Kipp’s head lifted from his pursuit of the lingering mouse trail as his eyes met mine across the dimly lit back yard. For an instant, his amber eyes caught the light from my back porch as they glowed like those of a beast in the forest. Our lupine brothers and sisters could have traveled a primitive, elemental route in their development but chose to stay at our sides, evolving as did we into what we’d become in the present day.
“I love you.” Kipp’s thoughts floated across the yard.
“Back at you, kiddo,” I replied, waving at him.
As much as I didn’t want to return to the kitchen, I finally forced myself to go back inside, the heat of the room hitting my face like a blast furnace. Peter turned, staring at me a minute, and I knew he wanted to ask if I planned on helping him but kept his words bitten off. I picked up the drying towel and began to put away things as quickly as possible. I was ready to move on.
Kipp and Elani finished their excursion and begged to be let in, their noses making damp spots on the glass of the storm door. Kipp’s fur was standing on end from static, and he looked like a big red puffball as he walked over to a reclining Juno, who was comfortably curled in front of the infrared heater churning out warmth from the corner of the kitchen. She raised her head, wagging her tail at Kipp, who leaned forward to gently touch her gray muzzle with his. I knew that was their goodbye.
“Come help me,” I ordered Peter. My bed had to be made with fresh linens for Philo, and I was too lazy to dart back and forth to each side to pull and tuck. We made short work of that job, and the bed made, I shooed Peter out so that I could get prepared. Kipp joined me in my room as I began to don the layers of clothing I’d need, while Peter and Elani used Fitzhugh’s room.
“The idea of three skirts is clever, but I feel like the Pillsbury doughboy,” I whined.
“Well, I have to wear my money collar,” Kipp groused, showing his teeth. “You know I don’t like things around my neck.”
I was sitting, as best I could manage with all the padding, at my dresser, trying to loop my hair in a fashion that would be acceptable for the times. To set the atmosphere as well as create a pleasant scent, I’d lit a candle that Fitzhugh had picked up for me as a thoughtful gesture. Warm fragrances of maple and pumpkin were threatening to ignite my latent appetite for something decadent to eat. A soft knock on my door interrupted my concentration. At my reply, the door cracked open and Fitzhugh peeked in.
“Are you decent?”
“Yes.”
He entered, Juno with him. “I thought we’d keep you company while you finish up,” he said, smiling. Fitzhugh must have been feeling pretty comfortable, because he took a seat on the edge of my bed. “You know, I’m not an invalid, and Philo really doesn’t need to stay here with us,” he began.
“Me neither,” Juno chimed in, wagging her tail.
My eyes met Fitzhugh’s in the mirror. “I’m not really doing it for you two,” I replied. “I thought it would be good for Philo.”
“Oh, well, then,” Fitzhugh sputtered.
We were quiet, all four of us, as I tried twisting my hair into a roll that kept poofing out oddly on one side. The flame of the candle, snagged by an invisible wind current, began to shimmy, causing shadows to dance on the darkened walls of my room. The plantation blinds were shuttered, and the candle, along with the ambient light from the bathroom, was all that gave illumination to the space.
“And there’s the convenience, since Peter isn’t gonna be around to take you back and forth to work.” I tried not to curse as my hair would not cooperate.
“Okay, I get it,” Fitzhugh replied, somewhat irritably. “Just part that mess down the middle and pin it in the back,” he advised. “You’re going to be wearing a hat, anyway, so who cares.”
I widened my eyes, staring at him. “Who cares?” Laughing softly, I said, “I’ll remember you said that one day in the future.”
He ducked his head, laughing, too. “I think I’m getting old,” he said, shrugging his shoulders.
“No, not you!” I said, making a face of amazement.
I took his advice, and using the comb made a relatively straight center part. Then I pulled it back, creating a neat chignon, and began to pin the hair in place. Not a contemporary style, but with the hat, it would pass.
“You know, Petra, I was giving thought to all the possible mysteries to unravel that surround the assassination of Lincoln. It’s rather a shame this visit has to be brief and focused, even though I understand the rationale.” Fitzhugh sighed, the sound soft in the room.
Symbionts had, historically, made some seriously deep dives into the past. It had been easier, when we were less enmeshed with humanity, to disappear for years at a time to embed oneself into a particularly sensitive locale. Now, it seemed, if a longer time-shift was indicated, the result was the pair would be relocated to a new collective and begin life anew upon return. We’d had pairs embedded in the courts of Julius Caesar, Cleopatra, and even in the administration of George Washington. I, when much younger, was sent to scout out some lingering questions around Napoleon. I must say, I didn’t care for him or that trip. Neither did Tula. Napoleon was a distinctly narcissistic fellow, and his court was filled with enough intrigue to make one’s head ache. If the collective ever decided another trip to that location was needed, they would need to find another pair of symbionts to make the trip.
“I remember Arnie and Tig made a trip to investigate the truth behind the disappearance of Edward V and his brother who were confined to the Tower of London by their uncle, Richard III.” I frowned as the memories flooded back. Leaning forward, I put my elbows on my dresser and stared at Fitzhugh’s dark eyes in the mirror. “They never spoke of it, but their stories made it to the chronicles and were required reading for those prospective travelers who might be too faint of heart for the rigors involved.” My eyes glanced down to the mirrored reflection of Harrow’s pearls, which would go with me, hidden beneath the fabric of my blouse. “That trip changed them, and they never felt quite the same about traveling.”
Fitzhugh nodded his head as Kipp stared at me. I knew Kipp wanted to pose a question but hesitated, not wanting to appear to be morbidly interested. But why should he be any different than legions of historians?
“Fitzhugh can pull it up, Kipp, if you want to study the accounts.” I sighed. “It is an exceedingly difficult read…or at least I found it to be so.”
“Do I need to know?” Kipp looked at me, trust in his heart. He would follow my lead.
“I can’t make that decision for you,” I replied. “I’d like to shelter you from some horrible things, but it’s not my job to decide how much your shoulders can bear.”
Kipp settled down; his mind became calm, like a pool of still water before a storm. He couldn’t remain quiescent for long. It just wasn’t in his nature.
“Considering the fact that the Confederacy was operating spy rings all throughout Washington, the political leanings of the locals, questions about the loyalty of some of Lincoln’s top officials…” Fitzhugh paused. “Why was Booth allowed to pass the Navy Yard Bridge and escape that night? Yes, I know what the record says, but wasn’t the fact that he’d be allowed passage rather ironic?”
Kipp resumed grooming his right paw, wanting to look his best upon our arrival. He’d even had me vigorously brush his coat until it gleamed. He stopped and glanced up at Fitzhugh. “It will be tempting to go past our mandate and delve further. But we really can’t unless we plan on somehow being a part of the action for all the years of Lincoln’s presidency.”
Fitzhugh shrugged his shoulders. “It is Elani’s plan, and I think she wisely recognizes her limitations as well as Peter’s. They are not ready to be gone for years, having to stay in character for an extended period. It requires a discipline that is acquired through experience. And neither Elani nor Peter would want to be absent from home base for any length of time, that much is true.”
I knew he didn’t mean it as a criticism but as a fact
. I’d not made my deep dive until I’d been traveling for years. It was a place one worked up to after many time-shifts. And I no longer wished to do it, either. Home had become more relevant as I grew older.
“But all truths gained are important, are they not?” Kipp asked. He tilted his big head to the side, taking in all three of us in turn.
“You are right,” Juno answered. “Even the smallest moment of truth in a conflicted history is important. It’s not always the flashing lights and the shiny objects that matter.”
The room fell quiet. Fitzhugh wanted to say goodbye and wish us good luck but was hesitating. Juno looked from him to me, her grizzled, graying muzzle still, only her eyes moving back and forth.
“Uh, we will use the front room,” I began, stammering, trying to break the spell of silence that hovered awkwardly.
Fitzhugh stood, turning to brush out the wrinkles he’d made by sitting on my neatly made bed. “Of course, it’s time for you to go.” His face was guarded, his eyes shadowed. “Good luck.” For some reason, he’d retreated into himself. And because of our modern constraints against the natural ebb and flow of telepathy, I didn’t follow him.
“Come here, you old thing!” I exclaimed, pulling him towards me into a hug. “Don’t forget to pay the power bill which is due in a week,” I admonished him. “I left my checkbook on the desk. And I figure by now you know how to copy my signature,” I added, lifting my eyebrow.
Fitzhugh laughed. “I promise.” He gently extricated himself from my arms. “Be careful.”
“You know I always am careful.”
“Well, no, you haven’t been, and that’s why I worry.” Fitzhugh smiled at me.
Juno managed to stand after a tiny struggle; Kipp was at her side and would have given her an assist if possible but, as it were, could only lend his emotional support. They touched muzzles. In my connection with Kipp, I could follow their flow of thoughts and the love that had developed between the two. Juno never had children and thought of Kipp as a son. She had the proud feelings towards his accomplishments as if he’d been her own.
“Be good,” she said, her dark eyes meeting mine.
“You know I always am,” I said, parroting my earlier remark.
“Well, no, you haven’t always been, and that’s why I worry,” she replied cleverly.
Thirteen
The time-shift was one of the better ones I have managed over the many years I’ve done such a thing. I’m not sure, but I highly suspect Kipp did something, perhaps a skill from his almost magical toolkit, to cushion my landing after the disastrous events we encountered during our examination of the Spring-heeled Jack phenomenon. I guess Kipp didn’t want any more broken arms, although he bore no responsibility for that particular mishap. Actually, after the initial dive off into oblivion, I felt as if I floated down, as gently as a flower blossom upon a pond of still water, to land, my legs tucked neatly beneath my torso, in a pile of fragrant, crispy straw. During the initial few moments of disorientation, I took a deep breath and registered the smell of large animals, perhaps horses, and the earthy, organic richness of manure. Hopefully, I was not sitting in a pile of the latter. A soft, familiar sound confirmed the presence of horses as a soft whinny echoed against the walls of the enclosure. Kipp, his recovery faster than mine, threw out his sonar to see if there were any humans close-by. After a second or two, he gave an all-clear.
“I think we are good,” he grunted with satisfaction. He was pressed close to me, the bulk of his body heavy against my right thigh. Kipp’s head rose as he gazed about the building in which we’d materialized. It was clearly a barn, with several stalls filled with horses; their heads bobbed in surprise at the inexplicable appearance of four beings in their midst. A couple raised their heads, their nostrils blowing, as they tried to pick up our scents. A moment later, they relaxed, figuring we were of no consequence -- couple of people with their dogs, perhaps, even though they recognized the lupines were not really dogs, but something fairly close in their estimation. Bored with us now, one chestnut-colored mare began to pull straw, munching loudly.
Elani, tucked in next to Peter, was yawning. She gave the appearance of nonchalance, almost seeming to be sleepy and bored. She was a natural for this sort of thing, her relaxed attitude in direct opposition to Kipp, who was alert, almost agitated in his busy canvassing upon his arrivals. Elani stood, shook herself vigorously to rid herself of the clinging wisps of straw, and then stretched to and fro, almost dancing on tippy-toes as she worked out any muscle kinks. Peter was sitting, his legs crossed, his hat slightly askew with a piece of straw clinging to his beard. He managed a cheery wave of his hand at me.
It was then we heard a soft cough that obviously had a human origin. I don’t know why, because it sounds silly, but I involuntarily ducked, as if doing so could make me invisible. Kipp stalked towards the sound, his body low; in the next second, his tail began to wag.
“There’s a man over there lying in the straw, sleeping. He smells funny—not sure what that is—but he seems, well, drugged or something.” Kipp frowned, mentally. “I don’t know why I didn’t pick him up?”
“Probably had too much to drink, and he wasn’t dreaming, so there were no active thought patterns for you to snag,” I responded. “Let’s get out of here.”
With speed born of practice, I quickly unpacked my backpack and reversed the receptacle into the carpetbag that would be less conspicuous. Then I transferred the contents to the carpetbag, not minding the straw that managed to find its way there, too. I could deal with that problem later. Peter finished just a moment behind me, and the four of us quietly made our way to the smaller side door that led to an alley. We paused in the dimly lit narrow brick-lined space to view our surroundings. I craned my neck back to gaze at the moonless sky, which was cluttered by clouds, making the alley dark as a bottomless pit. A couple of men, laughing loudly, passed the entrance of the alley but did not look in our direction.
“Just a minute,” Peter said. “Turn around.” He then gave my backside a serious brushing off with his hand. “You’ve got straw everywhere.”
I glanced at Kipp, who smirked in response. We had, indeed, arrived, if Peter felt emboldened to manhandle me in such a fashion. He’d once been way too fastidious to touch me at all. However, since Kipp couldn’t make me look presentable, and Peter had actual hands with which to work, I was grateful for all the help I could get. I responded in kind by doing the same to him, finishing with an adjustment of his hat.
The alley stank of old urine and stale, rotting food. It was probable that the stable worker used the alley as his latrine as well as lunch break room. Elani rolled her eyes as she coughed politely, blinking her eyes. Against the far wall, a pair of eyes glowing red stared at us; a moment later, a large rat scurried away, alarmed by our presence and seeking safety somewhere else.
“I have no idea why humans soil the area where they eat,” she began. “Animals know not to do that.”
“I suspect, sweetheart, that the people who use this alley are probably doing so after having consumed a large amount of liquor,” I replied, ruffling the soft, dense fur on her head. She would always be a favorite, somehow managing to combine Kipp’s best qualities with those of the sober-minded and grounded Juno. Elani was family, now.
Having made ourselves presentable, we stepped out of the stinky alley and onto the street, which was only marginally better. I’d actually not been to Washington in my previous travels, but knew the times, in general, and expected pretty much what I saw. The completion of an aqueduct had ensured the availability of clean drinking water, although the rivers remained polluted from human waste. As a consequence of war, too many humans had crowded into a space not designed for so many bodies and the waste they generated. While some of the streets were covered in a macadam covering, many were composed of packed dirt combined with rock, and the result was a lot of mud everywhere. This was especially true since the streets were used to herd cattle and other livestock back and
forth as needed for the Union effort of supplying meat to the troops. Washington was one of the staging grounds for supplies, with cavernous storehouses situated near the rivers. Karl kept some of this in mind and had made my skirts just an inch shorter than might be otherwise indicated, to allow for the mud and trash. I hoped I didn’t look like some bumpkin with pants way too short, white socks showing as I traipsed along the byways.
A couple of men approached, laughing at some private joke. I saw their eyes shift towards us before dropping down to behold the enormous lupines who were natural attention-getters. There was nothing nefarious in their thoughts, merely curiosity. We’d paused beneath the halo of a ,streetlamp; a fine mist that was turning to sleet was falling. I figured one of our first purchases might be umbrellas.
“Sirs, beg pardon,” Peter intoned, stepping forward and tipping the edge of his hat for a good measure of politeness. “We are looking for H Street and wonder if you might give directions.”
The men tipped their hats, too, nodding respectfully in my direction. The larger of the two could have passed for a young Santa Claus, with a large belly and cheerful face partially hidden behind a snowy white beard. What I could see of his face was youthful, and his white hair was obviously premature. He was warmly dressed, as was his companion, in a wool overcoat that fell below his knees. A scarf of some soft material was knotted at his throat. I was envious of that scarf, given the cold breeze that hit me in the face.
A Conspiracy to Murder, 1865 Page 13