Meeting the Madam (A)

The doctor did not permit Atheer to leave the bed that day, and the goth was fine with that. Every movement seemed to agitate her arm. Most were bad enough to evoke winces. On top of that, she suffered a near-unshakable sense of exhaustion. Turns out recovering from a bullet wound took a lot out of a person - who knew? Hence, spending more than a day on a mattress was not the most unwelcome thing to happen in recent memory.

Being confined to the bed did, however, present her with a great deal of time to think. Atheer thought about what her friends and family were up to. She had been... away for at least two days now; potentially longer, depending on how much time had passed between opening the book and arriving in that office with Ci-Ci. They had to have been worried sick. Surely by now they had reported her missing. Atheer felt a pang of guilt for ruining the road trip, then she realized that being displaced to this town with its own names for the outside world was absolutely a bigger deal. She wondered if her parents knew yet. Then she wondered if anyone searching for her would have made a connection between her disappearance and that bizarre shop.

Then again, Ci-Ci had claimed that time slowed while she was in the book, so maybe-

No, NO. She refused to let herself buy into that fairy tale.

It was late the following day when she left the infirmary for the first time. More than twenty-four hours since waking after her injury, Tejedor had come to check on her and informed her that this Madam Yetunde had agreed to speak with her. Atheer's interest was piqued at the implication that one needed to arrange an audience with this lady. She began pondering roles for this Madam that would warrant such esteem. Based on the title, she was probably not royalty, but so much about this place was so wrong that Atheer refused to truly rule anything out.

After a warm bath to wash away the dried sweat and blood, Atheer dressed in the garments left outside the washroom for her. They were mimics of what she had worn when she was dragged there, dying. The colours differed, but the sizes were a perfect match, and she wondered when they had taken her measurements. Along with the apparel was a sling to support her arm. She looked around for anything to redo her black makeup with, but found nothing. Deciding it was not a priority for now, she walked into the hall per Tejedor's instruction.

Atheer had assumed she was in a hospital, but following the doctor through the building, it was clear that the infirmary was only a single component of this place. It much rather looked like she was in another sort of mansion or even a museum. The corridor was tall and long. Through the narrow windows, she could see that it was dark outside. Victorian light fixtures illuminated Arabic archways and Chinese ornaments. This place seemed to blend the same styles as the rest of this city, though in a single building.

As they walked, Atheer noticed more children. Some were teenagers, though the majority looked to be around the age of the kid she had seen in the ward. Some chased each other down the hall, some traded words in small groups, and others just read books while seated against columns. In spite of the obvious lack of supervision, Atheer did not see any crayon on the walls nor hear any wailing.

"What is this place?" Atheer finally asked.

"We already told you," Tejedor reminded her. "This is Anchorage Residence for Waifs; an orphanage."

"You left out that last part the first time, and when you said 'Anchorage' I thought you meant the name of the town."

"No, that would be Jiu Gang."

The name was strange enough to stop Atheer in her tracks. It would seem that the blending of cultures here extended even to names. The Hispanic woman made it a few steps further before noticing her pause. She saw the confusion on the younger woman's face.

"Have you not even heard of Jiu Gang? Are you sure you don't have amnesia?"

"No, my memory is perfectly clear," Atheer insisted. "I remember my whole life outside of this place and-"

Tejedor held up a hand to stay her words. "Trust me, I'm very much eager to know, but we should keep going if we don't want to keep Madam Yetunde waiting. You're going to have to tell her anyway, so I'll save you the trouble of saying it twice."

"I'll have to tell her? Are you taking me to be interrogated?"

"Madam Yetunde is the wisest person I know. I'm still not certain what your situation is, but if you need help, she's the best one to get it from."

"What is she?" Atheer asked after they resumed moving. "I gather that she's someone important, but beyond that, I'm largely in the dark."

"Madam Yetunde? She's the owner of this orphanage. She's quite wealthy, or at least she used to be. I don't know for certain, but I think her coffers are running empty."

"And you? You're a doctor. Do you volunteer here?"

Tejedor pursed her lips. "In a way. Some time back, I took time away from the hospital to tend to any ill children here. After a while, I noticed that the orphans needed me more than the hospital did. Madam Yetunde offered to support me so that I could commit to working here."

In the time that the two had spoken, Octavia and Atheer had traversed hallways and climbed to the first floor. The younger woman had seen more children and was continually surprised by how quiet the place seemed with them roaming about. The doctor stopped at a set of grand-looking doors and knocked before opening them for Atheer.

The room on the other side gave her the impression that it was intended to hold important meetings. It was spacious with its excess floorspace and high ceiling. The lighting was soft without leaving the room feeling underlit. A giant table sat centered in the chamber and encircled by something between one and two dozen chairs. Only one was filled, the one furthest from Atheer and Tejedor. Its occupant stood and walked around the table.

The person approaching was presumably Madam Yetunde. She was an elderly woman with deep wrinkles in dark skin, probably not far off from her hundredth birthday. She wore a blouse, wrapping, and headdress all made from aso oke of the same pattern. It was colourful and pretty without being too loud. It was evident that her posture was not what it once was, and she strode with some reliance on a cane, but Atheer could tell she made a point of fighting the tolls of time. Over one cheek she wore a piece like a mask, and from behind it peeked the fringes of an old burn scar. From what Atheer could see, the cicatrix spanned to her cheekbone and the edge of her upper lip. Looking her over, the word 'matriarch' would not leave Atheer's head.

Reaching her and Tejedor, Yetunde looked the young woman up and down, as though she had questions that she could answer using only her gaze. "You were shot? Are you well?"

"I mean..." Atheer looked at her sling and shrugged the injured limb, showcasing its limited movement. "I'm better than I was."

With a flat expression, the lady gave an approving nod to Tejedor. "And what is your name?"

"My name Atheer al-Vaziri, and I'm guessing you're the Madam Yetunde I've been hearing about?"

"I am," she affirmed before moving in. She caught Atheer a tad off guard by embracing her. She hugged with more strength than Atheer would have guessed.

The goth returned the brief hug. "I had some questions, and I was told you would be the best person to ask."

"And so the bar is set," Yetunde said, casting a look at Tejedor. "Come, have a seat." The lady retraced her steps to her chair at the table and Atheer and the doctor joined her, situating themselves on either side of her. "Tell me about yourself, Atheer. Where are you from?"

"That actually has a lot to do with what I wanted to ask about. This town, so much about it, seems peculiar or even outright wrong. It seems like a big enough town, and yet I've never even heard of it. Perhaps more concerning is that everything here seems like it's at least a hundred years out of date."

Yetunde's brow pinched at this. "I do not know what to say to that. Jiu Gang does a good job of keeping up with the times - at least as well as anywhere else does."

"But what does that mean?" Atheer asked. "I haven't seen any evidence of internet, air travel, nor anything else that has existed for decades already. What year is it?"

"The year is 146," Yetunde stated.

"That's what I told her," Tejedor agreed, "but she acted like that was wrong."

"Because it is wrong!" Atheer was loosing her composure. The dissonance between reality and what these people claimed was reality was starting to wear on her. She had a rising fear that she was trapped in this place with no one she could look to for meaningful help. "It's not 146, it's the twenty-first century! And even if you're insisting on using some dumb, obscure calendar, that doesn't explain why you claim to live in a country that doesn't exist! If you're just some community of isolationist weirdos, then I don't care what your made-up names for places are. This is serious! I've been **** or something and I need to go home!"

"How can you claim that Nebrines does not exist? We are all standing in it as we speak," the doctor pointed out.

"Fine, let's pretend for a moment that it's not some made-up place," Atheer said impatiently. "How do you not know about a country like America? I suppose you've also never heard of Britain? Or Egypt? Or Brazil? Or India?"

Neither Yetunde nor Octavia responded, but their silence was merely out of hesitation to give Atheer the answer she so clearly did not want to hear. After a tense moment, Yetunde spoke, using a soft tone in an attempt to pacify Atheer.

"I can understand that it may not be a very comforting thought, but are you certain that you are remembering correctly? Perhaps you ought to consider the possibility that you are not well in the head. I asked where you were from. What happened to you before you were shot?"

"I didn't examine her head too closely," Tejedor admitted. "I was so focused on tending to her arm. Maybe I could-"

"No! That's not it. My head is fine."

"What makes you so certain?"

"Because I remember everything!" Atheer practically screamed. "I remember being given that book by that overly sexy store owner. I remember stopping at that store with my mates on a road trip abroad. I remember my parents stopping me on the way out the door because I forgot to pack bath towels. I remember graduating university and celebrating with a party at Orit's flat where **** fell out the window. I remember when my brother had a phase in which he tried to **** himself to be right-handed. My memories are too plentiful and too specific to have simply been knocked into my head!"

Yetunde raised a calming hand. "This is confusing, but why are you so alarmed?"

"If you were ****, then we just have to figure a way home for you," Tejedor added.

"Because the alternative is that I really was magically poofed into a book by a demon and I CANNOT handle the implications of that right now." Atheer was tearing up by this point. She was scared. She did not want to believe it, but everything was so convincing. If this was just some cruel joke then it had gone much too far. And what would anyone have to gain from such a charade anyway? Ironically, she felt that the fantastic explanation was the more reasonable in that moment.

But then she thought about what it would mean for Morra to have been telling the truth. Demons? Curses? Magic Books? Impossible. Rubbish. Absurdity, all of it. Perhaps most unnerving was the thought that, if she was in a book at the moment, then nothing around her was real. Not the orphanage, not the town, and not the bullet that had devastated her arm. Not even the people standing before her - who looked for all the world like real people, with memories and experiences of their own - were real.

Am I real?

This was quickly getting much too existential for Atheer's taste. She stopped herself before she could commit to the thought of questioning which of the two realities was the fake. She sniffled then took several deep breaths to calm herself. Once her voice was mostly steady, she spoke.

"There's a lot going on right now, and I don't know how much of it you can help me with. One thing I know for certain: I need to find a way home."

Though her expression was hard, Yetunde's tone was warm. "We'll do what we can for you, but it would help if we understood more. So, please, tell me about yourself."

Atheer decided that the store was about as far back as she needed to go. She recounted her arrival, the strange nature of the establishment, and her interactions with Morra. She emphasized the ambiguity of her manifesting in the office after having been standing in the back of the store. She drew some small measure of comfort by the way Yetunde and Tejedor reacted with dismissal to the shopkeeper's claims. Atheer's audience kept their comments to a minimum up until she reached the segment involving Ci-Ci's 'orientation'.

"They really wanted you to believe that you're in a book right now?" Tejedor cocked an eyebrow. "I can't imagine what they're after if they're trying to sell you that fiction."

"You mentioned that the book came with you?" Yetunde inquired, fingering her chin. "May I see it?"

Atheer reflexively reached for her pockets. "I think it's still with my things, in the infirmary."

"Would you be so kind?" Yetunde motioned to the doctor who nodded. Tejedor stood and left the room. "Ci-Ci claimed that you must 'resolve' something in order to return home, do I have that right?"

"That's what she said," Atheer confirmed. "Like this is all some story and I'm supposed to step in as the protagonist."

Yetunde cupped her lips thoughtfully. She scrutinized Atheer, looking for any additional details in the younger woman's face. She spoke after a silent moment. "I am not one to believe in fairy tales, but your story does seem difficult to explain away. If what you tell me is true, and there is nothing wrong with your head... then I can see why demons and magic would make such a compelling explanation. Tell me: what do you believe?"

"I honestly don't know." Atheer leaned down and cradled her head in her hands. "There are so many remote possibilities. All of them are easier to swallow, but none of them fit all of the pieces together as cleanly as what Morra and Ci-Ci claim. I want to go home, but I can't do that if I don't know which path to follow."

Yetunde slowly nodded in sympathetic understanding. She could not fully imagine what it was like for Atheer in that moment, but most everyone is familiar with the dread of being lost. "I will do what I can to help. I know a cartographer in town. Tomorrow you will visit them and ask if they know how to find your homeland. If nothing comes of that, then I will direct you to the local medium."

Snapping up with a look of concern, Atheer relaxed again when she saw the wily grin on the old woman's face. She could not help but crack a small smile herself. Yetunde had provided a plan for her, and while it was not much, it did feel better to see some of the road ahead.

"But those are actions for another day," Yetunde declared. "For now, I am still aching to learn how you were shot."

The goth picked up where she had left off; her first steps in Jiu Gang. **** to describe her motivations aloud, she used language that favoured herself when telling the old lady about her jaunt in the mansion - perhaps mentioning a few more signs to indicate a break-in than there had actually been.

Tejedor returned around this point in her retelling and she took a moment to catch the doctor up. Octavia presented the book to Yetunde who asked Atheer to continue as she examined it.

Atheer reached the point where she had discovered her fellow infiltrator and they had raised alarm in the residence. She admitted that she had lost her initial nerve and settled for saving her own skin. She had been shot by one of the residents on her way out, then stumbled down the street before collapsing in an alleyway and passing out.

"And that's where Pu'a found you," Tejedor jumped in to pick up the narrative. She looked between Atheer and Yetunde as she filled in their mutual ignorance. "I was on my way the bakery in the early morning when he rushed up to me and told me that he had found someone bleeding profusely. He told me he was on an morning delivery when he found you. I followed him back to that alley and that's where you were. I looked you over and decided you were in a bad enough shape to necessitate immediate care. We dragged you back here, and I patched you up."

"I don't think I can thank you enough," Atheer said sincerely. "But now that you know why I was shot in the first place, are you going to turn me in?" Her posture sank with shame. The doctor looked to Yetunde who looked at Atheer.

"No," the madam said after letting the young woman stew in her remorse for a moment. "We won't turn you in. I appreciate that you were honest about how you were injured. However, I expect to find that this error in your judgment is an exception, rather than the rule," she said sternly.

"Yes, ma'am." Atheer was surprised by how close she was to instinctively saluting the woman.

"Alright." Yetunde nodded. She held up the book and turned it over once again. "I must say, this is something unique. It's not every day that one gets their hands on an empty book. Though what fascinates me is the binding. I've never seen anything like it. And these pages - so white."

The features to which the old lady referred were standard fare to Atheer. The binding was the same technique used by any book producer looking to balance cost with durability, and the paper was the typical white that contrasted best with black ink.

Grabbing her cane, the matriarch held out the book for Atheer and stood. "The doctor may have given you permission to leave your bed, but no one recovers from a bullet wound in a day. Octavia, find Fatehbir and have him get this young lady a bed." She faced Atheer. "I'd venture that between popping up here and being blasted that you didn't get a chance to book an inn, eh? You'll stay here until we get your business sorted."

Atheer accepted the book and gave the madam ample thanks before departing with Tejedor. The goth reflected on her good fortune to have been dropped into the care of such a generous hostess as the doctor led her to the orphanage's kitchen. It was a big place with all of the utilities one could hope for in a kitchen - for the nineteenth century, anyway. Having seen the sign outside, some part of Atheer had gotten her hopes up that she might spy a toaster or a blender that would finally break the appearance of being in the past. She could find no such evidence, though.

It was late in the day, past supper time, and the kitchen would not being putting out any more meals. A mountain of dishes and cutlery was divided on either side of a wash basin; half of it dirty, and the other half spotless. Looking at it, Atheer got the impression that this place may have served a hundred or more orphans. If so, then this was a bigger operation than she had first thought.

In spite of the hour, the kitchen was not vacant. Standing in the plate valley, doing the washing up was a lone man.

"Fatehbir, hang it up for a moment," Tejedor called out.

The man quit his humming and spun to face them. He was a young man, but not that young; maybe in his early thirties. He wore a loose shirt and pants under an apron, as well as a turban. His beard was big and bushy, which was funny when viewed next to his immaculately maintained moustache. It was enviably symmetrical, and curled at the ends. His brown complexion was youthful except for the signs of lost sleep under his eyes.

He turned away briefly to give a final rinse to the bowl he had been scrubbing and laid it in the clean pile before drying his hands on a nearby towel. "Bit old for an orphan, wouldn't you say?" he remarked as he strolled over, looking at Atheer. "Unless you're looking to apprentice?" He perked up a tad at the thought of having a hand in the kitchen.

"Yes, she is too old to be an orphan, and no, she is not here to apprentice," Tejedor explained. "She's a... unique set of circumstances. It's a long story, but for now, the madam just wants you to set her up with a place to lay her head. She can share the details herself if she wants. If neither of you need anything more from me, I'll be turning in for the evening."

Fatehbir said some parting words then turned to Atheer. "Fatehbir Singh Kanchi, at your service," he said as he offered a hand for shaking. It was calloused with a history of labour.

Atheer returned the greeting, sharing her own name. "I take it you're the chef around here?"

"Not the only one, and not just a cook. I also do laundry and other housekeeping. By the sound of it though, you're the one with the more interesting introduction. Let me hear it while we find you somewhere to sleep."

Not interested in having the entire paradigm-jarring discussion again, Atheer delivered a shorter and sweeter version of her experience. When Fatehbir asked about her arm, she sugarcoated it, claiming that she had been shot trying to stop a break-in. Not false, but definitely omitting some relevant details.

The hand took her to the dormitory, or rather, one of them. Being led around as she had been impressed upon Atheer just how big this place was. This was the third destination she had been guided to and she only recognized one or two corridors or chambers on the way there.

"You sound like a more adventurous sort that I usually see here, and we get plenty of runaways," Fatehbir remarked when Atheer finished her recapitulation. "I want to hear more, but on another day. We're here."

At this hour, the halls were all but empty. It was past the bedtime for most staying at Anchorage. Outside the door to the bedchamber, Fatehbir put a finger to his lips. Cautiously, he turned the knob and pushed the door open. Atheer followed his lead, creeping inside. The room was dark, but soft light from the hall spilled in. Atheer made out bunk beds lining the walls. As her eyes adjusted she could see small forms under the blankets.

With light steps, the hand walked the room, Atheer in tow. On her way, she noticed a handful of heads peek up to see who was intruding after bedtime. Scattered among the occupied beds were the odd empty ones. Fatehbir picked out one such bunk and gestured for his guest.

"You can have this one, if it's to your liking," he whispered. The bed was like any other that was not taken; crisp and tidy.

"It's perfect." Atheer thanked the man and he slipped back out, closing the door almost silently.

Taking off her overwear and sling, the goth climbed under the sheets of the bottom bunk. She let out a long but quiet sigh.

What in the world is happening? Two days ago I was on a trip with my mates at some spiritual goods store. Tonight, I'm sleeping surrounded by orphans as I recover from a gunshot wound in a town that doesn't have a vaccine for polio.

Though her mind raced with an anxious energy to escape her predicament, Atheer rolled over and closed her eyes. One thing at a time. I'll handle this tomorrow.