The Fair

THE FAIR

“So, doth m’lady come here often?”

Jeremy smiled at his booth mate, Veronica.

“Ha ha! Very funny.”

They were manning a booth at a Regency Fair, selling locally brewed mead, a fermented honey drink popular during the Regency. Even though it was barely noon, their booth had been doing a brisk business. Seemed that the guests needed to get ye olde drink on early.

Veronica and Jeremy were old hands at Renaissence Fairs. But this was the first time either one of them had participated in a Regency Fair. These were a fairly new trend. Ren Fairs had been around for years, but Regency Fairs were a direct result of the furor over the television show Bridgeton. So now, instead of jousting and suits of armour—which were often the highlight of any Ren Fair—there were puppet shows for the kids and bare knuckle boxing and horse racing for those wishing to beat on the outcome.  As well as two-wheel hobby horse races—actors portraying the wealthy would race their hobby horses, and the crowd could wager on a winner. That was weird, but hilarious to watch—grown men pushing their wooden horses with their feet, trying to be the fastest. It reminded Veronica of toddlers on tricycles. 

Veronica sighed and looked out at the fair and the people milling about. What she wouldn’t give for a roller coaster. But, it was a job, and she had tuition due in a couple of weeks.

“What do you think of the new costumes?” Veronica asked Jeremy.

He looked down at his outfit, and shrugged. He was wearing dark brown rough cloth breeches and a plain white muslin shirt, with suspenders. 

“Not bad. And I don’t have to wear the frilly shirt and tight pants, like that guy.” He nodded at one of the actors who was strolling through the crowds, lending an authentic air to the gathering.

Veronica looked down at his feet. He was wearing brown Blundstones. Jeremy followed her gaze.

“I know that there were no Blundstones in the eighteenth century, but there is no way that I am wearing anything else. We’re gong to be standing for hours.” He grabbed his suspenders and snapped them. “But these are cool. They keep my pants up.”

They both laughed.

“How “bout you?” Jeremy asked Veronica, nodding towards her period costume.

She sighed.

“I’m thinking that the Regency period focussed too much on cleavage and not enough on comfort. I am happy that there are no more corsets, but man, the empire waist and stays are working hard to make my boobs more than the are. But I do have the kerchief to wear around my shoulders, so the girls are more or less hidden. And it still beats wearing a corset one hundred percent.”

Jeremy smiled and nodded towards Veronica’s head. “Madam, I do like your bonnet.”

Veronica bowed slightly. “And I, your cap, fine sir.”

He did look rake-ish with wth his tricorn hat on his head, tilted just so. Jeremy looked good in a hat. Veronica was thankful that she had her bonnet. It was large enough to cover all her hair, meaning that she didn’t have to do anything with it, just stuff it inside, and be done with it. And it kept the sun off of her face.

The booth started to get busier. It was a warm spring day, and apparently the crowd was working up a great thirst. During a lull, Veronica noted that their mead stocks were getting low. 

“I’ll go restock,” she said grabbing a hand cart, she headed towards the reefer trailer parked in the lot, for more bottles.

As she bumped over the industrial electric cords that kept the lights on at the fair, heading for the trailer, she thought about what life would have been like during the Regency, and decided, no thank you. No electricity, so no internet. No running water—eww. No cars. No medicine that didn’t include leeches. A small cut could kill you. She looked down at the asphalt she was walking on—it had been raining yesterday, so if this was the eighteenth century, she’d be up to her ankles in muck. Just yuck. She was almost at the back doors of the trailer when—

WHACK!

—she was struck from behind and went flying forward, landing on her knees.

“What the—” she whipped around, finding a man sprawled on the ground. One of the actors. Of course.

“What the hell, buddy! Watch where you’re going!”  

She got to her feet and checked her dress. There was a rip where she had skidded across the pavement.

“Damn!” she said. “You’re gonna have to pay for repairs!”

Getting to his feet, the man looked around, then at Veronica.  

“My deepest apologies, Madam. Be sure I meant you no harm.” 

He reached down, picked up his top hat, brushed it off and placed it on his head.

She was annoyed now. “Quit with the Recency-speak,” she said staring him down, hands on her hips. “What the hell were you doing? You didn’t see me pulling this big old cart? Not quite big enough? Are you blind?”

“I truly meant you no harm. I am as confused as you,” he said looking perplexed.

“But you did harm me. In fact you hurt me wth your clumsiness.” Veronica rubbed knee that was throbbing.

“Can you tell me what place this is?” the man said looking around.

“Stop it. You’re gong to have to pay to have my dress repaired. What’s your name?”

“Again, my apologies.” He took off his hat and bowed to Veronica. “Mr Emory, at your service.

Veronica squinted at him, wishing he’d just talk normally. “Do you have a first name, Mr. Emory?”

“Yes. My given name is Linus. Mr. Linus Emory of London city, proper. And to whom, may I inquire, do I have the pleasure of speaking with?”

She folded her hands across her chest, ignoring his question. “Who do you work for?”

Another look of confusion. “Why, I am a barrister, by trade. But, at present, I am overseeing my father’s fleet of merchant ships, as his health is in decline.” He looked around again. “But I must again ask, what is this place?”

Veronica was getting annoyed. “You know perfectly well what this place is. It’s the Regency Fair.” She looked him up and down. “And, by the looks of you, you’re one of the actors, playing, I’d say, a middle-class or elite.”

Emory stood up taller. “I beg your pardon, madam, but I am not an actor—a frivolous endeavour, if I do say! As I told you, I am a barrister. Now, I have answered all of your questions. Please answer mine. Where am I? And what is a Regency fair?”

Veronica gave the man in front of her a closer look. His costume was spot-on. Hers was pretty good, but she still had a pocket for her phone, and she wasn’t wearing the six layers of clothes that women of the time were required to wear. But this guy looked authentic. She looked at his feet. Unlike Jeremy’s Blundstones, Emory was wearing fine leather shoes, with just a hint of mud around the sole. She looked at his hat. Beaver. She looked at his pants. A fine kid leather. And all of his clothes were slightly damp even though it wasn’t raining.

“Where are you supposed to be?” Veronica asked.

Emory looked confused as he tried to remember.

“The last thing I recall was being at the docks, overseeing the unloading of my father’s ship, the Queen Charlotte. It had arrived the previous night from China, with a cargo of tea and silk, all imported by consignment. Because the ship had been over a week delayed, I had arrived at the docks wth a crew to oversee the rapid unloading and transporting of the goods to the appropriate buyers, with payment due on delivery.” He looked forward, eyes unfocussed, thinking. “If my memory serves me, the weather was frightful. A thunder storm of epic proportions. I was on the deck of the ship, directing the crew about where to deliver the goods.” He paused. “Then I was here.”

This is either an elaborate scam, or there is some seriously weird shit going on, Veronica thought to herself.

The guy was wet, but it wasn’t raining. His clothes were exceptional and expensive. Anyone working as an actor at the Regency Fair could not afford an outfit like Emory was wearing.

“What’s today’s date?

“Why, it is the fourteenth of June, in the year of our Lord, 1824.”

“Do you know what time it is?” she asked.

Emory pulled a pocket watch out of his jacket pocket. “It is …” He paused, looking at his watch. He gently tapped it on the back of his hand, then put it to his ear. “It seems to not be in proper working order. But it was working splendidly earlier.”

“Look Linus, I think something weird is going on. You’re not in London. And you’re not in 1824. It’s 2024. And this is Canada.”

“That’s preposterous!” he stammered, looking around. “One cannot travel over space and time. Why, the journey to the colony takes many weeks.”

Veronica softened. “Look around you, Linus. Does this look like your London?”

 She could tell by the look on his face that he could see what she said was true. He kicked the road they were standing on.

“Asphalt,” she said. “It’s what most roads are made of in 2024.”

She pointed to the cart.  “The wheels are made of rubber.”

She pointed to the trailer. “We have vehicles that move without horses.”

Right then her phone chimed an incoming text. She pulled out her phone, and turned the screen to show him the message. “It’s how we talk to people when we’re not together.”

At the sight of the phone, Emory took a step backwards, away from Veronica.

Instead of texting back, she dialed Jeremy.

“Hey, sorry I’m taking so long.” She looked at Emory. “I had a bit of an accident. … No, I’m fine. … Yeah, I’ll be there in a couple of minutes. … Bye.”

Emory’s face was a mixture of horror and curiosity.  

“What magic do you hold in your hand, Madam?”

“It’s not magic, Linus, it’s technology. And my name’s Veronica. Let’s go.”  

She picked up the handle of the cart and started to pull it towards the trailer, Emory following, face full of wonder. When she opened the door, cold air flooded out.

“What is this! It is winter in this box! This is more magic!”

Veronica smiled. “No, not magic, just refrigeration. It’s very common.” 

She started piling cases of mead onto the cart. Emory bent to help. 

When they had loaded up the cart, Veronica locked up the trailer, and headed back towards the fair. She had no idea what she was going to do with Emory. She couldn’t keep him, that was for sure. How would she explain him to her family? But she couldn’t just leave him on his own.  

Suddenly, a huge clap of thunder and a searing flash of lightning rocked the fair. It was so close that it knocked Veronica on her back. She felt a burning sensation, then nothing.

She didn’t know how long she had been unconscious, but the first thing she felt was rain splashing her face. Slowly she opened her eyes and sat up. There was her cart, loaded with mead. Emory was sprawled on the ground beside her, moaning. Then she smelled it—rotten fish and salt water. The ocean. She looked around.  

“Oh my God!”

She was on the deck of the Queen Charlotte. In 1824.