Rita Likes Doctors

The Bayreuth Swan stood before Marguerite’s critical eye. The trees rose above the swan’s head like reeds, the lawn spread before it in serene waves. She noted that its delicate, curved neck was secured to its body with small paneled windows, creating the effect of a harness over its breast. Its wings lifted from its body slightly, as though about to take flight. The lift allowed room for the boat’s main entrance just behind the left wing. A red-carpeted staircase fell down to the grass. Marguerite held her breath as they drew closer.

Asmodeus had led her to its resting place in the same yard they had recently landed in. He chattered on about the boat’s history, from what he could recall. There was something about a grand musician, or perhaps it was some singer – Marguerite had trouble concentrating on the details just then. Asmodeus punctuated the tale with dramatic arm gestures, his hands not conveying enough of the story’s power, and timed its conclusion to their arrival at the base of the stairs.

“What do you think?” He asked when she stood in silence a little too long.

“It’s beautiful.”

“I’m glad you think so,” a man’s voice said from the ship. “I’ve been working on it for too long not to see it in the air again.”

“Pardon me, Asmodeus, but offers of a new living space tend to imply that they are not currently occupied,” Marguerite said.

“Unless you consider a mechanic an occupant, this ship has had no previous resident,” the same voice said, emerging from a now visible body of a man dressed in a pinstriped waistcoat and scrap bits of metal, presumably various ship parts.

“I suppose I could use one of those if you’d care to stay,” Marguerite said upon closer inspection. She noted a carefully kept beard hiding beneath an ocular contraption strapped to his head.

“Marguerite, may I introduce you to Dr. Froderick Krauss. Froderick, this is Marguerite Dubois,” Asmodeus said.

“A pleasure,” Marguerite said, extending her hand to the descending doctor. He took it, drawing a thumb across the back of her gloved hand.

“A pleasure indeed. If you don’t mind the company, I’d be happy to stay on as your personal mechanic,” Froderick said.

Marguerite smiled. “I’ll take it.”

“I shall see the two of you later, then,” Asmodeus said, bowing to the pair and taking his leave.

“What have you heard about my swan?” The doctor asked.

“Enough to be concerned about its interior decoration,” Marguerite said. As hospitable as dear Alexandra was with her tent, Marguerite was not kind to her resident fabrics. The carpeted stairs promised comfortable enough living until less pleasant animal matter was under foot. The doctor’s back stiffened.

“Not that I believe it would be distasteful,” Marguerite amended. “I have an unusual lifestyle with a small menagerie and an assortment of experiments.”

“I see. Come inside, and we shall see what needs changing.”

Marguerite swallowed her pride when the doctor offered to help her up the stairs. She feared that her sharp tongue would betray her again. Her recent affairs with men-folk relied on previous relationships, most of which began when she was younger, and presumably saner. Dr. Froderick Krauss seemed well enough, but Marguerite could not help herself when he began to speak about the details of the interior ad nauseam.

She listed, first chronologically, then alphabetically, her former lovers. Fifteen years and nearly as many conquests allowed her plenty of data to analyze when considering a new subject. Her earliest affairs consisted of a span of years devoted to resident nurses and doctors, each increasingly useful to her experiments. Once she had left the asylum, Marguerite favored companions less directly involved in her line of work, leading her back to Andre during a less stable year, and then across the Opium Dens of France, or what few she could find in those early years. The drug’s popularity took its time settling into the blood of her compatriots, but its prime patrons were consistent enough for Marguerite to lie with again when she visited.

In light of recent events, Marguerite rather liked the idea of another scientifically minded individual to keep her company. She wondered if she might use his workshop, or better yet, convince him to follow the Cirque for a time. It would be a welcome vacation from overly decorative tea towels and far too many sewing implements. She was certain such an environment was unhealthy.

“In short, you could easily leave some of the interior as it is. This compartment can contain small creatures and their mess quite well. What do you think, Fraulein Dubois?”

The German title woke Marguerite from her reverie. Dr. Krauss pronounced the French name with visible discomfort under Marguerite’s full gaze.

“You know the ship best, Froderick,” she said. She stepped between the doctor’s feet and drew herself close to him, pressing him to the wall. Bits of scrap metal caught at her blouse. “I think we’ve other matters to discuss now.”

Froderick agreed.