by Anne Groß
It was late in the afternoon when they finally reached the beach. Despite having been anxious to leave the shore just days earlier, Elise was relieved to see the ocean again. Ships were anchored just off shore, and along the beach teemed fifteen thousand souls all worked to prepare for them to disembark. No one noticed when Elise and the medical team quietly began their own operations for returning the wounded to England.
Elise wanted nothing more than to find her company, and by extension, Thomas, but there was no time. Four more wounded had died during their march, and others were in bad shape after the bone-jarring journey in mule carts. She’d insisted on being the only one to care for Peter Collins, confident that she was vaccinated against whatever it was he had. And now George Russell was ordering her to be the personal nurse of some hoity-toity who was too sick to come to shore, making any free moments she may have had to say her goodbyes impossible.”
“I can’t go,” Elise said, flatly refusing.
“What do you mean? Why ever not?”
“I’ve got other plans.”
It was a dumb excuse, but his demand had taken her by surprise. Plus, her headache had grown, making it difficult to think of a plausible lie.
“What plans could you have possibly made that can’t be cancelled or delayed? A cutter from HMS Brazen is already waiting for you on the beach. You’re to leave immediately.”
“Now?”
“Yes, Mrs. Ferrington. Now.”
“The thing is, I really do have this super-awful headache and—”
“To the devil with your headache and all your other excuses!” Russell exploded. “For once, do as I ask. Sir Arthur Wellesley himself asked me for my best nurse. Your reputation has preceded you, and I cannot be made a fool.”
“My reputation?” Elise was taken aback by the notion that she now had a reputation. Russell’s exasperated expression confirmed it. “Fine. But I’ll have to come back to shore to sleep here at night.”
“You are to stay on the Brazen and tend your patient. I have lauded your excellent behavior and knowledge, to the point where your services were asked for as a personal favor for Wellesley himself. You would be supporting a special friend of General Dalrymple. Please, Mrs. Ferrington. Do not embarrass me. Do not make me a liar!”
“General who?”
“Sir Hew Dalrymple, General Dalrymple. He’s preparing to take over this entire expedition. You must go,” Russell pleaded. “I’ve promised Wellesley you’d help the general’s friend and if you behave well and demonstrate your superior knowledge, it would reflect well upon me and might even lead to advancements in my career.”
Elise’s eyes narrowed. He hadn’t mentioned if she would stand to gain anything in this deal, implying she should be swayed to be some wealthy invalid’s personal nurse by the advantage it would bring to his career. “Do you think the general will let me call him Hew? Pewie Hewie?”
Russell glared.
“Fine. General Pimpled Dalrymple it is, then.” Elise turned to leave. She’d go help the general’s ailing friend for a few hours, she decided. The surgeon wasn’t a bad kid, and why shouldn’t she help him out before returning to Tucson? She’d sneak away during a quiet moment when her patient was sleeping. The nights were warm enough that she’d welcome a swim to shore.
She felt a sudden pang of guilt and swallowed hard, remembering how Mrs. Gillihan had helped her get dry the last time she’d been swimming. She’d wonder what had happened; she deserved an explanation for her disappearance.
This was not her time, Elise told herself. This was not her war. It was a blip, a kink in her timeline. None of them mattered, not Mrs. Gillihan, not Richard, not Collins, not even Thomas. She gathered her things and walked towards the beach where the cutter was waiting to take her to the ship, feeling like a traitor.
The trip to the Brazen was agonizingly slow. The sailor’s oars went in and the little boat bucked over a wave. The oars pulled out. They went in again. The boat bucked. The oars came out. Thrust, pull, buck, thrust, pull, buck. Elise clenched the bench in her fists, fighting a wave of nausea. She pushed Quidico from her mind as her hips moved with the rhythm.
Her headache still throbbed. Elise opened the drawstring kitbag of herbs she carried everywhere and rummaged for willow bark. She suspected that chewing wood and getting splinters in her gums merely changed the focus of her pain, but it was better than nothing. She stared blurrily at a point on the horizon, waiting for it all to stop. The oarsmen continued pumping.
When the cutter finally drew up alongside the massive hull of the anchored Brazen, a chair was lowered down from the weather deck for her convenience. Ropes were attached to the chair at four points, but nothing prevented it from flipping backwards and dumping her out should the men above pull the ropes at different speeds. As soon as she was hauled into the air, she clung to the arms of the chair as desperately as she’d clung to the cutter’s bench, thinking how much easier it would have been for her to just take the ladder. This, so men couldn’t see up her skirt, she thought gloomily.
Elise was met on deck by a third mate, who shooed away an old, and distinctly odiferous sailor who carried a set of knitting needles. The third mate directed her to the chief steward, who introduced her to General Dalrymple’s valet, who apologized for the inconvenience and thanked her for her time. Even though she’d met three people in the space of fifteen minutes, she’d only actually moved about ten feet closer to her patient.
“Just direct me to the general’s friend,” drawled Elise. “Also, I’ll need boiled water, soap and towels.”
The general’s valet nodded. “Right away, madam. Will that be all?”
“Just one more thing: General Dalrymple said I should be given a bottle of his finest.” Elise didn’t specify a liquor, not wanting to limit the choices.
He narrowed his eyes, too polite to challenge her lie. “Yes, madam.”
“Actually, two bottles. The general wanted me to have two bottles.”
An attending sailor looked askance at the valet and was sent off with a nod and a flick of the hand. “Right this way,” said the valet.
He led her aft of the mainmast towards the officers’ cabins. Despite the quarterdeck being reserved for the more senior members of the crew and their guests, the rooms were still tiny, the doors to each cabin placed so closely together that it seemed there couldn’t be space for anything inside. By the time they’d reached the general’s cabin, Elise’s headache throbbed painfully in her temples and burned behind her eyes. She had cheeked the willow bark pulp, but now she started chewing it again in desperation and pressed her eyes with the heels of her hands. The valet rapped sharply on a door. The sound was like a jackhammer.
“Oui? Entrez-vous,” came a high voice from the other side of the door.
“Mrs. Ferrington, are you well?” The valet looked at Elise in concern as she squeezed her skull between her palms. “Perhaps we should find another nurse?”
Elise took a bracing breath. She thought of the faith George Russell had placed in her. “No, it’s okay. . . I mean, I’m well.” She’d gotten this far; she’d see it through.
“Before I let you in, I need your solemn vow that you will not breathe a word to anyone that the general’s friend is French.”
Elise raised her eyebrow and nodded. “Not one word,” the valet reiterated. The door opened slowly. “Miss?” he called into the room while demurely looking at the wall rather than the bed. “I’ve a nurse here to help you, miss.”
From deep inside an adult-sized wooden cradle that swung by ropes from the rafters came a questioning grunt, “Hien?” Four fingers curled over the wall of the bed and the round face of a black haired woman floated to the top of a pile of blankets. She craned her neck away from her pillows to look at who had arrived at the door. Her brown eyes were clear and cunning, widened in shock at seeing Elise. “Ciel!” the patient exclaimed, suddenly sitting straight up. “C’est vous!” The bed swung violently from its ropes. “Eet eez YOU!”
Elise reeled backwards with what felt like a ten-piece mariachi band screaming behind her eyes. She gasped in fear and recognition. From the woman’s head, two segmented antennae unfolded from underneath her hair as her brown eyes split into four, then eight, then split again and again until she blinked over compound orbs. It was the black beetle of her dreams, the one responsible for pulling her through time.
“Have you two met?” the valet asked, alarmed by the sudden and violent reaction of the two women.
The beetle composed herself immediately. “Euhhh. . .” she said, sucking in a breath, “eet eez you, zat ’as come to me for zee nursing, non?” She batted her insect eyelashes at Elise, which was very disconcerting, but the message was still clear: de-escalate the situation. Pretend everything is normal. It wouldn’t do to have anyone know their history.
“Mademoiselle Bonnediseuse, may I present Mrs. Richard Ferrington. I’m sure the two of you will get along handsomely.” The valet smiled. “Ah, and here’s the hot water. Perfect timing.”
The valet’s assistant suddenly appeared with a bucket of water and two wine bottles tucked in each of his armpits. Elise snatched a bottle, pulled out the stopper and tipped it past her teeth.
“Ugh. What is this?” she gasped, nearly spitting out the cloying, woody liquid.
“The Dowager Whitefoord’s award-winning elderberry wine. She’s the general’s great-aunt, I believe, and is well loved. The general finds it to be a reparative tonic.” The corner of the valet’s lips curled. “It’s ‘his best’ although it may have turned a bit. It’s been a long voyage for all of us.”
Elise took another long pull of the vile wine. It burned slightly as it went down, and made the joints of her jaw ache with its acridity, but, inexplicably, it also soothed her head.
The valet bowed deep as he exited the room. “Enjoy,” he drawled. When the door shut, Elise looked at the black beetle with unrestrained wonder. “You’re not really sick, are you, you big faker.”
“Big fakaire?” Bonnediseuse’s antennas waved with confusion.
“Liar. Not. Sick.”
She blew a breath through pooched mandibles and rolled her shoulders in the enduring French gesture of, “if you say so,” also interpreted to mean, “can’t be helped,” and “not my fault.” She brought four legs over the side of the bed to push herself further up and turned her compound eyes on Elise.
Every bit of Elise was taken in by a kaleidoscope of pupils. She was reflected upside down on hundreds of retinas. Her own vision blackened around the periphery in a narrowing field of view. Elise backed away to the door and fumbled for the latch. “What do you want from me?” she demanded. The bug didn’t answer. A shimmering thread between them grew ever more substantial, like a golden tether, as Elise’s sight narrowed. She felt herself being pulled along by the thread—a familiar sensation. All doubt as to how she’d been pulled away from Tucson was now gone as the two of them floated in a dark space as substantial as a lucid dream.
You did this to me! Elise screamed. Why!
Hush, you’re hurting my head with your angry cries.
Your head? What about my head? It’s killing me!
Ah? Interesting. Perhaps you would feel better if you were to stop fighting our connection? I brought you forth because I needed your assistance. I suppose I should have known you would be alarmed to meet me, but I admit I am a little disappointed. I had hoped to be greeted as a mother.
What the hell are you talking about?
Can you not understand me? Her antenna circled in consternation, as if trying to find better reception. I thought all persons in the between could understand each other. Perhaps it’s something to do with being a golem?
I understand that you are a bug. I understand that you dragged me away from my job and my friends. Send me back. Send me back to Tucson right this instant.
You see worshipers of the Goddess Isis as scarab beetles. Do not be frightened, it is a common vision for initiates. Concentrate a little harder and you will see me in my true form. She smiled as Elise squinted in concentration.
Slowly, Bonnediseuse’s thorax returned to being a chest and shoulders rising above a demure black dress. Her antenna receded back into her black hair that fell loose around her round face. But her eyes were still large, like puddles of mud. I’m waiting, Elise said.
Waiting? Waiting for what?
Send me back!
I created you from nothing, so there’s nothing to send you back to.
How dare you tell me I had nothing. I had everything: a great job, friends, a kick-ass apartment. I even had an IRA and my car was paid for. Now? Now I’ve got nothing. I mean, look at me! Look at my boots! I had to literally kill someone for these, and they’re not even cute! And it’s all because you pulled me off my timeline.
Adelaide frowned. I don’t understand. What is a car? What timeline?
I’m from the future, stupid!
The sound of cackling laughter startled both of them. From deep in the void, a proud woman floated towards them. Her hair was wrapped in a colorful scarf, as was her waist. She held the hem of her red skirt to her waist and her underskirts tumbled over her legs like a waterfall. Avó! exclaimed Elise. What are you doing here?
You’ve reneged on your promise to me, Elise Dubois.
No, I didn’t! I was going to come later.
I don’t believe you. You and Mademoiselle Lenormand are plotting against me.
Who? Elise looked in surprise at the woman in the bed. I thought your name was Bonnediseuse?
The woman gave another of those irritating Gaulish shrugs.
I was totally going to meet you, Avó. There’s still plenty of time. We wait for the new moon, right? When does it come out?
Avó and Adelaide looked puzzled, and it slowly dawned on Elise why they’d be unable to answer her question.
Enough, Avó snaped. Since you refuse to carry my great grandchild, I will take the emerald. You have not the strength to control it in any case.
Adelaide gasped at the audacity of the Romani leader. You would deprive all of womanhood for your own greed? The emerald is for all of us. It was never meant for one person alone. It must be returned to Mademoiselle DuBette so that our voices will one day be heard.
Yes, DuBette told me of her plan. How absurd. You don’t honestly believe she wishes to share one gemstone with all the women in the world? The cunning woman has you fooled. She will sell it and keep the money for herself.
She would never do that. The scarab is the key to the Thoth tablets.
The Thoth tablets are a myth created to justify the existence of divination cards.
Adelaide gasped at the affront and clutched at her chest.
There’s no magic in cards, laughed Avó. Any powers you may have, and I don’t doubt that you have powers, lies within you. You might as well dump those cards you carry into the ocean. You’ve forgotten which items are props, and which are real.
Mademoiselle DuBette told me that la Société has an ancient copy of the Thoth tablets. That emerald will unlock the alchemical formula and give economic power to womankind. We would finally have a voice, now, and for generations of women to come.
Avó spat derisively into the void below her feet. Women already have power: the power to perpetuate humanity. The only power that scarab will give its possessor will come from its worth on the black market. You know it to be true, otherwise you wouldn’t have given up your chase to become the general’s mistress. What has the old man promised you, Lenormand? An apartment in London? How are your English lessons coming? Does he like your pretty accent and pet you like a lapdog when you speak? Nothing changes for us in the future—ask the golem, she will tell you there are still wars. There are still those that go hungry. She gave a disgusted sniff and suddenly disappeared.
Elise and Adelaide stared in shock at the place where Avó had just been floating. What did you mean by saying the scarab is the key? Elise demanded.
Adelaide studied Eli
se thoughtfully. Are there many golems like you in the future? Before Elise could answer she brightened, if you’re from the future, perhaps you can give me hope? One of our sisters, was Olympe de Gouges. Have you heard her name? Does the world still speak of her?
Never heard of her.
A sad look fell over Adelaide’s face. Tell me: are the voices of women equal to men’s?
As Elise weighed how to answer the question she felt dread slide over her like a shadow. I think she’s here.
Who? Adelaide looked around. I see no one. Senhora Ineriqué de Laroque is gone.
Avó’s here! Send me back to my body! Now!
Oh! You mean here, there. Why didn’t you say so?
The second Elise dropped back to her body, she opened her eyes and slapped a hand over her breast where she kept the emerald. Avó was leaning in towards her through the open cabin door with eyes fixated on her cleavage.
“Hands off! It’s mine!” Elise cried out, leaning back. “How did you get here?”
“What do you mean, how? I’m una bruja. Witches get things done.”
“You flew?” Elise’s eyes grew wide in wonder.
“No, idiota. Quidico rowed me here. He’s tied up next to the ship where no one will see him and awaits our return.” She pointed a rheumatoid finger at Elise. “You hurt him.”
“Oh, please.”
“You did, you heartless woman. He saw you leaving shore and came running to his Avó for solace. But you will do things to him to quickly make him forget. Eh? I’ve a feeling about you—you are not so innocent.” Her eyes sparkled with meaning. “Enough talk. Let’s go.”
“I’ve changed my mind.” Elise slowly backed out of the door.
“Then you do not want to return home?”
Elise’s head was whirling with conflicting thoughts. None of it made any sense. “Of course I do.”