From behind the front desk, George made his introduction. ‘Mr Reilly Jackson,’ he announced, smiling broadly, as if the young man hadn’t stood there, in this lobby, in New York City, waiting for Katie hundreds of times.
‘Actually, it’s Reilly O Jackson,’ the young man said. And he was grinning too. It seemed to be catching.
‘O brave new world, that has such people in’t.’
Reilly recited as he handed Dolores a box of chocolates and kissed her on the cheek. ‘Merry Christmas’ he said. Dolores harrumphed, a rather fake, very happy harrumph. Taking Katie by the arm, Reilly kissed her too. ‘Did you like your Christmas gift?’ he asked. ‘I’m sorry I made you open it early, but I can never wait.’
‘I can never wait either,’ she admitted, thinking of the snow globe. ‘I love your gift,’ she said. ‘I’m wearing it tonight. I might never take it off.’ She fingered the large golden amulet, shaped like a flask that hung around her neck. Reilly O Jackson might think this flask was something new that he had bought for Katie in a store, but Katie new better.
‘I’m sorry it’s empty,’ Reilly said apologetically. ‘I would have put perfume or something in it, but I wasn’t sure what you’d like.’
Katie looked down at the flask and remembered. Mary Seacole and the Crimean battlefield – she’d held her golden amulet over Jack O’Reilly. She had promised Katie they would meet again.
‘It’s perfect as it is,’ she told Reilly. ‘It’s already full. It’s full of you.’ Reilly blushed.
‘You should save that kind of snazzy talk for your stories. I only hope someday you’ll let me read them. I know they’ll be great.’
How could she ever have been bored? The snow, the night, the friends, the fun. ‘We have so much time!’ she cried, out of the blue. Reilly seemed to understand, though Dolores looked rather annoyed.
‘I thought you said we were out of time.’
‘Their time, our time, passing time, all time, no time, out of time,’ Katie chanted dreamily.
And now Dolores was decidedly vexed. ‘Katie Berger-Jones-Burg. You might not be a child anymore but you sure do talk some childish nonsense.’
Reilly O Jackson lightly touched the amulet around Katie’s neck. ‘I think she talks great sense,’ he said.
Katie laughed; she thought she would never stop.
Dear Reader,
The Queen Must Die, The Queen at War and now The Queen Alone. This is the final book in the Chronicles of the Tempus series. I feel like James and Katie, standing on the pier, waving goodbye as my books, my characters – and my wonderful readers – sail away to other adventures.
This has been such an interesting series to write, as each book contains three very different worlds. Katie lives in our time, in New York City. I found Katie easy to write, as she bears a strong resemblance to me. (Though my own wonderful mother is nothing like Mimi!)
Princess Alice and James O’Reilly are true Victorians. Over time I’ve read many of the real Princess Alice’s letters to her mother, brothers and sisters. Katie is very lucky. I would have liked to be best friends with Princess Alice. Queen Victoria, Prince Albert, Mary Seacole and Florence Nightingale are all important historical figures. Though the twist in Florence Nightingale’s tale is pure fiction (or at least I believe so . . .) James O’Reilly comes from my imagination. To me, he represents the best of the Victorian frame of mind: a belief in science and medicine, hard work and progress. James might not always be charming, but he makes the world a better place.
As for the rather supernatural world of the Verus and the Malum, Lucia and Lord Belzen – they might just be the most real characters in the trilogy. Good does coexist with evil. And the battle continues.
My favourite character, though, is the one who lives in all three worlds. Bernardo DuQuelle has to learn to be human, and he does this with keen observation and quite a bit of clever commentary. It strikes me that he would make an excellent writer!
If you have any questions, I’d be delighted to answer them. You can follow me on Facebook and Twitter, or contact me by email: [email protected]
Bon Voyage
K. A. S. Quinn
The Chronicles of the Tempus Page 68