by Michael Rigg
I frowned. “How did it start? I mean, was there something that he sought first, or...” I let my questions drift. I had no idea why I was asking, but my only clouded memory of my own reality now had a connection here. Adeline Landry said her father began looking for metaphysical artifacts around the only date I actually knew something about—or thought I knew.
Addy shrugged. “Can't say for certain. I think it was a rusted ol' sword or somethin'.”
“Excalibur,” I smirked. She nodded in response with a disinterested shrug.
She said, “Daddy traded it for Tesla Bridge access to the Northwest Territories. Two Confederate Holdings and a military base were established in Oregon.” She shrugged again. “Made for some big money and a lot of clout, I reckon.”
I nodded slowly, my mind grinding at the possibilities, but I still felt like I was standing at the edge of a cliff looking out across broken bridges to my past with no way to draw them together.
“What else do you recall, Alice? Any scraps at all?”
"Well, there was Ray... His uniform was more familiar to me than Bryce's, and it was nothing like what I'd seen here." I felt my brow tighten. "I actually don't recall if he was a friend... or an enemy. I have... mixed feelings, somehow," I said as I felt my frown deepen.
"Ray? Someone you remember? An Imperial policeman, maybe?" Addy shrugged one shoulder and held a hand up as she smirked. "Educated guess. You have a Yankee accent."
I looked at her. Addy leaned closer, her eyes smiling with curiosity. She was eating this up. Whether it was for dinner table gossip once I'd left, morbid curiosity, or because she really wanted to help, I couldn't tell by her expression. I said, "No. The patch on his uniform, it was like your flag, but instead of the red field, it had red and white stripes."
"Red n' white stripes..." Addy muttered to herself, staring off at the ground for a moment before her eyes brightened back in my direction. "Oh! Wait here a tick, Alice! Don't ya move!"
I watched as she leaped up from the lounge chair and ran down the long porch toward the main doors.
It wasn't long after that, and moments before Addy returned to me, that I saw a flying car curve through the sky over the gables of the mansion. I could make out Bryce, and his father's white hair, as the smoke-chugging machine angled its way toward Baton Rouge. I frowned slightly, feeling sorry for Bryce's humiliation, though a small part of me—I don't know why—thought at least one of the smacks from his father's newspaper was well deserved. How dare he act all sweet and nice and gentlemanly toward me and never mention a fiancee.
My mind wandered as I thought about them together. I couldn't really picture it. She seemed so stuck up and snotty to his gentleman calm. She was overly prim, spoon-fed, a spoiled brat rich-kid, and he was home grown, hard-worked and honest to the core. Maybe their marriage was arranged, though I had to admit, she and I both have red hair. Didn't Pandora or someone make a comment about Bryce's attraction to redheads? But Lydia McFerran? Really?
My thoughts were broken by Addy's return. She held an enormous book in her hands, opened to a spread somewhere in the middle which she marked with her thumbs. "History of Flags and Banners," she announced. She plopped herself down on the footrest of my lounge chair as I sat up and pulled my legs back and crossed them. "It's some junky coffee table book of Clayton's he had in the study," she smirked. She turned the book around and slid it over my legs. I shifted so I could support the large book on my thighs so we could both see it.
There, across two glossy pages, were colorful rectangles of flags about two inches wide each. My eyes widened as I took in the history and an involuntary laugh gasp escaped my throat.
"Seem familiar?"
I pointed to the flags on the left page. Most of them were, indeed, very familiar. "I know these. Yeah."
Addy pointed to the first one with stripes. It was next to a yellow flag emblazoned with a snake, its embroidery declaring "Don't Tread on Me." The one she pointed to had thirteen red and white stripes in its field. The stars in the upper left corner formed a ring on a blue field. The caption of the image said, "Flag of Betsy Ross." Next to that was a similar flag with a British Union Jack in the upper left corner. It was marked, "1776-1777."
I nodded. "Yeah. Like that, but with..." I pointed to the current flag on the bottom right. "With those stars." I silently counted. "But wait a second. If the North and South divided into their own countries after the Civil War, why does your flag have 50 stars?"
"Because we won, of course," her voice rising as she leaned back with a wide smile. "The Confederacy has a major corporate holding in each of the fifty." Addy smiled consolingly as she added, "The red field represents the blood shed by the Confederate soldiers to win our independence from the Yankee oppressors. Sure, we are separate sovereign nations, but the Empire of the United States is technically under Confederate influence since we maintain ownership of every major industry on the continent." Her innocent smile was small compared to what she'd just told me. Then she waved a bored hand and added, “It's all rather convoluted if you ask me. Why we all didn't just run the Yankees off and lay proper claim is beyond me.”
“You didn't? I mean, why?”
She lifted her shoulders and let them drop. “More money to be had makin' slaves of the Imperial holdin'.” Addy pouted her lower lip. “Kinda ironic, ain't it?”
“Hm,” I said. My eyes panned over the flags.
I realized at that point as I gazed over the pages, that the Union, or “Imperial,” side of flag history was conveniently omitted. I pointed to a pair of flags, one with a ring of stars on blue and three broad stripes in a red-white-red pattern, and the other with a blue X over a field of red, stars lining the X. "Confederate flags," I nodded. The caption identified them as the "First Confederate National Flag" and the "Confederate Battle Flag." I looked up at Addy, "What was the Yankee flag at this time?"
Addy shrugged. "Didn't cover much on other countries when I was in school—not that that was all that long ago," she added, tossing her hair playfully before smiling at the book. "But that sure is curious—maybe you really are a Yankee? No offense, Miss Alice, but that's probably where you're from." Her shoulders bobbed again. "Could be why Bryce was all-fired about gettin' you home to the Sevens."
"What do you mean by that?"
Addy pouted her lower lip and placed a hand on my shoulder. "Now Alice don't go thinkin' ill of him."
I blinked. Thinking ill of Bryce? Besides how he made me feel like a pathetic stray dog in front of his overly mature fiancee? Nah.
"I'm sure with your accent and all, and the fact you were at the C of T, Bryce probably figured you for a spy. He's probably talkin' to Daddy now about tradin' you to Thorne & Wolfe for some huge processing fee."
I smirked, then it was my turn to shrug. "I honestly don't think so, Addy. We were well on our way before I could even speak. Bryce didn't hear me talk until we were almost to Philadelphia."
"Hm," was all she offered. She kept her eyes on me still locked on her thoughts behind Bryce's motivations. I didn't want to think that was why Bryce brought me here, but I had to admit there was a sense of urgency to bring me such a long way so guardedly. I remembered the looks between Bryce and Lucien, the almost expected way they handled my security and our pursuers, not to mention being very specific that I'd be safer here than anywhere else. I shook that off and turned back to the book. I pointed to the flags of 1861-1863. "To be honest, I remember the Civil War—"
"Which one?"
"Hm?"
"Which Civil War, darlin'? we had two."
"Oh, um... the first one. 1860s. Here." I tapped the Confederate Battle Flag in the book.
Addy nodded. "What do you remember about it?" She smirked before breaking into a mischievous grin, "And don't tell me you was
in it. You ain't near that old."
I smiled, then let my face fall serious as I speculated: "I remember the Union won the Civil War. Abraham Lincoln freed the slaves before the war was over. And I remember the Gettysburg Address. He was assassinated in a theater... John Wilkes Booth shot him." As I recited my own history, my memories were becoming clearer, sort of. I remembered things I'd learned in school. I still didn't know anything more current or recent. My only recent mental images surrounded the image of Ray Simcoe and the nightmare about the pale people with the electric forks.
Addy studied me with that crooked smile again. "You are a caution, Miss Alice. I don't know how you come up with such fiction." She reached to my lap and turned the page. There was an old ink drawing of men in uniforms gathered around a desk. I recognized the man in the center of the image as General Robert E. Lee. The caption, however, struck me. I read aloud: "President Robert E. Lee, hero of the Battle of Gettysburg, takes the oath of office as the second president of the Confederate States of America."
Addy tapped the page. "There's your great emancipator. President Lee freed all the slaves under the terms of the Confederate Articles of Humanity." She smirked. "I don't rightly know about Mr. Lincoln. Lived on as Yankee president for a spell, I believe, succeeded by someone else at the end of his term. Hmm, I don't know his name, but he was the first emperor of the United States, changed all the politics after a spell. Lotsa jobs lost. Rebellion. People movin' south for safety. More shootin' started. It was a nasty piece, that. Both sides lost a lot more in that one."
I met Addy's eyes and bit my lower lip before flipping the page back and pointing to the Betsy Ross flag. "We'd won independence from Britain, right?"
The young woman nodded and suppressed a yawn. "Mm'hm. Boston Tea Party, Paul Revere and all that. One if by land, two by sea, blah blah blah."
My gaze traveled back to the fountain. As bits of historical memory started to fall into place, I began to piece together when it was that my reality changed. It was the Civil War. But why there? And how? How did I fit into it? And how did it account for flying cars and airships, witches and Tesla towers?
I could feel Addy's eyes studying me for a moment before she decided that was enough history for a day. She pulled the book from my lap and placed it on the table between the two lounge chairs, then she stood and took my hand. "That's enough prattling about history for now, Alice. I wanna get you all cleaned up and rested before Bryce and Daddy come home. We need you lookin' all presentable like before suppertime tonight."
As she lead me by the hand, my eyes stayed glued to the cover of the book. I didn't break contact with it until I was forced to watch where she was leading me. I was curious to know more and found myself wishing I'd paid closer attention to history in my own reality.
She led me to a door in the west wing and opened it for me. I stepped in to a surprisingly cool room, massive with high domed ceilings and richly upholstered furniture. Paisley patterns decorated the cushions of love seats and a sofa. Four beautifully fashioned white chairs sat around a small tea table near the back wall which was all glass from floor to ceiling and looked out into an enormous garden. Lilies, roses and other flowers bloomed so bright they almost stung my eyes. "Oh... wow."
Addy stood next to me. "That's my garden. Of course I don't do all the gardenin' m'self. Roddy helps me a lot with it, and so do some of the house hands."
I nodded and continued to take in the opulence of the small room. Large oil paintings of a young girl next to a tall dog, next to a pony, and next to a horse with a blue ribbon hanging from its harness decorated the walls that weren't occupied by bookshelves. "Is that you, Addy?" I asked, nodding to the paintings.
She smirked. "Daddy insists I have 'em hung here. I think it's prudish if ya ask me—havin' pictures of y'self in your area of the house, I declare."
I couldn't help laugh just a bit as Addy moved off to a pair of French doors and stepped into the next room. She raised her voice so I could hear her as I moved in slowly, running my fingertips along the beautiful sofa as I brushed by it.
She called out, "So, what's the last thing y'all recall before wakin' up in the tower? You got any memories at all? Nothin' at all about your kin?"
"Well.... I guess I really must be a Yankee, according to my accent, but don't hold that against me. It's really all I have to go by." I smirked at my own attempt of humor. I heard the squeak of a spigot and water rushing into a tub. I stepped further into the room and saw Addy drawing a bath in the adjoining room. Looking around, I saw two other doors, one that went into the main part of the house. The other, I guessed, was her bedroom.
"Oh, you may sound like one," Addy smiled as she returned to me, wiping her hands with a small white towel, and indicated one of the chairs by the glass wall. Nodding, I sat down at the small table. "But you ain't no Yankee girl, I can tell that much."
"How so?"
"Well, for starters, you raised your tone to daddy. I expect a Yankee girl woulda fell down cryin' at the sight o' what he was doin' to Bry. Only a spirited belle would have the gumption to stand up to such a mess." She sat next to me at the small white table and patted my hand. "Don't you worry. Daddy's thunders always pass—even these."
"What'll happen? With the contracts, I mean?"
"Well," she sighed, "I expect Daddy and Bry will get it handled. That's why they're goin' to Baton Rouge. That's where the Thinkin' Machines are. I expect daddy's gonna pull some levers and such, set the world to rights." She rolled her eyes. “He always does.”
I nodded absently. "Really? That's all there is to it?"
Adeline smirked disinterestedly. "I don't care much for politics." She shrugged. "I just expect that's what's gonna happen. Clay would know more, but he's too self-absorbed, ya ask me."
I nodded again, then smiled and blinked. Then I took a chance. “Addy... what do you know about pale men brandishing electric forks?” I could see rather than hear her sharp intake of breath. Addy glanced left and right before leaning across the table. I reflexively leaned closer as well. I figured she was about to whisper her answer. “You mustn't talk about them,” she said in a low voice.
“Why not? Who are they?”
“Ssh!” Addy glanced around again. “You mustn't. Land o' lies, Alice, you are surely a rare one to be sportin' for that kinda trouble.”
“Trouble? Why would they be trouble? What do the forks mean?” Addy jumped up. "Oh, let me get you some nice chamomile tea you can sip whilst ya bathe." I reached out to stop her, but she was up with a spring. "Oh, don't. I'm fine.”
“It's no trouble t'all." She pulled a sash hanging from the ceiling by the door and a voice came through a tiny funnel embedded in the door jamb. I closed my mouth. I decided to file away that information about the fork people and lie low. It was a man's voice on the intercom, British, and I assumed another butler like Lucien. "Yes, Miss Landry?"
"Roddy, would you be a dear and bring in some chamomile tea? I have a guest."
The voice buzzed back, "Yes, Miss Landry."
Addy smiled and winked at me before crossing the room to the bath beyond the French doors. Her voice came back. "The water's a trifle hot, but should be snug as biscuits by the time you prepare your tea and strip down to yer all-togethers.”
A lump formed in my throat as I remembered changing in front of Pandora... and her reaction to the marks on my back, but I swallowed it when she crossed the room and said she'd leave me alone to bathe. There was no way I'd let her see the scars after she confirmed Pandora's own reaction to them.
"I'll give ya your privacy and go finish with the horses. I'll fetch you some proper clothes, but I'll start ya off with some bedclothes." She entered the door closest to me. I saw a large room decorated in lavender, and a four-poster bed with white mosquito netting o
ver it. The bed itself was nearly four feet off the ground and looked as soft as a cloud. "This here's my bedroom. You can crawl right in if ya like, catch up on some rest once you've cleaned up."
I smiled as she busily crossed back to the bathroom with an armful of clothes. "Thank you, Addy. You're very kind."
Addy offered me a grin. "Oh, you save your sugar. I'm just doin' what's right by a guest in a Christian home."
I allowed myself a sigh of relief after concealing a 'huff' at the thought of Lord Landry being the master of anything remotely Christian. After the reception we all got from the master of the estate I had been deathly afraid that I'd be hitchhiking my way back to my memories.
A moment later the running water stopped and Addy joined me at the table. She let loose a sigh of her own and brushed back a loose strand of hair. I was about to ask about Bryce and Lydia McFerran when the door opened —
And I jumped up, knocking my chair over and stumbling back against a bookcase. My hands came up on instinct, the heel of my right hand cocked for a punch, my left arm angled out as a shield.
Though the man coming into the room was dressed in what appeared to be a white waistcoat and carried a silver tray with a carafe of tea, it was his face that shocked me. His head looked to be wrapped in stitched leather like bandages made from animal hide. He had no nose or ears that I could tell. In fact, his head was almost completely round but too small to be a mask. The eyes were round brass goggles with black lenses and the mouth was a smaller brass ring with a speaker grill in it. The top of the man's head was capped with a copper bowler and a short antennae. A constant hiss-clicking sound came from his chest. Gears and levers turned and clicked in the exposed abdomen below the waistcoat.
Seeing my reaction, he stopped and stood up straight, his head tic-tic-ticking as he turned to face Addy.
"Apologies, Mistress," he said in the same mechanical voice I'd heard on the house's intercom. Then I realized it wasn't an intercom at all but a series of tubes through the house, and this was... a robot?
