The Tea Machine (17 page)

CHAPTER 17

The smell assaulted her first,
followed closely by noise and heat. Millicent was in a market place, and it was chaos. Donkeys brayed. Dogs barked. Children cried, and men and women roared out their wares. Which was fish, of every size and variety.

Fish stalls surrounded her on all sides. And flies of every size and variety filled the air. They crawled over everything, living or dead. Opened-mouthed tuna and limp-limbed calamari lay atop avalanches of whitebait and mackerel. Huge barrels of salted sardines sat row upon row. Hundreds of milky eyed fish stared blankly up at her, while behind them the stallholders glared at her with slit-eyed suspicion. Their stares were surly rather than questioning, so she assumed her impromptu arrival had gone unnoticed in the bustle of the busy market. She noted the simple clothing and blunt, guarded faces of the people surrounding her. Where on earth was she? And why was there a tangible feeling of ill will pulsing towards her? A quick look told her she was alone. Neither Sangfroid, Sophia, nor Gallo were in sight, which was very worrying. Was this the sort of place a lady should be unchaperoned? Sangfroid should be here. For all her annoying habits, she would never leave Millicent alone in an untested environment.

Unsure where to go or what to do, but inclined to move away from the hard looks, Millicent took a step forward. Her heel skidded on the glutinous miasma coating the cobblestones. A filth of fish guts, swill water, and Lord only knew what oozed around her feet, and her heart went out for her kidskin slippers, now ruined beyond redemption.

“Careful, my little urn.” A hand caught her elbow and steadied her. He spoke in Latin, and she was momentarily amazed that she understood him as easily as she could Sangfroid or Gallo. Was she in Rome? It was not that hard to imagine. This was the civilization where their two timelines seemed to separate. Her startled gaze met with the curious but kindly one of her benefactor, and she was grateful for it after the hard-eyed looks surrounding her.
A little urn?
Had she heard him right? She detached from his grip and steadied herself.

“Thank you,” she said politely with what she hoped was the right amount of respectability.

“Please, let me escort you to the temple,” he said. “Perhaps it is best to move away from the populous. They are not in a very forgiving mood towards the tea. After all, it is taxes time.” He was perhaps in his late fifties, bedecked in a crisp white tunic that shone like a beacon amid the filthiness of the marketplace. The sun glinted off his carefully coiffed, silver hair, or rather the resinous substance that held it in place. He was scented with cypress oil, which, though sharp on her nostrils, was a balm against the smell of fish. She almost moved closer for that reason alone. He exuded a mannerly and courteous concern, which was reassuring.

Millicent dithered. Tea and temples? She was certain the Romans did not drink tea. It grew far to the east, well beyond the borders of their Empire. Did they trade for it? Maybe this wasn’t Rome after all but some other ancient city? How intriguing. More to the point, should she trust this strange man? What were her options? She was not in the most salubrious of places and not very welcome at that.

“Please oblige me.” The man held out his arm to lead her away, and Millicent felt compelled to oblige. She draped her hand through the crook of his elbow, and he led her towards the edge of the square where gullies washed away the worst of the muck around their feet.

“Thank you for your help. I am Miss Millicent Aberly.” She may as well begin her investigations while she had his attention. “And you are?”

“Cassian Titus Atticus, at your service.” He grabbed at her fingers, trapping them under his arm.

She tried not to pull her hand away and look rude. Instead she continued with her questioning. “You mentioned a temple?”

He laughed. “The High Tea Temple of Rome is just around the corner. I assume you are lost? You have that lost look about you.”

“I am a little disorientated.” So she was in Rome after all. A Rome with a high tea temple? That sounded as promising a place to start as any, especially if it removed her from this smelly marketplace with its disagreeable vendors.

They walked along the edge of the square, tiptoeing around the messier gullies and several glutinous puddles. The din from the fish market was slowly drowned out by a loud clanking noise. Millicent noticed smoke hanging low over this corner of the market. As they approached the source, the clanking became more mechanical to her ear, and when Cassian delicately led her around a large stack of unused barrels, she found a noisy but glorious steam powered machine. It was made of bronze; a squat box-like structure resting on four large cartwheels. The fluted funnel chugged out plumes of steam, not smoke as she’d at first supposed. Steam clouds hung hot and greasy above them until the breeze shredded them to pieces.

“What on earth?” Millicent breathed. This was not what she had expected to see in ancient Rome. Her companion seemed very at ease with the machinery. Her question was answered. She had materialized in the version of ancient Rome that was at the root of Sangfroid’s civilization. She was torn between delight at the discovery and trepidation at her vulnerability.

This was time travel in its truest form. She had no knowledge of this place or what would be expected of her. It was totally different from projecting into the future to arrive by Sangfroid’s side where she felt safe and protected despite the dangers of that age. Sangfroid always made her feel secure. Here she was alone, adrift on dangerous waters. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if Sangfroid were to appear now? Simply walk around a corner and find her and make everything immediately better. And Hubert walking along with her! How wonderful if he were to come back. Her brother would explain everything to her. He would have loved this machine, and it would be Sangfroid who escorted her to safety instead of this clammy-handed stranger.

She imagined the elation of the moment, but it didn’t last, and desperation draped over her like a sodden blanket. Hubert was dead. She was lost in an alien world, and Sangfroid and the others were probably as lost as she was.

A naked urchin ran past her to the machine and opened a heavy, ornate door. Clouds billowed out, only these were frigid with cold, not hot and steamy. The child’s flesh mottled under its bite. To her astonishment, he began to dig out ice with his bare hands and throw it into a huge pail almost as tall as he was.

“An ice maker?” she said in awe. “It actually makes ice.” Her awe soon changed to agitation when she noticed the child’s fingers were black and disfigured with frostbite, and still he clawed at the impacted ice until the pail was full.

“Of course it’s an ice maker.” Cassian laughed. “You can’t have a fish market without ice. Well, maybe in the provinces, but not in Rome.” They watched as the child staggered off under his load.

“That poor boy,” Millicent said. “Did you see his hands? Why not give him a small shovel, or at least some sacking to protect his skin?” Her voice was tight with her upset.

“I see you are new to Rome,” Cassian said. “The child is a slave. He costs less than a shovel. In Rome there is an abundance of labourers. There are more people than actual work. It’s not like the provinces. Where are you from, by the way?”

Millicent’s skin prickled. There was something about her companion that set her on edge. He was canny enough to sense her discomfort and glide her away from the ice machine. She disengaged her hand from the crook of his arm, sliding her fingers out from his acquisitive grasp.

“It’s just that your dress is so…unusual, even for a tea maid. Is it ceremonial?” Cassian chatted lightly, as if nothing unpleasant had occurred. “Perhaps there’s a festivity at the temple that I am unaware of?”

Tea maids and temples again. Ought she inquire further, or was this something she was expected to know?

“I am rather new to the city,” she explained cautiously. “In that I cannot seem to locate the temple. Perhaps…” As she had hoped, he jumped at the chance to escort her, and she found her arm once again seized in a most inappropriate way.

He led her away from the market through a side portico and out into a broad and sunny colonnade lined with spice stalls. The odour of fish was immediately masked with huge swathes of competing incense.

“It’s best to exit from the east side of the market square. The scents are enchanting, and they clear the sinuses.” Cassian smiled at her, wafting the fug towards his nose with flapping hands. Millicent relaxed enough to take interest in these new surroundings.

“This colonnade leads to the Trajan baths, and as the spice masks the smell of the fish market so well, the spice merchants are allowed to trade along the entire walkway,” Cassian told her.

Millicent was fascinated. The stalls were adorned with colourful flags. Bright red, orange, and vivid green silk banners snapped and danced, advertising their seller’s wares on the wind. Spices spilled from out of copper bowls onto worn tabletops. The vibrant colours competed with the swirls of silk above. Platters were piled high with the yellow hues of ochre, umber, and cadmium as pure as the sun’s rays. They bloomed next to other platters of earthy reds that held the blunt heat of their homelands. Nutmeg, pepper, turmeric, ginger, clove, and cardamom, exploded upon her sense of smell like fireworks. Colour splattered the stone cobbles where passing feet trod the spices into the dirt and threw up a whirl of fragrance.

A multitude of exotic languages assaulted her ears. The deep-set smiles of the Indian and Asian spice vendors were wonderfully cheering after the glowering locals in the fish market. The cultural fusion confounded Millicent. This version of Rome had trade routes as far flung as her British Empire. She began to take mental note of the anomalies. Sangfroid’s ancient capital was much more advanced than its counterpart from her own timeline. Oh, how she wished she had someone to share it with.

Her thoughts immediately turned to Hubert, and she shut them down sharply. She was too emotionally raw to dwell on his death, especially in such a dangerous place. There was a mystery to Hubert’s demise she had as yet to unravel, and until she had, she would be careful with his memory and the disillusion his loss brought to her. She must focus on the task at hand in a progressive and robust research manner that would make her brother proud. Determined of her goals, she focused on the sights before her and collected her evidence.

Contrasting with the happy faces of the spice vendors were those of Rome’s citizens. Wealthy women shopped along the colonnade. Their children, all healthy and clean clothed, gathered around a small steam powered theatre shrieking with laughter at the antics of a clockwork monkey as it danced to a reedy tune piped by its master. For a moment, Millicent paused to enjoy the show until the monkey screeched and flung itself up a pole to escape from its audience. It was tugged back by the chain around its neck, and she saw it was not a clockwork toy at all. It was a real animal with mechanical parts interwoven with its physiology. A leg had been removed and replaced with a tiny bronze limb, the little knee pistoned up and down manically in time with the music. She could see the metal ball of a hip joint rotate in the bony cusp of the monkey’s pelvic socket. The skin on its belly and chest was pared back to show the biological workings inside the torso. The gullet, stomach, and bowels were all real enough, but its heart organ was no more than a metal and leather box that bellowed in and out belligerently. The owner gave the animal copious cups of hot water that somehow fuelled the beating heart-box.

Millicent was equally repelled and fascinated; she itched to hold the creature and examine it further. And then she looked into the crazed eyes of the little monkey and saw his torture for what it was. He glared back, and she knew he didn’t see her or the children or the gay banners blowing in the wind. He was beyond the visions of this world, and his insanity had locked his mind into a safer place. He opened his mouth and screeched and the rows of blunt copper pegs that replaced his teeth gleamed in the sun. It was a terrible, agonized leer. The children yelled with laughter. Millicent recoiled, bumping into Cassian who giggled along with the children.

“I love the dancing monkeys,” he said and kept on watching the show while Millicent stepped away to compose herself.

The children’s mothers stood nearby, gossiping with each other or haggling with the spice sellers. Millicent could feel their sharp, disapproving looks that always slid away as soon as she turned to face them. Whatever she represented in this city, she was as welcome on the streets as she had been in the fish market. She refused to be flustered and concentrated hard on the magnificence of her surroundings. She raised her eyes to the soaring architecture and let it momentarily lift her spirits up from the cold, hard people of Rome and yowling children with their deformed monkey. From under the covered walkway, the towering arches of a vast aqueduct cut across the blue skyline. Elegant with its sheer stone-clad lines, it cradled the cityscape, dominating the buildings and streets and trailing through the city like a bold, white ribbon.

Millicent wished with all her heart that Hubert were here to accompany her exploration. He would have been fascinated and appalled, and he would probably still fall in love with this macabre city. It took the bloom from every new discovery that he was absent from her life. She blinked back sudden tears.

“The Aqua Claudia.” Cassian was back at her side, following her upward gaze. “Splendid, isn’t it? I envy those new to Rome; the city is a cornucopia of wonders, each waiting to be discovered like the sweetest morsel. It’s not called the glory of the civilized world for nothing.”

“It’s beautiful.” Millicent shifted under his gaze, uncomfortable with the way Cassian glanced sideways at her when he said sweetest morsel. He made her skin prickle. She had to concentrate on finding the others and then devise a way to get back home. Her sense of unease was growing.

On the horizon, she made out the curved white dome of another majestic building. It reared over the terracotta roofs, dwarfing even the highest tenement buildings. The sun gleamed off its gilded crests, making it beautiful against the cerulean sky. She was in Rome. And Rome, in any era, was magnificent.