Brigit's Flame - August Week 3 - Bump
A small, weather-beaten rowboat drifted and bobbed slowly in the middle of a calm, secluded lake, ringed in dense forest. The sun peaked in and out from behind huge, cottony clouds, creating shadows and sun-streaks that played across the cool, clear water. Inside the rowboat dozed a young woman, her long, honey colored hair splayed out around her. Her slender figure was dressed simply in a very slight, blazing hot-pink bikini. An old, battered paperback lay open upon her chest, rising and falling in time to her snoring.
Bump, bump, bump.
Ellen's brow creased and she stirred in her sleep. “What in the world?” she thought.
Bump, bump, bump.
She felt the boat rock beneath her with each bump. Confused, wondering if she had drifted over to the opposite shore and caught up on some of the boulders, she rose up on one elbow and cracked one sun blind eye to see what was going on.
She saw nothing. Forcing both eyes open, blinking in the sunlight, she turned and looked around her. Still there was nothing. Her boat was most definitely bumping up against something, something large enough to leave an indentation in the water and stir up ripples and small waves. She blinked again, this time in disbelief. “Ok, I have got to be dreaming. Either that or I am seriously losing it,” she said, pinching herself. Nothing changed.
She pinched herself harder, and her efforts were rewarded with the start of a metallic hum, not unlike a fan or turbine spinning up. There was a creaking of metal and a sudden loud hissing of air, followed by the overwhelming scent of rubber and machine oil, and she found her boat abruptly being pummeled by some unseen force. It rocked and dipped under the invisible weight, capsizing and dropping her into the cold waters with a startled screech.
She twisted herself out from under the boat and kicked for the surface, breaking the water with a gasp. What she saw made her jaw drop. Rubbing the water from her eyes, she looked again. Bobbing on the surface of the water was a bizarre craft, all dark stained wood, riveted metal, and polished brass tubes.
The bottom was a wooden hull, sort of chunky in shape, rather than graceful, and looked large enough to seat at least a dozen people. Two large, shiny brass wheels, spoked like those of an old bicycle, rose halfway out of the water near the back of the craft. Behind this, attached to the stern, was a vertical tail made of veins of brightly polished wood, webbed with what looked like sturdy oil-skin. Long brass pipes extended along the sides, flaring like trumpets where they terminated near the tail.
Above this, circumscribing the craft, ran a line of narrow metal hatches, all sprung open. Inside each hatch was a small nozzle that still hissed quietly, like a row of metal snakes. From these hatches had sprung her attacker, a huge rubber tube that now encircled the craft, holding its awkward shape above the surface.
The top of the craft was domed somewhat, made of the same darkly stained wood, and covered the mid and aft of the craft, leaving a small foredeck open. Cresting the top was a fin made of the same veins of wood and oil-skin webbing as the tail. Shiny brass portholes ran along the side, but try as she might, Ellen could not see past the glare of the sunlight on the glass.
As she floated there, treading water, mouth agape, there was a whirring noise, a click, and the hiss of air as the forward hatch was pushed open. To Ellen's surprise, the tall, slender, and dashingly handsome being that stepped from that hatch was entirely human. He was most certainly not someone you'd see just strolling around town, however. He looked to be from another era entirely. His hair was a collar-length mop of dark curls, held out of his face with a set of aviator goggles that were strapped to his head.
Ellen ducked low in the water, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible.
The mysterious stranger strode across the foredeck, his coffee-colored leather duster flapping around his calves, and leaned over the railing, scanning the water. “You there!” he called in a deep, cultured voice, “Madam! Are you alright? Terribly sorry about that. Can you swim alright? I can throw you a flotation device!”
“I... I'm alright,” she stammered, “I can swim just fine. Who are you? What in the hell is that thing?”
The man's eyebrow rose at her mild curse, and from the distance, it looked like he was trying to suppress a smirk. “I, my dear lady, am Garret Lucian Merriwether, inventor extraordinaire, at your service. Now, would you like to continue bobbing in that water, or shall I lower you a ladder so you may come aboard and get warm?”
“I think I'll take the ladder.”
She swam over to the ship as Garret lowered her a rope ladder, and then hauled herself, dripping and shivering, up onto the deck.
“Thanks,” she said through chattering teeth. “Now, what is this thing?”
“This, my dear lady, is a Chronometrical Movement Apparatus! The greatest advancement in science and engineering of all time!” He laughed at his unintended punchline and murmured to himself, “Of all time.. I'll have to keep that one for the next round of advertisements!”
Ellen's brow furrowed as she mouthed the words to herself. “A... time machine?!”
“Why yes! Yes, I suppose you could call it simply that.” he pursed his lips, drawing his neatly trimmed mustache together. “I prefer the former, but the latter will do.”
He looked her up and down, and then blushed furiously, noticing her attire for the first time. Though he averted his eyes like a proper gentleman, her shapely form was already etched in his retinas.
“What year is it, my dear … “ he asked, letting the sentence trail into a second, unvoiced, question.
“Oh, I'm sorry, Garret. My name is Ellen... Ellen Linsey Milner, “ she added, mimicking his formality, “And the year is two thousand and ten.”
“Two thousand and ten!” he exclaimed, “No, no, no! That cannot be right! We were aiming for seventeen hundred! Just a little jaunt back into the past for our inaugural journey. Not headlong into the future!”
“I'm sorry, but it is. Do you suppose women went sunbathing in swimsuits like these, in seventeen hundred?” she smirked, hooking a finger under the strap of her bikini and in a small and petty way, enjoying his discomfort. Hey, he had practically killed her with that inner-tube thing!
He looked abashed, “No, I suppose not,” he sighed. “Ah well! This is a grand day regardless! Come! Come inside and tell us of the world, and how it has grown in these years! Oh, this will be just spectacular! After a few calculations and adjustments... Yes! I am sure we will be able to do it. I'll just have to...”
Garret gently guided Ellen into the hatch, chattering on half to himself in techno-babble completely incomprehensible to her, something about tweaking the chronotron, and adjusting the samophlange.
The inside was just as much a wonder as the outside. Ellen stopped and turned in a circle, taking it all in, wondering just what in the world she was getting herself into.