The Tea Machine

by Gill McKnight

  Volos brought Sophia to the edge of the fountain. The dreadful music had reached a crescendo, the elders of Sophopolis were gathered around their goddess chanting their supplications, and the air began to crackle with energy. Hubert was beginning to reel them back through time! Still unsure what the correct action should be, but completely out of time for enlightenment, Millicent yelled a warning to Sangfroid and ran full pelt at Sophia, catching everyone off guard. She hurtled against Sophia plunging both of them into the tea fountain where they flailed about entirely inappropriately in the brown stained water.

  Millicent was immediately aware of the clamour. Sophia screamed, the guards yelled, Volos roared, and the singers finally shut up. She heard the slap and crunch as Sangfroid and Gallo grappled with the guards, tossing them aside as they fought to protect her and Sophia. The tea water smelled brassy and above that came the coppery tang and mechanical hum, and the skittering electrical current that hailed the incoming storm.

  “You’ve ruined everything.” Sophia’s wail overrode the queasy sensation, and Millicent made a lunge to grab hold of her. “It was going to be beautiful and you ruined it for me.”

  From behind she heard the splash of Sangfroid and Gallo leaping in to join them. They had to cling together; they had to leave this place together.

  “You have always resented my natural ability to make friends…” Sophia continued, heedless of the change in the air around them.

  Millicent had to call on her better nature not to let Sophia go again. The yelling and screaming around them began to fade away as Millicent’s vision darkened and swirled, and the world collapsed about her.

  CHAPTER 31

  Hubert gawped open mouthed. “Where did you come from?”

  Millicent regarded him with shrewd eyes. His hair was oiled into a sharp central parting. His tweed jacket sagged around his paunch, the pockets misshapen with pencils, handkerchiefs, and interesting shaped stones, and of course, string bulged out of every pocket.

  “We’re home,” Millicent declared as she flopped onto the nearest seat. “Really home.” This was her Hubert, not some slicked up, slimmed down, futuristic phantom. They had landed in her timeline, in her 1862.

  Gallo carefully placed Sophia on the couch. The events at the fountain combined with the return journey had been too much and threw her into a fainting fit.

  “My head hurts.” Sophia burst into consciousness with a complaint and sat bolt upright, gazing around stupefied. “We’re home already? Did I sleep the entire journey? Was I ill?”

  “Yes,” Millicent answered distractedly. “You fainted with heat exhaustion. Best not to speak for the next hour or so.”

  “You’re all soaking wet.” Hubert was astounded. “And what’s that smell?”

  “Tea. Putrid tea water.” Sangfroid scowled and shook her squelching boots. Gallo handed her a tumbler of whiskey that calmed her somewhat. They squelched over to the straight backed seats by the drinks table, and sat there sulking, dripping all over the carpet.

  “Hubert! You’re alive!” Sophia realized he was among them and flung herself in his general direction. He fumbled the catch, steadying her by the elbows. His face a mask of confusion. “I’ve had the most awful time in Latvia,” she bawled.

  “Latvia?” He pulled a clean handkerchief from one of his copious pockets and handed it to her, guiding her skilfully towards Millicent.

  “Yes. I was just becoming accustomed to the peasants and their rustic ways when Millicent arrived a ruined my holiday. And just as I finally had things running properly. Latvians are a terribly disorganized people with an uncommon fondness for goats.”

  “But…” Hubert was lost for words. “But…”

  “For a leading figure of the European scientific community, you seem very incurious.” Millicent knew she sounded tart, but really, they had just reanimated in his laboratory in complete dishabille and all he could say was but?

  “But,” he began again, then added, “what on earth?

  Millicent sighed and accepted the small glass of malt Gallo presented her. Another was pressed on Sophia.

  “Purely medicinal,” Gallo murmured and winked.

  “Why aren’t you dead?” Sophia homed in on Hubert now that her fiancé was standing before her in the rudest of health. “Last time I saw you, that awful mollusc creature had swallowed you. It was most upsetting. I was quite overcome.”

  “Ah, but you see Weena didn’t devour me.” Hubert became animated now the conversation had drifted into known waters. “In fact, I—”

  “Weena has a pouch in her mouth like a pelican,” Sangfroid interrupted. “He sat in there and she took him to the Amo—”

  “She spat him out.” Millicent gave Sangfroid and Gallo a stern look. Sophia was still oblivious to the true nature of their travelling. If her intellectual lassitude and cerebral conceit allowed her to steadfastly believe she had visited Latvia, then so be it. If she were ever to be informed as to the fantastical nature of her journey, then Hubert could be the one to explain it to her, preferably in private, and in a room far away. Millicent was in no mood to rehash their adventures for Sophia’s benefit.

  “I hope you washed thoroughly.” Sophia looked at Hubert with distaste. “When we are married, I shall forbid any experimentation where you are eaten. It’s too embarrassing. How will I explain it to my society ladies?” She arose with the greatest dignity available to a woman in a tattered, tea-stained toga. “I need to bathe, have Edna prepare a guestroom and send home for more clothes. Discreetly of course.” And with that she marched out into the hallway to the splintered staircase.

  “I was right, of course. The stair carpet is ruined.” Her words drifted back to them. “And this balustrade is dreadfully bent.” This was followed by a furious tutting that dissipated as Sophia’s tired footsteps moved farther up the stairwell.

  “Latvia?” Hubert turned to Millicent for explanation.

  “Pre-history to you and I,” she answered wearily. “I can only assume her mind has blocked out anything she cannot understand, or that did not make sense. Which will be about just everything that happened.”

  “Pre-history? Good grief.” Hubert was dumbfounded.

  “The grief was indeed good and liberal. But we managed to nip her deification in the bud, and hopefully put paid to her meddling with historical timelines once and for all. The fact that we are here and not in alternative London more or less proves it.”

  “What alternative London?” Hubert asked.

  “That is a story that will have to wait until, I too, have had a bath.” She was too exhausted to go into it in any depth right now, especially as she had already done so with an alternate Hubert in an alternate London. All seemed to be well with this more humdrum version of her brother, and she would report all to him after she’d had a good rest. She was bruised to the bone and needed a few hours recuperation.

  Unfortunately, Hubert was full of news and determined to share at once. “Weena didn’t eat me, you know. After she gathered me in her pouch, a curiously gentle experience I might add, she took me—”

  “To the Amoebas,” Millicent said, her voice thin with weariness.

  “And we were all floating about dead,” Sangfroid said and flapped her hands like a bird.

  “Fallen in brave battle,” Gallo added happily.

  Hubert looked lost. He gazed from one to the other. “How did you know that?”

  “You told us before.” Sangfroid sounded bored and poured another snifter for herself and Gallo.

  “I did?” Hubert instinctively turned to Millicent for context.

  “There was an alternative London,” she said. “Another 1862. A horrid place. Hopefully it only existed for a short while. We met with an alternative version of you while we were there.”

  “An alternative London. Like this one, only not?” Hubert looked dumbfounded.


  “Yeah,” Gallo said, “like this one, only different. It had automatons instead of people. And huge factories all over the place and skat like that.”

  “Automatons?” Hubert looked like he might cry at missing such an opportunity.

  “Legions of them,” Millicent said. “An entire workforce.”

  “Waiting to rise up and rip their human masters’ hearts out.” Gallo warmed to her theme. “They always do that.”

  “A London full of automatons. I would have loved to have seen that.” Hubert was very put out.

  “You were there as a future version of yourself,” Millicent told him.

  “It hardly compensates.” He paused, lost in thought. “You mean there’s a new world order still to come?” he suddenly asked.

  “I certainly hope not,” Millicent said. “It felt more like a concurrent effort. One running in parallel. Hopefully, by removing Sophia at the opportune moment, it no longer exists.”

  “But Gallo and Sangfroid are still here, so things can’t have changed.” Hubert pointed out.

  “Maybe we’ve nowhere else to go,” Sangfroid said. “Maybe this is it for us.”

  “What about Weena?” Millicent asked. “Have you hidden her in Loch Ness yet?”

  Hubert looked at her blankly, then said, “What a wonderful idea. Sheer genius. How clever of you, Millicent.”

  “If she isn’t there already, then where is she?” Millicent asked.

  There came a screech from upstairs, and she sighed. “She’s still in the guestroom, isn’t she? The one Sophia is using.”

  “I’m afraid so.” Hubert moved towards his machine, his hands already working out a calculation on his brass slide rule. “Loch Ness,” he muttered to himself. “Brilliant. Now, if I could only get there yesterday…”

  Millicent remedied Sophia’s ablution and apparel problems before turning her attention to her own. She had bathed and rested for a few hours, awaking to a household quiet in the dawning of the day. She quickly dressed and made her way downstairs.

  The house had a tranquil, melancholy air, and she was surprised to hear the murmur of voices in the front parlour. Passing by, she could make out the timbre of Sophia and Hubert in hushed conversation. Quietly, she carried on to her study at the rear of the house, wanting to prolong this time alone to reassemble not only her thoughts, but her entire being. She allowed herself to sink into the familiarity and security of her surroundings before turning to her small bureau and the bundle of neglected correspondence that had gathered over the last few days.

  Only three days yet it feels like a lifetime. She paused. In her heart she knew it was a lifetime. At least the parts that counted. The parts that constituted the whole, the parts that forged and formed her into who she was today, in this precise second. And she had come through it toughened and restructured at a cellular level. A lifetime of lessons in three days.

  Her notebook lay on the bureau. Usually she kept it in her reticule, but she did not carry that around with her anymore for fear of losing it in some foreign timeline. It fell open, and she prepared to scoff at her naive efforts to repair Sangfroid and Gallo’s bad language. But on flicking through the pages she found lists of figures and personal notes rather than alphabetized expletives. She frowned. This was Millicent2’s notebook. How had she managed to plant it in her bureau and in this timeline? Has she been sashaying all over my house? Millicent was outraged.

  Then she remembered Sophia’s sighting of her on the stairs when she had actually been in the study. Had Millicent2 been travelling back and forth managing the whole sorry adventure from the get go? She was so engrossed with the cramped lines full of spidery handwriting and co-ordinates, she barely heard the light tap on the door. Here, in her hands, she literally held a time map to multiple pasts and futures all running on parallel lines. What did it mean? Why had this been left for her to find?

  The door swung gently open, and Sangfroid stepped in to the study.

  “The house is busy this morning, despite the early hour,” Millicent murmured distractedly.

  “Cook’s up. The smell of bacon is coming from the kitchens,” Sangfroid said. She sounded upbeat but forced.

  Millicent checked the mantelpiece clock. “Is it me or does time seem to move faster now we’re back.”

  “I’ve noticed it before,” Sangfroid said. “It’s like a kind of overspill. It gets back to normal soon enough.” She came farther into the room and began to roam awkwardly, picking up this and examining that and putting Millicent entirely on edge. Millicent wanted to sit quietly and think, and she couldn’t do that with Sangfroid loitering behind her, fumbling with every movable object in the room.

  “What is it you want, Sangfroid?” she asked with a thin veneer of patience.

  She set down the whatnot she was toying with. “This is fossilized mammoth dung,” she said, clearly grasping at conversational straws.

  “Are you referring to the geological specimen or the situation in general? Please, get to the point and stop all this rattling about. What do you want?”

  Sangfroid took a deep breath and came towards her. Then she did the most peculiar thing. She sort of lurched, as if her leg had given way under her. She regained her balance looking annoyed.

  “There’s too much furniture in this room,” she announced and began to rearrange Millicent’s mother’s furniture to clear a space on the floor before Millicent’s desk.

  “What on earth? Stop abusing the furniture.”

  In answer Sangfroid lumbered down onto one knee. “Millicent,” she began.

  “What on earth are you doing?” Millicent sat bolt upright.

  Sangfroid blinked a little stupidly at the interruption then barrelled on, sticking to some predetermined schedule.

  “Millicent, I don’t know why it is, probably some timeline freakishness, but it’s like I’ve known you forever, and I feel deeply for you.” She took a breath and as an afterthought grabbed for Millicent’s hand. “Millicent, I know I maybe should have asked your brother for your hand first, but he’s busy in the front parlour with Sophia, and once, not so long ago, he said he wouldn’t allow it, but anyway, Millicent, I love you. I think I always have and I know the other you, that is…we have a future together. You told me so yourself. Will you marry me? We can do that where I come from even if it’s not the norm here,” she added.

  The mantelpiece clock ticked, stretching out the silence in the room. A bird started its morning chorus in an overhang of wisteria outside the window.

  “I’ll be really good to you,” Sangfroid said uncertainly. “Really good.”

  “But, Sangfroid.” Millicent flicked through Millicent2’s notebook, to a particular page and holding it up for Sangfroid to see. “We are already married.”

  EXCERPT FROM

  PARABELLUM

  by Gill Mc Knight

  (Book two of The Teatime Chronicles; Coming 2017)

  The soft folds of material moved freely against her flesh. It was not an unpleasant feeling, and the narcotic fibres of the cloth relaxed her as she pushed tentatively through the crowd. She felt light-headed with a strange kind of euphoria, and now she understood why the robes were called Naili, after the tribe famed for its belly-dancing. Her skin felt alive, it pulsed and crawled deliciously with every movement. It made her want to move more to enhance the pleasure further.

  The room was noisy, and a haze of cooling vapour hung high over the heads of the crowd, its purpose to keep the temperature at an ambient degree. It was necessary; heat pulsed off the bodies she tried to slither past with minimum contact, except she found herself attracted to the body heat. She forced herself to keep pushing onwards; she had to find a way through, a way out. Somewhere under the layers of sensation, a small, sober, inner voice, inhibited to the point of muteness, was warning that this could not, would not end well.

  Strangers smiled leerily at
her. Several raised their glasses in friendly salute, others reached out to gently pat her arms and shoulders in a mild greeting. She was confused. Who were these people?

  The haze above her head cleared for a moment, like cloud breaking under thermal winds, and the purple blaze of a bright and brazen neon sign, several feet high, flashed down on her like an omen of ill-boding. Millicent’s small, sober, inner voice broke loose and howled in dismay. Parabellum. She was on the troop ship, Quintus Prime, in the Parabellum bar.

  “Hey.” Gallo barrelled out of the crowd and grabbed her by the forearm. “There you are. Come on.” And pulled her back into the thick of it, cleaving a path towards the far corner. “Found her,” she called to a group of soldiers. They were all lean and lithe and louche, sitting around a drink-laden table in the relaxed manner of cheerful ne’er-do-wells.

  “Sangfroid,” Gallo cried and drew Millicent forward amid catcalls and laughter. “Here’s your birthday present. We all chipped in, but she has to be back at the brothel before midnight or it’s extra.”

  Before she could draw a breath to protest Millicent was flung onto the lap of a blonde woman soldier. She looked up into Sangfroid’s amused grey eyes and failed to see the person she knew so well. This Sangfroid laughed even as her lips found the pulse point of Millicent’s throat and sucked on it lasciviously. “You,” she murmured against Millicent’s hammering pulse, “are better than cake.”

  ABOUT GILL MCKNIGHT

  Gill McKnight is Irish but spends as much time as possible in Lesbos, Greece, which she considers home. She can often be found traveling back and forth between Greece and Ireland in a rusty old camper van with her rusty wee dog. Gill enjoys writing, roses, and by necessity DIY.

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  Website: www.gillmcknight.com

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