Bitter Oath (New Atlantis)(6)

Rene stopped and looked around. Coming toward him at a graceful jog, was Jane NewSW, her glorious hair blowing behind her like a bright copper cloud. He smiled.

‘Rene, how did it go? Have you found your mythical worm?’ she asked with a gasp, as she reached his side. Her perfect, porcelain skin was flushed with exertion, and the flecks of gold in her green eyes sparkled with interest.

‘Not mythical, anymore. It is now safely within the realm of legend. I have found my white explorer, and I have seen his drawing of the giant earthworm. It is everything I had hoped for, and more. His granddaughter has given me permission to read his journals, if I cannot find a record of his journey by other means.’

Jane tipped her head to one side and studied him closely. ‘What’s different about you? You’ve got a lightness about you I’ve never seen before. And your walls are down.’

‘My walls?’ He had to laugh. Jane was the closest thing to a friend he now had in New Atlantis, but she still seemed like a very young girl to him, at times. But he had been right about her being his Midew. And he had become her pet, just as he had been pet to so many medicine women in the past.

Jane had been the one at his side when he underwent his ninth transition, early than planned. Her assurances that he had the strength of will to make it, had given him the confidence to see it through. With everything opening up for him at the time, he’d been terrified by the thought of cutting his lifespan short, if the transition had failed. But her optimism and strength had been just what he needed. And now he had his youth back, and all the energy he needed to carry his plans to fruition.

‘Yes, your walls. And don’t look at me so innocently. You know what I mean. You intentionally keep people at a distance. Your colleagues see you are superior and unfriendly, but I know you aren’t either. You’ve just got thicker and higher walls than most of the Old Timers. I thought it was because you were so old, but now I’m not so sure. You suddenly seem to be as young as this new, drop-dead-gorgeous body of yours.’ Her expressive eyebrows wiggled suggestively at him.

He laughed again, feeling every bit as young as she observed him to be. ‘Watch it, kiddo, or I will be duelling your Bonded for you! Drop-dead-gorgeous, indeed. Who came up with such a saying?’

She nudged him in the shoulder with her fist and she pulled a funny face. ‘No duelling with Julio. I have enough trouble with his jealousy as it is. I tell him you’re just a friend, but he still gets pretty damn prickly.’

He threw his arm over her shoulder and drew her in so he could drop a kiss onto the top of her bright head. ‘No duelling, I promise. I know your heart belongs to that flashy Brazilian. I would not have a hope of winning you away from him, no matter how ‘drop-dead-gorgeous’ I am. I think it’s my preoccupation with bugs and worms that puts you off.’

Her arm had come around his waist and, for a moment, she held him close. Then she stepped away and looked up into his eyes. ‘So now that the flirting is done with, it’s time for sharing. Tell me about the worm hunt and what has put that twinkle in your eye.’

They began to walk along the path toward his research centre. ‘It was all so easy. I Jumped to a few days before the exhibit opened at the new British Museum and made the acquaintance of a suitable Lord at the gaming tables, where I lost a small fortune. The man was so impressed with my losing streak, and my fake pedigree, that he invited me to stay at his club for a few days, and proceeded to introduce me to suitably influential people. My tragic French background didn’t go astray. They hate Napoleon and the Revolution, so émigrés from that violent time are taken under their proverbial wing. Especially if they were wise enough to get out of the country with their fortunes intact.

‘Drumoyne accompanied me to the exhibit and I made quick work of finding just what I was looking for. The worm was beautiful! Don’t laugh you scamp! Worms can be beautiful, if they can regenerate the land. The man was even more useful when he introduced me to Mulgrave’s granddaughters. Livianna, the spinster granddaughter, was the curator of her grandfather’s collection. She invited me to Yorkshire to read his journals, so I can go in search of the creatures for myself.’

‘You’re talking like them, Frenchie. How long were you there?’

His mind went blank for a moment. How long had he been gone? It felt like years. But it had only been a little under a week. ‘It’s these clothes and hair. You feel obliged to be verbose and delicate when wearing them.’

She looked at him again, letting her eyes give him the once over. ‘It suits you. Although, I think I’d have preferred you in buckskins and paint. Did you ever go on the warpath in any of those Indian lifetimes?’

‘I made a point of always being a slave, so I wasn’t recruited into the warrior ranks. I had no desire to die in-situ. Or kill someone who might prove historically significant.’

‘It seems funny to think of Indians having slaves. They always seemed such free spirits in the movies.’

‘They were, and slavery was nothing like it was in the southern states of the US. I was part of the family, in much the same way as a guard dog or horse would be. They looked after me because I was valuable.’

‘And you never married an Indian Princess?’

‘No. Though there were times when it was encouraged, especially when they wanted to adopt me into the tribe so that I could fight with them. But I claimed I had no interest in women, or men for that matter, so I was able to stay…’

‘Behind your wall,’ she interrupted. ‘Which brings me back to why the wall is coming down. I can feel it. What’s changed, other than finding the trail of your magical worm?’

Her ability to see beneath the surface was a gift she shared with the many Midew he had known. At this moment, he found her ability disconcerting and unwanted.

‘I have no walls, Janey. More than that I cannot tell you…’

‘Tell me about the granddaughter. You called her a spinster. Does that mean she was old and thin, with a horsey face and spectacles?’

He laughed as he headed through the glass doors of the Regeneration Centre, and continued on down the corridor toward his laboratory, with Jane in tow. ‘Not old, not thin, and no glasses.’

‘Pretty?’

‘Yes. But more importantly, intelligent.’

‘Ah… what colour were her eyes?’

‘Brown, why?’

‘Hmmm…. Interesting.’

‘What is interesting? That I know the colour of her eyes? I am an expert observer, please remember.’

‘What colour are Cara’s eyes?’

He frowned and tried to picture Jac’s Bonded. She had white-blonde hair and golden skin, so it stood to reason her eyes were blue or grey, but he couldn’t say for sure.

‘How about that biologist on your team… Clarrice is it?’

‘Yes, Clarrice. No, I have no idea what colour her eyes are. So I am not as observant as I claim to be, is that what you are intimating?’

‘No. I just find it interesting that you know the colour of this spinster’s eyes, that’s all. Forget I mentioned it.’ She looked mischievous, and all he could do was shake his head in amused disgust.

‘Do you drive Julio to distraction, like you do me?’

She laughed and stopped in front of his door. He opened it and beckoned her in.

‘Nope, can’t come in. I’ve got my own work to do. Just wanted to get an update for the gossip mill. What’s the spinster’s name again?

‘I do not think I told you. Livianna… Livianna Mulgrave.’

‘Okay, thanks, that’ll do it then. See you later! Don’t be a stranger.’

And before he could say more, she was off, trotting back the way they had come like a leggy filly at her first race. He shook his head and grunted with amusement. Julio was one lucky son of bitch!

But, as quickly as that habitual thought came, it was immediately replaced with another. This one was accompanied by an image of inquisitive, brown eyes, a light dusting of freckles across an upturned nose, a wide mouth always on the verge of smiling, and a small, firm chin that had a slight dimple. The man who won Livianna Mulgrave would be an even luckier son of a bitch.

Damn Jane! Now she had him analysing his own responses to the spinster. He wasn’t interested in the woman. He was never interested in women. And that’s the way he liked it. It didn’t mean anything that he’d remembered the colour of her eyes. Nothing at all!

He consciously switched off that line of thought, and focused on his quest. With impatience, he seated himself at his terminal and called up the data on shipping manifests between London and Canada for 1749, 50 and 51.

If the occasional researcher who poked his head into Rene’s office, noted he still wore his 19th Century clothing, no one commented. They all knew what it was to be preoccupied and a little eccentric. And Rene was known to be both in spades.