Thirty Days Later: Steaming Forward: 30 Adventures in Time

by Harry Turtledove

  For when we reach them, the clouds shall anoint us as ambrosial.

  When we ascend, we will take the air of Gods in our breath and speak more gospel than we have ever felt. When we move the waters against the heaviness that once tied us down, we will mock gravity as it becomes less than trivial. The force that has held us to this pestilent soil for too long, will become unworthy. We shall leave it behind and make new souls in the freedom of the mesosphere. Our hands will move mountains, our feet will grace the pother of our efforts, and our backs will rest knowing that we have earned what we have so deservedly taken.

  The earth shall know who owns it and those of us that live above it will look down from our rule!

  Grace will come upon us with ascension. In the night we will strive to touch the black, to show it we are not afraid. It will not consume us for we are unbreakable, unlike the breach of heaven. We will clasp the stars in our hands and make waves upon the universe as it becomes our domain, for the result will prove we are more formidable than those that claim to have made us.

  We shall prove our worthiness to be more than God.

  To become His keeper ….

  Putting on Airs

  by Lillian Csernica

  The carriage rolled down the cobbled avenue. Dr. William Harrington observed the gentle twilight of mid-February with quiet contentment. London still laboured under a blanket of sooty snow, but here in Kyoto flowers were already blooming. Madelaine leaned against her mother, one fingertip stroking the carved wooden cicada that hung by a string from a wooden stick. Spinning the toy around the stick produced a sound remarkably similar to a cicada in the heat of summer. Mother and daughter both wore dresses of forest green wool, a fine compliment to their dark hair and fair skin. Constance wore her hair swept up beneath her bonnet. At nine years old, Madelaine was still young enough to wear hers in a single long braid. Harrington wished he could capture the moment in a painted miniature.

  Harrington’s black wool topcoat, gray trousers, navy waistcoat over a high-collared white shirt, and wine-colored cravat were quite proper on Harley Street. The heavy clothing did prompt a bit of envy toward Japanese men with their option of wearing a yukata, the lightweight cotton kimono worn in the spring and summer months. Harrington still needed some comfort and tranquility after the ordeal of Madelaine’s fever and the bizarre events of New Year’s Day. Two months without further supernatural contact had helped Madelaine recover. For Harrington, many questions remained unanswered.

  The carriage reined in before the gate of Dr. Harrington’s home. The driver opened the door and let down the step. A cat yowled. Furious barking erupted, startling the horses and making them stamp in their traces. Harrington stepped down from the carriage. Across the avenue, the thin, bony figure of their neighbor, Mr. Carruthers, hauled back on the leash of his aging bloodhound. The dog strained forward, almost jerking the poor man off his feet.

  Again the cat yowled. The bloodhound yipped, a thin, broken sound of pain. Madelaine jumped down from the carriage and grabbed a small branch fallen from one of the pines lining the avenue. She ran in front of the bloodhound and started swinging at the shadows.

  “Bad cat! Get away!”

  Harrington rushed to snatch Madelaine up in his arms. He caught a glimpse of yellow-green fire burning in the shadows.

  “Came out of nowhere.” Mr. Carruthers knelt beside his cowering bloodhound. “Black cat, big as a collie! Poor Bartholomew.” He dabbed at the dog’s nose with his handkerchief. Blood stained the cloth.

  “Constance,” Harrington said. “Take Madelaine inside.” He beckoned the carriage driver and gave him several coins. “Go to the office of Dr. Chambers, the veterinarian. Bring him here at once.”

  “Hurry, man!” Carruthers wrapped Bartholomew in his coat and tried to lift the great dog up in his arms.

  “Here now, let me do that.” Harrington picked up the bloodhound, staring into the shadows. What he’d glimpsed looked nothing like any cat he’d ever seen, not even a black panther once shown at the London Zoo.

  The following afternoon, Harrington found Constance in the parlor dressed for tea time in a lovely dark blue plaid. The tea table held an abundance of scones, cucumber sandwiches, shortbread, and other dainties.

  “This seems quite a feast for the three of us, my dear.”

  “Mrs. Thompson sent a note asking if she might bring another couple. They’re new to the British set here in Japan.”

  Alexander Thompson, Undersecretary for Technological Exchange, had been present for the events of New Year’s Day. When Harrington ordered a steam-powered wheelchair for the Abbot, he’d no idea Thompson would henceforth think of Harrington as a colleague. The maid showed the Thompsons into the parlor. Short, stout, and balding, dressed in a brown tailcoat, gray waistcoat, and black stovepipe trousers, Thompson made a comical pairing with his wife Eleanor, a slender woman gowned in garnet taffeta.

  “Dr. Harrington!” Thompson said. “So good to see you.”

  “Undersecretary.” Harrington smiled. “And Mrs. Thompson! I’m delighted you could join us.”

  Mrs. Thompson’s smile gave her rather plain face a sudden sweetness. Behind her stood another man. Mrs. Thompson guided him forward.

  “Do allow me to present Colonel Peter Anderson, a civil engineer on Mr. Thompson’s staff.”

  The colonel was a tall, solid man with a head of thick russet hair and impressive side whiskers. He wore charcoal gray jacket and trousers with a red waistcoat. At the colonel’s side stood a petite Japanese woman. Her glossy black hair displayed rather too many ornaments in its elaborate style. Her yukata, a fine yellow silk sewn with red and purple dragonflies, clashed with the other ladies’ quiet elegance. Surely the colonel hadn’t married a courtesan?

  The colonel gripped Harrington’s hand in both of his. “Quite honored to meet you, doctor. I understand the workings of machines, but it takes a true genius to fathom the workings of the human body.”

  “You’re too kind, colonel.”

  The Colonel said something in Japanese. His wife bowed, making the ornaments in her black hair tinkle like tiny wind chimes.

  “Myoko speaks no English, I’m afraid.”

  “Please,” Constance said, “do make yourselves comfortable.”

  While Constance got everyone settled on the sofas and served tea from the silver tea service, Harrington studied Myoko.

  “Colonel, I understand you’re new to Japan,” he said. “May I ask how you met your wife?”

  “Certainly. I was in the Imperial Gardens, inspecting a damaged bridge. When I looked up from my work, I saw Myoko sitting nearby on a stone bench, under the shade of her parasol.”

  “Love at first sight, colonel?” Mrs. Thompson asked.

  “Yes,” Colonel Anderson said with a faint, slightly foolish smile. “Yes, I suppose it was.”

  “Forgive me, doctor,” Mrs. Thompson said. “I must make a small confession. When Mrs. Anderson learned you have a little girl, well ….”

  “Perhaps I should explain.” Colonel Anderson sat forward. “The Japanese love children. To meet a little British girl, one as clever and sweet as your daughter is said to be, would be a rare pleasure for my wife.”

  Constance glanced at Harrington. In that glance he read disapproval, of both Myoko and her request. He shared her feelings, but Mrs. Thompson had put him in an awkward position.

  “In the face of such praise, we can hardly refuse, can we, my dear?”

  Constance rose and hurried out. She returned with Madelaine, who looked quite charming in a simple dress made of the same dark blue plaid Constance wore. Nurse Danforth made a discreet third.

  “Madelaine.” Harrington beckoned her. “You remember Mr. and Mrs. Thompson?”

  “Yes, Papa.”

  “It’s so good to see you up and about, young lady,” said Thompson.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “This is Colonel Anderson,” Constance said, “and his wife.”

  Myoko studi
ed Madelaine, dark eyes narrowed. To Harrington, Myoko didn’t seem all that pleased.

  “Anata wa neko ga suki desu?”

  “Hai,” Madelaine replied. “Neko wa dai suki desu.”

  “Well done, young lady,” said Colonel Anderson. “So you like cats very much, do you?”

  “Yes, colonel.”

  Myoko reached into the sleeve of her yukata, then held out her hand to Madelaine. Madelaine drew back against Harrington.

  “It’s all right, dear,” Mrs. Thompson said. “Mrs. Anderson just wants to give you something.”

  Madelaine took a slow step toward Myoko. Harrington wondered at Madelaine’s reluctance. Myoko opened her fingers and dropped into Madelaine’s palm the tiny figure of a cat curled up as if asleep, carved from the deep red-brown of boxwood.

  “Arigato gozaimasu.”

  Myoko smiled. “Doh itashimashite.”

  Something about that smile put Harrington on guard.

  “Madelaine,” he said, “May I see your gift?”

  When Madelaine turned to face him, the little cat rolled across her palm. She closed her fist to keep from dropping it.

  “Ow!”

  Madelaine opened her fist. The tip of each tiny wooden ear had pierced her palm. Harrington had seen a few such carvings. The makers took pride in the smooth, glossy surface. To leave a splinter would be unthinkable. He took out his handkerchief and gripped the carving between finger and thumb. As he pulled it away, a drop of blood welled up.

  “Papa,” Madelaine said, “I don’t want any tea. May I go to my room?”-

  “Of course, darling. Nurse Danforth?”

  “Yes, doctor.”

  Madelaine clung to Harrington’s sleeve. “Papa ....”

  Her eyes rolled back. She collapsed. Harrington caught her in his arms.

  “Madelaine!” Constance cried. “William? What’s wrong?”

  Harrington stood up. “Do excuse me.”

  Nurse Danforth hurried ahead of him, sliding open the door to Madelaine’s room. Harrington laid Madelaine on her bed and pressed his ear to her chest. Rapid heartbeat. Short, shallow breaths. He lifted one of Madelaine’s eyelids. Her pupils were dilated.

  “Papa, the cat monster ... Mrs. Anderson ....”

  Hallucinations. Delirium. Harrington’s own heart began to pound. Not this, not now, when Madelaine had only just recovered! Better light and a magnifying glass might confirm what he suspected. Based on the information available at this point, he could make only one diagnosis.

  For reasons unknown, Myoko had tried to poison Madelaine.

  “Prepare an injection of morphia. The smallest possible dose.”

  “Yes, doctor.”

  Nurse Danforth prepared the hypodermic syringe. Harrington injected Madelaine.

  “Stay with her,” Harrington said. “If her breathing changes, call for me at once.”

  “Yes, doctor.”

  Harrington snatched up a small lacquer box from Madelaine’s dresser, poured out her little treasures, dropped the carving inside, and tucked the box into his jacket pocket. He ran back to the parlor.

  The colonel and his peculiar wife were gone.

  “Go, Constance. Sit with Madelaine.” Harrington turned to Thompson. “Where is Mrs. Anderson?”

  “She just walked out. The colonel followed like some lovesick schoolboy.” Thompson frowned. “Mrs. Anderson looked quite pleased with herself.”

  “I’m sure she did.”

  Mrs. Thompson gasped. “What are you saying? The colonel’s wife meant to do your daughter harm?”

  “At the moment, it very much looks that way,” Harrington said. “Some investigation is in order. I will decide tomorrow whether or not to contact the authorities.”

  The next morning Madelaine appeared weak but stable after a restless night full of nightmares about cats. That made Harrington all the more determined to consult the Abbot of Kiyomizudera. He sat with the Abbot in the temple’s private reception room along with Mr. Fujita, the young Japanese man who acted as Harrington’s official translator.

  “Yesterday we had an unusual guest, a Japanese lady married to a British engineer. Something about her frightened Madelaine. She gave my daughter this.” Harrington took the small lacquer box out of his jacket pocket and removed the lid so the Abbot could see the cat carving inside. “Please caution the Abbot not to touch the carving. The points of the ears are very sharp.”

  Fujita translated. The Abbot took the box from Harrington’s hand and studied the carving. He spoke.

  “What happened when your daughter accepted the netsuke?” Fujita asked.

  “The tips of its ears punctured Madelaine’s palm. Shortly after that, she collapsed. She showed symptoms of being poisoned.”

  Fujita translated. The Abbot replied.

  “Did your daughter say anything that would explain why this woman sees her as an enemy?”

  The question startled Harrington, but it made perfect sense.

  “At the time I thought Madelaine was delirious from the poison. She kept trying to tell me Myoko is really a cat.”

  The Abbot clamped the lid down on the lacquer box. After a moment’s silence, he spoke.

  “Harrington-sensei,” Fujita said, “the Abbot will prepare ofuda for the protection of your household. He will also burn the netsuke.”

  Harrington’s heart sank. He’d hoped the events of New Year’s Day were a once-in-a-lifetime experience. “Please, Fujita-san. Ask the Abbot why the gods and monsters of Japan keep attacking my family.”

  Fujita translated. The Abbot replied at length, then made Harrington a full formal bow, his forehead almost touching the tatami.

  “Harrington-sensei.” Fujita spoke in a soft, reverent voice. “The Abbot wishes to apologize most sincerely.”

  “Apologize? Whatever for?”

  “You have brought your Western knowledge here to protect the health and well-being of the Abbot. You have become one of his guardians. It is the fate of all guardians to do battle.”

  Harrington left the Temple carrying three ofuda, long strips of parchment which held sutras written in heavy black kanji. The Abbot had given Harrington very specific instructions about using them.

  Upon Harrington’s return home he hurried to Madelaine’s room. Nurse Danforth rose from her seat in the corner.

  “Good evening, doctor.”

  “Good evening.”

  “Maddy? How are you feeling?”

  Madelaine said nothing. She lay there, listless and dull-eyed. Harrington checked her pulse, respiration, the responsiveness of her pupils, and her temperature. All showed a pattern consistent with the effects of datura, but none were severe enough to cause him serious anxiety. Fortunately for Madelaine, Myoko had underestimated the amount of datura needed, along with failing to choose the most effective method of administration.

  “Has Madelaine been active at all today?”

  “Madelaine did ask for her work bag and some sewing materials.”

  “Did she complete the work?”

  “Mama took it all away from me.” Madelaine’s plaintive tone startled Harrington.

  “Why would your mother do such a thing?”

  “Papa, I must complete my work tonight. If I had it here in front of me I could show you why.”

  “Well then.” Harrington went in search of Constance. She sat in the parlor reading a book. “Constance, Madelaine was making something this afternoon. You took it away from her. She wants to show it to me.”

  “It would be best if she did not see the — the object again.”

  “I will be the judge of what is best for her, both for her physical well-being and her mental health.”

  “No good will come of this, William. Madelaine is far too caught up in all this nonsense about gods and monsters.”

  “The sewing, Constance. Now, if you please.”

  Constance laid aside her book and left the room. She returned with a bundle of fishing net and thrust it into Harrington’s arms
.

  Harrington excused Nurse Danforth for the remainder of the evening. He sat on Madelaine’s bed and together they spread out the fisherman’s net across her lap. She’d sewn shrine tokens to the tough fibers, tiny wooden plaques painted with animals from the Chinese zodiac and small brocade bags tied up with white cord.

  “Papa, what did you do with the little cat carving?”

  “I showed it to the Abbot when I visited the Temple today.”

  “What did the Abbot say?”

  Harrington paused, weighing his words. “The Abbot gave me a special prayer to put on our front gate. Only good things can come into our house.”

  “Is it on the gate now?”

  “Not yet. I wanted to look in on you first.”

  “Thank you, Papa. Don’t put the prayer on the gate just yet.”

  “Why not?”

  “Do you remember when you promised to believe what I told you about Japanese fairy tales?”

  “Yes, darling. How could I forget?” They’d spent New Year’s Day on the veranda of the Kiyomizu Temple. The Abbot sat trapped in a steam-driven wheelchair while the Japanese god of chaos threatened Harrington with total destruction.

  “I have a plan, Papa. If you will help me carry it out, I believe we can catch the monster that hurt Mr. Carruthers’s dog.”

  “With this?” Harrington touched the net. “Will it be strong enough?”

  “Oh yes, Papa. That’s why I used temple charms.”

  “How did you get so many? And where did the net come from?”

  “Sato-san and Hochizuki-san.”

  “The gardeners? They know about this?”

  “They were eager to help, Papa. This creature has been killing birds, other cats, even a baby deer. It must be stopped.”

  Harrington stared at Madelaine in pure amazement. He’d trusted her on New Year’s Day. He’d trust her now.