The Tea Machine by Gill McKnight

Author:Gill McKnight
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Ylva-Publishing
Published: 2015-11-12T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 17

The smell assaulted her first, followed closely by noise and heat. Millicent was in a market place, and it was chaos. Donkeys brayed. Dogs barked. Children cried, and men and women roared out their wares. Which was fish, of every size and variety.

Fish stalls surrounded her on all sides. And flies of every size and variety filled the air. They crawled over everything, living or dead. Opened-mouthed tuna and limp-limbed calamari lay atop avalanches of whitebait and mackerel. Huge barrels of salted sardines sat row upon row. Hundreds of milky eyed fish stared blankly up at her, while behind them the stallholders glared at her with slit-eyed suspicion. Their stares were surly rather than questioning, so she assumed her impromptu arrival had gone unnoticed in the bustle of the busy market. She noted the simple clothing and blunt, guarded faces of the people surrounding her. Where on earth was she? And why was there a tangible feeling of ill will pulsing towards her? A quick look told her she was alone. Neither Sangfroid, Sophia, nor Gallo were in sight, which was very worrying. Was this the sort of place a lady should be unchaperoned? Sangfroid should be here. For all her annoying habits, she would never leave Millicent alone in an untested environment.

Unsure where to go or what to do, but inclined to move away from the hard looks, Millicent took a step forward. Her heel skidded on the glutinous miasma coating the cobblestones. A filth of fish guts, swill water, and Lord only knew what oozed around her feet, and her heart went out for her kidskin slippers, now ruined beyond redemption.

“Careful, my little urn.” A hand caught her elbow and steadied her. He spoke in Latin, and she was momentarily amazed that she understood him as easily as she could Sangfroid or Gallo. Was she in Rome? It was not that hard to imagine. This was the civilization where their two timelines seemed to separate. Her startled gaze met with the curious but kindly one of her benefactor, and she was grateful for it after the hard-eyed looks surrounding her. A little urn? Had she heard him right? She detached from his grip and steadied herself.

“Thank you,” she said politely with what she hoped was the right amount of respectability.

“Please, let me escort you to the temple,” he said. “Perhaps it is best to move away from the populous. They are not in a very forgiving mood towards the tea. After all, it is taxes time.” He was perhaps in his late fifties, bedecked in a crisp white tunic that shone like a beacon amid the filthiness of the marketplace. The sun glinted off his carefully coiffed, silver hair, or rather the resinous substance that held it in place. He was scented with cypress oil, which, though sharp on her nostrils, was a balm against the smell of fish. She almost moved closer for that reason alone. He exuded a mannerly and courteous concern, which was reassuring.

Millicent dithered.

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