Time Drifters
Chapter Forty-Two: Forgive Us Our Trespasses

Waking had never been so painful. I got elbowed in my ribs twice, someone stepped on my shin, I got a mouthful of straw—which I quickly spat out, coughing. There were shrieks from the girls and then shouting, topped off with the clanging of a wooden spoon on a metal pot. Utter pandemonium.

It was still dark as pitch, so the lanterns swinging in the door were piercingly brilliant.

“Get out! All of you demons!” came the pronouncement from a funny, nasal voice. It might have been comical if there wasn’t also the deeper grunts from men stepping amongst us. I got bumped in the hip and then struck on the ankles by a blunt instrument; something hard and wooden, like a kind of club.

I heard Caelen and Thomas and Renatta all protest, their voices raised indignantly. But I wanted out of the darkness and away from the chaos, so the doorway was the new goal.

“Hey! We’re going!” I shouted when I felt another poke in my back.

“You’re gonna hurt someone, you idiot,” Thomas said.

“Silence from all of you,” said the nasal man, now visible to me as he stood just outside of the shed. His raised lantern illuminated half of his sour face and spilled a warm glow onto the deep orange cloak that hugged his shoulders. Raindrops were streaming down his skull, over the protruding crown of his forehead and into the deep crevices of his temples before they dripped off of the ledge of his boney cheeks. He had a curved nose that made him look like a raven except for the fact that his closely shaved hair was more salty white than black.

“Move along then,” said a deep British voice reaching out from the darkness behind me, accompanied by the thud of a thick palm shoving me forward. The stench of garlic and enough alcohol to light a torch wafted past me and I agreed about getting away from that.

“Careful! She is just a little girl,” said Renatta who was apparently with Marijka because I heard her crying in dismay.

“Out, out!” said the boney man.

There was just the barest beginnings of dull light but enough that I could make out the silhouettes of each of us. We were being pushed into a line with our backs to the shed. There were two men wrangling of us, both of them sturdy and strong, and carrying what looked like short baseball bats—that’s what they were. I also caught the glint of lantern light on something metal that was swinging from one man’s belt. A knife, likely.

“What do you want?” Caelen demanded.

“And who do you think you are, rousting us like animals?” asked Gwendolyn.

“Silence!” the man repeated.

Marijka bellowed and Renatta comforted her with kind, shushing noises.

“I said to be quiet!” he demanded.

“She is praying,” Renatta snapped. “Because you have frightened her.”

I could barely make out a phrase from the Lord’s Prayer. It seemed this was not an approved activity and one of the brutes moved towards her, raising his club. Caelen lunged and took him to the ground, tumbling in a mess of flinging limbs. Thomas was quick to step towards him but the other man shoved him back and drew a blade.

“Enough!” declared the nasal man, sweeping forward and raising his lantern to his side like a large orange bat. The sharp smack of a punch punctuated his remark and we saw Caelen holding his head, rolling on the ground while the brute stood up.

I felt useless. I didn’t have the strength or know-how to fight either of these men. If we were a bit older, I was certain that Caelen and Thomas could have managed, not to mention the women being able to take down the guy in the cloak. I suddenly resented that we were all so young. How was this possible?

“You have been trespassing,” he declared.

“We have not,” Renatta said. “Madame Dalcour allowed us to stay here.”

“For fear of her life and that of her daughter,” he shot back. “Isn’t that correct, Madame Dalcour?”

I was startled to see a sheepish Mrs. Dalcour emerge from around the end of the shed, holding her own simple lamp. Francesca gasped and I heard Aureliano grunt.

“A gang of hooligans descending upon her,” he continued, “knowing that her husband was away. But then, demons like to take advantage of such moments of weakness, do they not?”

“Demons?” Gwendolyn said. “Beasts who strike out in ignorance and without honour, do you mean? Perhaps you bring your own demons to play with.”

“And then you act surprised to see them all around you,” said Aureliano, sounding still drunk with sleep. “A possession of your own making. Your own recipe to conjure the evil you wish to dispel.”

“Yet a confounding beast speaks in many tongues and takes on the forms of the innocent,” the man said.

“Wouldn’t most sane people just call that ‘Youth’?” Francesca stated.

“I do not comprehend the appearance of ten children, dancing amongst the plantation forest, without a place to return to at night,” he said.

“They came from near the fire ring,” said Mrs. Dalcour.

“Hush,” said the man.

“You would do great credit to your cause with the inclusion of an introduction,” Aureliano said tersely.

“You may address me as Monsignor, and we will leave it at that,” he said. “And I would ask your names, though I imagine any response to be a lie.”

“Then why continue to speak at all,” Caelen said, standing at the end of the line and facing off with the largest of the Monsignor’s bullies. “The facts are plentiful. We were asleep when you arrived and therefore we are humans, not demons. We bleed and it is not black or green blood that emerges,” he said, holding his fingers forward into the lamp light for the Monsignor to see. The man recoiled although he studied Caelen’s evidence just the same.

“We pray scripture and not with incantations,” Caelen said, “And speak with evident education that would, I dare say, rival your own.”

“Impudence,” the Monsignor hissed, although he was much more reticent.

“As a man of reason, where do you think we came from?” Caelen asked.

“They temptin’ you,” Mrs. Dalcour said, inching cautiously toward the Monsignor. “You have favored Capucine, when you know better, giving in to what that Sister tells you. But you know better.”

“Hush, woman,” Monsignor said.

“I cannot be quiet when I see it’s through that crack where more demons come,” she continued. “Listen to your Lord.”

“Enough!” he snapped, turning on her this time. “Capucine is… necessary.” He spun around, and now that daylight was increasing I could see the tall staff he carried in his other hand. It was a long and polished wood piece that came almost to his shoulder, with an ivory handle and a silver ornament on top; a circle with a crucifix suspended inside.

“So I will entertain your stories, for the moment,” he said smugly. “Where are your homes? Where are your parents?”

None of us spoke as we exchanged glances.

“Where is your employ?” the Monsignor asked Caelen.

“I now see the way to keep you silent,” he added. “And there is a more honest response than you have given yet.” He bent in front of Marijka.

“Does your mother live in Carrolltown?” he asked, mocking. Marijka shook her head.

“No?” he continued, faking pity. He turned to me next. “And yours?”

I glanced down and before I could say anything, Aureliano began to sing.

“Sola, sola in buio loco palpitar,” he began softly. The Monsignor stared and as he did, Aureliano began to get louder. It was a sad sounding song but in the midst of this line up, it was such a relief to hear something so melodic.

“What are you doing?” asked the Monsignor.

“Mozart, of course. Don Giovanni, Act two, scene two,” Aureliano said cheerily. “I sing when I’m unhappy. And, with all due respect, Monsignor, you make me most unhappy.”

One of the twins laughed, and that was when I realized that I was only seeing one of them. I looked carefully to my right and verified—there were only ten of us. I had thought before that the Monsignor was simply bad at counting.

“You’ve all escaped,” the Monsignor declared.

“From what, an opera?” Francesca asked, incredulously.

“From a boat,” he said, renewed with vigor and purpose. “From the river!”

Aureliano shuddered, for some reason.

“What?” Thomas declared loudly, questioning the man’s reason.

“They didn’t arrive from the ring,” Monsignor said, wheeling on Mrs. Dalcour with a snarl. “They passed beside it, perhaps. You haven’t got the sense to see the greater image of things, and now I do.” He looked at us again, pacing down the line.

“And how long until you are all found out?” he said, almost to himself. “Who will come for you? And how might they be thankful to know that you are all safe.”

I looked at Renatta and she cast her eyes downward. Monsignor seemed to take our discomfort for his own confirmation, smiling.

I would have felt badly for Mrs. Dalcour, being dismissed as insane, except for the obvious fact that she’d been such a traitor, and a very dangerous one. She had withdrawn, fuming and arms crossed as though to keep herself warm from the cool rain and the morning air. The sputtering wick in her lamp was now curling black soot onto the curved sides of her glass lamp pipe and she extinguished it with an indignant huff of breath.

At the very least, I thought, Imogene’s tales were being dismissed as just the fantastical imaginings of a child. Having been on the receiving end of that judgment, I did feel badly for her.

“And you care about this little one?” Monsignor said, raising the muddy end of his staff towards Marijka. We all tensed, ready to defend her.

“Ha!” he laughed, relishing his advantage.

“We care about everyone,” Renatta said.

But Monsignor ignored her, favoring Aureliano.

“Do you sing for your supper?” he oozed.

“When not merely for my own amusement, it is for much more than simply supper,” Aureliano responded cockily. “Much more.”

“And has the Contessa D’Estange ever had the pleasure of your entertainment?” he asked.

“I would have remembered,” Aureliano said, shaking his head and locking eyes with the Monsignor. “As, I am sure, would have she.”

Thomas looked at me and rolled his eyes. Monsignor grabbed the side of his cape and gave it a dramatic swirl as he turned on the spot, pacing away from us and staring down the laneway that looked like a tunnel through the dense foliage above. When he turned back, he walked straight for the two men he had brought.

“Return to the home and stay with Isaac until I arrive,” Monsignor instructed.

“Children’re not our deal,” the one man said.

“You never kept a cabin boy in line?” Monsignor asked, sneering. “Keep him away from the hearth and there shall be a bottle for you, as well as your coin. But if he burns something on your watch there will be hell to pay instead.”

The man leaned in, inches from his employer’s face, his eyes narrowing. For the first time, I saw the Monsignor’s bluster fade and fear replace it.

“I knows yer deal well enough not to receive threats kindly,” the man hissed. “We ‘ave our own people and our own ways as well.”

“Poppycock,” squeaked Monsignor, shifting his eyes uncomfortably towards the rest of us. “You’ll all come with me. Now.”

“And why would we do that?” Calico said, indignantly.

“It’s alright,” Francesca whispered.

The Monsignor had moved already towards the path, but he paused and slowly turned.

“You care about your friend, Capucine, I believe, as much as you do about this young one,” he said, pointing to Marijka. “So you will do as I say, because Capucine cares about Isaac, as we all do. We are going to see if the Contessa wishes to permit an audience for this young man with that magnificent voice. If so, then you will receive the gracious charity of our home for as long as you prove to be beneficial.”

We looked at each other and Aureliano nodded that he would accept the challenge.

“Unless, of course,” the Monsignor said, “I am being presumptuous and the good Madame Dalcour here wishes to extend her hospitality.”

But the woman only spat at the feet of the Monsignor and wheeled, disappearing around the corner with a swish of her wet skirt.

“Good of you to be so clear about the arrangement,” Renatta said, coldly.

“John 15:13,” said the Monsignor, turning to lead the way. “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.”

“What did he say?” I asked, to no one in particular.

“The rule of reciprocity,” Gwendolyn scoffed.

Thomas turned and slapped a hand on my shoulder to get me moving.

“It’s basically Bible speak,” he said, “Translation is that he’s got us by the balls, and he knows it.”

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