The Tea Machine

by Gill McKnight

  How could it end like this? Millicent’s mind was buzzing. Millicent2 had warned her that her actions could change everything for good or bad, and here she was, approaching the crossroads, the optimal point in time, and she was still clueless as to what to do. Gallo and Sangfroid accepted that returning Sophia to her own time would destroy her religion and with it their culture and probable existence. What alternative had Millicent? Allow Sophia to remain here? Let this timeline unfold as it may? Hubert and Weena had both warned against it. This timeline was the anomaly, and she was standing at the root of it. But if she could redirect all their future lives, how could she do it? And would it be for the better?

  CHAPTER 30

  The geese greeted them first. Guard geese. Loud, raucous, and flocking towards them at great speed.

  “Hold up,” Sangfroid ordered.

  Gallo stiffened. “I don’t like geese,” she said. “Sneaky fuckers. They dodge when you kick ’em.”

  Behind the geese came the old shepherd they had seen on the slopes.

  “Told ya I wasn’t drunk. See.” He pointed them out to several other old men who followed him as far as the town gates. These men were marginally better dressed and Sangfroid hoped they were the town dignitaries. They could grab Sophia quicker if the town nobs took them straight to her. She smiled and tipped them a friendly nod. They responded by shuffling into an uneasy huddle and gawping even harder at the monstrosities that had popped up on their doorstep.

  “Real live giants,” the shepherd continued proudly, as if he were presenting a freak show. “And a littl’un.” He squinted at Millicent. “Probably their body slave.”

  The town guard arrived carrying spears and cudgels and hovered in the background looking very unhappy at seeing real live giants with their body slave on the doorstep. The two groups stood facing each other outside the rickety town gates.

  “We come in peace.” Sangfroid opened with the greatest lie in the universe. She checked out the guards’ weaponry with a casual, practiced eye and wasn’t worried. There was nothing there she and Gallo couldn’t snap with their bare hands, including the guards’ necks.

  “Welcome,” an elder called back from a safe distance. “I am Volos, magistrate elect of the great city of Sophopolis. Tell me, where are you from?”

  “They’re from the next valley,” the old shepherd butted in, excitedly. “I saw them come over the mountain. They’ve come to steal our goddess!”

  “Quiet, you old fool,” Volos scolded. “How can they be after our goddess? Where are their goats, ’eh? They can’t lure her away without offerings.”

  “Maybe they don’t need goats,” one of the elders spoke up. “They have a slave girl. Maybe a serving wench is their offering.” As one, the old men settled their cataract-clouded gazes on Millicent and examined her like a fatted calf.

  “So what? Slave girls have been offered before.” Volos shook off the comment. “She Who Is Never Impressed wasn’t that bothered.”

  “She’s very scruffy for an offering.” Another elder pointed out. “Very substandard.”

  The debate continued. “But she’s not a local girl. This one has been chosen especially to please. Look at her colouring.” Yet another pointed out. “It’s the same as Looselea’s. Pasty Celt complexion with squirrel red hair.”

  “Excuse me, but I happen to be auburn,” Millicent said. “And my skin tone has been remarked upon as pale but interesting.”

  The old men glared, and Sangfroid placed herself deliberately in between Millicent and them. “This is my slave girl,” she said in a severe tone. “She is not a gift.”

  “Are you selling her then?” Volos asked. “Looselea might like her.”

  Behind her she could make out Millicent’s snort of exasperation.

  “Maybe.” Sangfroid scowled menacingly to show it was unlikely this lot could afford her prized possession.

  “Must I be socially embarrassed every time I visit your accursed timeline?” Millicent muttered.

  “We have come to pay tribute to Looselea,” Gallo said.

  “Where are your goats then?” The old shepherd asked, not as easily cowed as his municipal representatives.

  “I don’t need goats. Tell her the giants of the Urals have come to see her,” Gallo boomed in her best angry giant voice. “And be quick about it.”

  Volos looked uncertain but nodded for one of the guards to deliver the message.

  “You know of our goddess?” he asked uncertainly.

  “We are great friends, and she will be glad to see us,” Sangfroid confirmed.

  This threw the elders into an even tighter huddle. Intrigued as they were, they also seemed very nervous. Where there many attempts to steal their goddess? Why would anyone want to make off with Sophia? The notion amused Sangfroid, she’d have just as happily left her here, but Gallo seemed smitten, and Hubert was adamant she be returned to her rightful place before the universe disappeared up its own black hole.

  “So…” Volos struggled to fill the silence. “You’re from the Urals? Where’s that then?”

  “Land of giants and mighty amphitheatres.” Sangfroid was dismissive. “Miles from here. Looselea knows of it.”

  The guard reappeared and murmured in Volos’s ear. Volos stood aside and with a low bow and sweep of his arm showed them the open gateway. “Please, mighty giants of the Urals, and attendant, welcome to Sophopolis. The goddess awaits.”

  “Have you brought my luggage?” Sophia greeted them. Then she saw Gallo and blushed. She patted at the folds of her toga with nervous hands.

  “No dear. We’ve come to collect you, not deliver luggage,” Millicent said, looking around her with interest. Sophia’s villa was the largest building in the town and centrally located at the head of the one and only plaza. The sunlight diffused through latticed window shutters, and in the late afternoon, the walls were bathed with a pearly incandescence. The effect was cool and welcoming after the dust and heat outside. There were a few reclining benches scattered across the expanse of stone floor, and a small fountain tinkled tranquilly in the corner. The room was minimal, quiet, and stylishly eloquent. Millicent could not equate it with Sophia in any way. Had her ordeal changed her for the better?

  “This is a very lovely place, Sophia. Are you staying here?” she asked.

  “The locals built it for me. They are very darling, but I miss my knick-knacks,” Sophia said. “The place needs a bit of clutter. I don’t suppose you brought any Wedgewood with you? They try so hard, but the tea sets they turn out are just not up to specification, no matter how much I explain, and the Chin imports never arrive in one piece.” A familiar whine entered her voice, which Millicent found most comforting. This was indeed the Sophia she knew.

  “We have come to take you home, Sophia, to your own Wedgewood and knick-knacks,” Millicent said as her trepidation grew. Sophia was not focusing her thoughts and sensibilities as expected. She had supposed Sophia would be eager to return home. This was becoming more of a home visit than a rescue.

  “Oh, I can’t leave now,” Sophia exclaimed, confirming Millicent’s growing doubts. “It is the eve of my festival. My inaugural. I’m a goddess you know. These people love me. Your timing is very auspicious. In fact, I may have a role in it for some of you.” She laid her hand on Gallo’s arm and bestowed an awkwardly flirtatious smile on her hero. “But first let me offer you some goat canapés. It’s the region’s specialty.”

  “Thanks, but we’ve already eaten. Look, we need to go, Sophia.” Sangfroid was her usual blunt, bossy self. “There’s a time-flux window thingy opening up and we need to be ready for it.”

  “You want me to go through a window? Whatever for?” Sophia was not impressed. “I refuse to leave just yet. The festival will run for the next three days, and I must be here. I am, after all, the guest of honour.”

  Millicent could see exactly what was goi
ng on. Sophia had finally found a situation that matched her ambition. Here, she was the brightest and the best, because she could declare it so. At last she’d found a place she could rule with her iron will, her beady eye, and her own brand of peculiar logic. It would be like winkling a crab from under a rock to get her away from here.

  “We haven’t got three days.” Sangfroid was getting tetchy, and Millicent knew this could only end in stalemate…or dungeons. If Sophia had any. Sophia would be obstinate just to prove her authority, and Sangfroid had the ambassadorial finesse of a caribou. Between the two of them, nobody would be going anywhere.

  The guards stationed outside the villa door peeped in, made nervous by the raised voices. Millicent now realised that Sophia meant something to these people. She was a godhead, and they may not want to let her go. It was a delicate situation. Too delicate for Sangfroid to stomp all over with her muddy old military boots.

  “You simply have to give us a tour, Sophia,” she said, ignoring Sangfroid’s stupefied look. “The town looks intriguing. And I must hear all about this festival. It’s in your honour, you say?”

  Sophia immediately took her arm and spun them both around to face another door on the far side of the room.

  “Yes. I am to be officially deified, though I have been as good as a saint to these people already. The preparations are all through here,” she said, her voice full of excitement at the possibility of showing off. “But first you must come and see my factory.”

  “Factory?” Millicent was incredulous. “You have a factory?” What had Sophia been up to?

  “Yes. I’ve always wanted one. They’re all the thing.”

  “Whatever do you need a factory for?” Millicent asked. Behind her Sangfroid seethed. She could feel her itching to grab Sophia and stomp back to the mountains with her over her shoulder like some Neanderthal. They had only a few hours before Hubert began to call them back, and judging by the amount of guards dotted around the place, it would be a hard task to simply whisk the local deity away. This mission needed a high level of skill and subterfuge. She slid a sideways glance at Gallo and Sangfroid and realized she was on her own.

  “Why, I need a factory to make tea,” Sophia said. “You have no idea how hard it was to get a decent cup of tea here when I first arrived. It was almost impossible.”

  “Tea? You make tea?” Sangfroid asked.

  “Yes. We refine it. We import the raw leaves from China. I pointed my men in the general direction, and they eventually found it. I have successfully opened a trade route, though it is a tediously long one.” She led them outside towards another building. It was square and squat, built in rough stone and much more rustic than the villa. Millicent would have assumed it was an olive press except that Sophia had already pre-warned her of its use.

  Another guard—they really were everywhere—flung open the doors for them to enter. They were immediately assaulted by a tsunami of steam and noise.

  “Open the vents!” Sophia waved her hand before her face to dispel the fug. “Good gracious, must I tell you everything. Where’s Heron?” she demanded from a worker who appeared out of the swirling miasma.

  “He’s with Volos, tending to the ceremonial fountain, my divineness.”

  “Volos is my festival coordinator,” Sophia explained. There was a lot of yelling and loud banging, but eventually the overhead brass vents opened, allowing sunlight to blaze through the board slats and the steam to dispel. The factory floor was revealed as a long, low room lined with huge iron drums which rotated and roared like masticating brontosauri.

  “These are the rollers.” Sophia gestured to them with pride. “Luckily the leaves are withered enough by the time they arrive. We spread them out on special mats on the ship decks and let the sun and wind dry them out en route.”

  “You’re making tea? Actual loose leaf tea?” Millicent was surprised. “I thought you imported it as a consumable?”

  “We do, but in its raw state. Here we roll it, and oxidize it. Let me show you the macerator machines.” She led them deeper into the building. “I am very lucky in that Volos’s grandson, Heron, is a very capable boy and can follow my instructions to the letter. He’s so intelligent.”

  “Sophia,” Millicent mulled over her next question carefully, “when you say you are treated like a goddess here, do they call you by another name? Perhaps Looselea?”

  “Why yes. After the loose leaf tea I have created a market for.”

  “You actually prepare the tea here?” Gallo asked. “It must be a massive operation.”

  “So far we have produced nearly ten tons. We distribute sacks of it to the various temples that seem to be popping up all over the region. Volos sees to that.” Sophia whisked them along on her tour. “It’s a very profitable export industry. We sell the teapots as well as the tea.”

  I’ll bet it is. Millicent remembered the bitterness in Jana’s words back at the impoverished farm. Sophia and her sidekicks were commercially exploiting the people under the context of worship.

  “And here is the venue for my first ever festival. Though I hope there will be many more. It would be wonderful if this could become an annual event.” Sophia brought them out into the main plaza again. “I have instructed the local women how to makes scones, and of course, there will be tea enough for everyone.”

  Several men were working around the central fountain. Millicent noticed Volos, and when he spied them, he approached with a young man at this side.

  “Ah, I believe you have met Volos already,” Sophia said. “But let me introduce Heron, one of my most favourite of the young Latvians.” Millicent caught the word and realised Sophia, for all her meddling, had no real clue as to where she was geographically, much less time wise.

  Both men bowed low as they approached. “Oh wonderful lady of the tea leaf, we have completed the fountain for tonight’s opening ceremony,” Volos said.

  “Oh how clever. I knew you would.” Sophia clapped her hands in delight. “You have arrived just in time,” she told Millicent. “In a few hours, we begin my festival when the waters of the town will run with tea, and this fountain will be at the heart of it. Heron is such a clever young man.” Heron glowed at her praise and bowed again, even lower. “He has a bright, bright future,” Sophia added.

  The waters of the town will run with tea? Millicent considered this. She had been warned by Millicent2 to look out for the tea, was this what she meant? And now that she had located it, what on earth was she supposed to do?

  Evening fell quickly in Sophia’s corner of the world. It was as if the sun suddenly collapsed behind the mountains, exhausted after another day of shining down on everyone.

  Sophia had arranged bathing water and clean togas for her guests, so that they might look decent for her grand event. It was not as sumptuous as the bathing spa Millicent had experienced before, but the cool, clear water was a godsend in such a parched, dusty place.

  “We have to get her out of here,” Sangfroid spat out in frustration. “Time is running out.”

  “Everywhere she goes, she’s surrounded by guards,” Millicent pointed out. “You can’t just grab her.”

  “Oh, can’t I?”

  “They’re guarding her for a reason,” Gallo said, her face dark and brooding. “Sophia’s the major commodity in this neck of the woods. She’s their golden goose, and they’re not going to let her just up and walk away with her friends, no matter how much they blag on about her being a goddess.”

  “Gallo is right. Sophia’s a captive here whether she knows it or not,” Millicent agreed. “I wouldn’t trust that Volos as far as I could toss him. He is behind all this deification nonsense, and probably behind all the scams going on, too. I’d wager anything on it.”

  “So what’s the plan?” Gallo asked. “Given that the prof could call us back at any minute.”

  “Grab her and run,” Sangfroid answered
. Millicent sighed but knew better than to argue this particular point when she hadn’t a counter suggestion. She could only hope inspiration would come to her at the appropriate moment.

  They were collected by another contingent of armed guards and herded into the plaza where they took up places of honour beside the fountain. The sky above was a bejewelled canvas of stars, and the plaza reflected this back with hundreds of burning torches. It looked very festive. Drummers kept up a steady, ominous beat on animal hide drums, and a local chorus hummed along with them in something akin to a droning lament, at least to Millicent’s ears.

  Sophia appeared on the steps leading down from her private villa, resplendent in a snow-white gown and bare feet. The drum beat increased to hysterical levels, with the chorus launching into a high-pitched wail. Volos mounted the steps and, with a low bow, greeted his goddess partway to escort her to the fountain. Above the calamity of the music, Millicent was aware that the melodious tinkle of the nearby fountain. Suddenly the fountainhead changed from musical babbling to an ugly gurgle as the crystal clear waters began to spew darkly. At first Millicent was unsure what she was seeing. The rush of the fountain tore her attention away from the arrival of Sophia, now promenading under a canopy of palm fronds towards the centre of the plaza.

  The waters were staining the colour of tea! This was exactly what Sophia said would happen, and now Millicent2’s words rang in Millicent’s head. When you see the tea you will know what to do.

  On the ledge by the fountain lay a rough cloth for towelling, and Sophia’s sandals sat beside it. Millicent remembered the ceremony for the new urns at the tea temple in Rome. They were more or less baptised in the tea water. This was it! This was where that ritual had originated; she was here at the founding moment. It had to be at this very point in time that Sophia became ritually deified, and her religion took over the ancient world, not so much for its divine truths as its pragmatic capitalism.