Chapter 24: Telepathic Gentlewoman (Patreon)

“The spirit out on the lake, may I ask, what are you doing?”

An azure falling star streaks across the sky as I stare blankly into the heavens above. ”...God? Is that thee? It is me, remember me? Did thee forget about me?” I reply back in my head.

”I’m not god, but I’ll lend you my ear if you need someone to confess to,” the voice answers, "I have also been told I have a pretty good memory, so I won’t forget."

”Aye. I have much to confess. It all began when I was born... Wait. I am being silly. Is this perhaps, Earl? Earl, did thou get a voice? Thy voice is vastly more feminine than I expected. My apologies for giving thou such a masculine name. Still, I am delighted that thou may now apparently speak.”

A moment passes as I begin to ponder whether or not I am merely hallucinating. ‘Am I hearing things?... It is rather funny how willing I am to accept voices in my head nowadays. These sorts of situations have been occurring so frequently that a voice in my head hardly seemed shocking at all.’

The voice rings in my head once more, causing me to flinch. ”It’s okay if you are confused. That’s normal for spirits as their consciousness ages without the protection of their soul. So, to answer your questions, I am not God, nor am I this ‘Earl.’”

‘Huh? Is this person nearby…? Is it even a person?’

I swing my head back and forth and then slowly run my vision across the people at the party. Everyone seems rather preoccupied with idle conversation or other such activities. At one table, a young gentlewoman in a beautiful purple dress flips through what looks to be a weighty silver tome, but she seems intensely focused on the tome and not me.

“Then who art thee, and how are we speaking?” I inquire cautiously.

For a moment, the voice is quiet. ”I am… a friend to spirits? Also, fae? Plus Mermaids? I am a friend of all magical creatures?”

‘Why is she stating that like they are questions? As if I am meant to know who she is a friend of.’

“I’m talking to you through a telepathic link,” the voice hastily adds.

‘I do not understand what is happening, but I am actually speaking to someone! But... after The Bishop, I should be cautious of who I speak to or what I say. Still, I cannot let an opportunity like this slip away. Who knows if there are many people out there that may speak to me at all.’ As I am about to attempt to respond, I realize something. ‘Wait, can she hear all my thoughts? Even at this very moment! I should find out how this telepathic link thing works. Also, what telepathic means.’

Suppressing my inner turbulence, I advance the conversation, “Telepathic link? What is that? Prithee, I would very much like to know.”

“I’ll tell you if you answer a question of mine first? How about it?” the voice states without delay.

‘I should not accept, or she will take control of the discussion… I’ll offer her a compromise. Aye, Constance, negotiating is not our strength, but we can do this… Geh! I should not think about such things before getting more information!’

“Nay. First, I’d like to know how this telepathic link thing works; then I shall answer two of thy questions,” I state calmly and confidently.

“You seem rather cautious… May I ask why that is?”

“Because if thee art reading my thoughts, I am uncertain I wish to continue with this conversation.”

“Does a spirit really have a need for secrets? You are a spirit, right?”

“A spir—” I am struck by a realization. “Wait, art thee trying to trick me with casual questions? This is trickery! Answer my questions first!”

The voice speaks with some amusement in its tone, “Well, I think I understand your concerns, so to answer them, no, I’m not reading your mind. Telepathy is necessary to talk to spirits since they cannot speak back, but only very skilled users can actually eavesdrop on thoughts; at least that’s what I was taught…”

‘Could she be one of these very skilled users?’ I think in my head.

“And, no, I’m not one of those users,” the voice says.

“Then how did thee know what I was thinking just now!?”

I could swear I hear a laugh in the distance when the voice replies, “Because logically, that is what you’d think next?”

‘A likely excuse… Promptly ask thy question.’ Expertly I lay a trap by thinking instead of intentionally addressing her; I wait to see if she springs it. ‘But would they know I laid a trap? This is all so confusing.’

“Are you there? I haven’t had many opportunities to use this skill in practice… Did I lose the link?”

‘I just have to assume they do not have ill intentions until evidence arises suggesting otherwise. After all, this is an actual person, and I could really use the knowledge or perhaps even help.’

“I am still here!”

“Terrific, now I’ll ask my first question, which is if you are a spirit?”

‘Am I a spirit? Well, I share some qualities, and I received this body after being hanged, so why not just say I am similar? Explaining what a Kiln is seems like it would be difficult, and perhaps, unwise as well. I do not know what a real spirit is like, so who is to say I am not similar?’

“I suppose I am something similar to a spirit,” I answer casually.

“That’s rather vague. Can you elaborate?”

“Uhm, well, nay. I answered thy question to the best of my abilities. Therefore, next question.”

“Next question? I’d hardly say you answered the first one!”

“Fine, fine. I do not have a body in the traditional sense, so I deem that I am similar to a spirit in some ways.”

“Okay, I’ll be satisfied if you answer this next question,” the voice changes to one more monotone as if they are reading, “Do you have a corporal human, animal, mechanical, golem, or comparable body?”

Holding my hand up, I stare at it, turning it back forth. “Nay. Although I do not quite understand thy question in full, I do not have a corporal body. Hence I assume I do not fall under any of those things.”

“Then, you just sound like a spirit with extra steps.”

“If that is what thee wish to think.” I drop my hand. “Next question.”

“Okay, then if you’re a spirit or similar to a spirit, are you a human spirit? If not, then what kind of spirit are you?”

“I was a person, but I am not anymore.”

“What does that mean?”

“That’s a lot of questions when it is my turn to inquire.”

“I’d argue you didn’t fully answer, but since you clarified my first question, I think it’s fine to say it’s your turn.”

“Hmm.” I nod, asking, “Where am I?”

“That's all you wish to know?” the voice questions in disbelief. “You’re in The Lake in Central Park in the city of New York.”

“A park in the middle of a city called New York. Can thee tell me the specific name of this lake?”

“It’s The Lake,” the voice replies promptly.

‘Perhaps she does not understand what I mean?’

I attempt to reword my question, “Aye, I know it is the lake, but what would a local person call this lake?”

A laugh echoes across the water. “The Lake,” the voice responds.

This time I respond with a bit of annoyance in my tone, “Aye, again, I understand it is the lake, but what name would appear on a map? For example, Lough Neagh, Lake Queen, Black Water, Crystal Lake.”

“The name is literally The Lake,” the voice states, having waited patiently for me to finish. “The people of New York refer to it as The Lake. If you had a map, it would say it is The Lake.”

“Oh. That is rather uncreative. Why is it named something so dull? Are there not other lakes anymore?”

“There are plenty of other lakes in the world. Though there are not many in this area, I’ll admit. Maybe you can give it your own name if you aren’t satisfied with the current one.”

“Perhaps, I will. It would not be difficult to think of a better one.”

“More importantly, I believe you’ve asked six questions, and I have answered them all. Does that mean...”

The voice pauses, and I realize what she is implying. “Nay, thee cannot ask six questions now! Thee may only blame thyself for answering so many.”

“Fine. I guess I can live with that. Still, it is my turn for a question.” The voice does not respond immediately as if they are thinking. “I was going to ask what kind of spirit you were, but now I rather ask… when did you… Uhm, stop cooking?”

“Stop cooking?” I pause, thinking about my last meal in my small cottage. I recall cooking some venison in my iron pan—I adored that pan. A kettle of stock was boiling nearby. The previous night had been cold, and I was looking forward to it. I remember being excited as the natives had provided me some herbs that were supposed to be tasty. It was for naught, though. A knock at the door would come, and Preacher Daniels would be there. “...Wait. Art thee trying to ask when I… perished?”

“In a sense, yes.”

“I believe that is the only sense, but regardless, I appreciate the subtlety.” My gaze turns to the reflection of the moon. “Still I… I would rather not discuss that topic.”

“I’ve read that it isn’t uncommon for spirits not to want to discuss such things, but if I know, I can better answer your questions.”

Horrible thoughts of the Tenebrous Place and that day appear in my mind. I force out the answer, “I believe I… passed around... 1590.”

“You’ve managed to keep your sanity for so many centuries!” the voice shouts with excitement before continuing, “That’s unheard of… Unless,” the voice goes silent in thought.

I cross my arms, furrowing my inner brow. “I find thy reaction rather insensitive! The year of my death is not something to be excited about! It was quite difficult for me to think about.” I realize something else about the words of the voice. “Also, art thee implying that I may have lost my sanity!? I am very sane, the sanest, in fact! So sane that others seem mad in comparison!“

“Uh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you. I was just going to say… unless you have a powerful and sane mind,” things go quiet for a moment before she continues, “A-and now that I know you… passed so long ago, I’ll add that you’re also in a country called the United States of America.”

“The what of America? Is that the real name of the lake?”

“No, as we’ve discussed, the lake is The Lake, and it’s The United States of America... It’s very complicated, but this is no longer a British colony. It’s now its own country.”

“And the Crown just stood by and let such a thing happen?” I question doubtfully.

“Well, there was a rebellion.”

“Rebels? Traitors? Such a thing! Wait, did the French have something to do with it? They must have; they always have a hand in everything. They are tricksters, after all.”

“Y-you’re not wrong, I guess, but they didn’t instigate it… I think? Were you a firm loyalist or something?”

“Loyalist?” I respond after hearing a new word.

“By that, I mean, were you loyal to the British Monarchy?”

“Loyal to the Queen? Rather than not being loyal, I suppose I was simply incapable of partaking in most of society. I was simply incompatible with most people due to my… condition. Still, to simplify my response, I would say nay. The crown was not fond of my existence, and I was not fond of their incessant tracking of my location. I was merely surprised that the crown would allow something like a rebellion to get so far out of hand.”

I notice a vague feeling of being watched, so I turn my head. My attention turns toward the café patio. There I see the same gentlewoman in purple who was previously reading a hefty tome.

“Are you still there?” the voice asks with concern, “Are you near those violet lights?’

“Hmm, did thee say something? Sorry, but I believe someone is staring at me.”

“Staring at you?” The gentlewoman tilts her head. “What do they look like? Maybe I can tell you if I know them.”

‘Is that who I am speaking to? If she wishes for detail, I shall provide her a bit of a flowery description to elicit a reaction. That way, I may confirm if it is her or not.”

I peer at the gentlewoman and gather my words. “It is a gentlewoman in a long flowing purple gown. She is wearing what looks to be a veil that matches her dress. If I am not mistaken, she has unusual silver hair that runs to her lower back. Yet, it is not gray, but rather glittering, silky, and resplendent, and I can see the moonlight reflecting upon it, dying it a bluish-silver. As for her height, I would say she seems to be on the shorter side than the people around her. Her figure is slender with flawless proportions, as if she was sculpted from marble. She is either gazing out over the lake wistfully, or at me, I cannot tell, but it is like a royal would stare out over a crowd of their citizens. Though, to be honest, it paints a rather melancholic scene like a display upon a church’s stained window.”

The gentlewoman’s mouth cracks open as if she does not know how to answer. “...”

“Art thee there? Is the gentlewoman who I believe her to be?”

“It was just not the description I was expecting.” Someone walks up behind the gentlewoman, whispering something into her ear. “I’m sorry. I need to leave. My car has actually been here for a while now.”

“Wait. The gentlewoman wearing purple, that is thee, correct?”

“I’ll return the night after tomorrow, around the same time, but I must be going now…” The gentlewoman smiles and waves at me. “See you soon!”

“Fare thee well, I suppose?”

Around an hour passes and the lights of the café disappear.

‘I wonder if she will truly come back? I probably should not have asked her so many questions, but I have not spoken to anyone in a very long time. That includes much of my time in Roanoke and the dark place. I suppose I could count The Bishop, but that was more him threatening me than anything else. I hope I did not leave a bad impression.’

Standing and moving toward the café’s back, I can see what I suppose is a patio. The café’s patio has ten white columns with black metal rails between each pair of columns. Gorgeous decorations can be seen hanging and wrapping themselves around the columns and railing, making for an elegant atmosphere.

‘It must have been a lovely wedding.’

Phasing through the metal rails with plenty of space to spare for the shell, I am greeted by a set of windows and a long open venue overlooking the water. Once I enter the café’s patio, I can see that most of the tables seem to have been pushed together like one would expect to see at large formal events. The tables themselves seem to have been chained together for some reason, conceivably to prevent theft.

My attention turns to the remaining tables that were seemingly out for guests to sit at. The white cloth that was there earlier seems to have been removed, but each table has something left behind on it.

‘...I could probably eat those.’

Using the cattail, I engulf it, and a colorful haze flows through me, along with a light grassy feeling.

‘It was not awful. Perhaps, I shall consume a couple more.’

After eating two more bouquets, I move on to look through the windows, to find an elegant atmosphere emanating from every crevice. The tables are covered in clean white cloth, and each table is adorned with candles, expertly crafted wooden chairs, and a beautiful glass fixture hanging from the ceiling.

‘I have never dined anywhere other than my own abode before.’ I glance down at my body, ‘And I suppose I probably never will… Anyway, I do not believe this is the place the two people were talking about yesterday. Perhaps on the other side?’

Strolling around to the other side of the building, the white wooden exterior shifts to red brick. Once I have made my way to the front, the atmosphere surrounding the building changes. Although still lovely, it is less ‘elegant’ than it was before. There is a spacious brick patio with benches along one side and then black tables of metal on the other. Each table comes with a large green umbrella, likely to protect guests from the heat of the sun.

‘This seems more like somewhere that someone might study… not that I fully understand the people of this land, but I find it unlikely someone would study somewhere as elegant as that first room. This place is not exactly how I imagined it.’

I spot some bushes near the edge of the patio. ‘Not the most ideal location, but it is also the only suitable location.’

After picking a location, I proceed around the building, spotting a second door. ‘This door probably leads to that elegant room and patio. As I thought, the two places are separate. Hmm, what’s that? A list of dishes?’ I move closer, suspecting my eyes may be deceiving me. ‘Picking thy own meal! That confirms it; this place must be where the richest nobles in the city dine.’

Looking through the list of dishes, I cannot help but simply shake my head, ‘Oysters, pork, lamb, and numerous things I have not heard of. Like, what is the difference between a king oyster and a regular oyster? Is it an oyster good enough for kings? How rich are these people? Is that gentlewoman wealthy as well?... Just forget it; these types of questions will probably be answered if I live in this land long enough. Still, I simply cannot help but be curious about everything.’

A husky voice comes from nearby, “That’s right, right this way.”

‘Someone’s coming!’

As quickly as I can, I move to the bushes I found earlier.

“Thanks so much for walking me,” a feminine voice slurs.

Again I find myself shaking my head. ‘That woman seems to be incredibly intoxicated. That or she ate some lubberwort.’ [1]

“No problem, doll.” A man laughs in a manner reminiscent of a hog. “We should be there any second now.”

‘It’s good they’ve resolved their problem, but he seems to be acting with obvious ill intentions. Sights such as these were common on the streets of London.’

The young woman giggles. “I’m really glad yyou knew a shortcut."

‘I shall follow them. It will be several hours until daybreak, so I am not in any particular hurry.’

“Come on. It’s just around this corner,” the man says with a smirk.

The woman barely responds as she seems to be getting weaker and more incoherent.

“Here, I’ll carry you the rest of the way.”

The woman shakes her head, holding up her arm before stuttering something faintly. She falls forward, and the man catches her.

“Finally. Geez, I thought I was gonna have to walk her in circles all night.”

The man tosses the woman over his shoulder and squeezes her posterior. “Now, let’s go find us a nice quiet place.”

‘This. This. This absolute… fopdoodle!’ [2]

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[1] Lubberwort: the name of an imaginary plant that was supposed to cause sluggishness or stupidity, and ultimately came to be used as a nickname for a lethargic, fuzzy-minded person.

[2] Fopdoodle: A stupid or insignificant fellow; a fool; a simpleton.