Flistra cleared his throat. “Stardate … um, what day––”
“Shut up and get to the real business,” said Nistra.
“Yessir. Stardate eleven-thirty-four and something. Interrogation start point for Prisoner Armstrong, Amy.”
Inside the spherical prison Amy glanced left and right. “Who’s talking? Show yourself.”
“This is Recruit Officer Flistra. Question: what happened to Kepler Prime?”
Amy shrugged. “How would I know?”
Flistra looked at Officer Nistra. “She said she doesn’t know.”
“I heard it speak, dill brain,” snarled Nistra. He pushed the recruit out of the way and leaned close to the microphone. “You stupid monkey! Where’s our homeworld?”
“Oh! You mean Kepler PRIME,” said Amy. She patted the chest and legs of her jumpsuit. “It’s probably with my keys. Do you guys have my keys?”
“Do we have her keys?” asked Flistra.
Nistra snapped his sharp teeth and clicked the speaking toggle. “This is no joke. Your ship was in asynchronous orbit around Kepler Prime when the planet disappeared. Your ship emitted a surge of power greater than 2.3 BEU a nanosecond before Kepler Prime disappeared. Your ship was the only thing left in orbit! Not even a scrap of dirt or metal anywhere for a distance of two light seconds!”
“There was that shuttle of cat hippies on landing approach,” said Flistra. “Talk about a bunch of confused moggies.”
“I don’t know anything about any planet disappearing,” said Amy. “Maybe you guys should check with LoJack. Do they have one for planets?”
“Five billion souls gone in a blink of an eye, including my entire family,” fumed Nistra. “You think it’s funny?”
“I wouldn’t say five billion, sssir,” whispered Flistra. “At least a billion of those have got to be atheist. They don’t have souls, do they sssir?”
The scales on Nistra’s face turned bright green. “Recruit Officer Flistra, get me a cup of slurm,” he said. “From the B dispensary.”
“But that’s across the station! Sir.”
“I know that!”
“Of course, sssir. Leaving now, sssir.”
The automatic door swished and Nistra settled his bulk in the chair behind the console. He bared a grin full of sharp teeth at Amy’s holographic image.
“Human, you will tell me what happened to my planet, to my life mate, and to my hatchlings. We sauros are the greatest civilization in the galaxy, with the greatest star fleet and most Galactic Cups to our name, and it’s all due to the fact that we know how to make people talk. I don’t mean the coffee and cakes kind of talk, I mean the screaming in horrible pain kind of talk!”
Amy spread her hands and shrugged. “It was an accident, okay? Some kind of gravity rift thing! Honestly, I had nothing to do with it.”
Nistra’s slimy black lips curled into a grimace. “That’s not what the Lady said, and she never lies! Prepare yourself, Armstrong, Amy, for the most horrible torture in the entire galaxy.”
The sauropod reached under the console and flicked several hidden switches. Soft violin music began to play inside the sphere and invisible projectors covered the walls of Amy’s prison with images of a soft green lawn. A black and white tuxedo kitten tottered across the grass, his head bobbing around in wonder.
“Gaze upon the filthy cat larva,” whispered Nistra. “Its tiny skull and disgusting eyes filled with hate and evil. Look at those horrible ears and the stomach-churning mat of fur! How does such a foul, nasty creature even draw breath? I can’t even look at it or I’ll spew chunks of my breakfast all over this console. Do you know how many sauro prisoners have gone mad after ten seconds of these images? Do you?!!!”
The kitten batted a yellow dandelion flower with its paws, and Amy pressed her hands on the wall to cover the image.
“Please don’t,” she moaned in mock horror. “It’s so awful!”
Nistra smiled. “If you think that’s bad, cast your gaze upon an even more repellent beast! I’m going to press the button and look away, because this one gives nightmares to even a hard-skinned veteran like me.”
A furry gray Yorkshire puppy walked up to the kitten, his pink tongue lolling. He sniffed the kitten and the two animals cuddled on the grass.
“Nooo,” wailed Amy, trying to keep from laughing. “I can’t take this torture! Where did you find these nightmares! There is no god … there is … no god!”
Nistra nodded, his scaly claws covering his eyes. “That’s exactly what I said.”
London, 1889
Philip led the small group west through the park and past a wide, three-story mansion of red brick circled by a black, wrought-iron fence. He waved at the mansion and grounds lazily.
“That’s Kensington Palace.”
Amy squinted at the dozens of paned windows. “Where the Queen lives?”
Philip shook his head. “Buckingham is the official residence of Queen Mary.”
“Mary? That’s not right. Victoria was Queen in the 1890s.”
“You’re American,” said Philip. “You obviously don’t pay attention to these things.” The teenager pulled a wet newspaper from a trash can. “See?”
An illustration of the East End fire stood out from the front page, and below that a caption: “Queen Mary Consults On Blaze.”
“It still doesn’t sound right,” said Amy. “I think this is one of those differences between our dimensions. Victoria was definitely queen on my Earth in 1889.”
Philip shrugged. “That’s as may be, but everything seems in order to me.”
The teenagers and pair of animals strolled from the west end of the park and into Kensington proper. Three-story buildings of rust-colored brick and paned windows framed in white stood behind the wide limbs of old-growth oaks. Heavy entrance doors with polished brass fittings waited for their owners to alight from black hansom cabs and stride up to them with a polite knock. Even more upper class were the pedestrians strolling on either side of the shade-covered lane. The men dressed in tails and top hats, and the ladies wore gigantic hats, dresses with tight bodices, and full skirts as if they were on their way to a garden wedding.
Amy felt embarrassed at her shabby men’s jacket and boots. It wasn’t that she wanted the approval of these posh fat cats; she just wanted to be invisible.
“Are we almost there?”
Betsy barked. “Yeah, Phillie! I’m starving!”
“Keep your voice down, please,” said Philip. “We’ve arrived.”
The dark-haired teenager removed his cloth cap and bowed as he gestured with one arm to a three-story brick mansion on the left. The paned windows of each story jutted out like tiny bay windows in painted white wood. A cleanly swept brick sidewalk led to the front steps and a dark blue door with a brass knocker and handle.
Sunflower looked up at the top windows. “So how do we break in? Top floor? Attic window?”
“I’m not a good climber,” said Betsy.
Philip shook his head. “No need. Anthony should be in the garden, and he’ll let us in that way.”
“I hope he doesn’t have a problem with cats or dogs,” said Sunflower.
“As long as you keep quiet, I don’t think he will.”
Amy followed the teenager down a narrow, paved path between the brick buildings, her shoulders brushing the walls on either side. She passed through a wooden gate and walked into a walled garden filled with carefully tended roses, cherry trees, and a small, raised pond. Smoke curled from a white shack in the corner, next to an ivy-covered rear fence.
“This is more like a park than a garden,” said Amy. “I don’t see a tomato plant anywhere. I smell something weird––is that pine tar?”
The paved brick led to the rear entrance of the house, where several windows were open and a white-painted door gaped wide. A man’s deep hum and a scraping sound came from inside.
Philip walked up to the back door and knocked. “Good morning!”
Steps patt
ered inside the house and a middle-aged man with graying black hair rushed forward. He was in shirtsleeves and held a scrubbing brush.
“Goodness, you’re early.” His eyes narrowed when he saw Philip and Amy. “You’re not the linen boy. Trying to nick the silverware when the family’s not about? Get away from here, you scroungers.”
“Mark, it’s me,” said Philip. “Have you gone blind?”
The man peered at Philip’s face and his expression slowly changed to wide-eyed shock. “Master Philip? But you’re so tall! What are you doing in London? Why are you dressed like a chimney sweep?”
Philip laughed. “A thousand questions! It’s a long story, Mark, but we’re absolutely starving and need a proper bath.”
“Certainly, certainly,” said Mark, his eyes flitting over Amy’s equally filthy rags. “Might I have the pleasure of this young lady’s name?”
“My apologies. This is Miss Amy Armstrong, a friend of mine from America.”
Amy stepped back with her left foot and curtsied.
“Yes, I see,” said Mark, a pout of disapproval on his face. “I’ll have Anthony fetch his cousins. Both are lady’s maids and will help Miss Armstrong change into clothing that is … less covered in filth, if I may be so bold.”
“Thank you, Mister …?”
“Mister Leonard.”
“Thank you, Mister Leonard,” said Amy.
“Mark’s the finest butler in all England,” said Philip. “By the way, what’s all this fuss about cleaning?”
“Your family is coming down to London at the end of the week,” said Mark. “May I assume your appearance is a sudden harbinger of that visit? Or rather, is it a matter that requires an urgent telegram to Clarence House?”
“Thank you, Mark, but there’s no need for that.” Philip paused for a moment. “No one’s said anything about me being missing, have they?”
“I haven’t heard a whisper,” said Mark, and winked. “If you’ve been missing like that time in Calais, then we’ve nothing to worry about. All’s well that ends well. Isn’t that so, Master Philip?”
“That’s the spirit!”
A pair of teenage girls in black cotton dresses and white aprons arrived at the back door of the house. Both girls were out of breath, with flushed faces and locks of brown hair flying from beneath their white cotton caps.
“Good morning, Mister Leonard,” said the tallest one.
The butler nodded. “Good morning, Jane. Good morning, Nellie.” He waved at the kitchen table where Amy sipped a cup of tea. “This is Miss Armstrong from America. Please draw a bath and find suitable attire for the young lady. We’ve been cleaning, so the copper is full of hot water.”
“Very good, Mister Leonard.”
“Lady Gloria left a few trunks of clothing from her last visit, and Miss Armstrong may be able to wear them. However, the particulars of that delicate assessment are best left to your judgment, not mine.”
The girls curtsied. “Yes, Mister Leonard.”
Amy followed the pair up two flights of stairs made from dark, polished wood and along a hallway lined with doors and patterned maroon wallpaper.
“I’m Nellie,” said the shortest and youngest maid. “Are you really from America?”
“Don’t be nosy,” said the taller maid, Jane. “Miss Armstrong is too tired to be bothered with your questions.”
“It’s fine,” said Amy. “Yes, Nellie. I’m from California.”
“That’s so far!”
“Farther than you think,” said Amy wistfully.
“Are you running away?”
“Nellie! Mind your manners and bring the tub.”
The younger girl bowed from the waist and sped away.
Amy stared at Jane. “She’s going to carry the bath tub?”
“Yes, of course, Miss Armstrong.”
Jane led her down the hallway and into a small room with a mahogany wardrobe and a small bed with no sheets or blankets. A blue trunk with brass fittings and leather straps stood in one corner. Jane opened the trunk and pulled out stacks of folded white cotton and lace.
Amy sat on the bed. “I’m not running away.”
“It’s not my place to ask. Or to wonder how a young lady like yourself could walk about the city in a ragged old coat and man’s shoes without even a scrap to cover her legs. Were you and Master Philip robbed?”
“This skirt is more than a scrap! You should see the things girls wear at the Del Monte Center.”
Jane thumbed through the folded cotton and held up a white chemise. “Yes, I’ve heard about America. This looks about your size.”
“It’s true. Philip and I were attacked last night. The thieves stole our clothing and we had to walk across London.”
Jane held a hand over her mouth and gasped. “You had to flee through the fire! That’s why both of you are covered in soot and smell of smoke. It must have been horrible!”
“You don’t have to be Sherlock Holmes to figure that out.”
“Who?”
Amy sighed. “Never mind. It wasn’t any walk in the park. Apart from the walking in the park.”
The door squeaked and Nellie walked in with a large, oddly-shaped basin in her hands. Three feet long and two high, the white-painted, metal container looked more like a giant egg cup or a tub for infants than anything meant for adults. One side was higher than the other like a seat back, and the edges were smooth and rounded. The base was flared and the sides were decorated with hand-painted flowers.
“I’m supposed to take a bath in that?”
“Yes, Miss Armstrong,” said Jane. “Pardon me for asking, but you don’t have these in America?”
“Not that tiny! Our tubs are five times that size. This one doesn’t look big enough to drown a cat.”
Nellie’s eyes popped. “Good golly! Sorry, Miss Armstrong.”
“Very good,” said Jane. “But a tub that large would grow tepid even before it was full. I expect the servants would also be worn to death carrying it through the rooms and running up and down the stairs with that much hot water.”
“But how do I take a bath in this?”
Jane nodded. “Nellie, go check on the copper. Miss Armstrong, the lady wishing to take a bath sits down with her back against the raised edge.”
“So my arms and legs don’t get wet?”
“The lady taking a bath may use a washcloth to wet her arms and legs. Those parts normally stick out of the basin. The lady may also kneel in the tub and hold the sides, and a servant may douse her with warm water.”
“Sounds like a lot of work, carrying water and tossing around basins.”
Jane curtsied. “We are here at your pleasure, Miss Armstrong. This is how the finest English ladies bathe.”
“Okay. I’ll try it.”
“Very good, Miss Armstrong,” said Jane. “Oh––did you wish to send a message to your family? Would they be worried at your absence?”
“My family is back in America. I’m visiting London with friends of mine.”
Jane shook her head. “I’ve heard that American girls are independent, but it’s still hard to understand. I’d be frightened to death if I traveled by myself, worrying about strange men and all the dangers of travel.”
“Indigestion is the most dangerous part of travel.” Amy pulled the metal pigtail out of her pocket. “Everything else can be solved with the careful application of violence.”
“From what I hear of California girls riding horses and shooting guns, I wouldn’t expect any less!”
The maid opened the wardrobe and pulled out a long dress of dark red velvet. She motioned for Amy to stand up, then held the dress up to Amy’s neck.
“How do you fancy this, Miss Armstrong?”
“I’d prefer to wear something less formal. How about a pair of Levi’s?”
“Levi’s? Is that a dressmaker?”
“Jeans. American trousers made of blue cotton.”
Jane frowned. “Please forgive me for speaking bluntly
, Miss Armstrong, but this is London, not California. A young lady of society can’t wear trousers unless she wants to be laughed at by every Tom, Dick, and Harry.”
“But that dress looks so uncomfortable!”
Jane bowed her head. “Please look through the rest of the outfits, and see if another is suitable. I must check on Nellie and the copper.”
The maid left, and Amy searched through the dresses hanging in the wooden wardrobe. She considered climbing out a window and fleeing for her life instead of having to wear one of the heavy things, but found a pale yellow dress made of cotton and embroidered in tiny roses. Stiff white lace bordered the high neck and cuffs of the long sleeves.
“Very nice,” she murmured. k`1`2
“Who are you talking to?”
Amy spun around. “Don’t scare me like that, Sunflower!”
The orange tabby glided into the room and sat on a circular brown rug next to the tub.
“Your stupid human boyfriend and the other human tried to give me a bowl of milk. Do you know what could happen if I drank that? This entire house would be matchsticks!”
Amy spread her arms. “I’m sorry, Sunflower. What about Betsy?”
“He’s hiding somewhere and whining that the humans won’t let him in the house. I’ve looked all over this place but I haven’t seen anything worth stealing. They probably have the valuables hidden inside an invisible parallax field, but I’m not detecting any power source.”
“I don’t think they had invisible parallax fields in 1889. This is only one of their houses and the jewelry is probably at the country estate.”
“Who are you talking to?”
Jane stood at the door, her blue eyes wide.
Amy cleared her throat and laughed nervously. “Just the cat. I like talking to myself.”
“I could have sworn that I heard a man’s voice,” said Jane. She bent over Sunflower and stroked his head. “Is this your moggie?”
“My what?”
“Your cat.”
“Oh, yes. He’s a bad kitty who doesn’t like people. Be careful.”
Sunflower hissed with appropriate timing and Jane yanked her hand away.
“Saints preserve us! My apologies, Miss Armstrong––the hot water is ready.”
Nellie huffed and puffed behind her, a bucket of steaming water in each hand.
The Girl Who Stole A Planet (Amy Armstrong Book 1) Page 16