‘There was a book,’ Katie said, ‘Tempus Fugit, Libertati Viam Facere – and the card: the aide-memoire.’
‘Katie arrived with quite a bit of cargo,’ Bernardo DuQuelle said, and opening a drawer, he took out the original book and the embossed card that had flown Katie through time.
‘What about the mirror?’ Katie asked. ‘I arrived deep in the looking glass.’
‘It’s in the Palace,’ DuQuelle replied, ‘but it was a conduit only; it didn’t actually give you the power . . .’
‘There were those loose fitting garments she arrived in,’ Alice added.
‘Pyjamas,’ Katie interjected. ‘My pyjamas, they’re in the carpet bag, James.
They piled all of the belongings into the centre of the room. DuQuelle circled the small mound of odd and ends and sniffed about; then shook his head. ‘This won’t work,’ he said. ‘Katie’s gift comes from the words. She has great power, when the right words come. I don’t believe the right words lie before us.’
Katie couldn’t believe DuQuelle. If ever she needed an optimist, this was the time. She looked beseechingly at Alice and James.
‘Why don’t you put on those ghastly pyjamas of yours,’ James said, ‘to get you in the mood.’
‘At least I’ll be comfortable,’ Katie replied gloomily.
She scooped up the pile of her things, and disappeared behind the carved wooden screen in DuQuelle’s study. Her clothes were so filthy, she almost had to peel them off. Letting out a sigh, she loosened the corset and rolled down her stockings. Her skin was grey with the dust and travel. She smelled sour and sweaty. All Katie really wanted to do was have a bath and go to bed. But an underlying anxiety drove her forward. It was as if an entirely different life was going on beneath the surface. If only she could reach it.
‘There is something I want to ask you,’ she said from behind the screen. ‘Florence Nightingale, what’s going on with her?’
‘And what do you mean, what’s going on with her?’ DuQuelle replied. ‘That is a question with no meaning.’
Katie peeked around the edge of the screen. ‘You know perfectly well what I mean,’ she said. ‘Is she as you are, Bernardo DuQuelle – or is she as we are?’
DuQuelle examined his nails as if they contained an epic tale. ‘It is a woman’s prerogative to keep her own secrets,’ he said finally. ‘If Miss Nightingale hasn’t spoken, then I certainly won’t.’
‘Katie,’ Alice said. ‘I can see your shoulder from here, and Jamie is looking very embarrassed.’
‘I am not,’ James protested. ‘After what we’ve seen, do you really think I would react to Katie’s scrawny shoulder?’ They began to bicker, lightly but, Katie thought, happily; the way great friends or couples do.
Katie shrugged into her pyjamas and, separating out the walking stick, the book and the card from her things, began to pack the rest into her carpet bag. As she folded up the grime-encrusted bodice, a piece of paper fell to the floor. Picking it up, she found Mimi’s letter:
Katie-Kid: I’m off to the Hamptons!!!
The words, they always had such power over her, and Katie’s recent experiences had increased this. Her brush with Felix, her association with the Little Angel, her interaction with the Tempus: it gave her more ability, but also made her more vulnerable. The magic was within her, but she could not control it.
Even as she read, the room began to change. Alice’s and James’s voices grew faint. The dark carved wood of DuQuelle’s study disappeared. Instead she was on 89th Street, in Apartment 11C. She was in Mimi’s bedroom, standing before the mirrors, but there was no reflection of herself. Instead she saw Mimi. She was sitting up in bed now, her eyeshade pushed back over her mussed hair. One tasselled earplug dangled over her shoulder. She clutched her cashmere throw to her chest. Something was swirling through the house. Katie could hear the splintering of glass and wood snapping. Mimi fumbled for the telephone, but then dropped it and dashed for the door, towards the noise and destruction, as a single thought overtook her mind. ‘Katie! My baby!’
‘Mimi!’ Katie shouted, running after her. The noise and destruction – it was Diuman. His fury had welled up, sweeping all before him. In the distance James’s and Alice’s bickering died away. DuQuelle’s face appeared before her, but only as a ghostly reflection. She just had time to clutch the walking stick, the very thing Professor Diuman was searching for. Then she was swirling through light and noise, Alice was calling for her, Mimi screaming. Words swirled around her: Tempus fugit, libertati viam facere . . . And then Diuman was before her, glasses glittering, his braided beard writhing like three tiny snakes. He was standing in her own pink bedroom. Mimi faced him, on fire with defiance. She lashed out, kicking towards him, blocking his way, hissing between her teeth ‘not my child’. But Diuman was strong. Before Katie could stop him, he struck hard, and Mimi fell to the ground.
In a frenzy, Diuman rampaged through the room, slashing at the bed with his metal pipe. But what he wanted wasn’t in that bed. It was right behind him – and it had powers beyond that of a normal New York girl. She could choose, and she could act. ‘Not my mother!’ Katie shouted, and brought the walking stick down on his head with all her might. The world around her exploded.
Epilogue
Here and Now: Yet Again
She ached – everywhere: the top of her head, under her knees; her back felt as if it had been welded into one solid throbbing piece. Katie had never known her earlobes could hurt, but they did, like the blazes – and the tip of her nose. She could smell some kind of burning, electric smell. She turned her head, and winced. There was a sound – voices, low and excited, and running footsteps. Bracing herself for what might come, she opened her eyes.
She was in the bathroom on 89th Street, in Apartment 11C. How had she got there? Groaning slightly, she raised herself to look in the mirror. It wasn’t broken any more. When she looked into it, she could see herself but nothing more. The door handle rattled, and then there was urgent banging. ‘Is anyone there,’ a man shouted. ‘Open up. It’s the police.’ Katie was frightened now, and didn’t answer. So much had happened, in so many different times and places. What was reality? Katie had no idea. She felt paralysed. And then there was another voice.
‘Katie, honey, open up the door now. Everything will be fine, sweetheart.’ It was Dolores, and she sounded even more frightened than Katie felt.
Getting to her knees, Katie unlocked the bathroom door with shaking hands. Why was the door locked anyway? She’d left it open when she’d crept towards the mirror; but that seemed so long ago.
On the other side, flanked by two policemen, was Dolores. She swept Katie into her arms in an enormous bear-hug. ‘All safe now,’ she crooned, ‘all safe and sound now.’
Katie rubbed her eyes, confused. ‘Why am I here,’ she said. ‘I don’t know . . . what’s up?’ And then the anxiety washed over her again, drowning out the pain. ‘Where’s Mimi?’ she asked sharply.
The two policemen looked at each other. ‘Thank God, the kid slept through the whole thing,’ one said. ‘He didn’t even know she was here.’
‘Thank the Lord,’ Dolores echoed, holding on even tighter to Katie.
‘Where’s Mimi?’ Katie asked again, a rising note of hysteria in her voice. ‘I want to see Mimi.’
‘Don’t you worry,’ Dolores soothed her. ‘She’s gonna be fine, but they needed to take her to the hospital.’
‘We’d like to take a statement, as soon as the mother comes to,’ the policeman added. ‘You bring the kid with you as soon as you can. We’d better get on.’
Katie was now almost speechless with fear. ‘Dolores,’ she whimpered, ‘what happened? Where is Mimi?’
‘Sit down, child,’ Dolores said.
‘I don’t want to sit down,’ Katie said, though she could barely stand. ‘Where is Mimi?’
Dolores stroked her back. ‘They loaded her in the ambulance as quick as they could,’ she said. ‘She’s bad hurt. You see, I was worri
ed about you, honey, so I slipped back to check on you. And I found this man, that Professor we always thought so nice. That man, he broke into the house. He tried to kill your mama.’
Katie groaned as she remembered her visions. She’d known, all the time she was in Buckingham Palace, in the Crimea. She’d known that Diuman was in the apartment. She should have tried harder, come home earlier. An even more horrible thought crossed her mind. ‘Mimi’s not going to die?’ she whispered.
Dolores held her even closer. ‘No, my honey, Mimi’s not going to die. She got hold of that walking stick of yours. The one I’m always complaining about. Well, I’ll never complain again. She must have attacked him with it. Somehow she brought him down. They were both unconscious when I got here. If she hadn’t found that thing, she really might be dead. My, but it’s lucky she found that stick.’
Katie detached herself from Dolores, and sat down on her bed. ‘It’s not luck,’ she said. ‘I don’t know what it is, but it’s not luck. Dolores, the world . . . it’s just not what we think it is . . .’
Dolores shook her head. ‘No, it’s a bad world, dearie, a world of sin. To be woken in the dead of night, given such a shock – that can’t be good for you. You look like you’ve been in a fight yourself. But we need to get to the hospital. Now, let’s get you dressed and I’ll find a taxi.’ Dolores sniffed Katie and wrinkled her nose. ‘What have you been up to? I swear you had a bath before I left last night . . . I’ll just wet down a washcloth and find you some fresh clothes.’
As Dolores bustled out of the room, Katie got down on her hands and knees under her bed and surreptitiously searched for her diary. She had to get to Mimi, but there was something else she had to do. This time she wasn’t going to forget. She would write it all down. The power of words – DuQuelle was always going on about the power of words. She would start at the beginning. Stick to the plain facts as William Howard Russell was fond of saying.
‘Visions,’ she wrote, ‘mirror – walking stick – DuQuelle, Alice, James. Tempus – Occidit – Fugit – Verus – Malum – Lucia – Belzen – Grace – corset – Angel – fleas – Felix – Florence – Seacole – Russell – salve – charge – Jack – Jack – Jack. Was DuQuelle right? Would Jack live again? She wanted to write his name a hundred times, so she wouldn’t forget. The door buzzer rang but she continued to scribble.
‘Well!’ came a loud brisk voice, and Katie jumped. Dolores was standing in the doorway, hands on her hips. ‘You are a strange one, Katie,’ she exclaimed. ‘I know you are worried sick about your mama. We have to go to the hospital. The taxi is downstairs, and you are a-sitting there scribbling in your diary!’
Katie looked up, and the tears finally fell. ‘I’m sorry, Dolores,’ she whispered. ‘It’s just that . . .’
Dolores’ face softened. ‘That’s all right, honey,’ she said soothingly. ‘It’s just the hospital called. Mimi’s regained consciousness. And the first thing she asked for was you.’
Katie took the wet washcloth and quickly rubbed her face and behind her neck. It turned dark grey. Snatching her winter coat, she threw it over the pyjamas. ‘I’ll be fine like this,’ Katie said as Dolores started to protest. ‘Honestly, I’ve worn worse things than this.’ She smiled slightly as she thought of the horrid nurse’s uniform and the grey worsted jacket.
‘Katie,’ Dolores said, as they headed for the elevator, ‘sometimes I think you’re on a different planet.’
‘No, Dolores,’ Katie said, ‘not a different planet. A different place, a different time – but not a different planet.’
Dear Reader,
I received a really wonderful email from one of you recently. He said, ‘I consider myself a great authority on time travel and you are the first person I have encountered who actually knows how time travel works.’ Flattering, yes – but I think every single one of us is an authority on time travel. Who hasn’t imagined what it would be like to live in another time? Or wondered about the real lives of those we learn about in history?
It’s fun to mix fact with fiction. Some of my characters, like Princess Alice, are real. James, though entirely made up, is based on someone I know and love well. Both Florence Nightingale and Mary Seacole are important figures in history. I’ve drawn their personalities from their own letters and memoirs; though I can provide no proof for the more magical elements of their personalities.
I did want to get things right, so I spent a lot of time researching The Queen at War. Much of what I needed was right on my doorstep in London. If you are interested in the Victorians and the 1800s, the Victoria & Albert Museum is a good place to start. The Florence Nightingale Museum is a hidden gem, chock full of Florence memorabilia. The National Army Museum has information and artefacts on the Crimean War.
Next year, the third book in the Chronicles of the Tempus trilogy will come out. The Queen Alone brings Katie, James and Princess Alice together again. War, intrigue, madness and murder are all on the menu. Be prepared.
Respectfully yours,
K. A. S. Quinn
Follow K.A.S. Quinn on Facebook, Twitter or contact her by email ([email protected])
We begin with family and we end with them.
To my family:
Charles Sanders, Genevieve Sanders, Lugene Sanders Solomon, Marvin Solomon, Jennifer Solomon, Stephen Quinn…
… and with hugs and kisses to William Quinn and Lorcan Quinn
The Cast of Characters: Where three worlds meet . . .
Modern Day New York City
Katie Berger-Jones-Burg: A typical New York kid, who just happens to be part of the Tempus Fugit.
Mimi: Her mother.
Dolores: The housekeeper, but much more.
Reilly O Jackson: A new friend.
The Victorians
Queen Victoria: She reigns from 1837 to 1901. The emblem of a powerful industrial nation and a great empire – though as a person, she has her flaws . . .
Prince Albert: Also known as the Prince Consort. Queen Victoria’s husband.
Princess Alice: Queen Victoria and Prince Albert’s second daughter, and Katie’s best friend.
Bertie, Vicky, Louise, Leopold: Children of Queen Victoria.
Sir Brendan O’Reilly: Doctor O’Reilly, the Royal Household physician newly ennobled by Queen Victoria.
James O’Reilly: Sir Brendan’s son and an important friend to Katie and Princess Alice.
Jack O’Reilly: Sir Brendan’s eldest son and James’s brother, killed in the Charge of the Light Brigade.
Grace O’Reilly, Riordan O’Reilly: Other children of Sir Brendan.
John Reillson: As Civil War rages in the United States of America, he comes to London to promote the cause of the Northern States and the abolition of slavery.
Florence Nightingale: A national heroine due to her nursing during the Crimean War.
Mary Seacole: A Jamaican Creole, she ran a hotel in the Crimea during the war and nursed the sick and wounded.
Those Who Live in No Time
Lucia: The Leader of the Verus. She must keep history in balance, and make certain our world moves forward, in order to harvest our communication skills for her own people.
Lord Belzen: The Leader of the Malum. He longs for war, greed and violence. He and his followers feed off brute force. He has a way with snakes.
The Little Angel: The child who brings peace. She understands Katie and the Tempus.
The Man of All Time
Bernardo DuQuelle: Prince Albert’s Private Secretary, old flame of Lucia, tormentor and saviour of Katie. An enigma.
Contents
Prologue: Windsor Castle: 21 December 1860
Chapter One: The Core of Darkness: Lord Belzen
Chapter Two: New York City, 21 December: Here and Now
Chapter Three: The Doctor’s Office
Chapter Four: The Snow Globe
Chapter Five: Alice and James, 1861
Chapter Six: The War in America
Chapter Seven: South Street
Chapter Eight: The Ball at Windsor Castle
Chapter Nine: The Surprise Guests
Chapter Ten: Life or Death
Chapter Eleven: The Real Sir Brendan
Chapter Twelve: Snow Hill
Chapter Thirteen: The Call of Duty
Chapter Fourteen: On the Battlements
Chapter Fifteen: The Brink of War
Chapter Sixteen: Yankee Doodle
Chapter Seventeen: Into the Light
Chapter Eighteen: Exeter Hall
Chapter Nineteen: Hiding the Queen
Chapter Twenty: The Asylum
Chapter Twenty-One: The Secluded Villa
Chapter Twenty-Two: Miss Nightingale
Chapter Twenty-Three: The Truth
Chapter Twenty-Four: The Travellers
Chapter Twenty-Five: Learning to Fly
Epilogue: Another Christmas
Prologue
Windsor Castle: 21 December 1860
‘Thump!’ Princess Alice looked up from her writing to the wintry window. A snowball, she decided, the work of her brother Bertie. She glanced towards her father, but he continued to toil at his desk, stopping only to adjust the green shade of his lamp.
Christmas was coming, and it was snowing. The battlements of Windsor Castle were cloaked in soft white flakes, its towers transformed into fairytale turrets. It was bleak midwinter; the shortest day of the year, yet the snow captured what light there was, bathing the gardens in a moon-like glow. Outside there was ice-skating on the pond, sleigh rides and snowmen on the East Terrace. Inside, beech-log fires blazed in every room, adding to the cheer of the red carpets and damask curtains. There were whispery giggles as gifts were wrapped and shouts of joy as snowballs hit their targets. A dozen Christmas trees were hung with gifts and sweets. Down below in the kitchens, huge barons of beef were being prepared for the holiday feasts.
The Chronicles of the Tempus Page 45
