Interloper at Glencoe

by Julianne Lee

  She thought about that for a moment, and sifted through her feelings for Nick. She supposed if she couldn’t trust him to protect her, everything she felt and all their prospects were for naught. So she nodded.

  “Good. Now relax. It’ll be scary at first, but after a while you’ll get used to it. Because nothing bad will happen.” He turned the key under the wheel, and a rumbling noise started up somewhere in the carriage.

  “You’ve awakened a creature.”

  “I started the engine. It’s a machine.”

  “Aye. I see.” She saw nothing, but let it be for the moment.

  Slowly the carriage moved, backward. Nick half-turned in his seat to see behind, and he turned the wheel as the carriage backed from its stall in a curved path. Then it stopped, Nick faced forward and moved a lever, and they began forward. Slowly. Beth began to breathe more easily. Perhaps he’d been having her on about going so fast. A smile came, and she looked at him sideways. Silly of her to believe anything could cross the glen in but an hour, even a faerie machine creature.

  But as the thing left the stable she saw a stone road on which other such machines, visible in the darkness only by the lamps that shone from their faces, were traveling very fast indeed. They made a sound like wind blowing as they passed. She’d heard of horses running like the wind, but knew none could ever accomplish such speed. These carriages, with no horse pulling them at all, were moving far faster than even the highest wind.

  Of a sudden, Nick’s carriage leapt into the stream of fey machines. It went faster, and Beth was pressed to the seat behind her. Her heart thudded in her chest and her breaths came hard. She held the seat cushion in her fists and tried not to cry out, but she couldn’t help a gasp.

  “Are you all right?”

  She gasped again, unable to talk. The carriage slowed, then moved to the side of the road and stopped. She closed her eyes.

  “Beth, are you okay?”

  No. She wasn’t well at all. But she nodded and struggled to keep from crying.

  “Breathe. Take slow breaths, and we’ll wait till you think you’re ready.”

  She breathed slowly, and finally opened her eyes. The stone street before her was horribly confusing. Many houses stood close by, and tall lamps threw light over them. Other carriages traveling the opposite direction swept past at an astonishing clip. So many! How could there be so many people and so many carriages?

  “Okay now?”

  “How can you go so fast without bumping into anything?”

  “Driver’s training. It’s required in school in California. Can’t get a license or graduate high school without it.”

  “You go to school to learn this?”

  He nodded. “I know what I’m doing. I’m better at it than a lot of people. I’m also pretty good at taking the engines apart and fixing them. I know a lot about how they work. What makes them go.”

  “Truly?”

  “Aye.”

  “So... you’re an engine faerie.”

  Nick erupted with long, howling laughter, leaving Beth to wonder what amused him so. He wiped a tear from his eye and said, “Oh, that was good!” After another giggle he added, “I hope my dad doesn’t ever hear that. No, a guy who works on engines is a ‘mechanic.’ It’s not magic. Not even rocket science. It’s just... parts. If you know how something is supposed to work, you figure out what’s making it not work, then fix it so it will. Simple. And when I drive I know how to work the controls and make the car do what I want. Better than a horse, because a car hardly ever gets an idea to bite or kick, and it never decides to just lie down when you want it to do something. Not like those blasted garrons in Glencoe.”

  Beth took a deep breath, looked out the front window at the streams of lights hurrying this way and that, some white and some red, and said, “Very well. I trust you. You may go.”

  He gazed at her a moment, to be sure she was truly all right, then settled back in his seat, moved the levers again, and made the carriage move onto the road again.

  This time Beth made herself relax. Her hands gripped the seat as before, but she forced herself to breathe slowly and looked around at the passing lights. Now she could see they were all moving in a flow. Like water. They went at a similar speed, each carriage missing the others smoothly. Speeding, slowing, turning, and Nick kept pace with them, maneuvering within the flow like a boat on a river. Within a short time she was calm enough to appreciate the view out the window.

  There were colored lights everywhere. Most of them were red, but some on the structures by the side of the road were blue, green, gold, pink... every color imaginable. And bright. Some so dazzling they lit up objects nearby. And people. There were so many people walking about, Beth struggled to imagine the flurry of births there must have been to create such a huge number of babies surviving to adulthood. Even the great city of London couldn’t have contained so many people.

  Soon Nick’s carriage slowed and turned off the road. He guided it into a place among a row of others near a brightly lit window, turned the key under the wheel, and the “engine” stopped growling. “Rock star parking,” he said cheerily. She gave him a puzzled look, but he didn’t explain what he’d meant by that. “Rock” and “star” were words she knew, but they made no sense together. “Parking” was completely alien, and made no sense at all.

  Then he got out, locked his door, and came around to let her out as well. When she stood, she found her knees had gone a mite wobbly.

  “You okay?”

  She nodded. Nick locked the carriage door, and took her hand to guide her to their next adventure. Fast food, Nick had called it. Was everything here “fast?”

  “Welcome to McDonald’s,” he said with a smile.

  “Indeed?” Her heart lightened. “This place belongs to the Dhomhnallach? Clan Donald?”

  “No. Maybe when it first started it used to belong to a descendant of the MacDonalds, but then it was bought by some guy named Kroc and now it’s a public corporation and belongs to a whole lot of people. Stockholders.”

  That was a disappointment. “Well, then, ’tis nevertheless a pleasure to hear the name.”

  He laughed. “You’ll hear it a lot around here, I think.”

  The inviting smell of grease greeted them at the door to this brightly-lit place. People were lined up before a bar, awaiting something, and Nick drew her to a spot behind them. She looked around at faces, and found them in colors she’d never imagined. Some so dark they appeared burnt. She gawked, uncomprehending, until one of them noticed her staring and frowned at her.

  “Good evening, kind sir.” Her smile of greeting was wide.

  He glanced at Nick, then turned away from her without reply. Her smile fell. How rude! She looked about at the other folks waiting, and aside from the occasional glance at her, none paid any attention. She looked to Nick.

  He leaned down to her ear and whispered, “Folks aren’t as friendly here as they are where you’re from.”

  “That is plain.” Her voice was tight with the offense.

  After a moment’s thought, Nick leaned close again. “I should point out, though, that I never in my life was stabbed until I went to Glencoe.”

  She considered that also, and said, “I ken your meaning.”

  The line moved, and when it was their turn at the counter Nick spoke to a teenage boy wearing a paper hat. As he did so, the boy mashed his finger against a flat surface on a box before him, and red numbers appeared at the front of that box. Like the numbered box in Nick’s bedroom, and Beth thought they might be machines as well. No magic. Nick reached into his pocket for what Beth took to be notes of exchange, printed green and very ornate, and handed them over. The boy in turn handed back coins, which then went into Nick’s pocket.

  She nudged him and nodded to the numbers. “What is the purpose of that?”

  “It tells me how much to pay.”

  “A machine decides?”

  “The machine calculates. According to the menu.” He po
inted to the wall behind the boy. There were letters and numbers, but Beth couldn’t read them. She nodded anyway and said, “The boy cannae calculate for himself?”

  “The machine records how much food is ordered and how much money is supposed to be collected. That way the boy can’t lie to either me or the employer. It keeps him honest.”

  Beth made a harsh, disparaging noise. “Your people need a machine to keep yourselves honest?”

  Nick bit his lower lip, then said, “There are too many people here for reputation to affect how people behave. I don’t know this kid, and I might never even lay eyes on him again. It’s too easy for people to be dishonest, and too risky to trust people you don’t know. So we have ways of making people accountable. They’re just different from the ways your people are held accountable for their actions.”

  Beth thought about that, and began to see his point. So many people! The sense of it was only beginning to come clear to her.

  The boy had set a tray on the bar with a hurried clatter and a slip of very white paper, and now others in paper hats were placing items on it, each wrapped in paper. When the tray was full, Nick picked it up and led Beth to a corner where there was an empty table. They sat on two very hard, smooth benches. Plastic? She touched a finger to the bright red surface and thought it must be. She’d never seen the like before.

  Then she spotted a fellow across the room, sitting on a similar bench, who had an amazing mop of bright, blood-red hair, a face as pale as milk, and a wide mouth the exact shade of his hair. He wore a sunny yellow garment, and his feet were the size of salmons. As she stared, she noted that he never moved, and realized he was a statue.

  Nick followed her gaze, saw what she was looking at, and laughed. “Ronald McDonald.”

  “Pardon?”

  He nodded toward the statue. “That’s Ronald McDonald. The clown.”

  Beth then remembered Nick’s laughter the night Eòsaph spoke of their ancestor, Ranald MacDonald, and had to smile. “Och.” Now she understood what he’d thought so amusing. This fellow did seem quite ridiculous, and unlike a revered ancestor.

  “Here.” He shoved a paper-wrapped item and a tall, white cup toward her. “These, too.” Another cup, this one short and red and filled with long, brown things, was placed before her. “French fries. Food of the gods.”

  “Indeed?”

  “You guys don’t have potatoes yet, do you?”

  “Guys?”

  “You all. Scots. The people in the glen.”

  “Po... what po...?”

  “Yeah, I thought so. You’re going to love these.” He grinned like a fool, nearly laughing as he ate one from his own cupful.

  She took one of the pieces. It was terribly hot, but she bit off some of it with care. It was salty, and greasy. She did like it, and said so. She took another. “These are French, you say? Is that why you eat them? Because you’re French?”

  He chuckled. “I’m not so French at all. I’m an American, and know pretty much diddly about France. It’s been hundreds of years since my ancestors even spoke the language.”

  “Centuries.” Beth’s voice was soft. A bit wobbly. Her thoughts went to her family. Her clan. Her father, who had been alive and speaking to her only a day ago, and now was three hundred years dead. She fell silent.

  Nick reached across to take her hand. The softness in his eyes told her he understood what was wrong. Though she knew he couldn’t change it, there was a comfort in that he could see how she felt. Most men cared little for how she felt about anything, but Nick was quite unlike most men. “Eat your hamburger,” he said. Then he kissed the back of her hand and let it go.

  She unwrapped the package before her and found a thick sandwich filled with meat, cheese, and vegetables. The bread was very soft, and sauces oozed out the sides. She took a bite, and found it greasy and vinegary. Very tasty. A smile crept across her face. It was messy, but she found it also filling. So much so, she couldn’t eat all her French fries, delicious though they were.

  She picked at them, and licked salt from them. “Three hundred years, ye say.”

  “Aye.”

  “You say you’re an American. Who rules here?”

  “We do. We have a president, and every four years we vote to decide who gets to do the job.”

  “Vote? Everyone?”

  Nick nodded.

  “How did this come about? No king, no lairds?”

  “No wars over who is in charge. The power is spread over enough legal entities and enough individual people that nobody wields enough of it to get away with a coup. We expect things to run smoothly, so for the most part they do.”

  “We also have long periods of peace.”

  “You had uprisings and civil war nearly every generation, and they didn’t stop until the middle of the eighteenth century, which happens to be when the idea of democracy began to catch on. The last armed conflict this country had over who was in charge happened over a hundred and forty years ago.”

  That seemed an awfully long time. “Peace for that long?”

  He shrugged. “Well, peace within the borders. Every generation or so there’s a war someplace else and they send the army over there.”

  “Where?”

  “Lots of places. Europe, Indochina, Africa, the Middle East.”

  “You have a very large army.”

  “It’s a big country. Lots and lots of people.”

  “Is all of it this crowded?”

  Nick looked around. “No. LA is densely populated. Out in the sticks there’s more open space. Cows and stuff.”

  “Like home?”

  He shook his head. His voice went soft. “Even Scotland isn’t like that any more. A lot has changed. Everything has changed.”

  She looked around again, and wished there were something familiar to find. Adrift in a world too large for her, she reached for Nick’s hand and held it.

  Once they’d eaten, they returned to the carriage and he drove it to another place where bright lights banished the night like the sun itself. A large number of carriages stood in rows, one alongside another, rows and rows, stretching across an enormous paved field. Nick guided his into an empty space. He helped her from her seat, and took her hand to guide her toward a huge structure boasting an equally elaborate display of light as those towering over the field.

  “How does it not burn down?”

  “What burn down?” He crowded her away from the path of an approaching carriage, though it moved but slowly.

  “This place. So much light; the fire inside must be intense.”

  “Not fire. Electricity.”

  “And that would be...”

  “Um...” He thought for a moment. “Lightning. It’s powered by lightning that comes through wires. That’s why I didn’t want you to touch anything while I was gone today. Touch a wire in the wrong spot, and it’s like being struck by lightning. I don’t want you hurt.”

  She shuddered. So many dangers here! Her hand grasped his more tightly, and he responded by squeezing hers.

  They approached a wall of glass, and Beth slowed. But then the barrier leapt open on its own, sections sliding apart before her, and though she hung back away from the jumpy wall Nick pulled her toward it. Gripping his hand with all her strength, she accompanied him through. The gracious wall then closed behind them, locking them in. But Nick didn’t seem concerned, so she took a deep breath and told herself he would never put her in danger. She needed to trust in that.

  Inside the building, the light was so bright she had to squint and shade her eyes. It was terribly crowded, with people moving along aisles between stacks of boxes and shelves crowded with goods. Clothing of every conceivable color and drape hung all around. Beth slowed walking, unsure of where to go. Nick put an arm around her shoulders, and she let him guide her.

  “Underwear. You need some things I don’t happen to have for you at home.”

  “What are we doing?”

  “Shopping.”

  “All of
this is just one shop?” People passed closely, going this way and that, pushing metal carts of wire that rattled and jingled like horses wearing bells.

  “Yup.”

  “Och.”

  “Lots of people live in this city. They need a lot of stuff.”

  All Beth could say was “Och.”

  Nick accepted one of the metal pushcarts from an elderly man in a blue tunic, and enlisted the help of a serving woman who wore trews and a blue tunic like a man, but who was very sweet and pleasant. She and Nick stayed for what seemed days, selecting clothes for Beth to try on. A thing the servant called a “bra” held her chest under the sark she wore, in the same way her overdress bodice had once done with its laces. The “panties” were not such an improvement, but Nick insisted they were necessary and Beth could see that if she were to wear these trews very often the panties would be easier to clean than the heavier garment. Like drawers on a man, for those who wore trews or breeches.

  Nick and the servant woman selected for her a very heavy pair of blue trews like the ones Nick wore, but also a dress made of fine cotton she liked very much. It was lightweight and little more than a shift, for there were no sleeves and it left her arms bare, but it was brightly colored in reds, blues and a bit of black, and so very soft against her skin it almost felt like nothing at all. Also they chose several of the sarks with short sleeves, like the ones belonging to Nick, some thick, white stockings that covered her legs almost to her knees and stayed up without the aid of garters, and a pair of white brogues like Nick’s that held her feet in ways she’d never felt. Brogues were not usually for women, and she didn’t care to wear them except on the coldest of days, but again Nick insisted she needed a pair. So she wore them with the thick stockings, and clodded about without the slightest notion of how to walk in such stiff footwear. She felt like a large-footed puppy, and just as clumsy, and didn’t care much for the way Nick grinned as he watched her walk.

  He also chose two short surcoats for her, one knitted and one fashioned of heavy cloth, a leather belt for her trews, an extremely thin petticoat with a thin embroidered fringe at the bottom hem, and some ribbons to tie back her hair. Nick didn’t want her to put it up in a kerchief, and she couldn’t find any in that shop in any case, so she settled for tying back her long locks with a ribbon at her neck like an English soldier. Though Nick tried to make a case for leaving it loose, she just wasn’t comfortable letting it all simply hang and blow free. It surely would give the wrong impression, even in this strange place, and she wouldn’t have anyone at all thinking poorly of her.