Tea Time

Mornings of activity were common enough for Marguerite, but when Marie greeted her with the prospect of their less than stable ringmaster, she knew this one would bode a far different kind of busy.

“Come in,” she said to Marie. As the young acrobat walked across the small space, she could not avoid stepping on diagrams and sketches that covered the floor. Upon closer inspection, she noticed that Marguerite’s hands were stained with ink. Shadows played under her eyes, and Marie wondered how any of these people functioned on their own. Her wonder turned to outrage when she noticed that Marguerite had begun making a pot of tea. She nearly screamed, thought better of it, and spoke with her fists clenched instead.

“This is somewhat urgent. Did you get any sleep?”

Marguerite paused.

“I did, thank you. You don’t think this will be enough?” She said when Marie made a face, tapping more leaves into the pot.

“Now is not the time for tea,” Marie said as Marguerite continued. “Colette needs to be restrained, sedated, drugged – she can’t do a thing in her state, and you need to put her out.”

Marie fought the urge to slouch as Marguerite drew herself up and glowered. Her hair was everything but restrained, the remaining hairpins sticking out at odd angles with the rest of the tufts and tendrils. Her blouse was soiled beyond even Alexandra’s care, and her skirts were abandoned for breeches, her utility belt of vials hung about her hips like an absurd bum roll. The teapot clinked as she set it down.

Marguerite then slumped into the nearest chair, muttering about syringes and feeling about the nearby floor with her feet. Papers shuffled about, and finally she crawled out of the chair, dived under a pile of papers, and drew forth her medical kit, already well used from the previous night. She extracted a syringe and a bottle, examining its contents in the light coming through the entranceway. Marguerite saw Marie’s figure distorted through the bottle and its liquid.

“I hope you aren’t in a fit of hysteria over missed tea time,” she said. “I take it you’re helping?”

“Of course I’m helping. The mentally ill and violent are my specialty. Nothing like the fellows last night and their awful banter. Are they always like that?”

“Like what?” Marie was happy to see Marguerite complying. She was less happy to see her sudden interest in sedating the violent and crazy. Horrible images of the mad scientist chasing after crazy circus members clouded Marie’s thoughts.

“The constant chatter and strange humor would be irritating, I imagine. Where do they get it from?” Marguerite stood, stowing the needle and bottle in her belt and pulling on a waistcoat, her lab coat, and boots.

“Right. Now what?” Marguerite said, her hands on her hips.

“Get the hell out of here.”

“Yes, I caught that bit. But how?”

“Leaving the tent would be a good first step,” Marie said. Marguerite looked around slowly, as if taking stock of the tent’s contents.

“We need to consider our – tea!”

Marguerite lunged for the teapot. Marie received it from the very mad scientist with a look of greatest bewilderment.

“Give this to Alexandra,” Marguerite said, holding up the implements she had just stowed. “She has a much better relationship with Colette than I do, and she might gain audience with her in less time. Tell her to add half the vial to her cup of tea. That should sedate her long enough to get us packed up and in the air before she’s the wiser.”

“Do you do this often?” Marie asked. Marguerite did not seem to hear, as she continued.

“I will do my best to get everyone packed up for the trip.”

“Right,” Marie said. With that, they were out of the tent. Just before the two parted ways, Marguerite spoke again.

“Would you happen to know where we’re headed next?”

Marie heartily wished she were in the company of more competent adults that morning.