Godspeed (2 page)

Soon I would be leaving, and I had no idea where on Earth I was meant to go.

C
HAPTER
2

THOUGH I CAN ONLY VAGUELY REMEMBER
the moment that I was torn from my old existence, I will never forget what happened the instant I awoke to the reality of my new one.

The very day I left the Argents’ home, I was swept up into a world so brazen, so ahead of its time in thought and progression, that working class men and women cowered and prayed to their gods for deliverance from its sweeping changes.

Mine was a lonely life lived in a strange time, one in which the Earth itself appeared to be at war with the laws meant to govern it. The world seethed with unnatural energy, determined to rip free its moorings; insistent it must hurry on to the next stage in its inevitable, mechanical evolution.

This struggle between past and future was nowhere more evident than in the architecture of the city I viewed from the window of the train, as it squealed and lurched into the station.

Stonework angels inhabited trim of historic buildings with large metal sculptures in their courtyards — modern renderings of steam locomotives and all manner of clock face and gear work.

These chiseled representations of heavenly bodies seemed so much sadder than I imagined statues could; as though they were weeping bitter, silent tears over the convoluted, unholy mess that mankind had constructed below.

I wished I could cry, too.

*   *   *

I trudged onward through the slippery, shining streets of central Fairever with one small, weathered suitcase in my hand. My coat was too thin to adequately protect me from the strength of the chill, or the driving cold of misting rain that began to gather upon my hair and eyelashes as a thick, descending dew.

I shivered. I felt frozen clear through. I was lost, and had no one in the world I could turn to for aid.

I stumbled backwards with fright as Tower Clock struck its first harmonious, resonant chime. I raised my eyes up in an attempt to ascertain just how late in the evening it was, and thereby figure out how long I'd been wandering. Instead, I found the clock face obscured by the hovering shadow of a bright white airship. It was the first time I'd actually seen one, and my lips parted in amazement at the sight. The incessant whirr of propellers drowned out all other sounds around me, and echoed in my ears long after it soared overhead.

It truly looked weightless, an unnatural, overstuffed, wingless bird, and as it disappeared into the next swath of laden clouds in the distance, I marveled at the sort of mind it would take to bring such a peculiar beast into existence.

I didn't have the chance to wonder for long. I noticed that watchful, lecherous eyes were upon me and I knew that I should hurry — or at least move along as fast as my weak and weary legs could carry me.

It had only been hours since the train had taken me away from the station nearest the only home I'd ever known, a place where I was no longer needed or wanted; still, I longed to return to it.

My mind played again and again over what the Argents had said to me, as they stood at my bedside and looked down upon me, with not only their eyes but their souls as well.

We allowed you to stay this long out of regard for the many years of loyal service rendered to this household by your father
.

However it has become apparent that you are neither willing nor able to carry on in a similar tradition and standard of care in your duties
.

Out of consideration for the past and concern for your future, we will provide you with two weeks' severance and a train ticket to the city, where you will hopefully be able to find another place of employment
.

Place of employment.

The words stung with the shock of an insect unseen, outraged when disturbed from its comfortable position nestled among the whorls of a flower. I had considered their household, their family, to be something so much closer to a real home, even if I knew deep in my heart that I never truly belonged there.

I wanted so much to belong there, to belong anywhere. Still, when you are the servant's child, no matter how much anyone tries to pretend, there is no way that you can ever be accepted by those who pay your salary.

I finally rounded a corner and escaped those leering eyes. I stopped for a moment to catch my breath, winded now though I had not run.

I leaned my back up against the first streetlamp I found. I was bathed in flickering gold light that offered little comfort and made me long for the heat of the Sun. I closed my eyes and tilted my face up toward the now inescapable, soaking rain.

As it drenched the skin beneath my clothing, I realized there had never really been anywhere in the whole of the world during the nearly eighteen years of my existence that ever felt like a home. The truth was I had always lived one step away from destitution, dependent upon the mercy and benevolence of others; I had just been too certain in my innocence to believe it. I had trusted in error that the tenuous and transient were solid and eternal; that places, and people, could always be counted upon to remain as they were. How wrong I'd been, and how devastated I felt now at the realization that the foundation of my life had cracked and crumbled to dust beneath the weight of my wounded soul.

This new and unwelcome understanding of my place, or rather lack thereof, made my throat ache. I felt the unwelcome but entirely familiar sensation of impending unconsciousness sweeping in, threatening to carry me into darkness I was powerless to escape.

Before I could fade into the black, someone grasped me by the shoulders, and the shock jolted my heart back into temporary submission. It was an officer of the local constabulary, and he made sure that I did not keep my place under that light post for long.

“Young ladies are not to wander the city streets alone,” he said, “least of all at night and in the rain. Go home.”

I nodded and moved away as quickly as I could, terrified to confess that I had no home to return to.

I walked farther than I believed I was capable. I didn't know where I was going, but understood it was imperative that I keep moving. My faulty, faltering heart warned me with every beat, every step, and every forced inhalation that it was ready to desert its post and leave me utterly abandoned. I wondered that it hadn't done so yet, and doubted, just for a second, that the physician had been correct. Perhaps there was nothing wrong with me after all.

That wishful hope was soon extinguished, as the searing pain returned to the place where it had taken up residence behind my aching ribs.

C
HAPTER
3

I DON'T KNOW EXACTLY WHEN
I actually lost consciousness. I only recall that I awoke to a dizzying, indescribable odor that burned my nose and lungs.

When my vision returned to something resembling focus, I saw a small bottle held near my face and realized someone had revived me on purpose. I came to the startling discovery that I was no longer in the rain, nor did I feel cold. I was, most assuredly, indoors.

In fact I was propped up on an elegant divan, situated beneath several blankets and in front of a vibrant fire. A fine, full tea service sat on the table before me, though I knew that I lacked the strength to reach out to pick up the cup, even if I had been welcome to.

I didn't know if I was welcome. I didn't know where I was, at all.

My eyes settled upon a man with bright blond hair and large, angular eyes the color of pitch. He was extravagantly dressed — costumed, really — in a red, crushed velvet coat. It was worn over a blouson shirt of whitest linen that boasted cascades of intricate lace trim on cuffs and ruffled collar. His trousers were made of leather and his boots were calf-high, with many large, square buckles that glimmered as he crossed one leg over the other.

He was a good match for his surroundings, though I had never seen the like of either before.

The room itself was well appointed with elegantly upholstered furnishings and eclectic fixtures. I began to wonder, and worry, what such a man would expect in repayment for the service of bringing my lifeless body in from the unkind world outside.

He offered me a small smile as he said, “Welcome back.” He reached for the pot and poured steaming tea into the cups. “You've had an awful chill. How do you take your tea?”

“I…” My voice failed, and so he continued on for me.

“Milk and sugar?”

I gave a pitiful excuse for a nod in reply, the only response of which I currently felt capable.

As afraid as I was of what he might do to me, I quickly came to the conclusion that he could have done plenty already if he had wanted to, and yet so far all he'd shown me was concern and care. I thought of all the times my father had shown such kindness in his life wherever he could, and I wondered if there wasn't a way that he was watching over me from the afterlife, and sent this stranger to take me off of the streets before I caught my death — or worse, was taken in by much less scrupulous individuals to be exploited.

The man brought the delicate, rose covered china cup to my lips and tilted it toward me. I took the liquid in a bit too eagerly, and my throat refused to cooperate with the simple act of swallowing. I choked and he pulled the cup away, holding it in both hands while he waited for me to recover.

“You must be as hungry as you are thirsty, though I would recommend we take
that
part more slowly.” He smiled once again; speaking to me as I imagined someone would if I were an old and long-treasured friend. “Dinner will not be ready for an hour, but there are biscuits here, and I will see if any other bakery from this afternoon's proper tea remains.”

“Thank you.” I formed the words with my lips but no sound followed, aside from the hollow wheezing my breathing had become.

“Quite all right, young woman. Once we're certain you're well, we will contact whomever we must to see about returning you safely home.” Even as the man spoke the words, he seemed to doubt that they could indicate a practical course of action. Young women did not break down on the streets of Fairever if they had a family and home they could safely return to.

Suddenly a thought occurred to me, and I forced myself to try to speak more clearly.

“Suitcase?”

The man appeared puzzled. “I am sorry, there was no bag with you. Someone must have taken it between when you collapsed and when I found you.”

I slumped lower upon the furniture that supported me. I felt even smaller now in the large, wide world than I had an instant before. All I had to my name, little though it had been, was now gone. The ache in my heart took the form of words, and I spoke what I believed to be my fate. “Done for.”

“Done for?” He made a sympathetic,
tsk-tsk
sound with his tongue and shook his head. “Nonsense. I have a friend who is a doctor of sorts. He'll look you over and I'm sure fix you right up. Then we'll make sure you have whatever fare you need to get where you are going.”

I gazed at the teacup longingly, trying to forget for just a moment that this warm room was not mine, that this roof sheltering me from the rain and cold of night beyond it was only a temporary haven from the storm. I was not invited to stay and did not know what I would do here if I was, and yet, with nowhere else to go, it seemed like the most welcoming place in which I had ever been.

The man observed my expression and held the cup out toward me. “Care to give it another try?”

I lowered my eyes gratefully. In response he placed the cup to my mouth again. “There you are.”

I managed to take in a little this time, and after a sip or two he withdrew the cup. “We must go slowly.” He set it aside and shifted position, once more crossing one long, spindly leg over the other. He entwined his hands and rested them atop his knee, absently wringing them. “What is your name, young lady?”

I averted my eyes. My name meant nothing now, for it belonged to a girl who lived elsewhere, in a place that no longer existed.

“Ah. I see. Well then, it can wait, I suppose.” He inclined his head toward me and urged me to finally attempt to take the cup into my hands. He seemed as though he was trying to judge not only my strength, but my character at the same time.

He mutely observed my shaking hands, and I realized he was looking for signs and symptoms of withdrawal from drink or drug. We exchanged a knowing glance, and as he decided my sobriety was assured, his mien changed. His eyes conveyed an apology, and betrayed that he had not expected me to catch on.

I may have lived a sheltered life up until this point but I was no innocent; well, at least not to my own mind. What I lacked in actual life experience, I believed I made up for in book learning. I had devoured so many, on every subject I could find to borrow. They had broadened my world in a way that few young women in my situation could have claimed, and I fancied myself quite the scholar. How silly and naïve I was. How much, still, I had to learn.

I looked around the room again as the warmth of the tea began to take effect and I felt myself returning to a slightly more functional manner of existence.

I was seated before a roaring fireplace, well tended in a beautiful hearth, with ornate tools beside it. All the furnishings around me were fine and appeared to be antique. The walls were a deep, vivid shade of scarlet, but that was not their most distinguishing characteristic. They were not so much painted or papered as they were completely covered in artwork. Most were flowered landscapes, crafted in vivid hues, and displayed in elaborate, gilded frames. Several of the pieces seemed to go together in color and theme, and I had to imagine that they were the work of the same artist; though whose work exactly, I couldn't place. It was impossible for me to see in the dimming light just what name was scrawled at the bottom of each painting.

The man before me noticed my keen regard for the work and tilted his head curiously. “You are interested in art? You see something in those that captures your imagination?”

I blinked, analyzing them. “I am no authority, sir,” I whispered, for my voice was too weak still to speak clearly. “But I know… what I like.”