One would need to be standing when one pulled the lever, she thought, or get all wet. Or, perhaps this was how the people here cleaned themselves?
So enchanted was Karigan, that she pulled the lever again just to watch the fish emerge. And again. And again.
After entertaining herself with the bowl, she discovered an adjoining room with a magnificent tub, also supported by brass mermaids, pairs of fish spouts poised on the edge of the tub, and higher above on the wall. So, one did not have to clean oneself while sitting on the bowl! There was a complicated looking array of levers around the tub. Karigan pulled on one, and again there was the mechanical clattering from beneath the floor and behind the wall, and a rush of water flowed from one of the fish. To her wonder, the water was hot. Perhaps they’d found hot springs to tap into, as in Selium? She guessed its companion spout must produce cold water, and without pumping or dragging in heavy buckets!
She was about to strip off her sleeping gown and fill the tub. She’d not had a bath since before leaving Sacor City—her Sacor City—and heading into Blackveil. How wonderful it would be to soak in such—
“There you are!”
Karigan almost fell into the tub as Mirriam burst into the bathing room.
“Are you the one playing with the water?” the housekeeper demanded. “The pressure is off in the kitchen, and Cook is most displeased. In quite a state, actually.”
“Uh . . .” Karigan began. “I—I was hoping to take a bath.”
“You must not use the tub. If you get your cast wet, you shall ruin it, and then where would we be? I’m afraid it’s sponge baths for you until your wrist heals.”
Karigan grimaced. “Sponge baths? Isn’t there a way to—”
“Mender’s orders.”
Karigan was beginning to resent the strict dictates of Mender Samuels.
“Speaking of which,” Mirriam continued, “you should be in bed.”
“I, um, need to use—” and Karigan pointed into the room with the amazing porcelain bowl.
“Land sakes, child, then use it, but no playing with the plumbing. I shall await you in the hallway and see you back to bed directly.”
Karigan sighed as Mirriam stepped outside. It was not going to be as easy to sneak around the house as she hoped, with the housekeeper patrolling the halls like a guard dog.
• • •
Back in her room, Karigan planted her fists on her hips and stood her ground. “I do not wish to get back in bed.” Before Mirriam could utter another of Mender Samuels’ proclamations, she added, “I’m restless. I can’t just sit here and do nothing.”
Mirriam’s pose mirrored Karigan’s, and the two stared at one another for several moments. “You are right handed?” the housekeeper asked.
Karigan raised her plastered wrist as if it were a foreign object. “Yes.”
“Then needle work is likely out.”
Thank the gods for small favors, Karigan thought.
“Can you read?”
“Yes, yes I can.”
“Good to know that that part of your education has not been neglected. I shall see what I can do.” Then Mirriam glanced disapprovingly at Karigan’s bare feet. “And I shall find slippers for you. Going without is quite inappropriate.”
Karigan glanced at her offending feet and wiggled her toes.
“You get back to bed,” Mirriam said.
This time Karigan obeyed, knowing the housekeeper would refuse to leave otherwise. She pulled up the covers, and Mirriam grunted in satisfaction and left, closing the door behind her. From the hallway, Karigan heard a muffled query about “the patient,” from someone and Mirriam’s caustic reply: “She has an apparent fascination with the plumbing, as if she’s never used it before. Did they not have any at the asylum? She’s—” Mirriam’s voice faded with her footsteps.
Karigan leaned back into her pillows, a little surprised by how weary her explorations had left her, and before she knew it, she had dozed off, only to be awakened sometime later by the clangor of bells from deep within the city. Though she might bristle at being forced to rest, she had to admit her body had been through much and obviously needed at least some.
Drawn by the bells, she swung her legs out of bed and padded to the window. The light against the brick wall opposite had changed its slant, reinforcing the sense of time’s passing since last she had looked. Did these bells signify time as they did in her own Sacor City? Did they call worshippers to prayer in local chapels of the moon? If so, they were not particularly beautiful sounding bells but dull and heavy.
Perhaps if she stuck her head out the window she might be able to see more. She struggled with the latch and tried to lift the sash. It was painted closed. She tapped it with the heel of her hand and forced, best as she could even with her broken wrist, to push it upward. The window screeched as it shifted, after no small amount of concerted effort. Had anyone raised it in the last hundred years? No doubt the noise would bring Mirriam running. Let her come, Karigan thought, but not before I have a look.
She edged the window open wider, enough for her to stick her head out. She craned her neck, looking both left and right. She did not see much, but to the right, between this house and the adjacent building, there was an opening that led to the street. It was just enough for her to observe people, and horses and carriages rushing to and fro. Soon the bells stopped ringing, their leaden tones dying. The activity on the street also diminished. The warm air reminded her of mid- to late spring. She had lost track of time in Blackveil, but they’d entered the forest on the spring equinox. She could not say for sure, but it appeared she’d arrived in the future in the same season she’d left in the past.
“MISS GOODGRAVE!”
Karigan knocked her head on the sash. “Ow!” She backed away from it rubbing the back of her head and turned to gaze on Mirriam and Lorine gaping behind her.
Mirriam was the first to move, setting a pile of books on Karigan’s bedside table and storming across to the window to slam it shut. Karigan winced. She decided Mirriam was not good for the nerves of convalescing patients.
“Miss Goodgrave,” Mirriam admonished, “the air is not healthy. You must keep the window shut.”
The air did have that unpleasant acrid tang to it, but Karigan was definitely tired of hearing what she could and could not do, no matter how much these people were trying to help her.
“I was curious,” she said. “All I can see is that brick wall.”
“You shall find that curiosity has no place in this household. Now, Lorine has your midday meal and I’ve brought you some books.” She looked at Karigan’s feet again and rolled her eyes. “And there shall be slippers, and no more window opening foolishness, do you understand?”
Karigan nodded, and Mirriam marched from the room muttering to herself. Karigan and Lorine exchanged glances, neither of them willing to risk a move lest the slightest breath called the storm back down upon them.
Finally Karigan cleared her throat, and that appeared to be a signal for Lorine to carry the tray to the bed. Karigan hauled herself into bed quickly, observing the tray looked heavy.
“Don’t you mind Mirriam, miss,” Lorine said as she gently rested the tray on Karigan’s lap. “She doesn’t like her routine upset.”
“What’s wrong with the air?”
Lorine shrugged. “It’s the way it’s always been. Dirty and bad for the weak and elderly. Sometimes better, sometimes worse, depending on what’s coming out the stacks and which way the wind is blowing.” Then she leaned close and whispered, “Ill humors roam the night air.” She held her grave expression for several seconds before nodding and adding in normal tones, “I hear it is better in the countryside.”
She removed the lid from the main dish on the tray, and Karigan recoiled at the pungent steam that plumed from the contents. Boiled dinner! Just like her aunts used to make.
Boiled cabbage, corned beef, and potatoes. She tried to conceal her revulsion.
“Call me if you need anything,” Lorine said, and left.
Karigan stared at the pale, limp offerings on her plate. Ill humors, indeed, she thought, wishing she could reopen the window.
PHOSPHORENE
After Lorine removed the almost untouched meal, the scents of fresh paper and ink replaced the stench of boiled cabbage as Karigan flipped through the books Mirriam had brought. The pages were crisp and the bindings unbent—clearly new-bought. She marveled at the clean print; very little bleeding of ink, the type neat and precise. Though her own time boasted printing presses, none produced such a fine product.
For all that, the illustrations inside were black and white etchings, not nearly as beautiful as the hand-colored renderings she was accustomed to. Something gained, something lost, she thought. The illustrations were generally of young men and young women strolling with arms linked, or a man kneeling before his lady. The title of the first she looked at was, Clara May’s Day to Remember. Another was A Pretty Proposal. The books were, quite plainly, stories of courtship and romance, of girls seemingly beset by hardship only to be rescued by gentlemen of means. All stories Mirriam must have deemed suitable for a young lady.
Karigan sighed. Not that she didn’t enjoy a good romance, but the idea it was the only sort of book she’d be interested in annoyed her. She supposed, however, she might actually learn something about the mores and expectations of this world, so she picked one at random, Saucy Sera and Mister Chaunce.
Saucy Sera, apparently, had a wild streak, rebelling against what was normally expected of girls. She ran and played and climbed trees, and when she was punished for doing what girls should not, she dressed up as a boy and ran away so she could do as she wished, including ride horses. Karigan’s heart was with spirited Sera as she strove for freedom, but naturally her plan fell to pieces when Mister Chaunce rescued her from a dire situation in which her true gender was about to be exposed in a humiliating and public manner. Her character underwent complete metamorphosis as she fell immediately in love with Mister Chaunce. Her wild ways quickly faded, and she became a proper young lady interested only in fashion and pleasing Mister Chaunce. Sera’s reward? A grand wedding day in which she married the gentleman who had saved her from herself.
Karigan thought a happier ending would have been Sera finding a way to stay free and independent, but, she surmised, this was not what the girls were taught here and probably not what they fantasized about. Who wouldn’t want some hero to rescue them and shoulder all responsibilities? And, she wondered wistfully, who wouldn’t desire falling in true love? It was all very seductive.
By the time she finished Sera’s story, the light in the room had dimmed, and the bells clanged again. As if on cue, Lorine arrived with supper. Much to Karigan’s relief, there was no cabbage or corned beef in sight, boiled or otherwise.
“Mirriam says you must eat up,” Lorine said in her soft voice. “You must regain your strength and put some flesh on your bones.”
Karigan didn’t think eating up would be a problem when she poked her fork through the pastry of a meat pie oozing with savory juices.
“Lorine,” Karigan said, causing the maid to halt on her way out. She wanted to know for sure what the bells represented. “Why do the bells ring? Is it to tell the time?”
Lorine gazed at Karigan as if puzzled, then smiled. “I keep forgetting you were not raised in the city. Yes. The bells tell us the time. But most importantly for the mill managers, it tells the slaves when they must work, when they may stop for meals, and when they are done for the day.”
“Was this their last bell? Have they been dismissed for the day?”
“No, miss. It was the supper bell. After supper, they will work while there is still daylight. From sunrise to sunset they labor.”
“Like farmers,” Karigan murmured.
“I think farming might be . . .” Lorine broke off, staring toward the window, lost in thought.
“Might be what?” Karigan prompted.
“More bearable.” Lorine shook her head as if dazed. “Nothing to trouble yourself about, miss. Is there anything else?”
“No,” Karigan replied. Lorine curtsied and was gone, leaving Karigan to reflect on Lorine’s words and wonder about what her experiences as a mill slave had been like.
After she ate her fill, she needed to be up and out of bed again, so she crept out into the hallway and again heard male voices from somewhere downstairs. She picked out the professor’s tones, as well as two or three others. Unlike the visit from Mr. Hadley, the circus boss, this gathering sounded more sociable with occasional laughter. She was thinking about sneaking down the hall to at least take a peek when a throat was cleared behind her.
“Is there something you need?” Mirriam asked.
Karigan slowly turned round. Of course Mirriam would discover her in the hall. Where else would she possibly be? “No,” she replied. “On my way to the privy.”
“I trust you remember where it is?”
Karigan nodded.
“Good. I shall await you here.”
“Damnation,” Karigan muttered to herself when she entered the privy and shut the door. This was much worse than her days as a schoolgirl in Selium, where it seemed every adult had been peering over her shoulder. She couldn’t even enjoy the emergence of the fish spout from the wall when she pulled the lever, knowing Mirriam awaited her outside. When she finished, she was duly escorted back to her room.
Once more ensconced in bed, she picked through the books again. This time a piece of paper that appeared to be torn from a larger sheet slipped out of one of the books. It was filled with type and a couple of pictures. It was entitled, “Excavations of the Old City,” and in the top etching appeared the profile of “Professor Bryce Lowell Josston, Licensed Practitioner of Archeology.”
Professor Josston of Mill City, Known for His Studies of Ancient Sea King Relics, Has Turned His Erudite Attentions to His Own Neighborhood.
“The ruins of the Old City have always captivated my imagination as I grew up beneath their brooding visage,” the professor said. “And now I have been given permission to excavate in the ruins to seek further links to the legacy of the first Sea Kings.”
The professor is a scion of a Preferred Family that made its fortune in the manufacture of cotton textiles. It is said he has eschewed industry in favor of scholarly pursuits and sold his majority interest in the Josston Mills. The Imperial Grant to Excavate, the professor believes, will endow him with a lifetime of potential discoveries.
“There is nothing better to me than learning about how those of the past lived,” he said.
Professor Josston joins several others in pursuit of artifacts on the Emperor’s behalf, including the notable Doctor Ezra Stirling Silk, Special Consul to the Emperor on Antiquities and True History, who has conducted remarkable excavations along the east coast and in the Northern Sea Archipelago.
• • •
The second etching illustrated a broad knife with an entwined pair of dragons forming the hilt. The caption read, Bronze knife believed to be Sea King relic, unearthed by Professor Josston in the Bealing Harbor dig.
Bealing Harbor was in Hillander Province, or what used to be Hillander. To Karigan, the sea kings were but a curiosity of far ancient times, lost in the shadows preceding the Black Ages. She knew little of them except that they’d been violent marauders, pillaging and battling the tribal people who had roamed the region that she knew as Sacoridia. They had subdued the people and ruled for scores of years, especially along the coast. Likely their blood still ran through the veins of many Sacoridians. The sea kings had left abruptly, just simply got up and left, sailing their fleets of ships east. If there was any reason for their sudden departure, it was lost to time.
In any case, it appeared the sea kings were
an approved topic of history, perhaps because it was so distant as to be deemed harmless. She wondered if the clipping had been slipped to her purposely, and if so, by whom? Why not just hand it to her? She shook out all of the books, but no other loose papers fell out.
Probably just as well. She’d had enough mysteries and revelations for one day. As the light in her room waned, the bells clanged a final time, and Karigan imagined workers filing out of the mills, weary and relieved another day had finished. Where did they go? If they were slaves, she could not expect they’d be returning to very comfortable accommodations.
My father managed to make his fortune in textiles, she thought, even though his suppliers did not rely on slave labor.
If Professor Josston’s family had made its fortune with cotton mills, she had to assume slaves were involved. The professor’s apparent removal from the business, and his rescue of Lorine, softened her harsh assessment of him. But he was obviously very well off and had profited from slave labor. She wondered what life was like for other people who were not the scions of Preferred families.
The door creaked open and Mirriam strode in, the last of day’s light glancing on the monocle hanging from her neck.
“You aren’t going to read in the dark, are you?” she demanded. She bustled over to Karigan’s bedside table where a globe sat on a bronze pedestal. She twisted a key in its base and at once the globe filled with a bright, steady light.
“Like magic,” Karigan murmured.
“There is no magic in this world, young lady,” Mirriam said, “but modern wonders gleaned from the ingenuity of men.”
To Karigan’s chagrin, there was truth in the housekeeper’s words about the magic. “Is it whale oil?” she asked.
Mirriam laughed. “Now where are we going to find a whale to make oil? Not enough of them left to supply the needs of the city, much less the empire. It’s phosphorene that gives off the light. Surely they weren’t still using candles in the asylum . . . ?”