Thirty Days Later: Steaming Forward: 30 Adventures in Time

by Harry Turtledove

  Vivian’s umbrella suddenly caught on a passing gentleman’s hat, knocking it clear off his head. Vivian gave a cry as the hat fell, her nerves tightening like a hangman’s noose. Her hand shot out to catch the hat as her embarrassment brought a flush to her cheeks. She nearly dropped her umbrella in her frantic motions, but managed to rescue the hat in midair.

  “I’m ever so sorry, sir,” she began, inspecting the hat to see if it had been damaged by her umbrella.

  “My goodness!” the gentleman exclaimed.

  He chuckled lightly as Vivian’s eyes darted over the passing crowd. To her relief, she saw no scorn nor annoyance on any of the faces around them, and the crowd hardly seemed to notice that she and the gentleman had both stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. They all moved around them like fish in a tight school, around a particularly uninteresting rock. The gentleman smiled back at Vivian, while she raised her umbrella to shield them both from the lightly falling snow. She did her very best to hide her own anger at herself, or the fact that her heart was now pounding, and she offering him back an equally polite smile.

  “You have good reflexes, my dear,” he remarked, taking his hat back when she offered it. “Why, your hand shot out like a rabbit!” he added with another chuckle. Vivian refrained from correcting him that it wasn’t her reflexes, but her terror and her own oafish action that moved her hand so quickly. “Oh, no harm done, no harm done,” he insisted when she tried again to apologize.

  Clearly much better at being a gentleman than she a lady, he refused to let her take any blame at all as he bid her good day and hurried on after his own business. Nonetheless, Vivian’s nerves refused to be silenced so easily. She slipped out of the throngs that moved up and down the street, standing before a shop window as if to examine the display. The shop owners had clearly tried to cheer up their little window by installing a few glaring electric lights outside, to illuminate the display. With the heat inside fogging up the glass, the added lights only reflected off the glass, obscuring the display almost entirely and turning the window into a mirror.

  This optical trick allowed Vivian to stare back at her own reflection as she endeavored to collect herself. Despite the tugging winds, the rambling crowds, and the drifting snow, her black curls were still perfectly in place, gathered together in a knot under her lilac hat. She gently adjusted the angle of her hat with a gloved hand, noting that yes, the two different fabrics — from separate shops — appeared to be identical. She also saw that her understated but carefully applied makeup remained flawless. Although the edges of her silver skirts that peaked out from under her jacket had been inevitably sullied from the snowy streets, all else appeared perfect.

  Vivian took a deep breath, staring back at her own encouraging appearance. She had grown increasingly distracted in recent days, for reasons she couldn’t fathom. She seemed to be forever forgetting things, confusing dates and appointments, and most recently walking into people. Of course, she’d wondered if she were perhaps too harried by the business of her own life, but all of the other young society ladies of New York attended just as many balls and parties as Vivian did. All of them were either recently married or soon to be, and many were dealing with all of the arrangements of a coming wedding, just as Vivian was. Why couldn’t she cope when all of her acquaintances could? Surely she was better than that. Surely.

  She shook her head, forcing herself once again to stop obsessing. One more glance at her reflection promised that, although her nerves might be in tatters, she at least appeared outwardly steady, confident, and elegant. Grateful for the tightness of her corset, which held her back straight when her mind slipped to other things, and to her own natural height that gave her a perpetually lofty air, Vivian finally gathered herself enough to leave the comfort of her own company. She turned from the shop window and fell back into a quick pace to make her appointment.

  Arriving at the tea shop, Vivian removed her jacket and left her umbrella in a stand by the door. Hers was not the only one for once, as more ladies seemed to realize that using an umbrella in the snow did wonders to rescue one’s hat from the weather. She hung her damp jacket on a peg by the door and scanned the busy tea shop for Grace’s round, rosy, and forever-cheerful face. Spotting her friend at a table by a window, she hurried closer. Grace gave a pleased squeak at the sight of Vivian approaching, and rose from her seat to offer a smile and an embrace.

  “Oh you look just stunning, as always,” Grace exclaimed with amiable jealously, pulling back to admire Vivian’s silver and lilac dress, and the soft, black-velvet shrug around her shoulders.

  “Oh, come now,” Vivian replied bashfully. “But you look just darling in peach, Dear,” she added quickly, as they both took their seats at the table.

  Grace beamed at the praise and gave a shrug. Vivian had always admired Grace’s sweet, natural, and unassuming charms. In a simple peach gown with pink silk flowers on her hat, her golden hair worn long and gently curled, and no make-up beyond a blush of pink on her round cheeks, Grace struck Vivian as warm, inviting, and beautiful in ways she had never learned to be herself. While Vivian could manage to make herself flawless for a time — through a great deal of effort — Grace was always so comfortably pretty and naturally friendly that people seemed unable to resist the urge to be delighted by her.

  It was no wonder she’d been one of the first of Vivian’s friends to be married. She’d had her pick of all the most eligible bachelors in New York, and had had the luxury to choose a man she actually liked and still got along well with. Vivian had had her suitors, but choosing her own fiancé had been a chore. She hadn’t been taken with any of them. They all appeared in the same uninteresting gray to her eye, and it was hard to even tell them apart. In the end, she’d chosen the young man who had the best prospects and hoped that romance might come later. What more could she ask for, anyway? It wasn’t as if she were some daring heroine out of an adventure story. And she knew well that wishing for things like adventure or heroics never led to anything but disappointment.

  “Vivi, dear?” Grace asked, drawing Vivian’s attention back to the present.

  “Oh!” Vivian gasped. “I’m so sorry,” she said, realizing that she hadn’t heard much of what her friend had just said. She’d only vaguely realized that the waiter had appeared and served them both their tea, but Vivian hadn’t yet even sipped at her own cup.

  “Are you feeling all right, Darling?” Grace asked, worriedly. “You were very distracted all last night as well.”

  “Oh yes, I know,” Vivian moaned, remembering the party that she had barely survived. She used to love parties, but these days she found herself growing tired far too early, and also staring off into space — obsessing, or worse, daydreaming — for long moments when she should be socializing. It didn’t help that no one else ever had anything interesting to talk about. “I’m all right,” she said to calm her friend, reaching out to pat Grace’s hand. “I just haven’t been sleeping well, I suppose.”

  “You should have a nip of brandy before you go to bed,” Grace said as if declaring an order. “I always do when I can’t sleep. It puts me right out, I assure you.”

  “I’ll have to try that,” Vivian replied, smiling. “But I’m so sorry, what were you saying, Dear?”

  “I said,” Grace went on patiently, her anxiety rising quickly, “that I’m being courted by a shadowy association! They want me to join them.”

  Vivian glanced down to the peculiar letter Grace was holding up to show her. The envelope was black, and the writing on the front was in silver ink. The upper left-hand corner bore a delicate drawing of a raven, a crow, or some other dire looking bird. Grace placed the envelope on the table between them.

  “Good heavens,” was all Vivian could manage to respond with.

  “Exactly,” Grace agreed. “Why, it’s just the most extraordinary thing!”

  “But who is it?” Vivian asked, before finally having a sip of her tea. “The government?” she asked, half-joking.


  “No, apparently, it’s the Rooks,” Grace said, tapping the drawing of the bird on the corner of the envelope.

  Images of clandestine meetings in black shadows, secrets, assassinations, and international espionage in faraway corners of the world sprang instantly to Vivian’s mind. Grace had been right to call them shadowy. While no one outside of the Rooks knew exactly what they got up to, or even how many members there were, most people had heard of them in passing whenever anything frightfully mysterious or adventurous was happening. The newspapers often credited them with strange, unexplained goings-on, world-wide.

  “Now, I know what you’re thinking,” Grace said to Vivian, drawing her attention back again. “What would these unusual people want with me?” she asked, gesturing to her own innocence with a look of surprise.

  Vivian nodded, showing her own surprise, and trying not to say anything her friend might take offense at. The image she had of the Rooks would demand someone of poise and elegance. Grace, as lovely as she was, simply didn’t seem their type.

  “Well, the letter said that the Rooks are looking for Sighted people to join them.”

  “Oh, I see,” Vivian said, suddenly recalling the one thing for which she was the most jealous of her friend.

  Of course, many people these days had come forward and announced to the world that they possessed Sights: special abilities of understanding or enhanced senses that defied conventional human limitations. If Vivian had had one of her own, she too would have been happy to proclaim that she did. But even so, Grace seemed to feel anxious about letting the existence of her own Sight be widely known. As close as they were, it had taken many years for Grace to confide in Vivian that she possessed one of these special gifts at all.

  Apparently, ever since she’d been a little girl, Grace had always understood every word that was said to her, in any language of the world. She’d discovered this when her politically minded father had invited a number of foreign dignitaries to a special dinner at their Hampton estate. Grace had told Vivian that she’d thought it strange that the men had spoken in perfect English when asking their translators to say just the same phrases to the others. It had taken her a while to even realize that she’d been understanding their native languages — none of which she had even heard before in her life — just as easily as she understood her own.

  “But I don’t know if I could do something like that,” Grace went on with a shudder, staring at the letter distrustfully. “Imagine, using my Sight all the time!” she added in a disgusted whisper. “Why people would surely think me so very strange…”

  “You’re nothing of the sort!” Vivian said swiftly. She resisted the urge to proclaim that having a Sight was a blessing — a guarantee of an interesting life — and not something to hide. Vivian knew Grace well enough to know that she would never fully agree with her on that point.

  Grace offered her back a grateful smile, but didn’t otherwise respond.

  “Well,” Vivian said, unable to let the point go entirely. “I’m sure your Sight would be most valuable to the Rooks. I hear that they deal with many foreign peoples. It would be convenient to have someone with them who could understand everyone.”

  “Oh, I’m sure it would,” Grace said, still looking concerned. “But could you honestly imagine me in that sort of situation? I mean, me?” she added, hand on heart and eyes wide. “Traveling the world, translating secrets and goodness-knows what else, surrounded by mysterious men and violence!” She gave a shiver, clutching herself tightly. “Oh, it’s too much!”

  “There, there, Darling,” Vivian said, reaching across the table with an open hand.

  Grace wasted no time in taking the offered hand, holding it tightly as she took deep breaths. Concerned as she was for her friend, something began to stir in the back of Vivian’s easily distracted mind. While Grace was clearly frightened by all the things she’d just said, each point listed had sent Vivian’s heart aflutter with unexpected excitement. Could such a life even be possible for a respectable young lady of society? Vivian had heard that there were just as many Rook women as there were men. Of course, this point had been mentioned to highlight the scandalous nature of the Rooks, but just the same, might it be true?

  “You don’t have to accept their invitation, do you?” Vivian asked.

  “No, I don’t,” Grace said, shaking her head. “The letter said that they only want people to join them out of their own interest and ambition, not by any sort of force. Something about that being the glue that holds them all together,” she added off hand.

  “Then don’t let this trouble you,” Vivian said gently.

  “Oh, but I haven’t told you the worst part!” Grace gasped, looking to her friend desperately. “Paul said I should consider it. Can you imagine!”

  “He did?” Vivian asked, astonished to hear that Grace’s husband would even suggest such a thing.

  “He did,” Grace confirmed emphatically.

  “What did you say?”

  “I didn’t know what to say,” Grace said, shaking her head.

  Vivian gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

  “He said it’s a fantastic opportunity,” Grace went on, emboldened somewhat. “It’s the sort of thing that only happens once in a lifetime. He said I should be sure of what I want before I decide anything. And if I truly wanted to join them, then — can you imagine! — he said that if I really wanted to, I should join!”

  “Here, have a sip of tea, Dear,” Vivian soothed, noticing that Grace was breathing hard in her excitement. “I’m sure Paul would never mean for you to join if you didn’t want to.”

  “I don’t!” Grace exclaimed, clutching her teacup in both hands now, as if for dear life. “Why would I? Why would any respectable young lady want to join some nasty old group like the Rooks, Sight or no Sight?”

  Vivian glanced down at the black envelope. Perhaps it was the strangeness of even seeing a black envelope. Perhaps she was growing overtired from all of her distracted moments and poor sleep. Perhaps it was nothing at all but her imagination, but for a single instant, Vivian felt a strong, enticing, gravitational pull toward that letter on the table. If she’d been any other woman, she would have taken the letter for herself, then and there, and dove headlong into danger, intrigue, and adventure.

  “I’m sure I don’t know,” Vivian said, tearing her eyes off the letter to look at Grace.

  Although Grace appeared heartened to hear Vivian agree with her, Vivian’s heart was pounding now. She knew it was partly from the heady rush of her own thoughts, and partly in fear of them. Surely she didn’t truly want to join a mysterious, nearly secret organization, throwing away her entire life, just to put herself into danger. Surely.

  “The letter said that if I wanted to join I should apply at an address here in the city,” Grace said, staring at the letter with a furrowed brow and uncharacteristic tension. “And if I don’t want to join, I need only refrain from responding.”

  “Then you shouldn’t respond,” Vivian said. “Just forget all about it.”

  “You’re right,” Grace said, making her decision. She picked up the letter and thrust it at Vivian across the table. “If I had a match, I’d burn it now, but I simply don’t want this vile thing in my possession for another instant. Please. Take this away from me and destroy it!”

  Vivian stared at the offered letter with alarm. She couldn’t join the Rooks, herself. She simply couldn’t. She had no Sight. Granted, not all the Rooks were likely to have Sights. Hadn’t Grace said that they mostly wanted their members to want to be with them? But her family would never forgive her for abandoning her social standing. And what of Trevor? Maybe she didn’t love him now, but surely she would learn to, and they might well be happy together.

  “Of course, Dear,” Vivian said, realizing that she really should take the letter to support her friend. The rigid black paper felt heavy in her hand, as if it contained more than it appeared to. “Think nothing more of this business,” she added with a smile, slip
ping the envelope into her handbag. “I’ll dispose of this for you later.”

  “Oh, thank you, Darling,” Grace said, appearing greatly relieved. “You’re a dear friend to me. Yes. Now. You have a wedding to plan, don’t you?” Grace said, slowly returning to her natural, bubbly and carefree self.

  As the conversation turned on to wedding plans and occasional society gossip, Vivian had to work very hard to keep her mind on the present. Throughout the entire tea, the black envelope whispered to her of fascinating mystery, daring intrigue, and glamorous adventure. By the time she and Grace parted, Vivian felt exhausted from the sheer effort of not thinking about the letter in her handbag.

  After walking away from the tea shop, she stole away into an alcove — out of the falling snow — and slipped the envelope out of her handbag. She paused only for an instant, staring at it and feeling the world turn beneath her feet. She marveled at how remarkable it was that this little thing could cause her to feel more violently alive than she had ever felt before.

  Surely, she couldn’t return to her ordinary life now that she had gotten a glimpse of what was open to her. Surely.

  Two Days in June, Part I

  by Sharon E. Cathcart

  5 June 1832

  Enjolras kissed his pretty Marianne goodbye and pulled on his trousers.

  “I’ll be back with supper,” he said, as she pulled the blankets over herself.

  “After your meeting, of course.” Even her pout was adorable.

  “Yes, chérie, after the meeting.”

  “Bring that useless Grantaire with you,” Marianne called after him. “Otherwise, I’ll never hear the end of it from Olympe.”