The Journal of Madeline Smythe by Chris Kalyta

Author:Chris Kalyta
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: adventure, historical, ancient egypt, victorian era, female heroine
Publisher: Chris Kalyta

November 14th

I awoke in a miserable state. Surely I was the dancing girl, and the disappearance was my transportation to my own time. Yet, how was such a thing possible? I was nearly naked in the past, but was fully clothed when I reappeared in the present! Could it have been a dream? What of the similarity of my disappearance from Menes-hottep's arms to that of the vanished Egyptian dancer? Was I the cause of his murder?

How much of what I thought was real was actually real? If a woman could travel through time, as I had done, then why hadn't others? Where were the time travellers from our future? The sky should be full of flying machines and the sea should be filled with submersible boats.

If I was merely dreaming then how was it that the things I learned from the dream proved true? Could I have read them in my father's library and since forgotten them except as fragments in my subconscious?

My head began to ache as my mind went round and round. Oh, curse the man who ever thought up the idea of time as a dimension of space! The universe should be a simple clockwork thing that God has wound up. It would then proceed in an orderly fashion, for He would craft only perfect things. So, wouldn't that mean that time travel was impossible? What if, and it is surly the most macabre of imaginings, a person were to go back in time and kill her parents before she were born? Would she then never be born? And wouldn't it take only a small change in the past to alter the present? Would God allow such an amendment?

Was I going mad? I seemed sane, but I am surely no judge of my own mental condition. For, if I was insane, then my judgement should be so impaired as to be untrustworthy, and how then could I rely on my own assessment of my mental state?

But, Menes-hottep and his world seemed so real!

I went to breakfast, determined to discuss my thoughts with the men. However, as I sat at the table I realized they could not consider the facts as I could, not having lived through what I'd experienced. And I could not include them in my 'travels'. It was a very personal thing — certainly it had been very personal immediately before the last event had ended.

The men were largely silent during breakfast, I suppose owing to my apparent distress at dinner, and even Mr Whitchell raised no fuss over Mr Avardiu insistently sharing his special tea with us. Both Mr Pennington and Father kept a close eye on the two younger men. Breakfast ended earlier than usual, and off I went to my work.

I waved to the guard, who smiled pleasantly. Then I went into the tomb. I lit a lantern when the sunlight dimmed too much and continued on. There was nothing in the upper crypt that I wished to examine, so I returned to the tomb of Menes-hottep.

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