by C B Samet
I could hear the confused murmurs of the drivers. Then, the dismissive humphs presumably accompanied by dismissive shrugs.
The carriage began to move forward again, encroaching on some dreadful fate. Even as the lanterns around us illuminated once again, I felt engulfed in numbing darkness.
Paul?
The Queen gazed impassively forward, then with a faint disinterested yawn, spoke. “I think we’ll take a walk for the remaining distance. I’ve not stretched my legs all night.”
One of the guards snapped his fingers, and the carriage halted.
Walk? Out there? With those things?
Despite my quivering knees, I followed the Queen out of the carriage. I had been conditioned over the last several months to follow orders, so it was less of a struggle than it might have been.
When the guards began to follow us, she stopped them with a faint flick of her wrist. “We’re on the castle grounds. We’ll be safe here.”
I wanted to contradict her but my throat seemed to have convulsed shut, the way vocal cords spasm when liquid threatens to erroneously enter the windpipe. It was all I could do just to breathe.
They bowed and climbed back into the carriage.
Floating in a world of confusion, I walked beside her stiff figure. How could we possibly be safe? I started to turn, wanting to look back and see Paul safely sitting in his carriage, though I knew he wasn’t there.
“Don’t,” she snapped in a hushed tone. “Your brother is dead now, and you will be as well if you let on that you saw anything.”
I stiffened, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other while the starry night spun dizzyingly around me. “I don’t understand, mum,” I managed to whisper.
She pursed her lips disapprovingly. “It’s obvious we’re under attack. They are already on the grounds.”
“Attack?”
Another prickly look came my direction. “It’s very important, Abigail, that you pretend not to have seen anything until we are in my quarters. Do you understand?” Her voice was sharp and commanding.
I wanted to say “no,” but instead, “Yes, mum,” reflexively came out of my mouth.
I walked by her side until we reached the Queen’s cottage, an elaborate fortress of marble and stone three stories high. We climbed two flights of stairs and entered her chambers. The pleasant night air seemed to have turned cold, and I was shivering uncontrollably as if drenched in an icy bath. My stomach clenched into a knot.
Once the doors were closed with the bodyguards posted outside, friendly eyes met us inside the Queen’s room. The Queen’s counsel, Aman, gave us a strained smile. He ushered the Queen to her dressing chair. The agile old man brought her tea but she waved him away with a hand. He handed the cup of tea to me instead, then laid a coat across my shoulders.
He introduced himself and, leading me across the room, sat me down on a sofa. Few, I had been told, ever met the Queen’s counsel, for he was her personal advisor and confidant, unspoiled by the opinions, affections, and attentions of others. He had sad eyes, brown, leathery skin, a slumped posture, and wisps of gray hair. He indeed appeared to be a man who had been denied affections and attentions.
Staring around the room, I tried to keep my trembling hands from spilling the tea. Her bedroom was everything I would have imagined for a queen, with shimmering mauve drapes and a canopied bed. Somehow, though, it all looked very dismal in the candlelight. Long, deep shadows were cast along darkened walls. Although I was a servant, I was not one of the higher tiered servants who attended to the Queen in her personal quarters.
Paul? My heart ached as though a corset was squeezing my torso.
I sipped the tea, and the hot liquid soothed my throat. I could discern only a few of the hushed words exchanged by the Queen and her counsel. We were leaving tonight, just the two of us, in the dark.
“The guards were already overcome,” I heard the Queen explain. “The Swallowers were on the grounds.”
Aman nodded gravely. “You will go and I will remain to distract them.” He continued to speak quickly, but I couldn’t discern the other words.
“And I’m to take this journey with that girl?” I heard the Queen ask incredulously.
There was a solemn nod. “It has been shown to me.” With sudden urgency, I was helping the Queen into a plain, faded charcoal wool dress, attire that I’m sure she had never worn before this moment. I managed somehow to avoid destroying the great curls of gray that were situated so elegantly above her head. Even in such a drab dress, her queenly dignity was unmistakable. We removed the makeup on her face, but I thought that this disguise was unlikely to fool any- one. She donned a hooded coat and grasped an iridescent torch.
Aman gave me an odd comforting pat on the shoulder as I followed the Queen into a secret passageway through the back of her closet. As she gave one final glance back at her counsel, I thought her face softened for a moment. Perhaps there was even a hint of pity, as though she might not see this lifelong friend again and knew what fate awaited him. Perhaps to be devoured by those repulsive creatures.
Swallowers, they had called them.
I shivered.
Swallowers had swallowed Paul.
I choked back tears and followed silently. We walked for what seemed like many kilometers on a dizzying course through endless passageways of cold stone. The blue and purple haze created from the iridescent torch lit the way. The Queen had the special bioluminescent algae imported from Waterton. It was a hearty saltwater algae that could survive for weeks in salted jars feeding off sunlight. One need only dip a stick or branch into a well and the algae would adhere to it. Once in darkness, the glow lighted a pathway by which to travel.
Admittedly, I had never seen it used as a torch, probably since I had never traveled secretly at night. I had seen it used for a more entertaining purpose. At Winter Festival, a delicate film of algae was brushed on the tips of bushes and bare trees, illuminating the outskirts of the carnival in a beautiful glow of blue and purple. It was an uplifting sight to see amidst the cold, barren landscape of winter. While the light of the algae on the Queen’s torch reminded me of this yearly celebration, it did not convey the warmth that it did at Winter Festival. Now, it was a light to guide us as we ran for our lives from the most secure location on the entire continent—Marrington Castle was overtaken!
And on V-Day, no less. Victory Day was a celebration of our independence. In the year 4,061 we became a land with a governing body, the Queen’s Ministers. The rule of royalty ended and the separate towns all agreed to unite as Marrington Kingdom. Although we still kept a ruling Queen, she was selected by the Ministers, and the Ministers were elected by the people. It was a fairly nonviolent transition, but we were heralded as the first continent to implement a form of democracy. In the decades to follow, the other continents followed suit.
We reached an iron gate, blocking our escape route. The Queen fumbled with the lock, mumbled something, and then swung it open. Tossing our only light back into the tunnel, she lifted the hem of her dress off the ground and plummeted into the dark night. I looked back at the iridescent torch. I realized that we would certainly fail in our escape if a glowing torch could be seen snaking through the forest away from the castle. Yet, traversing the terrain in darkness seemed hazardous.
Since my black dress only came to my knees, I had no hem of which to be concerned. Instead, I bit my lip, rolled up my sleeves, and followed my Queen. We were fleeing while a castle full of people were left behind—to what?—to be swallowed like Paul? An endless black forest stretched before us, beckoning with shadowy tentacles to some dreadful fate.
My eyes adjusted to the night. A dark gray sky loomed behind a forest full of black trees. I had hiked these woods and even studied them during a botany course. I knew the birch and maple trees that shaded the underbrush with a spattering of pine. They were pretty and pleasant in the daylight, but tonight they overshadowed us.
A faint breeze wound through the trees, creating
a high-pitched rustling sound, and I felt as though it was warning the forest of our presence. I could hear the occasional sound of animals scurrying in different directions. With each passing noise, my heart raced as my ears strained to determine if they were two-legged or four-legged and if their footsteps were approaching or departing. Always four-footed, always leaving.
The Queen and I didn’t speak, both of us concentrating on keep- ing upright and attempting stealth. She walked with surprisingly swift agility, despite her age and overflowing dress. After trudging through thicket, over decaying trees, and atop dense layers of dead leaves, we came to a long wooden bridge that crossed a rumbling gorge. I realized that we were only about ten kilometers from Oxville University, which lay just outside the city.
“Now, Abigail, you are to decide our hiding place for the rest of the night.” The Queen stopped just before the bridge, waiting for my reply.
“I don’t understand,” I stammered.
Although she was not surprised by my complete confusion, she was annoyed. Even in the darkness lit only by one of the moons, her scowl indicated that she thought my expression of confusion was insolent.
She shook her head ever so slightly in irritation. “You have to be the one to decide where we go, because they will have foreseen any place I may choose to hide. They do not know you, and you have had no inkling to think of hiding places before this very moment; therefore, they will not be able to see your decision.”
Certainly, I could not be responsible for the safety of the Queen. I did not have hiding places. Indeed, with her castle under siege, there could be no safe place at all. Suddenly, I thought of a residence where they knew me well enough to know that I would never be walking in the middle of the night at the Queen’s side.
“There is a place,” I began slowly.
“For Crithos’ sake, don’t tell me where it is. Just start walking,” she ordered.
I led the way across the bridge, which swayed and moaned with each step. In the dark, it was as though we were walking across a vast abyss. It reminded me of staring off the cliff of an icy mountain, wondering what jagged rocks awaited me, or if I would just never stop falling. I stood paralyzed for a moment, remembering the time I had faced death on Mount Kapri. I gripped the rope railing with white-knuckled force. My stomach turned and the familiar pain in my chest burned with the memory.
The Queen cleared her throat firmly, waiting for me to continue. I slowly gained composure, swallowed my rising stomach, and continued the trek across the gorge.
Safely on the other side, we traversed through the meadows on the outskirts of the university and walked wearily into the first sliver of town where the college students lived. The street lamps above the worn cobblestone were a welcoming sight. They cast a warm yellow glow over the confetti-laden streets. Oxville University had seen a different form of celebration last night than the events at the castle ball.
The whole country had celebrated V-Day in its own form and fashion. I would have preferred the college form of celebration to kneeling before a ballroom of dancing dolls. I wondered if we would ever be celebrating such a day again if we were suddenly under new rule—the rule of monstrous, lanky beings that swallowed people whole.
I shuddered.
I arrived at the faded green door of suite two of a four-suite domicile and welcomed the familiar sight. Chattering emitted from behind the walls, suggesting there were still some stragglers celebrating into the early morning hours. I hesitated, looking back at the Queen, who nodded, pulling her gray hood over the great beehive of curls on her head. Then, I knocked.
A tall and burly senior swung open the door and stared down at me. I winced, waiting for him to recognize Her Majesty and fall to his knees, creating a ruckus of untoward disaster.
Instead, I was lifted off my feet and swung in a circle like a rag doll. “Abbey!” Joshua cried in delight.
He kissed my cheek, and I could smell the sweet spirits on his breath.
Blushing feverishly, I was mortified to think my Queen had seen such a greeting. Surely, this would only heighten her dislike of me.
“Fantastic to see you, Abbey. Really, fantastic.” He grinned stupidly.
“Joshua, really. You’ve got to put me down.” I squirmed in his grip.
“Oh, right. Sorry.” Setting me down with uncharacteristic delicacy, his eyes turned to my hooded guest. “Who’s your company?”
Now, I was the one grinning stupidly. We hadn’t actually discussed how to introduce her since she was in hiding. “My, uh, family friend, Madame Q.”
Certain that her eyes were boring a look of disapproval in the back of my head at my poorly contrived name for the queen of the country, I didn’t turn around.
“Well, greetings, Q. I’m Joshua Colt. Come in and have a drink. Happy V-Day!”
“Joshua.” I frowned. “We need more than a drink. Have you got a spare bed for the night?”
Well, what’s left of the night, I thought wearily.
“Of course, of course. There’s always room for friends,” he assured me.
With that, he ushered us into his home. He was never one of the brightest students, too preoccupied with sports and parties for studying, but I was so delighted at his ignorance tonight and glorious hospitality that I wanted to pick him up and spin him about the room. The idea was ridiculous, since he was twice my size, but it would be a pleasant distraction from this wretched night.
The sitting room was filled with similarly burly athletes, some of whom I knew. In keeping with the ways of pleasantly drunken men, they raised their glasses to us as though we were all good friends, and shouted, “Happy V-Day!”
Joshua offered us some libations, but we turned them down, too exhausted to eat. He then poured us each a glass of water, and we drank. The Queen consumed hers delicately, while I gulped mine down like a dehydrated elephant.
“Thank you,” I sighed.
He nodded slowly, taking my empty glass and looking at me with an arched eyebrow.
I returned his look, daring him to ask me what I was doing walking in the middle of the night with an elderly woman.
He smirked, shook his head, and said, “Follow me, then.”
We followed Joshua up a spiral staircase. “You can stay in my room, Q. There is a spare set of sheets in the bottom drawer. Bathroom’s just through that door.” He pointed. “Abbey, I’ll set you up on the couch.”
I nodded gratefully, closing the bedroom door as he left.
I rushed to the bathroom, expecting to find some layers of filth that I would need to scrub before the Queen should dare enter. Surprisingly, the bathroom was quite clean. I wiped up a few water spots, but there was little else to be done.
As she slowly took off her layers of drab disguise, I put the clean sheets on the bed. None of this place was fit for a queen, but what choice did we have?
“Abigail,” she said softly.
I turned to her and bowed slightly. Suddenly, I realized how dangerous such a reflex could be if we were in public. I had bowed before her dozens of times a day in the last few months, and now, I would have to undo that training or I was liable to get the Queen captured, or even killed.
She too realized what a bow could do, and granted me an uncharacteristically forgiving nod.
“You went to college?”
“Yes, mum. I’m only four credits shy of a science degree, but I need to earn money to finish. No one is hiring women teachers right now in this economy, so I suppose it isn’t much of a delay.”
Her brow furrowed slightly. I was unsure if she felt disapproval at my lack of degree, attempt to earn one, or my observation of the economic state of the country—her country. “Makes you a bit overqualified to be a servant, doesn’t it?”
“Actually, I’m feeling a bit underqualified at the moment,” I stammered, tucking in the last corner of the blanket on the bed. “Can I get you anything?”
“No, I will retire now.”
“Yes, mum.”
; I exited her room, ashamed at not having room and board fit for a queen. At least she had a place to lay her weary head. Descending the stairs, I proceeded to the living room where Joshua had created a bed out of his couch. His guests were still boisterously discussing the most recent shullby game in the sitting room.
He handed me a cup of orange tea with a smile, obviously pleased at what a good host he was being. Thanking him, I took a sip and set the cup down on a nearby table. My hands were shaking, and I didn’t want him to notice.
Though the room was warm, I still felt chilled. I pulled a blanket off the couch and sat on the floor, leaning against the wall in view of his glass patio door which led to a quaint sitting area shared by the students of all four suites. I had studied in that spot many afternoons.
“You’re on holiday, then?” I asked the obvious. University students got several days of holiday for the V-Day celebration.
He nodded. “For a few more days.”
Wrapping myself in the blanket, I stared into the black night. I longed for daylight, warmth, and safety, none of which were guaranteed to come. I felt Joshua slide down the wall and sit beside me. Did I put him in danger by coming to his dormitory? What was it that these intruders were able to foresee?
Joshua put a friendly arm around my shoulder. It had been over six months since we had seen each other and endured some meaningless argument of brains over brawn. He had always been more Paul’s friend than mine, but delighted in taunting me on subjects of politics or religion, knowing I would lash him with my tongue before the discussion was finished. Tonight there was no taunting, and I had no idea how or when to tell him of Paul’s demise.
I waited for him to create idle conversation that I would be unable to endure, but he remained silent. Did he have such empathetic powers of observation to realize that I was not myself? I curled under the weight of his arm and leaned back into his broad, firm chest. I had always considered his muscular body a waste of excessive amounts of time in exercise and training that could be directed in other avenues, like self-growth. Now, buried securely in those strong muscles, I could feel their immense worth. I breathed in his wonderful pine scent and relaxed into his warm cotton shirt.
