The Elixir

Evelyn stood by the fenced boundary of the spectacle. Wearing a taffeta gown in saffron colour, she was entirely distinguished, though blended with the autumn landscape behind her. Her sense of fashion interested few-those wandering about were more interested in the man several metres in front of her. Evelyn lacked interest in his activities; the fellow with the goggles was applying some sort of alchemist's solution to a copper pipe, which allowed it to bend without breaking.

Sighing, the straight-backed woman opened her matching parasol and strode about the outskirts of the spectacle. At last, she noticed a booth that interested her: the White Star Line. This company was at the forefront of development of liners; ships built for luxury, transportation, and hauling cargo between continents. Two men stood behind the table, jotting measurements into the book.

"Make your mark," one man said offhandedly. Standing opposite him was a man who didn't belong here-someone impoverished with holes in his jacket and likely no wife to mend them.

"We need good men to shovel coal on the older models," said the fellow behind the table, at last looking away from the book. "Progress is heavy and constructed on the backs of men like you."

It was an odd compliment, but the fellow accepted it along with a train ticket to Liverpool, where he'd presumably begin work.

Evelyn casually wandered up after the man with the new job left, closing her parasol. She rested it on the ground, her hands atop it.

"Are you selling passage here?" she said politely. Her accent: upper class; London. The Queen's English.

The man nodded. "Where are you looking to go?" He took off his glasses, tucking them into the pocket of his tweed suit. He was portly, his partner skinny. The skinny fellow continued his calculations in the book.

"Philadelphia," Evelyn responded politely. This wasn't like purchasing jewelry in a shop; there were no wares to look over, though there were several black and white illustrations of various vessels and their steam technology. Her eyes met those of the portly man behind the counter.

"We could have you to Philadelphia in less than two days on the Runic," he said, passing her a form. "Departure's in two days. Just fill this out and we'll issue a ticket for you right here."

The prices of passage were listed next to the launch dates. The Runic launched from Liverpool. "And there are trains from Philadelphia to other areas in the region?" she queried, to which the man nodded.

Without further consideration, Evelyn booked passage.

Evelyn was among the first to board the ship thanks to her first-class ticket. She brought with her several hat boxes and hired a man on a funny little bicycle with a cart to transport them to her cabin along with the rest of her luggage. She was dressed for travel, though had a more ostentatious outfit packed for her arrival. There was a gala to attend once she traveled to Philadelphia; furthermore she wished to fit in as much as possible until she could secure passage to Smithville, New Jersey.

She carried her reports and typewriter case with her personally. When she arrived in her cabin, she scanned it satisfactorily and sat at the desk.

"Anything else?" The man on the bicycle asked her after unloading her luggage.

"Arrange to have the dressing lady come by in the morning," Evelyn instructed prior to handing over a tip. She would need assistance dressing tomorrow. Ignoring the excitement of the ship's launch, Evelyn sat down immediately. Upon the desk rested the leather folder, bound by a delicate pink ribbon. Evelyn systematically unbound it, eyes poring over the reports for a few minutes as she read the information again.

Unpacking the typewriter, which was actually a spherically-shaped writing ball, Evelyn began to type her own notes and itinerary. Smithville held secrets.

Having been on several trans-Atlantic voyages before, Evelyn did not experience the same 'thrill of the launch' so frequently anticipated by other passengers. As people waved goodbye, Evelyn was already busy typing, realizing she'd have less than two days alone with her notes.

After several minutes of typing, she took a short break. Unlike most women of fashion, Evelyn had not secured her hair in a bun that day. This used to be considered improper, but now that some women walked around London sporting breeches and goggles, few noticed Evelyn's modest fashion faux pas.

She took the ribbon formerly tied around the report folder and used it to restrain her hair. Evelyn would not allow her natural mane to impede the velocity of her progress.

At last, the straight-backed lady allowed herself a glance out the window. She pulled down the shade; as the ship ascended into the sky, the brightness of the sun increased. She noted a few birds and nodded approvingly at the clarity of the skies. Looking down, Evelyn smirked at traditional ships below, slowly traversing the sea.

Since Monck Mason's flying machine Victoria had crossed the Atlantic in the 1840s, various amenities and improvements had been made by industrialists. Evelyn now enjoyed the view from the air vessel. She enjoyed the safety of backup technology-the fact that this massive ship contained multiple engines and was supported by several balloons. In the event of failure or the inconvenient intervention of nature, progress over the Atlantic would experience no inconvenience.

Days later, the ship docked. Evelyn hired a porter to carry her things. He was a loquacious young man who explained that he'd lived in Philadelphia his whole life. His parents and grandparents escaped slavery together during the American Civil War; they'd found sanctuary here.

"Anything you need, miss, I know," he said proudly. "The name's Merlin Lawson. You need a place, I'll find it like magic," he promised.

Evelyn accepted, hiring him to return to her host's home each day to transport her to various locations. As they walked from the Penns Landing piers to the street, Evelyn observed the older part of this city, noting that industrialism dominated the development of the colonial landscape.

"They call our city the Workplace of the World," Merlin informed her, directing her to the horseless carriage.

The vehicle included an exposed steam engine and a partially-covered carriage. Due to the high, thin wheels, Evelyn accepted Merlin's assistance when stepping into the vehicle.

"The city smells better now that these are popular," Merlin commented. "The waste they produce is more pleasant to the nose," he said.

Evelyn had already noticed the smell of burning coal hanging in the air, but the river and surrounding fog weren't pea soup like the Themes. As she arranged her skirts and prepared for her short journey, she noticed police officers still on horse-one appeared to be chasing a supposed criminal, also on horseback.

"The Todd House, please." Evelyn directed. She wasn't interested in being social with Merlin, though as they drove and he chatted on from the front seat, she realized he might be of use.

"General Beale's family's staying there this week-may he rest in peace. You know them?" Merlin continued.

"Yes, through the Stocktons. I have several contacts here who are inventors," Evelyn revealed.

"Are you a lady inventor?" Merlin said, some surprise in his voice. She thought about his comment, considering a quip pairing the man's race with his ability to drive a vehicle. Why couldn't a lady invent? Surely if a slave's son was keen enough to drive and memorize facts, Evelyn could choose to become an inventor. Because she was not, she decided to refrain from arguing.

"I am a reporter for a newspaper in London," Evelyn explained.

"Ah-well you'll see some of the rich folks' houses here and Publishers' Square that way…" Merlin pointed in a vague northwesterly direction.

Evelyn made note of that, grateful that the journey was short. She feared this house might be a country estate, though it was actually quite close to the river. Evelyn helped herself out of the horseless while Merlin gathered her belongings. Looking at her pendant watch, Evelyn noted her arrival occurred four hours' prior to the gala.

The maid of the home opened the door and directed Merlin upstairs with Evelyn's luggage. The maid was Irish, and likely poor, but like all of the staff in the household, she wore an impeccable-looking watch about her neck. She checked the time before smiling to Evelyn.

"Please do come in. The lady will be here shortly."

The home was modest inside, but included clocks and clock parts on just about every wall.

"Time is of the essence!" came the American host's voice as she shuffled into the receiving area. And there was Dolly Timm, a cheerful woman wearing a formal bustle dress herself, already prepared for the gala.

"Splendid, Evelyn, you're just on time. Your room is prepared and a bath drawn. How was your journey? I suspect you'll learn what you're looking for at the gala."

Evelyn stepped forward and kissed Dolly on the cheek. "Thank you for your hospitality," she said, "Regardless of what I do or do not find tonight, I will go to Smithville tomorrow. And have you the…?"

The petite host held a finger up at that word, then drew from her belt a key ring. With the smallest of keys, she turned to a nearby drawer and opened it. The box within was quickly handed to Evelyn, who took a peak. The pea shooter was within.

She closed the box quickly as Merlin came down the stairs, hat in hand, and bowed to the women.

The gala went on as all galas did: socializing, drivel, political matters. This used to excite Evelyn, but now she was hunting a prize. There was little room in corset and overdress for some of the key items that she needed, but she managed to earn a fancy and spacious bag from a woman at the party through mere flattery. Everyone was interested in Evelyn's life in London, and with a few details about the spectacle, she had been able to bargain interest for information.

The following day started her two days' journey to Smithfield. Merlin was her driver. When they stopped in Haddonfield, New Jersey for a night's rest, she made her confession at the dinner table of the Indian King Tavern there.

"You say you're good at finding things. I am on a hunt for something," she said, lowering her voice. She suspected this tavern had been used to harbor slaves, so she wasn't sure who could be listening from secret passageways behind the walls.

Merlin leaned in, hat in his hand. He said nothing, but at the idea of the quest, his eyes seemed to engender magic.

"What is the name of it?" he asked.

"An elixir. The elixir. The fountain of youth; manufactured not found. I believe Smithville has been built up as a bicycle manufacturing town to cover what it really produces," she let on. "But this is secret. No one can no; I am on the quest."

The following morning, they set about their way; not a mile from Smithville they were stopped. Evelyn attempted to use her charms to maneuver her way through the passage while Merlin remained observant.

The shot was sudden, Evelyn's story unfinished.