoned, were given to the fae to use as they please. Back then, humans knew protocol and how to be respectful. Once you give something to the fae, you do not attempt to take it back. Not only that, but you most certainly don't attempt to destroy it. Rhys assumed this man to be the same.
A plan formulated in Rhys's mind. Now that he knew where the archaeologist was, he was going to keep track of him. Rhys was bored playing the human war games anyway. This had purpose. He would see where the man went and if he disturbed one faery artifact, he would cut him down where he stood.
8
Titwell found attics fascinating. They always contained the remnants of a life forgotten, which allowed him to learn about the owners of the house without having to be near them. It was also a convenient place to remain unseen for long periods, and he had more than one way to occupy himself. Steamer trunks full of old postcards, bits of fabric, family pictures, and love notes; those were the most revealing. But a dressmakers bust told him someone knew how to sew, and a croquet set spoke of yard games for women no longer played. Pregnancy probably caused these items to be stored away. Titwell never did understand the fashion of human women convalescing during pregnancy. Why, he knew elven females who could go to war while pregnant, and it didn't phase them a bit. Human women seemed so frail in comparison.
To his delight, Titwell found a twin bed hidden behind a dresser and an abandoned rocking chair. There were plenty of items already in the attic for him to make a home. He wouldn't have to "borrow" anything from downstairs, except maybe a broom and dustpan, and he could get those tonight when everyone fell asleep. Rearranging the furniture would require some muscle, but he believed he could manage. Titwell was unusually tall for a house brownie, though extremely short by human standards. Still, he was big enough to move the bed and the dresser and if he was careful, he was sure he could move things around without alerting the household.
Rebecca stirred the stew pot and lifted the spoon to her lips. Ah, perfect. She glanced out the window and found her husband busy in the garden as usual. She moved towards the door and was just about to call John when she heard a scraping noise. Rebecca paused mid-stride and stood still, listening. Just when she began to think she imagined it, she heard it again, louder. Rebecca smiled knowingly. "John. Lunch!"
"Good. I'm starving." Rebecca jumped as Helen came into the kitchen.
"I was just getting ready to prepare a tray for Mistress Elizabeth." Rebecca moved over to the cupboard and started pulling down cups and platters and a tray.
"Would you make me a tray as well, Rebecca. I will have mine in the study."
"Yes mum," Rebecca said. The scratching noise sounded once more.
"What was that?" Helen asked.
"Don't mind that none mum,” Rebecca said hurriedly. “It's just rats. John will take care of it after lunch."
"John will take care of what?" John walked in the back door just in time to hear his wife talking about him.
"Rats, dear. We need to put the arsenic in the attic again." Rebecca hurriedly ladled stew into bowls and placed nice large pieces of homemade bread on plates and put everything on the trays.
"Aye then. I'll take care of it." John took a seat.
"See that you do." Helen said as she left the kitchen.
John looked askance at his wife but said nothing; he was hungry.
Erna Cook was a mother to six children. Her children were all well fed and taken care of. She wasn't sure how she felt about the baby she'd just lost. A fever of some sort had claimed its life like a thief in the middle of the night. But she already had so many mouths to feed, and she was so tired. She knew she should feel one way or another, but exhaustion kept most of her emotions at bay.
Her breasts ached. That was the way of it. Lose a child, and the milk still wants to come in. She would have to deal with that pain now until they dried up. If she had been a fair, gentlewoman of wealth and privilege, she would have been put to bed to convalesce. But she was a simple farmer's wife, and milking didn't stop, and the children still needed to be fed.
Erna grabbed a pail and walked out to the barn. She found the stool and sat down beside Penelope and started to squeeze milk into the bucket. The rhythmic sound of the milk hitting the bottom of the pail lulled her mind, and her thoughts turned to the local happenings. She had been in town not that long ago and had run into Abigail Young, the town gossip. That wretched woman had nothing but unkind words for the new Mrs. Merkova. Sounded more like jealousy to Erna, but she knew what kind of trouble Abigail could cause so she kept her mouth shut. And the charming new minister was visiting everyone and trying to get even the strays to come to church.
Abigail thought it was her business to "help" the poor minister. That thought caused Erna to smirk. That woman had no idea how everybody saw her. Erna stopped and wondered if Abigail would have the common sense to be embarrassed if she knew what everyone thought about her.
She continued with her rumination while milking the cow. Erna did not notice the visitors in the barn, nor would she since they were invisible to the human eye. Two of the queen's guard watched and assessed the situation. They had overheard while listening to gossip in the village that Erna Cook had lost a child. The woman seemed well enough. The only way for them to determine if she would be able to nurse the child was to wait until nightfall and get her to come along quietly. That was never an issue, not with memory dust.
Nikolai arrived at the museum promptly at 8:00 am. Most of his colleagues would not arrive for another hour, but he was too excited and wanted to get started right away. Fatherhood was wonderful, and he adored his young family; however, this was what he lived for. The smell of parchment, dust, age, old wood, these were the incenses of his religion, and he was now standing in the middle of his temple. Nothing excited him more, moved him more than secrets to be revealed, ancient artifacts, mysteries to be uncovered. He stood in the middle of the museum and lovingly ran his hand over an old vase, a desk of gold and ivory, a carved obsidian cat.
The morning sunlight glinted through the windows and cut a wide swath across the marble floor. Dust motes danced in the beams as the natural light warmed the room. Nikolai turned his face toward the warmth and closed his eyes. In this one perfect moment, he felt peace in the utter silence. Time felt suspended as if all normal activity was on pause and may or may not resume again.
He would never be able to put into words the sheer joy he could experience over a new discovery or how the thirst for knowledge drove him to distraction
. This was a part of himself he never shared with anyone, and yet part of him wondered if it would be possible to share this with Elizabeth. To be truly known. To have someone understand his inner workings and that this was not just a job but his life. He had a sudden urge to talk to her. He wanted to be able to share this with her. Tonight he would sit down and write her a letter.
Footsteps echoed loudly from the hall and Nikolai looked up from his musings to find Henry approaching. "Good morning, Nikki!" Henry was bubbling with enthusiasm. "Are you ready to begin, old chap? We have a lot of work to do today before the bombing starts. Hopefully they'll miss us altogether." Henry winked and smiled. Nikolai wasn't sure he appreciated Henry's rather macabre sense of humor this morning, and he paused to give Henry a rather dubious look. Henry chortled with amusement, and Nikolai's face broke into a grin.
"Mrs. Barker, there is a Mrs. Abigail Young here to see the young mistress. I told her today was not a good day, but she is insisting." Rebecca could see the strained look on Helen's face and pretty much felt the same way herself. Abigail Young had an uncanny way of always showing up at the wrong time.
Helen sighed. "Show her in, Rebecca."
Helen was already seated in the parlor. She had her feet up and was taking a break. She had taken on her daughter's duties planning meals, talking with the butcher, making sure the shopping was done. Her daughter seemed to be recovering. Doctor Barrett said he would be back today, and Helen hoped he would give Elizabeth the all clear.
Helen lowered her feet off the footstool and smoothed her dress to ready for company. She hated it when people forced themselves upon you without warning. It seemed like the height of rudeness. A rather portly woman with hair severely pulled into a bun entered the parlor sweating and huffing even though it was fairly cool outside.
