“He seems a good enough chap,” Father said. “He claims to be a dabbler in the sciences. I have to like a man who brings a kit with him. Haven’t seen much of him though, except for when it is dinner.”
“Well, I don’t like him,” Uncle Charles said.
“You’re just offended that he didn’t attend the funeral,” Father pointed out.
“I don’t think that affected my judgement at all of him.”
“Where is my cousin, Nigel?” I asked.
“Probably slinking about somewhere,” Mother said under her breath.
“He is at the Morlock Spring Ball, a perfectly respectable place for him to be,” Father replied.
“Even if it is only two days after his own mother’s funeral,” Mother said under her breath. If he was truly at the ball, then that was a sight better than some of the other places we had found him in the past, which usually included him being passed out. I always found it fascinating that I was the one that had been a disgrace to our family because of my Summoner status, while my cousin retained his place of honor, even if it was somewhat sullied.
“Did he even go to the funeral?” I asked snidely under my breath.
“Basil Rose Beckenbauer, enough talk about what he did and did not do. You are not fit to sit at this table the way you are. You will go change right this instant. Do you hear me?” She shoved a lantern at me to take.
“I will, but how long has the electricity been out this time?”
“Only an hour this time,” Father replied.
I took the lantern and went upstairs to the green bedroom. I opened the door and found not much had changed even though years had passed. A green plaid canopy shaded a full bed. There were three stuffed fish displayed on the wall, which included a two headed mullet. Mutants like those were more common these days than not, a direct result of the polluted waters.
In addition, there was the token stag head with a full rack jammed into a corner of the room, and next to it was an even rarer find, a buffalo head. That was shot in the Native Lands, and hardly anyone was allowed to go into them anymore. I idly wondered if my governor’s pass would permit me to do so. If this Summoning thing didn’t work out, maybe I could participate in the illegal game trade. I laughed, thinking of myself as some great huntress.
My trunk from the attic was delivered by one of the service automatons. It was moving slower than normal, obviously in need of a good charging. There were many of the old frilly dresses I used to wear. I had this trunk delivered to Rose Glen when I realized that I was going off to college in Britannia. Grandfather had decided to go on a working tour in Germania at the same time, so the best place to store them had been here.
I found the raw silk mourning dress and hoped that it would still fit. I put it on over my heat adjustable corset and found it a little loose in the waist and a little small in the bust, but serviceable. I guess time had changed me in more than one way. I pinned up my wet hair, and with not enough time or electricity for hair weevils to set it, I stepped out and gave my wet clothing to the automaton. I then trailed behind it as we descended back down the stairs.
Everyone had already been seated when I entered the dining room. The first course was being served by candlelight. In lieu of the waning automaton servers, Mrs. Haverty volunteered to serve us. I believed it was a Friday, so she should have been heading home directly after the meal.
She spotted me hovering in the doorway and swooshed me more fully into the room. I took an empty seat next to Uncle Charles.
I looked up and found myself sitting across from the only person I did not recognize in the room. He was staring quite intently at me. Atop of his nose sat a small pair of rimless oval spectacles. His eyes were of such a light gray color that they were barely perceptible, making him appear to almost have only pupils.
Using my milky eye, which allowed me to see a sporadic and limited glance into the future; I saw the potential of him bolting from the table. To my surprise, he held firm, almost as if he were deciding something.
His build appeared lean, but I noticed how his muscles strained the fabric of his clothing occasionally, belying a stronger frame than he attempted to portray. I next noticed his shaggy chestnut blonde hair, clean shaven face, and then the smirk of a crooked smile. I suddenly realized that I had been staring at him as keenly as he had been staring at me.
I blushed and turned to Father, but before I could say anything, he said, “Let me introduce you to Mr. Colin Townshend.”
“You’re the agent that President Newton sent to meet me?” I asked.
“I’m not sure I would call myself an agent exactly. Even though I work for the government in a limited capacity, I prefer to think that I am simply freelancing my services.”
We all stared at him expectantly, until he finally added, “But yes, I am the one that she sent to make your acquaintance.” His voice was deeper and softer than I was expecting, but not enough to be threatening.
“Did you accompany my parents to the dirigible that was scheduled to bring me here?” I asked, curious to hear his response.
“No, I didn’t think it was my proper place Miss Beckenbauer,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. Did he suspect I was going to ditch that flight?
I pulled the old Basil Beckenbauer facade out in order to hide my sudden uneasiness. I lifted my chin, smiled pleasantly, and haughtily looked down my nose at him. Then I said, “I’m not certain what President Newton requires of me, but I have just returned from a most taxing mission of saving the world, and my only wish is to rest for a spell. Please give her my respects, but whatever she wants me to do, I can assure you that I am unable to comply.”
Then I turned to Father and asked, “What is on the menu for tonight, as I am famished after such an arduous journey.”
Father didn’t bat an eyelash, but I did feel a lecture was in store for me later. However, he had enough courtesy for me to simply reply, “Of course you are! According to Mrs. Haverty, we will be served a potato bisque, crawfish éttouffée, sautéed asparagus, and a rice pudding for dessert.”
“I really like Mrs. Haverty’s rice pudding,” Uncle Charles commented. Then he opened up his napkin with a snap and placed it across his lap in obvious anticipation.
“It does sound delightful, but I have been instructed to relay President Newton’s concerns to you all the same,” Mr. Townsend replied undeterred. But then he belied his words, by following Uncle Charles suit by opening his own napkin. Once he placed it across his lap, he added, “I can’t wait to taste the pudding either Mr. Beckenbauer.”
“I am leaving first thing in the morning to go to my house,” I informed him. “So I don’t think we have time to talk Mr. Townsend.”
“Yes, she is,” Mother reiterated.
“I will accompany you there,” Mr. Townshend volunteered.
Mother was about to protest the impropriety of the situation, when Father interjected his opinion first by saying, “In my opinion a lady needs a chaperone, doubly so if she is going through the Red Forrest. I think that Mr. Townshend accompanying her is a splendid idea, don’t you Charles?”
“Why as a matter of fact, I heartily agree with you brother. That way, once she has heard him out, and still says no, then he can go back on his merry way to D.C., where all the impudent unionists are,” my Uncle Charles said.
While Mother was desperate to have the territory formally acknowledged as a state and get the recognition she thought the family deserved, Father had always made it known he was thoroughly against it. He was a member of the Sons of Liberty, which was a social club that dated back to the Boston Tea Party about six hundred years ago. They didn’t want the territory to be controlled any more than they already were by the Republic.
I shot daggers with my eyes at Father. I would not be alone even if I left tonight, because I had Calidum. If he had known about him though, he most likely would never let me leave the house in the first place.
“Uncle, maybe this would be a grand time for yo
u to come with me to the lake house.”
“I’m still in mourning and can’t leave the house,” he replied. Fine, I would allow Mr. Townsend to tag along, but I didn’t have to talk to him while I did it.
I was about to tell him my decision when Father said, “Well, now that it has been decided, when is that bisque coming?”
Mr. Townsend was openly smiling at the entire bamboozle. I felt like sticking my tongue out at him, but that was the old Basil, so it stayed where it belonged in my mouth.
Soup was served and it was pleasant to hear the clinking of silverware, instead of conversation. We commended Mrs. Haverty, and as was her custom, she appeared unaffected, but I knew from experience that she really did appreciate it.
I asked her, “Are you heading back to Convent tonight? The weather is not great for travelling.”
“I think I’ll stay the night dear.”
We all conveyed to her our relief over the situation, until Mother said, “Good, you can stoke the fires once the automatons give out.” Mrs. Haverty snorted and left the room. Something told me she wasn’t going to stay long enough now to clear the dishes from the table.
The rest of the meal was served hastily, as plates were nearly dropped in front of us and then were picked up before we were done with them. I had never seen Uncle Charles gulp rice pudding so fast. He almost choked twice, which cost him precious time coughing. Several times during the meal, I wondered who worked for who, but then I reminded myself that finding talented help that was willing to come this far out of the parish seat was difficult at best.
Mr. Townshend excused himself, stating that he needed to pack his things for the journey tomorrow.
Uncle Charles took my chair and then escorted me to my room. Just before I retired for the evening, he asked, “What happened to you in Britannia?”
I touched my face just below my eye and asked, “What do you mean?”
“Your heart. It’s wounded.”
For a moment, I looked at him confused. He wasn’t asking about my eye at all. I leaned in and kissed him on the cheek, “I’m fine Uncle Charlie.”
“Ah, how I have missed being called Charlie.” I was immediately sorry, as that was what Aunt Verna used to call him too. I took his hand, squeezed it, and said, “I promise I won’t stay away so long this time.”
“I have a feeling that you won’t.”
I gave his hand one more squeeze and then said, “Goodnight.”
“Sleep well.”
I went to bed without much further ado. That night I dreamed of Mr. Townshend. He had strings attached to his arms and legs, and they were connected to an unseen puppet master. I tried to save him by slicing his strings, but all of my knives in the dream were rubbish. I finally took out the knife that Dorian had given me, the one whose purpose remained a mystery. I went to slice one of the ropes, but suddenly all of the ropes disappeared. When I next looked for Mr. Townsend, he too had disappeared. I didn’t know if I had helped him or not.
I awoke abruptly and after a brief moment of despair, thinking about how changing the future was futile, I went back to sleep listening to the rumbling thunder and sporadic sound of rain hitting the roof.
···•Ͽ Ѡ Ͼ•···
“Where is Mr. Townsend?” I asked as I cracked open my soft boiled egg. Mrs. Haverty left sometime during the night, and it was dubious at best, if she was going to return on Monday.
“He’s been in the communication room nearly all night,” Uncle Charles said. He must have used the small generator located down there to power it.” I couldn’t help but think that this didn’t bode well for me. Whom had he been talking to all night?
“Enough talk about him, are you packed up yet? Do you need any help?” Mother asked pleasantly while she buttered some toast. There were lots of reasons why she couldn’t tolerate me. I was a User who summoned demons, but more importantly, I was not a boy, and none of my achievements apparently held any sway over years of deep rooted prejudices.
I saw movement out of the corner of my eye, and I noted Calidum sitting on the other side of the sheers on the windowsill. I knew it was wrong, but it wasn’t as if she was going to like me any less, so I decided to have a bit of fun with her.
“Yes, I am packed. Would you like to meet my pet? I left him in the stables overnight.”
“A pet? Like a hound?” she asked.
“Not exactly.” I got up and went to the window where he was sitting. He had been stealing quick looks into the room between the sheers. I separated the curtains, and he jumped onto my shoulders.
“Is that a cat?” Father asked. How I wished that he had been from Neverland, where he might have had a fighting chance at glamoring himself.
“Yes, it’s a bald Maine Coon.”
“Where is its tail?” Mother asked.
“It’s a bobtail.”
“Is that Calidum?” Mr. Townsend asked as he entered the room and took the seat next to mine. He grabbed a pot of strawberry preserves and spread some on a piece of bread. Then he tore it down the middle and handed half of it to Calidum, who proceeded to lean over and sniff it. Then he snatched it from Mr. Townsend’s grasp and ate it in one gulp. And here I thought he only ate fire.
“Yum. Much thanks sir,” he said aloud.
Everyone but Mr. Townsend paused to stare at my little friend.
“He has been bespelled to speak by a Linguologist,” I lied on the spot.
Uncle Charlie took a keen interest in what I had said and asked, “A Linguologist? Is that a new kind of User?”
“Yes, I met one in London during my extended stay there. I also met a Dowser, named Ashley Lancaster.” At least that part was true. “He is now on the Royal Agora, along with my best friend, Wendy, and her husband, Lord Grey. You’ve heard of them all, right?” Diversion was a standard skill in a southern girl’s arsenal.
“We don’t acknowledge titles in this country,” Mother duly noted. “And please dress it, I think we still have some of your baby clothes in a trunk in the attic. Where is that automaton when you need it?”
“I feel quite comfortable as I am. Where I come from it is cold all the time,” Calidum replied.
“Then why haven’t you grown a winter coat ole’ chap?” Father asked him.
“Don’t answer that,” I told him as I rudely condensed the last couple bites of my egg into one large one. “We need to leave now. Calidum, grab what you will. We have eight hours to trek before we reach our new home.”
“So long as no one has raided the house, there should still be plenty of wood and coal from the winter order,” Father said. “We still stock it when we make the one for the main house.”
“I don’t think we’ll be staying that long Miss Beckenbauer. We have pressing business in Convent,” Mr. Townsend said as he spread jam on another piece of bread for himself to take with him.
I glared at him. Did he not recall what I told him at last night’s dinner? I gave Uncle Charles a peck on the cheek, and then I got up from the table.
Once we were out the door, I asked Mr. Townsend, “Is that your stallion in the stables?”
“If you are referring to the black Morgan, it is,” he replied as we approached the stable house.
“Is he easily frightened?”
“I should think not.”
“Good, I would hate for him to buck you off in the Red Forest and then take off.”
“What is in the Red Forest?”
“All manner of beasties. There is more than one reason why it is appropriately named after the color red.”
That wiped the smirk off of his face. I thought it hugely unfair that he apparently knew all manner of things about me, like who Calidum was, and yet I knew nothing of him. Propriety prevented me from asking with whom he had spoken with all night long.
We walked in silence to the stables, and after we readied the horses, he asked once again, “No truly, how did the Red Forest get its name?”
“You’ll see.”
I had br
ought with me two bags. In one, I had my change of clothing, an oiled cloak, some spare chalks, and my money. In the other, I had placed a couple of aspirators for the horses, and a Belgium Pinfire Revolver with a 21 load capacity. In addition, I had also slipped in enough .25 rounds to take down a small battalion. I wasn’t very proficient at firing guns, although I was required to pass a class in school in order to get my Summoner’s license. Even if I didn’t have the gun with all its extra bullets, I could take care of myself without a chaperone.
After I saddled my horse and attached my two bags, I reminded him, “You know you don’t need to escort me. Why don’t you just turn around and head back to Convent?”
“Nonsense. You are an important part of the investigation.”
“What investigation is that? Because I thought I was on a much deserved holiday,” I told him.
“You haven’t heard?”
“That people are turning into demons,” Calidum said.
That stopped me cold. “That’s ludicrous. People don’t just turn into demons. It is a fact that demons do not even possess people,” I told them both. I thought for a moment that a doppelgänger demon might give the illusion of a person turning into a one, but I wasn’t going to volunteer that information. The only one that I had a bond to wasn’t coming when I was calling for her anymore.
He eyed Calidum for a moment and asked, “Is that true Calidum?”
“If we could possess humans, then there would be nothing but demons in this world. I like this world very much. I am glad demons are not everywhere. Demons are not nice.” I wondered if he was including himself in his statement.
“Then it must be some kind of new deader, the first of its kind in centuries,” Colin said in reference to the undead. “But the odd thing is that the infected people’s appearances change dramatically, and it is rumored to spread as easily as it is to catch the common cold.”
“Rumors are the legal tender of liars,” was what I said, but what I thought was if what he said was true, then this was a nasty bit of disturbing news, which was none of my damn business. It certainly sounded as if a Tomb Talker was what he needed, so I turned around in the saddle and added, “You should consult with Miss Delia in Convent. She’s a Tomb Talker.”
The Summoner's Sigil Page 4
