by P. S. Power
“Gwen... dear... He wasn't an attacker or sent by anyone... he was a masher! He'd been trying to feel you up, not attack you. Your reaction though, priceless! The look on his face when you started screaming at him, holding him on the ground.” She pulled a kerchief, a practical one of light blue colored cotton, and blotted at her eyes. She managed to stop laughing, but still smiled hugely.
“Now, don't get me wrong, he deserved it for trying to take liberties like that, and I'd be surprised if he gets off without a thrashing from the driver and at least a few of the other men. Still, don't they have men like that where you come from? Ones that get overly friendly with women they don't know?”
It took Gwen a bit, trying to figure out how to explain what her life had been like before, to make this woman, pretty by the standards of any culture, understand what it was like to be reviled, feared, and even hated for how she looked.
It took a few minutes, but finally, far more seriously, Bethany nodded.
“I see, I think. Your previous appearance made you a second, possibly a third, class citizen. Like an untouchable of the Indus culture. An abomination, some would say here. So when this man took liberties, or tried to at least, you didn't have context for it and could only see it as a physical attack. That seems rational, if a little out of step with your current situation.” Taking Gwen's arm she drew her around a corner. Talking while they both walked.
“We're not so different, I think. Being a Westmorland makes me far less popular in some areas than you might imagine. A lot of people see me as something other than human, rather than an orphan raised with powerful conditioning that's otherwise like they are. Everyone seems to assume that if you're a Westmorland you were conditioned for war, even if you hold other positions like I do.”
Ahead of them they saw Doctor Professor Grainger with another man, shorter and younger, thin, but wearing similar clothing and having the same mustache. About half an inch of hair long, stopping exactly at the corner of the mouth. Next to him stood a woman, older, with iron gray hair and wearing clothing of a type that Gwen hadn't seen before, not on a woman at least.
She wore what appeared to be a brightly colored, striped suit in various shades of green. Similar to what the men wore to work at the Constabulary, except for the blouse underneath that had frills on the front, and the colors being more cheerful and looser, allowing the curves of the body to be hidden. The whole thing looked a little mannish, but had to be easier to get into and out of than the dress Gwen was wearing at the moment. If she got a chance, she'd have to find out if that kind of thing would be something she could wear too.
Doctor Professor Grainger walked forward, not touching either woman, not offering to shake hands, but speaking warmly.
“Detective Westmorland, Miss Farris! How wonderful to see you both. I didn't know that you would be coming, Miss Farris, but I'm so glad you did. These people here would both love to speak with you, I think. This gentleman,” he gestured as if worried they might not know which one he meant, “is Doctor Wiseman, geology. And this...” he moved to the woman in the suit, gesturing at her as well. “Is Doctor Debussey. She holds doctorates in both traditional magic and the new field of psychology, one of the first ever granted in that field, which is the study of the mind as not related to magical forces or abilities. She specifically requested to meet you, Miss Westmorland, for what are doubtless obvious reasons. Still, Erin, I think you might also find Miss Farris of great interest. She's the woman I mentioned the other day?” He gave the woman a small half smile, her eyes popping open wide when she realized his meaning.
“Oh, my! Yes, if I could ask you some questions sometime, both of you, that would be wonderful! Both of you have unique situations which directly relate to my personal fields of endeavor. I realize that you don't have much time today, but here, please take my card.” She handed one to each woman.
Gwen smiled at her.
“That sounds good to me. Since I actually know a little bit about one of your fields, maybe we can compare notes? Though I have to admit to being a hobbyist, not any kind of expert in the field and there's probably a lot of difference in the terms used and such.” It would be interesting to see how these people handled the subject, this world viewing things so differently.
The woman smiled back warmly, nodding.
“You have an interest in traditional magic?” She gazed at Gwen frankly.
Smiling and shaking her head, Gwen explained.
“Oh, no. I meant to say that I have an interest in psychology. The Doctor professor said this was a new field here? How new as an area of study? In my world it's been around for over a hundred years, maybe longer.”
Doctor Debussey stepped closer to her and held a hand out quickly, not making contact but looking almost like she wanted to grab Gwen's arm to keep her from getting away.
“Seriously? That's... fantastic. Yes, we must meet. Please let me know when you might be available. I'll clear my schedule for you, any time, day or night.” Her voice rose half an octave as she spoke, showing her excitement.
Grainger smiled at the female doctor.
“That enthusiasm for her work is what makes her one of the favorite lecturers on campus, you know. If you ever get a chance to sit in on one of her lectures you really should. It's quite a treat.” He addressed this to both women.
Bethany recovered first, turning her focus to the geologist. Wiseman, Gwen remembered, repeating it to herself so she wouldn't forget it later.
She explained about the altars and how they seemed similar to her eye, but she wanted to know if a professional could tell more. The man nodded and agreed to come to the district house storage facility, a building that sat behind the main one, Bethany said as an aside to her, to check them out that very evening.
The Doctor professor, casually inviting himself along asked if any of them could arrange for transportation. Oddly enough, Gwen realized she might be able to, Mr. Vernor having given her a card with a number to call if she needed transportation at any point. Since this would technically be work related, maybe it would be alright? No harm in trying, she hoped.
She pulled the card from her bag and asked if there was a telestator nearby. She said it so naturally that no one even blinked, not even calling it a telephone. Gwen had to fight to keep from feeling proud over it. They all walked with her and Grainger to a set in an alcove off of a hallway, which seem designed for the purpose, just big enough for the set and a couple of people to stand in front of it. They had to wait a moment for it to free up, a student seemed to be using it to call home and wish someone a happy birthday, he hurried when he saw who waited to use it, casting more than a few glances at Gwen, smiling when he did. She tried to smile back, just to see what might happen. He looked away shyly and got off the phone quickly. Telestator she corrected, letting her have it directly.
She looked at the machine and tried to remember the process. Push the button, which took a lot less force than she'd thought it would, then put a hand on the second sphere over, still warm from the college student and wait.
She read the number, a code really, not knowing who to ask for she simply gave her name, the operator asked for a moment.
A man's voice came out of the air in front of her.
“Hello? Is this... Miss Farris?” The man's voice asked quickly, as if excited to hear from her.
“Yes. I was given this number, er, code, to call if I needed to arrange transportation, by Mr. Vernor. Did I connect to the right place?” She knew she sounded doubtful, hoping she hadn't told the operator the wrong code.
The male voice sounded warm when he spoke again.
“Exactly so. What may I do for you, ma'am?” The voice sounded both manly and polite, almost military to Gwen.
She explained where they were, how many of them needed transport and where they were going, in case things like that were important. The man didn't laugh at her, so if he thought the phrasing odd, he hid it well.
“Very good, ma'am. I can be there in
about twenty minutes, will that be sufficient?” He asked.
She said that would be fine, kind of surprised actually, given how slow the vehicles here moved. The traffic stayed light, so maybe that helped?
While they waited, the thinner male doctor, the geologist, drew up a chart with six slots on it, making notations that he explained quickly as he wrote. “This should let me determine if the stones came from different situations or not, fairly quickly. What you're asking isn't all that hard. It would be harder to find the shipping manifests or bills of sale I'd think, as the stone men still tend to work with a handshake and hard currency rather than trusting paperwork. Fewer taxes that way.”
Gwen filed this away for future reference. Coming from a world filled with computers it felt wrong to her, sloppy and prone to error, but if that was really the way things got done here, she'd need to know.
A different car, lorrie she corrected, this one white with wood trim on the outside, pulled up almost exactly twenty minutes later. It looked nice. Sporty in a way. The driver, an older man, older than her at least – about the same age as Grainger, mid-forties at a guess but less gray hair – wore a long black coat with gray trousers and a top hat in the same color as the jacket. He stopped the vehicle and hopped down from the driver's seat at the front. Sweeping his hat off, he bowed, a serious look on his face.
“Good to see you, ma'am, it's been a while,” he said, making it sound formal.
Gwen didn't know what to say at first and decided on honesty, if doing it carefully.
“Did anyone explain to you that...” she started, hesitating because the Vernors seemed to want to keep the fact that she wasn't their daughter hidden.
The man's head bobbed. “That you changed your name, ma'am, due to your new position with the detective and your desire to protect the family position. Yes'm. Old James is trusted with such things, as always,” he told her proudly.
Or possibly sarcastically, it was so earnest sounding that it could have been a joke.
Gwen nodded, not really sure what he knew or not. She felt a little worried, but if he didn't know, she couldn't tell him, and if he did, going along with his act just made sense. Gwen would have to be careful, not wanting to insult him as he seemed genuinely nice so far. “Oh, good. Well, James, This is my friend, Bethany Westmorland, and these are Doctor Wiseman, geology, Doctor Debussey, traditional magics and psychology, and Doctor Professor Grainger, radiatives. Everyone, this is James...” She didn't have a last name for him so waited in silence.
He didn't fill them in, bowing to each instead.
Then, smiling, he quickly moved to open the door and helped the ladies up into the passenger carriage. Given the dress she wore, she appreciated the help up, at least for her part. She noticed that Doctor Debussey hesitated to take the gloved hand, but did after only a moment. So this world's version of women's lib didn't require being rude to people just trying to help you? Good to know. James didn't offer the men a hand, but he did stand by, ready she guessed, to render covert assistance if either man had needed it. They didn't, even the stout Grainger hopping up well enough, if a little awkwardly.
The drive to the district house went quickly, taking only about fifteen minutes, a lot faster than the public lorrie. No one even tried to grab her behind. Once there, James asked if he should wait.
“I don't know, the doctors will need transportation later, but we could be late. I'd hate to have you sitting here for hours. And someone else may need your services...”
James simply smiled at this. “No problem, ma'am. I'm your dedicated driver, by order of your Father, I mean, Mr. Vernor. I serve at your pleasure.”
So Gwen had him follow them in, after securing the lorrie, saying that this way he'd be immediately available if needed. Mainly she just figured sitting in the car, or worse, outside of it, would be boring and exposed. At least this way he could stretch his legs.
Bethany led the way, being the only one that knew where large stone altars would be kept in evidence. To Gwen the building seemed to be completely unsecured, no guard on duty, nothing to prevent someone from simply taking the evidence and leaving. Then again, without forensic capabilities, most of the time that wouldn't really matter anyway. They probably locked up money and valuables and just called the rest good. Who really cared if someone ran off with a thousand pounds of rusty spoons or some dead person's lint collection?
She wondered if some kind of magic could help that way, magical forensics, to act as a fingerprint or something like it. She asked Grainger and Debussey while others went to check out the granite slabs. James had gone in order to help move them, since each one weighed several hundred pounds.
Grainger looked at her, stroking his chin for a moment before speaking.
“Yes... I think something like that could be done, using radiatives, but we'd require an object they touched and the person in order to know if they were the one that touched it. I suppose that some facts about a person could be had that way, even without knowing who they were. Gender, age – at least roughly – and temperament. You understand, things like that are left behind when we touch things all the time and some events, murder, assault, things involving heavy emotional weight, these can leave a stronger trace.”
Gwen felt a small thrill of excitement.
“Like a profile? Of the person I mean? That's great! Sometimes it wouldn't help, but that kind of information could really narrow down a search, I'd think. We should mention it to Peals if we get a chance. Do you think, I mean I know you're a busy man, but could you put together something that we could show people using this kind of thing?” She smiled at him, trying to be encouraging.
Having seen all those police dramas and FBI shows, she knew that profiling didn't solve crimes, not unless the writers were using it as a gimmick, but it could help narrow down who you had to look at and this would do that even more so, picking up something kind of like a profile fingerprint. If they could match a touched object to the specific person too... It sounded to her that it would at least be worth looking into. She tried to let Grainger know what a big deal something like that could eventually be, if he could put it together.
Gwen smiled at the slightly older man. “Of course, even putting it together quickly, it could take forty years to become accepted. New things sometimes take a while to become normal, but still, worth doing, right? If no one else has come up with the idea here, they may not in that time either, without someone like you helping out.”
Debussey was watching Gwen carefully, and looked like she wanted to take notes on her for some reason, a bit like Bethany had in her analytical state. Only without the high level conditioning that made it outside her control. So Debussey was just being weird, if in an affable way. Grainger pulled out a pad, much like the ones the detectives carried and started writing things down as he thought of them. Every now and then he'd stop suddenly, then mutter something and write again.
Gwen wondered if it would be polite for her to ask Debussey about her clothing choices and decided to just do it anyway. This lady seemed like she'd cut her some slack if she messed up, actually knowing who she really was and the whole situation surrounding it.
“I don't want to seem rude, but I couldn't help but notice that you dress in a more practical and efficient fashion than most women here. Is that a current style or something I could do too? What you're wearing is far closer to what I'm used to than this is. Right now I can't even get out of my own dresses without help, which all things considered, isn't much fun,” she told the older woman, smiling so it seemed less whiny than she felt about it. Dresses kind of sucked.
Doctor Debussey told her that the style seemed to be catching on, mainly among female mages and college coeds. Certainly the caretaker of a Westmorland could get away with it too, except in high society circumstances, which given everything, Gwen needed to be aware of.
“Then all bets are off of course, but even at the station the men probably won't mind. You should ask and see what they say. If yo
u care that is. If not, just wear what you're comfortable with, as long as it covers most of your body, and let other people adapt to you. This world could use a little shaking up.” The woman looked half manic when she said it, but in a pleasant and slightly conspiratorial way.
A crash came from the stacks where Bethany and James were helping Doctor Wiseman move stones around. It was loud enough that they all ran toward the sound, but found everyone unharmed when they got there.
“These,” Wiseman waved at the table tops, “definitely all come from the same quarry. More than that, the quarry is local, about seventy miles away from here. The Sterner family owns it. I've been there a few times, looking at a stratified band of quartz they uncovered. They wanted to see if it was possibly power crystal grade. No luck, but it has a lovely rose color to it. Fascinating stuff.” He drew his hand along the underside of one of the tables almost lovingly, staring at it as if practically drinking it in.
Bethany took them all to Peals' office directly, marching them all a little gruffly to tell the truth, in her excitement. Once there she told him the conclusion of the geologist's report with a proud nod and a covert glance at Gwen. On his desk the chief had a stack of papers, that Gwen recognized as the drawings she'd made. Having nothing better to do, she asked Doctor Debussey and Doctor Professor Grainger to look at the pictures, in case they recognized any of the robes or symbols. They were experts in that kind of thing and not making use of them would be worse than foolish, since they were sitting right there.
