they were. Their masters changed their names, falsified family relationships. When they died, they were buried in anonymous graves.”
“So their identities are lost to the Archives,” Zhu said. She was getting it, all right.
“Yes. Like so many of the kids who ran away to the Haight-Ashbury during the Summer of Love.”
“Oh, man. You’re sending me to a dim spot?”
“Exactly.” Chiron smiled, a real smile at last, warm and encouraging. “We’ve constructed an identity for you.”
“And who will I be?”
“The runaway mistress of a British gentleman. That will explain your presence in San Francisco. Your proficiency in English. You’ll go to a home in Chinatown established by Presbyterian missionaries for rescued slave girls. You’ll stay there, work for the director. It’s all women, you’ll like it. I understand that the mission was a lot like the compound you lived in with the Daughters of Compassion.”
“That sounds okay,” Zhu said slowly. Why did she sense he wasn’t telling her something? Something important?
Suddenly Chiron searched his pockets and, like an old-timey magician, produced something shiny from his pocket. He commanded, “Look at this.”
His sudden movements startled her, and an odd prickly feeling rose in her throat. “What is it?”
“We call it the aurelia. A golden butterfly.”
It was a piece of jewelry, not a golden butterfly. A fantastic Art Nouveau brooch, its elaborate wings crafted out of swirls of gold set with marquise-cut diamonds and bits of multicolored glass that caught the light like tiny stained glass windows. Instead of an insect, the body of a tiny, graceful woman cast in gold stood at the center, her outstretched arms bearing the fabulous wings, her shapely legs poised as if she were about to dive. She had the heart-shaped face of a classic Gibson girl--large eyes, full cheeks, delicate mouth. Her hair was swept up in a sort of futuristic hood. Her expression was impassive, yet charged with some hidden passion.
Zhu reached out, amazed. “For me?”
But Chiron held the aurelia away, as if teasing her, though his expression was anything but. “This is an artifact of 1895. This is a crucial point of reference for you, Zhu. You must look for this artifact in 1895.”
“Look where?” How the gold glinted! How the glass sparkled like gems!
“She will have it.”
“Okay, I give up. Who’s she?”
“The Chinese slave girl you’re supposed to meet. Muse will guide you to the rendezvous. You’ll know she’s the one because she’ll have the aurelia. Understand? That’s the object of your project. Once you’ve found the girl, the two of you must go at once to the Presbyterian mission. She’ll live in safety there, eventually meet and marry a Caucasian man, and bear his child. A daughter.”
“Wait, don’t tell me,” Zhu said. “I’m this girl’s great-great-granddaughter.”
“No, no, the Archives clearly establish that your lineage is based in China.” Chiron tucked the aurelia away in his hidden pocket. “So that’s about it. Find the girl, verify that she’s got the aurelia, win her confidence so she’ll go with you to the mission on Sacramento Street. Meet the new director—a remarkable young woman named Donaldina Cameron—and take a job with her. Make sure the girl settles in. You must stay there, watching over her, till the Chinese New Year in 1896. That’s when the dim spot closes and we have data supporting the existence of the girl’s daughter. Or a female half-Chinese, half-Caucasian baby like her. Then you’ll t-port back to this Now. Okay, Zhu? Sign here.”
She took the petition he offered, thought about it. The Gilded Age Project did sound simple. Mostly simple. Exciting, even. After the wearying campaign in Changchi, an adventure! She was sick to death of prison. But Chiron still wasn’t telling her everything. “And then what?”
“Then we’ll see about the handling of your trial. By the time you return, we should know what the charge is.”
“You mean you’ll know the status of the victim.” She swallowed hard. “My victim.”
“Yes.”
“Is he alive or dead?”
Chiron wouldn’t answer. Apparently he didn’t like being reminded of the despicable incident any more than she did. “We’ve arranged for a delay in your arraignment.”
Excellent. They’d arranged for a lot of things, apparently. Zhu congratulated herself. It wasn’t just a matter of reducing the charge against her. Maybe this was a chance to redeem herself. She hadn’t known how badly she’d wanted that till now. Of course, she’d t-port to 1895. Of course, she’d know exactly what to do.
* * *
“Now what do I do?” Zhu mutters to Muse as she hauls the girl by her