“Chère Madame,” I say to the lady. “Why do you want to travel through time?”
“L’avenir,” François answers. “We crave the future.”
I take the miter off, and look at the very large ring I took from the bishop before I whacked him.
“The future is not better exactly.”
“It will be better for us,” says the godmother. She looks at her godson. He nods, and raises his hand in the same weird gesture that Mr. Spock uses.”
I whisper “Are you Jewish? Juif?”
“Ah non,” says François. He leans over, “We belong to a secret sect, though, like our hebraic brothers and sisters. They taught us how to hide.”
The lady nods. “Yes, the people from Spain — they knew, how to appear like the others –” she pauses. “We do that, but we are followers of Christ the player and the magician. Jesus, the walker through and on water. Jesus who made the dead man jump up to life like a puppet.”
I shake my head. This doesn’t sound like the Jesus Christ I know. I’m not religious, but Jesus, the magician?
François takes the kettle, makes more dandelion tea.
“What about puppets?” I say.
Then I remember something.
“Je m’appelle Christine,” I say formally.
The lady grasps my hand.
“That is the name of our founder!”
“Founder of what?”
“Notre réligion,” is the answer.
God, I think to myself. They’re part of some wacky cult.
“It’s time,” says François.
“I need to get home,” I say.
“First the immersion,” says the godmother. “The immersion for safe travels to old worlds and new.”
“No thanks,” I say. “I’ll just drink my thé de dents de lion and get out of here.”
The window opens, and through it comes one figure then two more.
It sounds crazy, but they look a bit like ninjas, wrapped in tight black clothes, with black hoods.
And all I can see is their eyes.
“C’est l’heure du baptême,” says one.
“Oui,” is the answer.
The hour of baptism?
Can’t say I like that much.
One of the ninjas slips in beside me.
“Fear not,” she says (yes, it’s a woman).
“This is the beginning of a wonderful performance. ”
to be continued