Odell nodded his head guiltily. He had received a note and small gift just this morning from Odette. The note was a flowery ode to his brilliance and achievements. He read it through several times and knew that she was overcompensating, the congratulatory tone covering up for the hurt of his neglect.
He reached up to touch the small pin nestled in the folds of his loosely tied cravat. She must have found it during her incessant rummagings. It was the size of a small cameo and delicately made. The background was white ivory and painted in black was the profile of a swan. It was a play on his name. He imagined her dancing with joy at the luck of finding such a thing, saving it up to give him on the appropriate occasion.
“Will you be needing a cab, sir,” Sean asked.
“No. Thank you. I’ll walk.”
It was several blocks to the theater, but Odell preferred to walk. He suppressed a shiver as he passed the line of cabs waiting for fares. They still gave him the creeps. Like great headless beasts they lumbered down the streets powered by a technology that had advanced little in the last one hundred years.
The lack of imagination and ingenuity was astounding. It was still a horse-drawn coach, just without the horse. The driver sat atop steering the awkward contraption with levers and brakes. The engine was strapped to the back. The drivers were typically large, burly men. They had to be strong to wrestle with the heavy steel levers. The noxious black smoke belching from the exhaust and the squealing brakes put Odell’s teeth on edge. It wasn’t unusual for one of these machines to careen out of control, sending pedestrians scrambling for safety.
He swished his walking stick in irritation. It wasn’t a lack of talent. Just today he had spoken with another fellow of the Academy. In whispered undertones the man described his research in solar power. It was tentative and he had very little money with which to pursue his studies, but it was imperative, in his view, to find a cleaner fuel. Considering the heavy, poisonous smog that hung perpetually over the city, Odell had to agree.
But he wouldn’t get far. Not with the thickheaded morons who ran this world. All they ever wanted were more toys. The silly “holographic,” he used that word lightly, pictures were a perfect example. They would never allow technology to develop in any democratic sense, to be used for the greater good. True innovation required an open society and that was one thing they would never tolerate.
He was now entering the less prosperous part of town. Evening had fallen and the supper crowd poured into pubs and taverns. Odell could hear rowdy songs and an occasional shouting match echo out into the street. He was out of place in his fine clothes but strode along as if oblivious to the sideways covetous glances.
He finally arrived at the theater thirty minutes before the curtain and was pleased to see a crowd queuing up at the box office. The people milling about were only a little less poor than those he had just passed. They were comprised of the small merchant and professional classes, mostly shop owners, seamstresses and upper servants, like valets and governesses. There were some children, mostly girls, but a few boys as well. It was a gentle scene after the boisterous activity of the taverns.
The location of the theater had been carefully chosen. Set back onto a quiet side street, it was bordered by an Italian restaurant with a bakery on one side and a used book store on the other. The building itself was tall and narrow but opened up past the lobby into a respectable-sized auditorium.
Odell looked around and suddenly stilled. He stepped back unobtrusively into the crowd. He hadn’t moved quickly enough. A light hand touched his arm, and he looked down into Cara’s lovely green eyes.
*
Odette stretched and listened to the cacophony of the orchestra as it warmed up. Testing out the ribbons of her pointe shoes, she flexed and pointed her feet. She practiced her opening steps by moving her arms about in graceful arcs. Richard had come back not ten minutes earlier to tell them ticket sales were brisk, and they would be dancing to a full house.
“Odette.” Janie, the house manager, came running up with an armful of red, pink, and white peonies. “These are for you.”
Odette smiled. She knew before turning the card over that they were from her brother. She loved peonies. “Please put them in the dressing room. Oh, and Janie, did you distribute the roses to the corps?”
“Yes. They loved them. It was a kind gesture.”
“Not at all,” Odette replied, and meant it.
When she had arrived at the theater that afternoon, about four dozen dark red roses awaited her in the dressing room. Their heavy perfume saturated the small space. It crowded out oxygen and fresh air making it hard for her to breathe.
She knew without looking at the card who had sent them as well. Only Drake would send a tribute so suffocatingly sophisticated. Split up among the dancers of the corps, they lost their power to overwhelm. Now they were only gentle roses in the hands of the appreciative dancers.
“Okay, everybody,” barked Richard, “to me!”
They crowded around him as Adelphia walked out from the wings. She looked magnificent. Tall and big-boned, she was dressed in heavy maroon silk with a feathered turban on her head. Her face was stark with its large, hooded eyes and prominent nose. She was often described as plain, but Odette thought her beautiful.
“I can’t tell you how proud I am at this moment,” she spoke in her quiet, deep voice. “It has been months of hard work, and now we are ready to premiere our first ballet. Even before we opened our doors, extensive planning went into this evening… these next few hours. It took time to find the right people. Patrons who believed in what we were doing. And then a suitable space and, of course, a brilliant artistic director.” She took Richard’s hand, and he returned her warm smile.
“And all of you… it took time to find all of you. So I’m just going to repeat what I’ve said many, many times over these last few months. Tell a story. Not with words but with your movements, with emotion. You can be technically flawless, your turns perfect, your extension amazing, and it means nothing if you cannot make the people out there feel something. Bring about a shared experience. Pull that audience onto the stage with you. Create a community of dance.”
Odette could hardly breathe through the lump in her throat. Not once at the King George Ballet had she been so inspired. “Thank you,” Odette croaked in unison with the other dancers. Never had she meant it more.
The performance was entitled An Evening of Dance and consisted mostly of famous variations or vignettes from classic ballets. It had been Adelphia’s idea to draw a new audience into the theater by presenting some of the most exciting pieces.
For Odette, the final piece was the most compelling. They used the last act of La Bayadere as a template. The Dance of the Shades, the ghosts of maidens spurned, was changed to include male dancers and incorporated elements of modern. The movements were haunting, with some dancers elevated en pointe and others barefoot. Richard choreographed it to represent the invisibility of the average person in society, and Odette felt her own impotent rage filtered through the steps.
When the curtain finally dropped, the audience sat momentarily silent. This produced among the company several seconds of panic. But soon a thunderous applause followed, and the relieved dancers filed out onto the stage, bowing, smiling, and waving.
There was a relaxed atmosphere of familiarity in the theater. Odette saw interest, delight, confusion, and even awe reflected in the upturned faces.
Richard walked out and gestured to the conductor in the orchestra. He stood and bowed, in turn gesturing to the Duchess of Montagu, who also took a bow. As the audience quieted, the dancers descended the stage and later mingled with the crowd in the lobby. They conversed, shook hands, and signed the playbill.
Adelphia and Richard hoped to build community support for the theater and entice others through their doors. Odette thought they were off to a good start.
Through a part in the crowd, Odette spotted her brother with Cara on his arm. Cara was speaking intentl
y into his ear. He listened politely but with a rather harassed look on his face. Odette smiled. She was sure Cara was giving him a lecture on his neglectful ways. She walked over to them.
“Darling, you were wonderful!” Cara enveloped her in a cream silk embrace. Her elaborately dressed curls brushed Odette’s cheek.
Odette stepped back and looked up at Odell. How handsome he looked in his evening attire. She smiled brilliantly when she saw he wore the swan pin. She reached up to hug him tightly and said, “Thank you for the flowers.”
He was awkward and embarrassed but not in an obviously stiff way. It was an awkwardness born of uncertainty. He always seemed surprised by her affection, and she noted again the quizzical look.
“Odette,” he said. “I was hoping you… and… Cara might care to join me for a late supper.”
Cara smiled blandly up at him and bowed out gracefully. “Sorry, my dears, but I have an early morning tomorrow. The Marquise de Genesee comes for a fitting, and she is notoriously difficult to please.” She kissed them both on the cheek and left in a rustle of silk and waft of subtle perfume.
Odette smiled. “Was Cara giving you a scold?”
He ducked his head in a familiar way that always wrung her heart. She remembered that gesture whenever their mother came home and gave Odette one of her cold embraces while ignoring her son altogether. He would duck his head down as if trying to hide or disappear.
“She was right,” he replied. “I’ve been too busy. But I think she was mostly angry because I tried to avoid her.”
Odette laughed and wrapped her hands around his arm. Leaning her head on his shoulder she asked, “Where are we going?”
He looked down at the top of her shiny black head and wondered for the millionth time how his mother could have produced such a kindhearted creature. How could her rigid and harsh DNA have combined with anything that wasn’t equally tough and unforgiving? He was his mother’s son, cold and calculating.
“Odette.” Richard walked up to them with Adelphia on his arm. “Congratulations. You were magnificent. I couldn’t have asked for more.”
She glowed. “I don’t think I have ever felt so alive on stage. I can’t thank you enough, both of you, for the opportunity.”
“Not at all,” Adelphia replied graciously. “Your reputation preceded you. I must admit though, I was at Lady Adriana’s wedding.” Odette flushed and tried to say something, but Adelphia held up a hand and laughed. “Oh my, the look on Westchester’s face—I would have hired you on the spot, my dear. Your placement on the Undesirable Roll, however, made that impossible.” She nodded to Odell. “It was a chance meeting with your brother that finally put me in touch with you.”
Odette looked sharply at her brother. She knew he’d had something to do with it. “I didn’t know you knew each other.”
“The Duke of Montagu is one of the governors of the Academy,” Odell explained, trying to dispel the suspicion in her eyes. “We met at a reception for Sir James Wheatly, the preeminent aeropilot.”
They had walked out into the chilly evening. Some people still milled about the restaurant which had stayed open to accommodate the crowd.
“Would you two like a lift anywhere?” Adelphia asked.
Odell was about to decline when he saw that her coach was actually drawn by horses.
She noted his surprise. “I know. An oddity of mine. But I find those smoking, careening contrivances particularly uncouth.” She patted the sleek neck of one of the horses. “Jules and Jim are only a little bit slower than the mechanized hackneys, especially in traffic.”
Odell felt it again. He narrowed his eyes and clutched at his walking stick in an effort to maintain his balance. He focused intently on the Duchess of Montagu. Just for an instant he sensed that she had stepped out from another time. That they were actually standing on some city street in the eighteenth century.
He had a feeling she was clinging to a habit or convention that in some way was more fitting with her nature. It was as if she had been pulled out of her proper place and plopped down here, in a twenty-first century that just did not compute. This wasn’t the first time he had felt a shift or blur in the timeline.
He pursed his lips to hide his disorientation. “An agreeable luxury,” he said. “We would be most obliged if you would drop us at the Empire Union Building.”
Chapter 5
Wisps of cloud slid by the window and curled away like friendly ghosts. It was a moonless night, and Odette could just see a sprinkling of stars through the thick haze. New York City lay at her feet, but her eyes rarely strayed from the dirigible platform several floors above the observation deck where she sat with Odell.
“Have you ever flown in one?” she asked her brother.
“Not that I recall,” he replied absently.
She looked at him skeptically. “How could you not recall riding in a dirigible?”
Odell looked down at his plate and pushed the half-eaten piece of chocolate cheese cake to the side. Linking his fingers together, he sighed heavily and leaned forward. He looked at her for an indecisive moment, then leaned back in his chair and ran his fingers through his hair.
Their surroundings were elegant. The observation deck was a graceful mix of restaurant and passenger lounge. Only the affluent could afford air travel and the eighty-sixth floor of the Empire Union Building reflected this. Richly clad couples gathered at the bar or danced to the music of a big band. Some, like Odette and Odell, came only to dine and watch the enormous airships dock and depart. Others were clearly waiting to board or disembarking from newly arrived flights. At this time of night, few flights were scheduled and the atmosphere was festive with wealthy young partygoers.
This was Odette’s first visit to the upper reaches of the Empire Union Building. She had spent most of the evening soaking up the ambiance and mesmerized by the graceful ships. She also noted Odell’s sidelong glances and uncharacteristic fidgeting. He wanted to speak with her but didn’t know how to begin.
“What is it Odell?” she said in her firm, sisterly voice. “I’ve been commendably silent about how you can even afford to bring me here. So spit it out. What’s going on? What have you gotten yourself into?”
He slouched a little and stuck his hands in his pockets. Odette smiled. Odell would sulk like this when they were kids. Now, however, this boyish posture mixed with the rumpled hair, handsome face, and athletic physique garnered him admiring looks instead of the admonishing glares once received from their mother. Clearly his sister, Odette was the beneficiary of friendly smiles from women hoping for an introduction.
“I’m not stupid, Odell,” she said reprovingly.
He sat up and blinked at her in surprise. “I’ve never thought that. I have never said you were stupid.” He looked at her uncertainly. “Have I?”
“Of course you’ve never said it,” she snapped. “But something has happened. Something has changed.” Her voice caught and she sat back to compose herself.
Odell leaned across the table and grasped her hand. “I’ve wanted to tell you. It’s just complicated. Very, very complicated.”
“Listen, Odell, I know you are involved with Drake somehow. And The White Swan. Your recent elevation at the Academy, the money, your illness last year—you’ve never fully explained any of this to me.” She looked at him intently. “I want to help. If it’s Drake, if you’re in trouble…”
“It’s not trouble like you think, Odette. It’s much bigger. And I’m just afraid you’re going to think I’m crazy when I tell you.”
“You are crazy!” She laughed. “Not crazy-crazy, just visionary crazy.”
Odell smiled in return and looked around them. He had requested this table in particular. Large potted plants encircled it and left only a narrow gap for the waiter and a view of the dance floor. The music was just loud enough to cover their conversation without forcing them to raise their voices. The enormous picture window had a magnificent view of the dirigible platform jutting out from the on
e hundred and second floor—certainly a good enough reason for anyone to be sitting in this spot.
He drew back and put his head in his hands. Odell had thought of this moment a thousand times. He had watched her for months. He had seen her kindness and courage. He knew she trusted him like she trusted no one else. Her belief in him was central to everything. She was the key to all his plans.
“Odette, it was never supposed to be like this!” he blurted out. “This place… those things floating out there… the bloody aristocrats! None of it!”
Her confused and concerned look forced him to regain his self-control. “Ever since I was a kid, I’ve been interested in physics and time. How the universe functions.”
“I know.”
“What you don’t know is that I figured it out.”
“Figured what out?”
“Time. How it works… how to move through it.”
She shook her head disbelievingly. “Move through time? Like to the past or future?”
“Yes,” he replied bluntly.
Just then a waiter wandered by, and she waved him down. “A shot of tequila, please.” He hurried off, and she turned back to her brother. “Time travel,” she said, shaking her head again. “I’m sorry, Odell, but that is crazy-crazy. You’re having me on, right?”
“Listen, Odette, I can’t explain it to you. You wouldn’t understand.” She gave him a hard look, and he held up his hand. “Not because you’re stupid. None of the fellows at the Academy would understand either. It requires knowledge that doesn’t exist in this timeline. Relativity, the fundamental basis for my work, has never been discovered. In this reality, Einstein was a simple mail clerk.”
Odette looked at her brother intently. She had never known him to lie or exaggerate, certainly not when it came to his work.
The waiter appeared with the tequila. Odette tipped it up and downed it in one. She brought the glass down hard on the table, scrunched up her face, exhaled through gritted teeth, and said, “Try me.”
He looked at her set expression. “Fine,” he replied in his clipped professorial tone. “Basically, time is not some unchanging constant. It can be influenced by outside factors, such as motion and speed. Essentially, the faster one goes the slower time moves.”
Odette Speex: Time Traitors Book 1 Page 4