I take back any suggestion that Amber isn’t bright…
“Oh.” Glancing up at the still-twitching bodies, I ask, “Contentious, was it?”
“All totally innocent.”
August, evidently less thrown and more switched on than me, confirms, “Are you saying we slipped again?”
“Basically,” she returns, looking at me for confirmation.
The words come thick on my tongue. “I don’t see any other explanation.”
“What the fuck, man?” Jon hisses across. “What do we do now?”
“Walk it off?” Asshole August suggests sarcastically. I could punch him.
“I amnotgoing wandering around the late sixteen hundreds only to get burned as a witch!” Shashi whisper-shouts at him.
“No, we’re good for witchcraft,” Amber offers. “About fifty years back, and you might have been in trouble.”
“Well, that’s something,” Shashi sighs out.
“But thisisprime woman-burning time for treason,” Amber adds.
“Maybe not super helpful right now,” August mumbles.
“No, she’s right,” Shashi says, climbing to her feet, dusting herself off. “We need to be aware of these things. And we need to get the fuck out of here. I do not want to die in the sixteen hundreds.” Then, pausing all movement, “Fuck. When was the plague?”
Amber concentrates on the ground. “Sixteen sixty-six. More or less.”
“But you say we’re in the seventies, not sixties?” Shashi prompts.
“Yeah. But the plague was kind of… I won’t say ever-present, but there were plenty of other plagues beyond the Great Plague, you know?”
“Again, Amber,” August interjects, “sometimes less is more.”
Shashi looks up at me and says exactly what I knew she was about to say. “You two, get us out of here. Right now!”
August’s lovely brow pulls tight. But to my surprise and considerable consternation, he puts up very little argument. “Where should we go?”
“I don’t care,” Shashi replies, swishing her hands out in a shooing motion. “I don’t care. I’m going to just…” She drops her open palms over her eyes. “I’m just going to stay here and not look. You two go ahead. Do your thing.”
“I’m not going to—” I bluster out. “Just like that? In the bushes?”
August’s eyebrows rise twice.
Did I mention the irresistible?
“U-unless you want to?” I stutter out.
“I mean… It’s not nice here,” he says. “I don’t want to get plague. Or you know, get a scratch and not have antibiotics, and have my arm chopped off, and die of gangrene.”
The crowd is dispersing, but this still absolutely is not an environment conducive to sex. “Listen, other couples might be fine with ‘opening portals’ while there are dead or dying people around, but sex beneath the gallows just isn’t for me. Please can we go back to the buildings, at least find a boarding house or something, and?—”
“What buildings?” Jon asks. He turns his head back the way we came, and as the sight meets my eyes, my stomach drops.
Green and more green, as far as I can see.
“St. John’s Wood is a literal wood,” August breathes out. “Probably should have seen that coming.”
