In Time for You

by Chris Karlsen

  Emily waved her hand in Electra’s face. “Hello, cat got your tongue? You’re very quiet all of a sudden.”

  “I am contemplating the mine field I must negotiate to get into the kitchen and have the current cook step aside while I work.”

  “Accept she will be hateful. She’s never going to like you. Watch her like a bloody hawk and not just her, she’ll have her minions looking to torpedo you. Bet on it. Since we’re on the subject, have you ever cooked for that many people?”

  How was it that once Fate got you in her clutches, she wasn’t satisfied turning your life inside-out, she had to taunt and poke you? The time warp wasn’t enough. Hostile cooks, mystery and limited kitchen supplies wasn’t enough. No, she threw in catering to a multitude for no reason other than to amuse herself with Electra’s limited skills.

  A circling gull squawked overhead. Electra kept track of its path figuring Fate sent it from Bristol Bay to shit on her. “No. A lot, yes. We were tested on a three course dinner party for twenty-five. Seventy-five, no. I’d normally have a sous chef help me. But, like you said, I can’t trust her minions so I’m not sure what I can do to compensate.”

  “Count me in. I can chop and dice and slice and stir. I’m not a boob in the kitchen.” Emily tipped her chin in a prideful manner.

  “Thank you. I need all the help I can get.”

  ****

  Richard made the announcement to the kitchen staff after breakfast the next morning. The flush-faced cook glared at Electra, her angry expression turning to stone when she shifted her attention to Richard again. Her young staff appeared split on the news. Half saw their boss’s resentment and mimicked it. The other half looked bored.

  He waited to after the announcement to introduce them. “Electra...Beulah, Beulah...Electra. This is Electra’s sister, Emily. She’ll be assisting.”

  It wasn’t kind, and unfair to others who shared the same name, but Electra couldn’t help thinking Beulah looked like she’d picture a Beulah: tall, broomstick thin with a pointed chin, wiry hair done up in a scraggily bun, and hook nose. A bucket of water kept handy might be in order.

  “What am I expected to do?” Beulah asked.

  “The day is your own,” Richard told her.

  She mulled the order over for a moment. Electra would’ve thought as hard as people had to work in this time period, she’d love a free day. But, modern chefs were very territorial so why not a medieval cook?

  “I don’t need a day to myself. I can stay and assist the sisters,” she replied with the worst attempt at sincerity.

  Electra spoke up before Richard had a chance to answer. “I appreciate the offer, Beulah, but I can handle the evening meal with just the help of your staff. Your kitchen looks well run.” It looked anything but. “I don’t foresee any insurmountable problems.”

  Beulah turned and stomped out, cuffing a spit boy on the head who sat by the backdoor grinning. The boy on her other side ducked, but she ignored him.

  Richard ran a finger across a table covered with bowls from the morning meal. Then he rubbed his thumb over his fingers, frowned, and grabbed a linen cloth laying by the dishes, to wipe his fingers. “I’ll leave you to it,” he said and left toward the hall.

  “What do you plan on making?” Emily asked.

  “Cornish Pasty.”

  “You’ve lost your mind. You can’t make seventy-five individual pasties.”

  “I can and I will.”

  Emily leaned in and whispered, “They’ve probably got some version of that now. That won’t impress them.”

  “Yes, it will. I make the finest, flakiest, kissed-by-an-angel pastry in the land. Anybody can wrap a sheet of dough around filling. You’ve tasted my pastry. Is it not heavenly?”

  Emily nodded. “Yeah, the folks who manage to get some will love it. I still doubt the amount you need is feasible. What do you want done first?”

  “We need to clean this place. I’ve got three large ovens, which is one reason I think this is going to work. Have the boys dump the ashes under the grate and get those fired up. After the cleaning is done, take a couple of male servants and bring back whatever beef is stored. Then, I’ll need a basket of onion, bunches of carrots and turnips. The girls can cube the beef and start slicing and dicing the veggies.”

  “You forgot potatoes.”

  “I’m using the turnips instead. We’ve got another three-hundred plus years before potatoes come to England.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’m taking inventory of all the spices they have on hand. I hope to make magical filling.”

  Simon stepped into the kitchen as everyone spread out, wiping tables and sweeping the floor.

  “Check to make sure the kettles and utensils are clean,” Electra told Emily and then turned to Simon. “Can I help you?”

  “I heard you were the cook for this evening’s meal. You know I’ll make you taste all the dishes first, just in case you’ve had a notion to do something mischievous with the food.”

  There was smug and then there was Simon-smug. If he knew how tempted she was to bonk him with a skillet, he’d go for his sword. “Can I tell you to get out without winding up in the dungeon?” She tossed a towel to him. “If you’re not sending me there, then make yourself useful and pick a place to start cleaning.”

  He tossed the towel back, hitting her in the head. “I’ve training exercises to conduct. Kitchens are for ladies and young boys.” He grabbed a handful of cherries from a bowl and left.

  “Annoying man,” Electra said to his departing back.

  “But easy on the eyes,” Emily said low.

  Electra waved two of the kitchen girls over, a thin brunette and a heavyset brunette. “What are your names?”

  “Corliss,” the thin one said.

  “Brenda,” the heavier one said.

  “Corliss, you clean all the pans. Scrub them hard. Brenda, I want you to clean all the surfaces in the kitchen. When you’re both done, go with my sister Emily and gather vegetables.”

  The two nodded and began their chores without having to be told twice.

  “Speaking of eyes, keep yours on the staff,” Electra whispered to Emily. “I don’t need any sabotages.”

  Chapter Eight

  Gloucester

  Modern Day

  It was going on day three since Electra and Emily had gone missing. Dr. Gordon, the so-called time travel expert, offered no useful information. Roger closed his eyes and rolled his head in a circle trying to crack his stiff neck. Exhaustion hadn’t caught up with him yet, but it would. He slept little. Every time he dozed off, he’d jerk awake a short time later. The same morbid fears that tormented him since their disappearance returned with a vengeance and kept sound sleep at bay.

  Roger couldn’t make hide nor hair of the line graph of power surges associated with lightning in the area over the past year. He slammed the ledger down, a waste of paper in his opinion. In addition to the current information, they’d also pulled the data for the day Alex and Shakira had been transported. He remained unconvinced he and Gordon should track only the storms in a ten mile radius. No place that showed promise was too far to travel if it meant rescuing Electra.

  He picked the ledger up and moved to where Oliver sat. He hit the escape button on the professor’s laptop then dropped the ledger next to it. “Oliver, where is the pattern to the most powerful strikes? I don’t see it. The lightning the other day was here.” He pointed to the red bolt symbol over Bristol Bay. “The passage opened here.” He tapped the spot where the outcropping was located. “The day the storm triggered the warp that took Alex and Shakira the lightning was overhead. What good are these charts? We’re dogs chasing our tails.”

  “Your criticism is uncalled for,” Oliver said, looking up. “I was researching if anyone has spoken of a similar phenomena occurring when lightning wasn’t present, although the odds are slim.”

  Had age afflicted the man’s memory? Oliver had taken Roger’s story about coming forwa
rd in time with childlike enthusiasm. The professor was the first person outside of Roger’s close friends who knew the truth. He’d have refused to tell Oliver, but the man demanded Roger reveal his past if they were to work together. “You know the lightning doesn’t have to be present. I told you the weather held no storm clouds or threat of storm the day Stephen and I were brought here. We should be out there every day, lightning or no lightning.”

  “Calm down. There may be other crossover factors we’re not aware of. I warned you when we started this type of science has few givens and many best guesses. The very air may contain the type of charge needed to trigger the opening.”

  “It won’t do.” Roger spun Oliver’s chair around so the man faced him. Oliver pulled back as Roger leaned down. “This is your profession, your job. I need answers. Find a way to make this happen.”

  “I have toyed with an idea. It’s far-reaching, crazy even, and I’m not sure it isn’t dangerous.”

  Impatient, Roger nodded with a yeah-yeah nod and gestured for him to continue.

  “What if we give the outcropping a jolt? I mean a super powerful manmade jolt. What if we manufacture our own lightning source? I might have a way to do this.”

  No second thoughts, Roger said, “Why are we losing precious time playing with these drawings? Let’s go.”

  “I don’t have the means at my fingertips. I have to go to my lab at the university. It has the equipment I need to attempt to recreate super lightning.”

  “Fine. I’m ready.” At the front door, Roger was met by Esme and Stephen. He hadn’t seen them since the search ended. “Do you come with news?”

  “No,” Esme said. “Not the kind you want to hear. Can we come in?”

  Roger stepped back so the couple could enter. “Oliver and I are on a mission. We have no time for chit-chat. Please say your news and leave. No offense.”

  “None taken,” Esme said.

  “We’ll cut to the chase,” Stephen said. “You must talk to Esme’s parents and tell them about us, about what likely happened to Electra and Emily.”

  Roger had feared dropping that bombshell would fall to him. He’d shamefully hoped to find a way to the past and in his absence Esme and Stephen would be compelled to convince Mr. and Mrs. Crippen of the truth. “They won’t believe me. You know that.”

  “It’s not going to be easy. But you must. Right now I’m sure they harbor a suspicion you’ve done away with my sisters. They don’t want to believe that, but it’s hard not to considering the mysterious circumstances,” Esme told him.

  There was no avoiding the confession. “They’ll think me crazy, or worse, a crazy killer,” he said, resigned to it.

  “At first, yes. But Esme and I will confirm what you say and Alex said he’d try to meet us at her parents. You won’t be alone in the telling of the preposterous truth,” Stephen said.

  “Thank you. I appreciate the support. Should we go now and get it over with?”

  Esme and Stephen nodded.

  Oliver had stood at the side listening. “I’ll go too, if you wish. I am not witness to what you’ve experienced, but my studies support the possibilities.”

  The gesture was unexpected. A moment of guilt pricked Roger’s conscience. He hadn’t been especially respectful to the scientist the last couple days. Considering his brusque treatment, the man certainly didn’t have to extend himself. “Thank you, but I’d rather you go on ahead to your lab. I’ll meet you back there when the deed is done.”

  Oliver laid a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. “Good luck.”

  “Well, I’m as ready as I’ll ever be. Let’s go.” Roger took his car keys out and the three left.

  ****

  “Neither Stephen, nor I, have any idea how or why we were brought to this time. On my soul, I swear what I told you was true. I had struck Stephen down. He was crawling, blinded by my blow. I followed prepared to finish him off, when the world around us shifted. It is my deepest fear that Electra and Emily have also fallen through a tear in time,” Roger explained. But judging from the dark expressions the Crippens greeted the information with, they’d found his reasoning beyond the pale.

  Roger saw Mr. Crippen clench his fist and braced for the blow. He wouldn’t fight the man he hoped would one day be his father-in-law. Mr. Crippen caught Roger on the jaw, hitting him harder than Roger expected. Merde. The older man packed quite a punch. It knocked Roger back a step. Mrs. Crippen stood behind her husband glaring at Roger, who didn’t move. He half thought she’d take a shot at him as well.

  “How dare you come into my home with an outrageous tale concocted to cover up whatever it is you’ve done,” Terry Crippen said, looking like he would swing again.

  Esme stepped between Roger and her father. “Dad, you’re wrong.”

  He turned fierce eyes on his daughter. “Are you buying into this lie? How could you?” He turned his anger onto Stephen. “And you? I’ve loved you like a son. How could you allow yourself to be part of this farce?”

  “Everything he said is true, Terry. It’s not a case of allowing myself to be included in an insane alibi or explanation for the girl’s disappearance. We are everything he said, medieval knights who battled each other at Poitiers.”

  Janet Crippen moved from behind her husband. Tears rolled down her cheeks, her pale face reddening with her anger. “Liars.”

  “Mom, Dad, let me show you something. When Stephen told me what happened to him, I didn’t believe either. He spoke of a wound he received at Crecy, where he was knighted by Prince Edward. Show her the scar.”

  Stephen tipped his head up.

  Esme continued, “I discovered a detailed drawing had been done of the battle’s aftermath showing the men who’d fought alongside the prince. One of the king’s chroniclers had done it as a gift for him. The original is in safekeeping in Canterbury.” She took out her cell phone and spun through her gallery. “The curator of the museum showed me a copy they had. I took a picture of it.” She expanded the shot on the screen and turned the phone around to show her parents the picture. “There kneeling next to the prince is Stephen. As you can see he’s bleeding from the chin. To the right of the prince is Alex, or Baron Guiscard as he was known.”

  Janet and Terry both eyed the artist’s rendering of Stephen and then the man before them. They didn’t look convinced.

  Someone knocked and Terry went to the door. His timing perfect, Alex had arrived.

  “My daughter was just showing us an interesting photo of a picture she saw in Canterbury. It appears someone who is your double fought at Crecy,” Terry said. “I can’t wait to hear what you have to say. Please join us in the drawing room.”

  Terry sat by his wife who’d taken a seat on the sofa. Everyone else remained standing. Roger thought they’d all agree standing gave three of the four of them a sense of quick escape.

  “How I got here, to this time, isn’t important,” Alex said. “I can verify the person in the painting is me standing by Prince Edward and it is Stephen on the ground. We both fought at the battle. As you probably know, the prince granted knighthood to a large contingent of men who fought with him, Stephen among them. My father was a baron so knighthood was not an issue. The ruin of Elysian Fields you see now was my family home.”

  Stephen took a paper from his pocket and handed it to Terry. “This is a copy of the news clipping that appeared in the papers prior to my being brought back to England. It’s a plea posted by the French hospital where I was treated. They were asking for assistance from anyone who might know me. The article states I was found injured on what was the Poitiers battlefield and that I claimed the year was 1356. They didn’t believe my story, of course. Alex knew they’d never found my body after the battle. I’d mysteriously disappeared. Considering his own experience with time, he surmised what happened and came for me.”

  Terry read the story and handed the clipping to Esme.

  Janet Crippen buried her face in her hands.

  Terry wrapped a protective
arm around his wife and pulled her into him. He wore every moment of worry for his children on his face and in his eyes, but he managed to be strong for Janet. He’d read the article without comment and listened to Alex without argument. Roger wasn’t sure if his silence was good or bad.

  Alex continued, “The outcropping where the women disappeared possesses some quality that triggers a time tear, a portal, or whatever you wish to call it. I know this for a fact. I implore you to believe us. Crazy as it sounds.”

  “This is too much to bear.” Janet stood and ran from the room.

  Terry hurried after her and coaxed her into coming back. “We need to hear what our options are, if any,” he told her. “I need you to stay. We must remain strong, my dear.”

  Janet nodded.

  “I was born in Normandy in 1326,” Roger began. “Documents from the time—”

  “That’s not important,” Terry interrupted. “Tell me what we can do to help, if this is what happened to my girls.” He turned to Alex. “You are the one familiar with this rock that causes the phenomenon to activate. We’ll do whatever is necessary.”

  “There’s nothing specific you can do. We think atmospheric conditions may play a role in the time shift but we’re not sure.”

  “Dr. Gordon, the astrophysicist, is working with me on the problem,” Roger said.

  “Isn’t it unlikely Electra and Emily will be in the right spot when, or if, you can effect a shift? What then?” Janet asked.

  “Then I will go after them.”

  Electra’s parents huddled close, looking confused and lost in equal measure. The tales of time travel were a lot for them to absorb. Hell, if it hadn’t happened to him, Roger wouldn’t have believed such a thing existed no matter how many witnesses came forth.

  “If you don’t need me anymore, I’ll leave,” Alex said to Roger.

  “Go. Thank you for helping me.”

  Alex said goodbye to everyone and left.

  Roger wanted to leave as well. He couldn’t add anything else, and he was anxious to meet up with Oliver at the lab.