more desperate.
“Do you know what a television is? Television—wondrous machines. Have you ever, in your dreams, watched a television?”
“You’re mad,” she growled.
“You think so?”
“You’ve destroyed my life, for nothing.”
He sagged back in his chair, distressed by the thought she might be right. At that moment his daughter Daphne began to cough, softly at first, then more violently. He rose from his chair to look upon her. Just as suddenly as she had started coughing, she stopped. He watched her settle back into sleep.
“Whatever I’ve done was for her,” he said. “In the future, you see, they possess amazing medicines, and such clever interventions as to make us poor primitives look like mere beasts, poking and prodding in ignorance at our wounded flesh. I inhabit Master Derek’s head, but have no influence upon him, for if I did, I’d make him busy himself with seeking out and consulting the best medical authorities of his time and place. But I can’t—I can’t convey to him my daughter’s symptoms, or make him take any interest in the science of healing the human body. I’m merely dragged along impotently with him through the life he leads, which I can’t help but judge to be a dissolute, pointless existence. Through his eyes, from time to time I catch tantalizing glimpses of medical knowledge that might save my poor daughter’s life, but they remain mere glimpses, nothing near to specific diagnosis or remedy. The knowledge is there, tantalizingly close, yet inaccessible to me. And then, just when I began to despair at the cruelty of it, the hopelessness, I saw a woman, a beauty like yourself. Not merely like you. You. Exactly like you, she looks, in all features of face and body, and even to the graceful way you carry yourself. She, or you, came to occupy the dwelling next to his. Do you understand me? I thought if I could talk to you, you might know of this other world, of this Meghan, and have her talk to Derek—do you understand?”
“You wish me to speak to people you’ve dreamt? You are mad.”
“Am I? If so, I’m sorry.”
He turned away to keep her from seeing a tear streak his cheek. He wiped it with his sleeve and turned to her again. “I’ve already lost a wife,” he said. “I can’t stand to lose our child. I can’t stand it.”
Sylvanne was unmoved. “If it’s pity you seek, don’t ask it of someone so ill-treated by you,” she said. “For what you have done, God will spare you no mercy.”
“From what I’ve seen of the future, there is no God,” Thomas answered. “It’s every man for himself, and every woman too.”
There was a gentle knock at the door, and Kent entered, followed by Mabel, who was excitedly chattering to him. “And such gorgeous draperies! Must have come clear from Persia, I should—” She cut herself short as she realised into whose presence she had entered. She glanced from Lord Thomas to the sickly girl upon the bed, then to Sylvanne, seated in a chair in an odd posture, wondering at first why her Mistress kept her arms behind her back.
“Her rooms are ready, Sire,” Kent announced.
“Madame, wait till you see them—you’ve never dreamt of such luxury!” Mabel gushed.
“My dreams come up short, do they?” Sylvanne replied, not taking her eyes from Thomas.
He ignored her remark, and informed her, “I’ve had several fine steers slaughtered for my returning soldiers to feast upon, and made certain the choicest cuts were set aside for you. If beef is not to your liking, feel free to ask the kitchen for any fish or fowl you please, cooked to any taste your palate fancies. You’ll be served meals in your rooms, for now. You’re staying in my wife’s quarters. I’ve tried to make it as comfortable as possible.”
“Have you changed the sheets since she died?”
He met her icy glare with a gentle, supplicating look. “Please don’t hate me,” he pleaded. “Go and eat what I’ve offered, then have your
“Do you know what a television is? Television—wondrous machines. Have you ever, in your dreams, watched a television?”
“You’re mad,” she growled.
“You think so?”
“You’ve destroyed my life, for nothing.”
He sagged back in his chair, distressed by the thought she might be right. At that moment his daughter Daphne began to cough, softly at first, then more violently. He rose from his chair to look upon her. Just as suddenly as she had started coughing, she stopped. He watched her settle back into sleep.
“Whatever I’ve done was for her,” he said. “In the future, you see, they possess amazing medicines, and such clever interventions as to make us poor primitives look like mere beasts, poking and prodding in ignorance at our wounded flesh. I inhabit Master Derek’s head, but have no influence upon him, for if I did, I’d make him busy himself with seeking out and consulting the best medical authorities of his time and place. But I can’t—I can’t convey to him my daughter’s symptoms, or make him take any interest in the science of healing the human body. I’m merely dragged along impotently with him through the life he leads, which I can’t help but judge to be a dissolute, pointless existence. Through his eyes, from time to time I catch tantalizing glimpses of medical knowledge that might save my poor daughter’s life, but they remain mere glimpses, nothing near to specific diagnosis or remedy. The knowledge is there, tantalizingly close, yet inaccessible to me. And then, just when I began to despair at the cruelty of it, the hopelessness, I saw a woman, a beauty like yourself. Not merely like you. You. Exactly like you, she looks, in all features of face and body, and even to the graceful way you carry yourself. She, or you, came to occupy the dwelling next to his. Do you understand me? I thought if I could talk to you, you might know of this other world, of this Meghan, and have her talk to Derek—do you understand?”
“You wish me to speak to people you’ve dreamt? You are mad.”
“Am I? If so, I’m sorry.”
He turned away to keep her from seeing a tear streak his cheek. He wiped it with his sleeve and turned to her again. “I’ve already lost a wife,” he said. “I can’t stand to lose our child. I can’t stand it.”
Sylvanne was unmoved. “If it’s pity you seek, don’t ask it of someone so ill-treated by you,” she said. “For what you have done, God will spare you no mercy.”
“From what I’ve seen of the future, there is no God,” Thomas answered. “It’s every man for himself, and every woman too.”
There was a gentle knock at the door, and Kent entered, followed by Mabel, who was excitedly chattering to him. “And such gorgeous draperies! Must have come clear from Persia, I should—” She cut herself short as she realised into whose presence she had entered. She glanced from Lord Thomas to the sickly girl upon the bed, then to Sylvanne, seated in a chair in an odd posture, wondering at first why her Mistress kept her arms behind her back.
“Her rooms are ready, Sire,” Kent announced.
“Madame, wait till you see them—you’ve never dreamt of such luxury!” Mabel gushed.
“My dreams come up short, do they?” Sylvanne replied, not taking her eyes from Thomas.
He ignored her remark, and informed her, “I’ve had several fine steers slaughtered for my returning soldiers to feast upon, and made certain the choicest cuts were set aside for you. If beef is not to your liking, feel free to ask the kitchen for any fish or fowl you please, cooked to any taste your palate fancies. You’ll be served meals in your rooms, for now. You’re staying in my wife’s quarters. I’ve tried to make it as comfortable as possible.”
“Have you changed the sheets since she died?”
He met her icy glare with a gentle, supplicating look. “Please don’t hate me,” he pleaded. “Go and eat what I’ve offered, then have your
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