by Jean Rabe
“I’m looking for Lily Morgan,” he whispered.
“Oh, you must be the man Harland was sending over,” she said. “Well you should have just asked at the desk. This way.”
She turned and marched down the hall, Avery following in her wake. His heart pounded in anticipation. He could picture Lily’s handsome face, her bright eyes, her soft lips. The nurse turned a corner and stopped in front of one of the rooms.
“Third bed on the right,” she said.
Avery whispered, “Thank you.”
He entered the room and headed for the bed. It took all of his willpower to keep from running. As he passed the other beds, he noticed that they were all empty.
“Didn’t expect to see you tonight,” the woman said, behind him. “Thought he’d send someone over in the morning. Then again, what do I know? I imagine undertakers have to keep peculiar hours.”
Avery froze and felt as if his heart had stopped. In a rush, all the heat left his body, and his head swam. He blinked, trying to refocus the spinning room.
“Are you all right?” the nurse said.
Avery bolted to the third bed. He tore back the curtain, nearly ripping it from the rod.
Lying on pure white sheets in a crisp hospital gown, her blonde hair draped gracefully over her shoulders, was Lily. She looked more beautiful than he’d ever seen her. Her face was placid, every muscle relaxed, although her skin was pale. With a trembling hand, Avery reached out and touched her cheek. It was cool but not cold, a tiny bit of warmth still clinging to the flesh.
Avery threw back his head and mouthed a silent scream. Eyes wild, he looked around and spotted the little table beside the bed. A tray holding a cup, a pitcher, and various medical implements lay on it. With a sweep of his arm he sent them flying. They crashed to the floor, scattering in every direction.
At that same moment, an orderly came dashing in, speaking in a rush, “Ms. Hayes! We just got an ethereal from the police. There’s a whisperer on the loose and he’s heading this way. They say he’s danger—”
Avery watched as it dawned on the orderly what was happening.
“It’s him,” he gasped.
“Why didn’t you save her?” Avery hissed, his hands in fists, every muscle shaking.
The orderly stepped in front of the nurse and held out his hands.
“Just stay back,” the orderly said. “The police will be here soon. They’ll take you someplace safe.”
“No!” Avery half-sobbed and turned back to Lily.
Looking at her still,perfect form, Avery’s knees weakened. There were footsteps behind him. He reached into his coat and pulled his one souvenir from the asylum. Spinning around, he pointed the electro-pistol at the charging orderly.
“Stay back,” he whispered.
The orderly skidded to a halt. In the distance Avery heard sirens, and his mind raced. What was there for him now? How could he go on? Why go on? Why had God taken her from him? All he had wanted was a life with Lily.
If only he could bring her back.
A dark thought came unbidden into Avery’s mind. It caused him to recoil with horror. It was wrong. It broke every law of God and man.
To hell with man, and to hell with God too, he thought. They’d taken Lily from him. They’d stripped him of the one thing connecting him to this miserable world. If he could do this thing, he would. Keeping the gun pointed at the nurse and orderly, he leaned down and put his mouth to Lily’s ear. His lips brushing her cool flesh.
“Live,” he whispered.
Lily’s back arched violently, and she gasped. Her body convulsed, and her eyes snapped open. Behind him, Avery heard a cry as the nurse fainted.
“God in heaven,” the orderly cried, before running out of the room.
Avery dropped the gun, grasped Lily’s shoulders, and whispered, “Lily, it’s me. Avery.”
Her convulsions ceased and she fell back onto the bed. Slowly, she turned her head to look at him.
“Avery?”
Tears rolled down Avery’s cheeks. He grabbed Lily up in an embrace, his body wracked by sobs.
“Yes, Lily,” he whispered. “It’s me, my sweet Lily.”
“What happened?” she said. “I was so sick, but I feel better now.”
The sirens were coming closer. Avery looked out the window and saw police cars in front of the hospital gate. Officers were gesturing wildly at the gate keeper who refused to leave his hut.
“We’ve got to go, Lily,” he said, releasing her from his embrace. “Can you walk?”
Lily slipped out of the bed with ease. She was still pale, but otherwise looked every bit as healthy and strong as when she worked at the asylum.
“Yes,” she said. “I’m fine.”
Scooping the gun off the floor, Avery grabbed her by the hand
“This way,” he said.
They raced through the hospital. A few nurses came out to see what the commotion was about, but at the sight of Avery’s gun they screamed and fled.
“I asked to see you, Avery,” Lily said as they ran. “I begged them to bring you. They said you didn’t want to see me.”
“Lies,” whispered Avery.
He led her back to the staff room, and they burst out the back door. A dozen police officers armed with electro-rifles stood facing them.
“Drop your weapon,” one of the officers shouted.
“Leave us alone,” Avery whispered as loud as he could muster.
The police did not move.
“It won’t work,” the officer shouted, tapping his ear. “We know what you can do and we’re prepared. Now drop your weapon or we will shoot.”
Avery gripped Lily’s hand tighter. He looked over and saw fear in her eyes.
“I won’t let them take you from me again,” he whispered. “I won’t go back to the asylum.”
He saw her gaze drop to the gun in his hand.
“They’ll kill you, Avery,” she said. “Please.”
Avery looked to the police, to Lily, and back to the police. If he shot, they might shoot Lily as well. All the strength in his body drained away as his hope fled. His shoulders slumped. His arm, the one holding the pistol, went limp, and the weapon slipped from his fingers.
In a rush, the officers charged. One of them was holding some sort of gag. They grabbed him and slammed him to the ground, yanking his hand out of Lily’s. There was a scream, and he saw that they grabbed Lily as well.
“Lily!” he hissed. “Please! Let her go!”
The officers wrestled him, trying to get him into hand cuffs while simultaneously trying to get the gag on him. One of the officers shoved Avery’s face into the dirt. He could hear Lily screaming.
“No!” she cried. “You’re hurting me. Please stop!”
A slap and Lily screamed again. Avery bucked and fought. His body shook with a burning fury. An officer shoved Avery’s face into the dirt again. Avery had to stop this. The dirt in his mouth gave him the answer.
“Shake,” he whispered.
From deep beneath the earth came a low rumble. The officers stopped, and a silence fell over them.
“Shake,” he whispered, more forcefully this time.
The ground trembled, as if a train were passing. The officers released him, and suddenly everyone was shouting. The rumble grew louder, and the earth began to roll.
“SHAKE!” he hissed.
The earth bucked. He heard a crash as one police car was tossed against another. Screams. Running. Avery leaped to his feet and saw Lily on the ground a few feet away, her eyes wide with fear. He ran to her and helped her up.
“Run,” he whispered to her.
Hand-in-hand, they ran madly across the lawn. In the distance they heard a crashing noise and more screams. Suddenly, Lily stopped and pulled on his arm.
“Avery!” she shouted. “Look!”
Avery looked back. The entire hospital rocked. People stood in the windows, screaming. Nurses were trying to get patients out. A large crack ran up the m
iddle of the old building.
“Make it stop, Avery,” she cried. “Oh, please. Make it stop.”
Avery dropped to the ground and whispered into the earth, “Stop.”
The shaking ceased . . . but the screams didn’t.
“What have I become?” he whispered.
Lily said nothing as she pulled him away into the night.
The next day they put together disguises and bought two train tickets at a station on the outskirts of the city. They had to steal clothes and money; Avery refused to whisper anyone into helping them. Lily did not argue.
They stopped in Newbury, and there was a wait while the engine took on water. Avery and Lily walked into town. The sun shone brightly, and to Avery’s relief the village had few of the Marvel Company’s miraculous devices.
“It’s quiet,” he whispered.
Lily understood, and she leaned in close.
“Do you think they’ll try to follow us?” she asked.
“Yes,” he whispered. “They’ll want me back, now more than ever.”
“If only you could throw it away,” she said. “Toss it into the rubbish bin.”
Avery stopped in front of one of the shops. A variety of phonographs were on display in the window. As he examined the devices he spotted one of the latest varieties. His breath caught in his chest.
“Wait here,” he whispered and rushed inside.
It only took him a minute. He was forced to whisper the shop owner, but it was necessary. He came out a moment later, smiling, and holding a wax cylinder.
Lily stood a few steps away. Two constables were talking to her. One of them held a circular with Avery and Lily’s pictures on it.
“What did you say your name was again?” the first officer said, his hand on the butt of his holstered weapon.
“Eleanor. My name is Eleanor.”
“Do you have any identification?”
Lily blanched and started fumbling around in her stolen handbag.
“Yes, I have it here somewhere,” she said.
Avery rushed over and put his arm around her.
“You there,” the constable said, looking at the picture on the circular and then at Avery. “What’s your name?”
“My name is Albert Prescott,” Avery said in a clear, strong voice. “We’re heading for Somerset on holiday.”
The two constables looked at one another, glanced at the circulars one last time, then looked at Avery.
“Sorry for the trouble, sir,” the first constable said. “We’re looking for a whisperer that caused a bit of a commotion in London last night. If you see him, stay away. He’s dangerous.”
“Of course, constable,” Avery said.
The constables left, and Lily turned to Avery, a tear in her eye.
“How?” she asked.
Avery held up the wax cylinder and pointed at the recording phonograph in the window.
“My whispers work on everyone,” he said.
The train whistle blew, signaling that it was ready to leave. Lily, eyes shining, stood on tip toe and kissed Avery full on the lips.
“Let’s go, love,” she said.
Hand in hand, they headed for the station.
Imperial Changeling
Skip and Penny Williams
Skip and Penny Williams have learned a thing or two about castles and old intrigues from poking around in archives, used book stores, and historical sites. The couple lives in a century-old farm-house on a Wisconsin hillside along with their extensive collection of books and a pride of unruly housecats. Skip keeps a garden and an orchard, but never carries a pocket watch. Penny teaches a variety of subjects, including physics and chemistry. Thus far, none of her students have managed to make anything implode.
The great pond rippled under cool, brilliant light from a waxing moon. Acres of close-cropped turf ringed the water, and clumps of ancient evergreens stood along the shore, leaning out like eager anglers searching for a glimpse of their finny quarry. No breeze wafted the pine boughs’ resinous scent through the air, but the waters still lapped at the grassy shore, murmuring like a restless sleeper. The bubbling song of a waterfall, somewhere near at hand, gave quiet testament to what kept the waters astir.
As the moon began to set, a darker shadow stirred under one cluster of trees. Presently, a slim woman draped in peasant garb stepped into moonlight. Turning her gaze across the vast lawn, she noted the lights twinkling from dozens of windows in a sprawling edifice whose walls, roofs, and gables were all but invisible in the dying moonlight. With a half smile, the woman turned to the water, where, perhaps a hundred meters distant, rose the low mound of a tiny island wreathed in vines and wildflowers. Gazing at this small hump of land, she produced one long feather, snowy white, and cast it upon the water. It bobbed and floated for a moment, then silently ballooned into a graceful swan boat, with an arched prow and a padded seat. Once the peasant woman settled in the boat, it glided smoothly to the islet, without any visible means of propulsion. As it grounded on the shore, the woman stepped out and turned once again to gaze at the distant lights, standing as though transfixed. A few minutes later, a pale dove came winging out of the darkness to alight next to her with a flutter of wings.
The dove rose on its toes, as though to take flight once again. But instead, it stretched and filled out, until it had turned into a stately, dark-haired woman wearing a gown of the latest aristocratic fashion and diamond stars in her hair. The moment the dove’s transformation was complete, the peasant woman sank before her in a deep curtsey.
“I must know the results of your divinations, Teca,” said the noblewoman, laying a protective hand upon her swelling belly.
“Very well, Your Highness. Your daughter will be born vigorous and healthy. Her life. . . .”
The pregnant noblewoman raised a hand and shook her head. “Say no more, Teca.” She walked along the shore, the peasant at her side. “I cannot say I am displeased. A healthy daughter—what more could a parent wish for? Still, Franz will be crushed at the birth of a third female child. He will doubtless wish to try again for a male heir. I have mixed emotions about that.”
“There are other ways, my lady,” replied Teca in a soothing tone.
The noblewoman frowned. “I would not consign my daughter to Ludwig’s fate,” she stated emphatically.
“But your friends and relations on the other side might help,” persisted the peasant woman. “Think of it as the ancient practice of fostering—one child in your court, one in theirs, so to speak.”
The noblewoman pondered for a moment. “A changeling heir to the House of Hapsburg? That could prove troublesome—in a political sense, I mean.”
“Or very helpful,” Teca pointed out with a sly smile.
Some four months later, in a shuttered chamber in the imperial apartments of Schloss Laxenburg, near Vienna, Empress Elisabeth bore the daughter Teca had foretold. The attending physician handed the child to a waiting nurse—a golden-haired girl with a thin frame and jade-green eyes—who quickly bathed and wrapped the child.
“A lovely boy,” she remarked to the doctor.
“What?” snapped the doctor in a harsh whisper. “What sort of nurse are you?”
“A very special one, sent from far away,” replied the nurse, her green eyes blazing with other-worldly fire. “As I said, a lovely boy.”
“A lovely b-b-boy,” the physician agreed with a stammer, his own eyes taking on a glazed look.
The nurse threw open a shuttered window, and her far-seeing eyes fell upon on a certain moonlit island rising from a pond in the distance. From it arose a snowy swan that rushed to the chamber, swift as an arrow. The bird, several times life-size, halted at the window, hovering, with a bundle. An exchange for the newborn was quickly made, and the swan took wing again, soaring high until it was lost among the night stars.
In the next few hours, the citizens of Austria-Hungary began celebrating the birth of the long-awaited imperial heir, Crown Prince Rudolf Karl Franz Joseph. A
t last, the people said, the succession is assured.
Empress Elisabeth pulled on a pair of doeskin gloves to complete her traveling ensemble. Critically examining her reflection in the ornate gold mirror, she nodded in satisfaction at the green gown with white trim, the gold mesh shawl, the pert green hat, and the diamond-and-emerald necklace. “Wherever one goes, one should always look one’s best,” she mused. “After all, having a reputation for being a fashion trendsetter has come in handy more than once.”
Turning from the mirror, she crossed to the bed. Withdrawing a stiletto from beneath her pillow, she slipped it into the specially made sheath in her boot. Hesitating for only a moment, she then moved to her armoire and took a hatbox from the top shelf. She slipped her hand into the space where it had been and removed a small pistol. “One can’t be too careful in these times,” she whispered, dropping the gun into her reticule. “Magic goes only so far, after all.”
Stepping out of her boudoir, she nodded to her Hungarian maid. “Have Eduárd bring the carriage around, Ludmilla,” she said.
“How long will you be staying with your kinsman, Your Highness?” asked the maid, closing the lid on a trunk full of expensive clothing.
“I’m not sure,” replied Elisabeth. “Probably a week or two, at least. Ludwig is certain to have some new toys to show off.”
“Will you need all twelve trunks then?” asked the maid.
“Of course, Ludmilla,” answered the empress with a smile. “I may wish to go directly to Greece from there.”
With a nod to her mistress, the maid departed to supervise the loading.
“Your Highness, are you quite certain that you’re well enough to travel?” asked Hans, Franz Joseph’s trusted retainer, eyeing his mistress’s emaciated face. “You have been so very thin of late—perhaps the fever has left you too weak.”
“Nonsense, Hans,” snapped the empress. “I am perfectly well. It would behoove the members of my husband’s court to embrace my strict diet and exercise regimen as well. The nobility around here is entirely too fat. If double chins were gold, we would never have to worry about taxing the people.”