“I am a little disorientated.” So she was in Rome after all. A Rome with a high tea temple? That sounded as promising a place to start as any, especially if it removed her from this smelly marketplace with its disagreeable vendors.
They walked along the edge of the square, tiptoeing around the messier gullies and several glutinous puddles. The din from the fish market was slowly drowned out by a loud clanking noise. Millicent noticed smoke hanging low over this corner of the market. As they approached the source, the clanking became more mechanical to her ear, and when Cassian delicately led her around a large stack of unused barrels, she found a noisy but glorious steam powered machine. It was made of bronze; a squat box-like structure resting on four large cartwheels. The fluted funnel chugged out plumes of steam, not smoke as she’d at first supposed. Steam clouds hung hot and greasy above them until the breeze shredded them to pieces.
“What on earth?” Millicent breathed. This was not what she had expected to see in ancient Rome. Her companion seemed very at ease with the machinery. Her question was answered. She had materialized in the version of ancient Rome that was at the root of Sangfroid’s civilization. She was torn between delight at the discovery and trepidation at her vulnerability.
This was time travel in its truest form. She had no knowledge of this place or what would be expected of her. It was totally different from projecting into the future to arrive by Sangfroid’s side where she felt safe and protected despite the dangers of that age. Sangfroid always made her feel secure. Here she was alone, adrift on dangerous waters. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if Sangfroid were to appear now? Simply walk around a corner and find her and make everything immediately better. And Hubert walking along with her! How wonderful if he were to come back. Her brother would explain everything to her. He would have loved this machine, and it would be Sangfroid who escorted her to safety instead of this clammy-handed stranger.
She imagined the elation of the moment, but it didn’t last, and desperation draped over her like a sodden blanket. Hubert was dead. She was lost in an alien world, and Sangfroid and the others were probably as lost as she was.
A naked urchin ran past her to the machine and opened a heavy, ornate door. Clouds billowed out, only these were frigid with cold, not hot and steamy. The child’s flesh mottled under its bite. To her astonishment, he began to dig out ice with his bare hands and throw it into a huge pail almost as tall as he was.
“An ice maker?” she said in awe. “It actually makes ice.” Her awe soon changed to agitation when she noticed the child’s fingers were black and disfigured with frostbite, and still he clawed at the impacted ice until the pail was full.
“Of course it’s an ice maker.” Cassian laughed. “You can’t have a fish market without ice. Well, maybe in the provinces, but not in Rome.” They watched as the child staggered off under his load.
“That poor boy,” Millicent said. “Did you see his hands? Why not give him a small shovel, or at least some sacking to protect his skin?” Her voice was tight with her upset.
“I see you are new to Rome,” Cassian said. “The child is a slave. He costs less than a shovel. In Rome there is an abundance of labourers. There are more people than actual work. It’s not like the provinces. Where are you from, by the way?”
Millicent’s skin prickled. There was something about her companion that set her on edge. He was canny enough to sense her discomfort and glide her away from the ice machine. She disengaged her hand from the crook of his arm, sliding her fingers out from his acquisitive grasp.
“It’s just that your dress is so…unusual, even for a tea maid. Is it ceremonial?” Cassian chatted lightly, as if nothing unpleasant had occurred. “Perhaps there’s a festivity at the temple that I am unaware of?”
Tea maids and temples again. Ought she inquire further, or was this something she was expected to know?
“I am rather new to the city,” she explained cautiously. “In that I cannot seem to locate the temple. Perhaps…” As she had hoped, he jumped at the chance to escort her, and she found her arm once again seized in a most inappropriate way.
He led her away from the market through a side portico and out into a broad and sunny colonnade lined with spice stalls. The odour of fish was immediately masked with huge swathes of competing incense.
“It’s best to exit from the east side of the market square. The scents are enchanting, and they clear the sinuses.” Cassian smiled at her, wafting the fug towards his nose with flapping hands. Millicent relaxed enough to take interest in these new surroundings.
“This colonnade leads to the Trajan baths, and as the spice masks the smell of the fish market so well, the spice merchants are allowed to trade along the entire walkway,” Cassian told her.
Millicent was fascinated. The stalls were adorned with colourful flags. Bright red, orange, and vivid green silk banners snapped and danced, advertising their seller’s wares on the wind. Spices spilled from out of copper bowls onto worn tabletops. The vibrant colours competed with the swirls of silk above. Platters were piled high with the yellow hues of ochre, umber, and cadmium as pure as the sun’s rays. They bloomed next to other platters of earthy reds that held the blunt heat of their homelands. Nutmeg, pepper, turmeric, ginger, clove, and cardamom, exploded upon her sense of smell like fireworks. Colour splattered the stone cobbles where passing feet trod the spices into the dirt and threw up a whirl of fragrance.
A multitude of exotic languages assaulted her ears. The deep-set smiles of the Indian and Asian spice vendors were wonderfully cheering after the glowering locals in the fish market. The cultural fusion confounded Millicent. This version of Rome had trade routes as far flung as her British Empire. She began to take mental note of the anomalies. Sangfroid’s ancient capital was much more advanced than its counterpart from her own timeline. Oh, how she wished she had someone to share it with.
Her thoughts immediately turned to Hubert, and she shut them down sharply. She was too emotionally raw to dwell on his death, especially in such a dangerous place. There was a mystery to Hubert’s demise she had as yet to unravel, and until she had, she would be careful with his memory and the disillusion his loss brought to her. She must focus on the task at hand in a progressive and robust research manner that would make her brother proud. Determined of her goals, she focused on the sights before her and collected her evidence.
Contrasting with the happy faces of the spice vendors were those of Rome’s citizens. Wealthy women shopped along the colonnade. Their children, all healthy and clean clothed, gathered around a small steam powered theatre shrieking with laughter at the antics of a clockwork monkey as it danced to a reedy tune piped by its master. For a moment, Millicent paused to enjoy the show until the monkey screeched and flung itself up a pole to escape from its audience. It was tugged back by the chain around its neck, and she saw it was not a clockwork toy at all. It was a real animal with mechanical parts interwoven with its physiology. A leg had been removed and replaced with a tiny bronze limb, the little knee pistoned up and down manically in time with the music. She could see the metal ball of a hip joint rotate in the bony cusp of the monkey’s pelvic socket. The skin on its belly and chest was pared back to show the biological workings inside the torso. The gullet, stomach, and bowels were all real enough, but its heart organ was no more than a metal and leather box that bellowed in and out belligerently. The owner gave the animal copious cups of hot water that somehow fuelled the beating heart-box.
Millicent was equally repelled and fascinated; she itched to hold the creature and examine it further. And then she looked into the crazed eyes of the little monkey and saw his torture for what it was. He glared back, and she knew he didn’t see her or the children or the gay banners blowing in the wind. He was beyond the visions of this world, and his insanity had locked his mind into a safer place. He opened his mouth and screeched and the rows of blunt copper pegs that replaced his teeth gleamed in the
sun. It was a terrible, agonized leer. The children yelled with laughter. Millicent recoiled, bumping into Cassian who giggled along with the children.
“I love the dancing monkeys,” he said and kept on watching the show while Millicent stepped away to compose herself.
The children’s mothers stood nearby, gossiping with each other or haggling with the spice sellers. Millicent could feel their sharp, disapproving looks that always slid away as soon as she turned to face them. Whatever she represented in this city, she was as welcome on the streets as she had been in the fish market. She refused to be flustered and concentrated hard on the magnificence of her surroundings. She raised her eyes to the soaring architecture and let it momentarily lift her spirits up from the cold, hard people of Rome and yowling children with their deformed monkey. From under the covered walkway, the towering arches of a vast aqueduct cut across the blue skyline. Elegant with its sheer stone-clad lines, it cradled the cityscape, dominating the buildings and streets and trailing through the city like a bold, white ribbon.
Millicent wished with all her heart that Hubert were here to accompany her exploration. He would have been fascinated and appalled, and he would probably still fall in love with this macabre city. It took the bloom from every new discovery that he was absent from her life. She blinked back sudden tears.
“The Aqua Claudia.” Cassian was back at her side, following her upward gaze. “Splendid, isn’t it? I envy those new to Rome; the city is a cornucopia of wonders, each waiting to be discovered like the sweetest morsel. It’s not called the glory of the civilized world for nothing.”
“It’s beautiful.” Millicent shifted under his gaze, uncomfortable with the way Cassian glanced sideways at her when he said sweetest morsel. He made her skin prickle. She had to concentrate on finding the others and then devise a way to get back home. Her sense of unease was growing.
On the horizon, she made out the curved white dome of another majestic building. It reared over the terracotta roofs, dwarfing even the highest tenement buildings. The sun gleamed off its gilded crests, making it beautiful against the cerulean sky. She was in Rome. And Rome, in any era, was magnificent.
“That’s the Basilica Valeria.” Cassian pointed to the dome. “Come, you can see it better from the south side,” he said, and together they wove through the spice stalls and out from under the colonnade and into the full heat of the day.
Millicent regretted they had not come across a parasol stall, she knew they were definitely a Roman commodity. Every lady in any era had fought the same battle with the sun, and she would have loved the relief of shade right now.
“We are now on the via Phocas.” Cassian continued his tour. “To the left, a few streets down, flows the Tiber, and beyond that, you can see the Quirinal Hill and the top few tiers of the Belly.”
The Belly? What a curious name. She had not heard of that particular piece of ancient architecture, perhaps it belonged to this world only? There must be many such buildings. He led her into a narrow street, hemmed in on all sides by tall tenements so that the strong afternoon sun thankfully became no more than an oblong on the cobblestones. She was fascinated with the architecture and the atmosphere of the city. The street names sounded so exotic, and she was overawed to see famous buildings in all their finery that in her time were nothing but ruins. The Coliseum! The Trajan baths! She was swept along at his side mesmerized.
“If you look to the right, you can just about make out the highest part of the temple Castores,” Cassian said. The Temple of Castor and Pollox? Oh, she could barely believe it.
“And if we go down here,” he pointed towards a wide street, “we will see the High Tea Temple of Rome across from Fruit Scone Square.” He finished his tour with a flourish.
Millicent stumbled.
“Excuse me? Did you say fruit scone?” she asked.
“Yes. I—Careful.” He pulled her to the side as a small steam powered engine chugged past them. Its rattling wooden wheels dipped and swayed over the cobbles. It was a squat, square machine in dull bronze with a plank bench seat. Several men in shining breastplates and crested helmets sat perched on top. Behind them, tethered to the rear of the machine, came a string of wretched men and women blinking teary-eyed in the smoke belching directly into their faces. There was no breeze in this narrow street to blow the fug away; it hung directly over them as they wheezed and gagged for fresh air.
“Those are soldiers?” she asked about the men in armour sitting on the machine.
“Arena guards. That’s why they’re so shiny. It’s not as if they fight.” There was derision in his voice. “They’re talking prisoners to the circus for the games.” He brightened up at that.
“Oh.” Millicent had a good idea what that meant. These poor people were to be fodder for the bloodthirsty gladiator games. She looked away. She had neither the heart nor stomach to witness the sad and scraggly procession. Rome was rapidly losing its fascination. In this timeline, and with this rate of industrial expansion, it was easy to see how Sangfroid and Gallo came to be in the outreaches of space a few thousand years later. And with the vicious things she’d seen—the slave child’s twisted hands, the monster monkey, and now these felons led away to be massacred for sport—she understood how thin the veneer of technical sophistication actually was. The smallest scratch, and the brutality of a callous, ravenous, war machine oozed out. This was what Weena had meant when she warned Hubert about planet Rome’s skewed evolution. This Rome carried its immorality and monstrosity before it like an Aquila. It had advanced all right, but out of balance and harmony with true time. The pugnacious, brutal mindset of one nation, combined with unprecedented industrial advancement, had empowered an entire world towards universal dominance. And it had managed it all through timeline chicanery, making huge technological leaps while the morals and social conscience of the Roman race had failed to develop in tandem.
“Come away.” Cassian guided her around a corner. “Prisoners are diseased. It’s best not to breathe the same air,” he said. “Ah. Here we are.”
They stood in a small square. Sunlight washed over the warm sandstone brick of a trim and tidy building. It was one storey high but looked taller due to its elevation. Several granite steps lead up to a marble portico, and on each step sat large urns filled with brightly flowering plants. It was a soft, feminine building. Beguiling in its simplicity and artful decoration. The square before it was clean, sun-filled, and airy. Curiously, a few goats with tinkling bells wandered wherever they liked. Millicent wondered if they were destined for some sort of pagan ritual or other, but didn’t want to dwell on it. Braziers filled the air with apple-wood smoke. There were a few stalls selling baked goods. Hence the name, Millicent thought, spying scones and breads of all shapes and flavours.
The square was far from crowded. An old woman, bent double with age, idly swept at the cobbles with a large, twig broom. The stall holders here differed from those Millicent had seen previously, in that they were all young, pretty women. They wore long white tunics that flowed down to delicate sandals decorated with seed pearls and brightly coloured gemstones. As she approached, she was astonished to see that, under their outer dress, the young women wore what looked to be an attempt at a bustle and petticoats. Surely that was not correct for the period? This anomaly satisfied her that there was a connection to her timeline and this version of Rome. There was now no doubt. There had been tampering!
“Would you like a fruit scone as an offering?” Cassian, as ever, crowded in at her elbow. “Or maybe a sponge finger?”
“No, thank you.” The cakes did not look particularly appealing up close.
“Of course not, silly me.” He rushed to apologize. “You are an urn, after all. You should offer up tea leaves, not baked products.”
Millicent would have loved to question Cassian on this urn business, but her unease around him caused her to hold her tongue. They were mounting the steps to th
e temple, and she decided to wait and hope things would become clearer to her once she was actually in the building. Part of her also hoped, on a vague, illogical level, that she would find Sophia safely ensconced within and most probably responsible for all this nonsense. There were too many coincidences with home. The signs were everywhere—tea, baked goods, and petticoats. Three things Sophia adored.
Millicent had reached for Sophia and grabbed her even as her body dematerialized in the time machine and had been pulled into the vortex after her. If they had travelled to the same place, it made sense that Sophia had arrived slightly ahead of her. But surely only by days, or weeks. How had she had the time to set up a lunatic religion? It didn’t help that Millicent had no notion of how they were to return to their own time. Hubert had always organized their return trips. If she dwelt on it too long, she became almost incapacitated with worry.
She was relieved to step out of the blazing sun and into the shade of the temple doorway. The atrium was a cool airy room, heavily marbled, and contrasted beautifully with the hot, dusty sandstone of the exterior. A large domed ceiling helped circulate the cooler air. It was so high that doves flew in and around the blue-eyed oculus that opened up to the heavens beyond. The clear blue of the Roman sky contrasted beautifully with the delicate ceilings, painted to resemble the inside of shimmering seashells. It was a gorgeous effect that took her breath away.
“Cassian Atticus.” A voice rang out, none too welcoming. He stooped into a low bow before the woman rapidly approaching. She was a wide lady in a long and voluminous toga, complete with a bustle that only exaggerated her size. However, she moved lightly enough on her feet to appear before them almost immediately. “I am surprised to see you here so soon after your last visit.” She spoke to reprimand, and Cassian squirmed like a guilty schoolboy.
“Best wishes, my lady. I found this young devotee lost on the streets and thought it best to return her,” he said. The matron turned her attention to Millicent. She had a broad, flat face, all dull edges and blunt features. Her hair, dyed a harsh and unnatural red, was piled into ludicrous twists and rolls that did not compliment her in any way. For all the dullness of her features, the lady’s eyes were as sharp as knives and just as steely.
The Tea Machine Page 17
