Edmund

March 23, 2025

A dissonant choir of bird shrieks and screeches stirs me from my sleep, and I sit up, bewildered, trying to discern where the deuce I am. The unfamiliar sounds, sharp and insistent, pierced the lingering fog of sleep.

Bright sun rays caress my face, and I shield my eyes from the light, glancing at my noisy neighbors in bright-feathered plume.

I breathe in every way that it is possible to expand: in lungs, in brain, in soul. Wherever I am now, there is a sense of kinship with the flora, of an ancient soul that stretches into everything that lives. It is here, under the nascent rays of a sun born to rise each day, that I am so very alive.

Then I remember. And I shudder.

The morning mist is cold upon my skin.

Lord Edmund Worthington, an heir to Worthington manor, Miss Epcot's husband-to-be, and Miss Magna Reign, the heiress to Reign Industries, as she had been so kind as to inform me, have just spent the night in the park like common vagrants. A wave of mortification washed over me, quickly followed by a strange sense of exhilaration.

My fingers draw circles on my temples as I realize Miss Reign is nowhere to be seen.

I create a makeshift funnel out of my palms. "Miss Reign! Miss Reign! I say: where are you?" The shout out was not void of worry, because I felt we had to stay together in the good and bad times, to have each other's back in this new peculiar reality we have found ourselves in.

"Right here!" A feeble, faraway voice that indubitably belongs to a beautiful enchantress is heard from somewhere among the bushes.

I rush towards the sound, wondering if the witch is in need of assistance, and I almost collide with the most peculiar, makeshift rectangular contraption painted in colors of green and grey, bearing a yellow inscription on its door: PUBLIC TOILETS LIMITED.

The aforementioned door is pushed open, and Miss Reign emerges from the 'public' toilet, which emanates the most unpleasant of odors. A grimace touched my lips.

She is indeed a sight for sore eyes, even if her wondrous curls freely bounce around her head, each of them fleeing in its own direction, disheveled tendrils dancing on the breeze.

Or perhaps, because of it.

"What?" She shrugs. "I really needed to pee, badly! Also: ugh, who would have thought it but: eating solid food for the first time in your life will give you horrid stomach cramps. Ahhh. I am getting that amazing feeling just now. You know, a feeling one might have after a real good poop."

I wince at her crassness and apparent lack of manners, and it seems to amuse the darned woman.

"Aww, how so very rude of me, Milord. You wanna have a go? Oh. In case this was introduced after your time... This is a public toilet. Or a public urinal, if you will. Much different from the egg-shaped, clean-smelling cabins of my time. So, if you have a bad case of Number 1 or even Number 2, you can just push yer willy through there. Be my guest, Milord." Miss Reign makes a theatrical, ushering gesture with her hand.

I prudently decide against asking what Number 1 and Number 2 are, not being keen on hearing her elaborate upon the topics. The mysteries of the twenty-first century were already overwhelming enough.

Torn between exposing myself to such a horrid-smelling but private space and the public relief of my morning-bladder, I opt for the first.

The nightmare is over quickly, and my mind does its best to put the foul experience behind itself when I almost collide with a most peculiar female. Her arms and legs are unclad, and I blush to the root of my hair. Her legs appear to be able to handle any terrain, long, lean, and with good muscle.

Is such inappropriacy approved in these times?

She is running, shouting, and waving her hands in the air, two peculiar tiny white apparatuses emerging from her ears.

Miss Reign intervenes.

"This was a tank-top-and-shorts-clad, big-boobed, ear-phoned female jogger sporting a blonde ponytail. Has she turned your head? I bet you did not have such sportswomen in your time, huh, Eddie boy?" A mocking smile spreads on her face.

I take a deep breath to calm my nerves. "I have... not, indeed, witnessed a similar form of exercise. Yet this is not the only reason why I noticed her. Was she running around talking to herself? Was there something wrong with that poor girl?"

"No. She was talking to someone. Did you see her pods?" Miss Reign speaks slowly, and I comprehend she is referring to the white apparatuses, so I nod.

"They are a... communication machine." I realize she tries her best to put it in 'my words'. "They allow instant conversations with others."

"Something like a telegram?" I ask. After all, telegrams were a huge technological advancement in my time.

Miss Reign confirms my theory with a cute head-tilt. "Well, yes. A telegram, but the kind of telegram that does not come on a piece of paper. You hear a sound emanating from that tiny machine. My, my, Mister Worthington, you are a fast learner. Mind you, once we get you home, no telling anyone about this. It's the inter-temporal time traveler secrecy conduct." She sticks her tongue at me, which makes my heart race a little.

"I am quite sure, Milady, that you have just invented such a code of conduct." I snort as I gather our things.

We wash our faces with the water from the park faucet, and I already feel better about our prospective day.

Our clothing matches this era, we have managed to spend the night in the park without being apprehended by the officers of law, and, finally, we have been refreshed.

There is still the matter of the newly appeared gnawing hunger I am sure persists in both of our bellies, but that is yet to be settled.

"So: ready to show off your... Duck decoy, was it?" Miss Reign smiles at me, and I pull the wooden duck out from the paper bag we were given at the clothing store upon purchase.

I almost expect it to fly before us, and smile at the memory of the very first duck I have ever seen, during the very first hunt my father took me on.

He had clapped his hands, and a duck alighted from the air. It landed into the lake with a splash, making a long wake behind it, the ripples spreading out like those behind a careless, joyful swimmer, meeting the banks before rebounding and fading. Its green head was iridescent in the light, its eyes like black beads. I recall wishing I had a pocket full of bread, so I could feed it. And then my father took the shot. I fell on the ground at the same time the majestic bird did, covering my ears, everything in me revolting against the idea of ending that poor creature's life.

For a moment, I am lost in transitory evocation of my childhood, but then I speak up.

"Do you believe it will be worth something in this era?" I blow on my hands to keep them warm.

"It might be, to a right buyer. You have many more of these at home, right?"

"We do, albeit this is the only one brought in from the overseas, and, like I said, gifted to me by my father. Yet, if it is what must be done, I shall gladly part with it."

It pains me to utter these words, but as soon as I say them, at the same time, I am very aware I am saying the correct thing. No material object should interpose a human being's happiness, and it should, at the very least, aid it.

"We can try. I mean, I only have this power-less dress, Hollie, and a time travel device to display, and the first one is worthless, while we need the other two."

"I concur." Truth be told, there are not many things that Miss Reign says one cannot concur with. Or dare to try not to, at least. There is a sentiment appearing in the back of my brain that informs me that perhaps, not agreeing with Miss Reign might bear catastrophic consequences for me.

"I have a game plan," she says. "We just need some money to keep us going for a couple of days. I will somehow fix Hollie, and she will help me fix the time-traveling device. Then we part ways. Now, just to find some antique store."

I welcome the positive change in her attitude in comparison to yesterday as we exit the park, wondering what it will feel like, seeing the gems of time past, the expressions of human soul that echo my own.

The hustle and bustle of modern London overwhelms me for a moment. It is the city I know, and yet it is not.

London has so many faces, and until you take time to get to grips with the emotions and realities of them all, you have no idea who she is. It always was both the wide avenues and the backstreets, those whom wore the finest clothing and those whom wove the thread. And this tradition has not changed. London might be wearing a new set of garments, yet underneath it, the old soul is still ticking.

Pavements move as a great river of humanity, the roads rivers of carriages. These buildings that have seen the Regency age pass, standing in silent witness, weathered rocks stretching toward blue sky.

Here in our capital, in this canvas of life, the art of each face is something to savor. We are one nation in all our colors and faiths, all British under this spring sunshine, appreciating the golden daffodils who wave from beneath the trees. There is a pride in my chest.

An elderly woman in a pink pullover peers at us over the top of her thin oval glasses as she passes us by, her cane clicking on the pavement in announcement of her steps. Her leashed Pekingese in a matching color sweater barks at Miss Reign.

My companion scoffs.

"Not very fond of dogs, I take it?" I smile at Miss Reign. "Myles seemed to have been an exception, or have I seen it wrong?"

"It's not just that. It's the... absence of holo-view."

"What, pray tell, is a holo-view?"

"In 2210, Hollie just... gives you all the information on everything around you. Now... I instinctively looked on top of that woman's head, but there was nothing. It's so annoying and strange."

"Are you saying that by simply glancing at any person, you would get a basic knowledge of their name, surname, date of birth, height, weight, and lodgings? Because you are connected to your machine?" The unsettling fact ties my stomach in knots. There seems to be no privacy in the future, and it is something I quite dislike.

Miss Reign confirms my fear. "Oh yeah, and I loved it. If there was anything I could rely on in my timeline, it was facts. I miss it."

"Excuse me, but such a horrid intrusion upon personal information is appalling to me."

"It even had maps. Maps! That would come pretty in handy right about now, Mr. Reluctant. We don't know where we can find an antique shop around here, and London is a huge city."

"Why, we need only ask." I suck in a deep breath and tug at my shirt, smoothing out an imaginary crease.

Before Miss Reign can utter a word of protest, or any kind of inquiry, I have already reached the old lady, and I take a bow.

"A very good morning to you, madam. I see you pride yourself on being quite a connoisseur of canine fashion."

"Good morning, young man." The old lady's lips widen in a toothless smile in return. "Why, thank you. When one receives such a compliment so early, one sure knows how the rest of her day is going to be." She taps my arm affectionately.

"And that's a majestic canine you've got there." I extend an arm to caress the dog's fur, and he whines in content.

"Oh, isn't that a rare sight! Let me tell you, my Mr. Pickles never lets anyone touch him, but me. You have a bit of a dog whisperer about your persona, I'd say."

"Ah, yes. Canines tend to be quite fond of me, indeed. I had been wondering if you might lend us a hand. You see, we are looking for the nearest antique shop. Would you mind directing us towards one?"

"Not at all. There is one just around the corner. 'Addison's Antiques,' it's called. You cannot possibly miss it. Head straight ahead and turn left at the first traffic light." She gestures towards the multicoloured peacock item I had the pleasure to acquaint myself with on the previous day.

"We are immensely grateful for your assistance, Madam. Have a wonderful day." I say goodbye with yet another bow, and she traipses off further into the park, but not before we can hear her mumble 'such manners.'

I turn to Miss Reign to see an amused smirk tugging at corners of her full lips.

"My, my. I guess it's now my turn to say: aren't you full of surprises, Mister Worthington?"

"Well, as they say: sometimes, things are to be done in an old-fashioned way." I barely contain my content at the praise spoken out loud.

"Where did you learn to charm the pants off the ladies like this?"

I clear my throat at her simile. Even if it is not, or shall I say, had not been used during my era, it is not difficult to deduce its meaning.

"As you may recall, Miss Reign, I hail from a noble family, so I had a proper upbringing. That is one thing I am pleased to see has carried on to the twenty-first century. Chivalry is not dead."

"Now that, 'Chivalry is not dead,' should definitely be a t-shirt slogan. We could get rich by selling those t-shirts too."

I simultaneously wish to admire her entrepreneurial brain and to inquire about this 't-shirt' object which I am unfamiliar with, yet I limit myself to a shrug and a humble acknowledgement. The universality of chivalry cannot be denied.

"Far be it from me to mock it when it has served us oh so very well." The she-devil offers me her arm. "Shall we?" Her dark eyes now shine at me like burning coals, and I notice the specks of warm caramel brown lurking inside.

In those brown eyes was the warmth of an everlasting hearth, as if they were the wood that could burn with golden flame yet be forever perfectly entire. Hues of comforting childhood memories, as sweet as chocolate and as solid as the oak.