by C B Samet
Against my will, I cried softly. In a gentlemanly fashion I’d never known him to possess, he silently took me into his arms and held me tighter.
Streams of light cascaded down upon me in welcomed warmth. I woke to the smell of breakfast—eggs, glorious eggs—and recognized that it was late morning. Finally, I was to have a day off after such hard work for the V-Day ball. I rolled over, which caused me to realize I was sleeping on a cushion that was softer than my bed at the castle. I opened my eyes to Joshua’s living room.
Gasping slightly, I sat up, and the dizzying events of last night re- turned to my memory. I stood up, still in my black servant’s dress and smelling like damp leaves. Smoothing my hair, I rushed to the kitchen to see the Queen seated at Joshua’s table eating toast and poached eggs. Her elegant gray hair cascaded in waves down her shoulders in a fashion I was sure she never wore outside of her chambers. Her face was rosy, though tired.
“Morning, Abbey,” Joshua said, pouring a glass of juice that he offered to me.
Parched, I drank eagerly. It was thick with pulp. Fresh squeezed. “I was just telling Q about your trip back from Ntajid and how you ended up disguised as a boy on a boat full of courtesans to escape jewelry thieves,” he said with amusement.
I gaped at him in disbelief.
What could possess him to tell anyone that story?
I looked at the food on the table, but could not bring myself to sit beside the Queen. No servant was ever allowed to dine with the Queen.
“Come on, Abbey,” Joshua encouraged me, “have a bite. I’ve cooked a meal fit for a queen.”
I choked on my juice, then glanced at the Queen. Although her face remained calm, as she looked at her eggs, she gripped her fork so tightly that I could see the whites of her knuckles.
“I’ll just get cleaned up before breakfast,” I said, dismissing myself from the room and hurrying upstairs. My stomach let out a growl of disapproval.
After a brief, cold shower, I felt only partially refreshed. Sunlight streamed in through the bathroom window comfortingly trying to suggest that today was a day like any other. But I knew differently. I stared at myself in the mirror. My large brown eyes looked tired against my pale skin. The scar on my left chest tingled a bit as it did sometimes on a day of impending danger. Last night, however, on the perilous bridge, it had burned with fury like the night it was created years ago. I touched it lightly, feeling the smooth, irregular texture.
Wishing I had time to wash my dress, I reluctantly slipped it back on and brushed the snarls out of my wet black hair.
Paul had dark hair, too. It was thick and wavy, the adoration of so many women over the years, for none of whom he had made much time. For all his hard work, there was never a fleck of gray. He didn’t smile much, but I knew if even a corner of his mouth was raised in amusement, he was heartily chuckling on the inside. I was already missing that laugh, however subtle it may have been. I hadn’t seen it much in the last several years. This was a combined result of me being either at the university or studying abroad whenever the opportunity presented itself while Paul was engrossed in whatever royal business a finance minister tackles. Nonetheless, he was always available to help me when needed.
When I was taking the boat ride across the Ntanic Strait en route from Ntajid, it was Paul who funded Joshua’s trip to meet me in Ntik and aid my escape. Terrified of my pursuers, I disembarked The River Bounty wearing a costume mustache and top hat, only to meet Joshua, who was laughing hysterically.
I tried to explain it wasn’t my fault that their bag of jewels looked the same as my side bag, and I had turned it in to the captain in hopes of finding my bag, not knowing the diamonds were stolen. What en- sued was a terrible circus in which the thieves had escaped boat security and were pursuing me, while the security and crew were hunting them. I had to use a disguise to avoid their wrath. Though I did retrieve my bag, I was incredibly shaken by the ordeal. I don’t think Joshua had heard one bit of my explanation through all of his roaring laughter and tears of amusement.
Returning to the kitchen, I passed the Queen who had excused herself from the table. I suppressed a bow as she walked past me, never making eye contact.
Grabbing an egg, I sat at the table near Joshua as he looked up train departure times in the Marrington Chronicle for Madame Q.
“You just going to poke at it, or eat it?” he asked.
I took a spoonful of egg into my mouth and swallowed. My stomach rolled over, having been empty for so long. Then, I nodded back at him.
“Seems a bit strange you showing up after six months, all distraught and what-not,” he observed, not looking up from his newspaper.
At that instant, I wanted to leave, hoping the Queen would appear at my side and say, “We’d best be off.” Staying longer would only make me confess last night’s events. I ate, keeping food in my mouth to keep me from having to talk.
“There’s a 1:45 train to Meredith. Seems as good a place as any since Q suggested I pick the destination.”
I nodded again, taking a bite of toast.
“You know, if you’re in a bit of trouble, perhaps I could help. I could at least go to Meredith with you, since we’re on holiday this week.”
The idea was comforting, yet if he figured out who Madame Q really was, her identity could be exposed. As strong as all of his sinewy muscles were, they couldn’t be any match for frightening, grotesque forms that could swallow a man whole. It seemed to me he would either be a liability or a victim, not unlike myself.
“Thank you, Joshua, but we’re just on a stroll of our own.”
“This wouldn’t have anything to do with that fortune-teller non- sense from last winter?”
“Course not,” I replied curtly, though his mention of it conjured those dreary words and dreadful tone spoken by the rotund man dressed in blue. The fortune-teller might have been taken more seriously if it weren’t for the blue makeup. But why did I take him seriously? I rubbed uncomfortably at the seven-pointed blue star tattoo on my palm.
The Queen entered the kitchen again, this time dressed for departure.
“Hello, Q. So there’s a 1:45 train to Meredith, if that suits you.”
I winced at his casual tone.
“Splendid,” she replied, with no intonation of cheerful delight for which such a word was designed.
To my surprise I realized that I was already out of my chair and standing at attention. I quickly spun around, clumsily gathered my dishes, and brought them to the sink, trying to ignore Joshua’s mixed expression of amusement and bewilderment.
The wonderful host that he was, Joshua walked us to the door to bid good day.
I thanked him several times in a gracious manner I had never expressed to him before, and then I turned to leave. I glanced back at him, catching a glimpse of a perplexed smirk in his lips and a twinkle in his eyes mixed with a slight furrowed brow of concern. It was so captivatingly charming that I hurried back to him and hugged him, something I had never felt inclined to do in five years of knowing him.
With his large arms, he returned the affection. “I’ll miss you, Abbey,” he said.
And I you, I thought.
“Thank you,” I whispered into his ear, breathing in his scent to take with me, and not caring that such affectionate displays were not allowed in the Queen’s presence. Her opinion of me could not be any lower anyway—fidgeting servant, college dropout, and rowdy associates.
With a fleeting, sinking thought that I might never see Joshua again, I kissed his cheek. Then, I left, not daring to look back for fear of losing what little strength and integrity I had left and asking him to join us.
2
We walked for several miles in silence, arriving at the train station one and a half hours before the Meredith departure. The station was a sizable wooden structure with vast rows of walnut wooden seats filled with people waiting for their train. It had a great arched ceiling with huge windows through which wide beams of sunlight burst.
&n
bsp; I purchased our tickets, then joined the Queen, her back leaning against one of the benches. I watched the bustling crowds hurrying about the train station, ignorant that the castle was under siege at this very moment. They were off to work or the countryside or other silly trips. If they knew how vulnerable they were, they would hardly flutter about with self-importance. I wanted to shout out warnings, tell them to run and hide, but that wasn’t an option. My job was to protect the Queen. I needed the train to stay on schedule and get us out of Oxville safely.
My eyes wandered around the station, then settled back down on the Queen who had stood up from her seat. She was staring at a spiral staircase off to one side that led to the Elite Lounge upstairs. Gaping at her with wide eyes, I started to object with a slight shake of my head. She bristled at my impudent behavior, as though I thought I had any right to put restrictions on her activities. I averted my eyes to the floor humbly and pursed my lips to suppress a disgruntled murmur.
Relaxing in the Elite Lounge to wait for the train was as reckless as carrying a lighted torch through a black forest. For some reason, she had sense to avoid one, but not the other. Obediently, I followed her up the stairs to the Elite Lounge.
At the top of the stairs, we were greeted by the maître d’s stern, disapproving eyes. He didn’t see a queen and servant before him, or even two ladies. Not surprisingly, he saw two people dressed in plain clothes with nothing about their appearance to indicate that they had an elite status. He puffed forward his chest and put out a hand in protest as he opened his mouth to scold us. Part of me wanted to run and hide, and another part to chide him for such disrespectful behavior to his queen. Before any words were spoken, the Queen produced a wad of currency and handed it to the maître d’. He rapidly assessed the amount, then stood aside to begrudgingly allow us to pass.
We entered a beautiful lounge with polished wooden floors and tiny tables surrounded by plush sheepskin seats. Lively gentlemen and ladies, dressed in their most elegant casual clothes, sipped wine and discussed polo. The Queen walked to a nearby table, oblivious to the stares from onlookers who were aghast that two people dressed so plainly would be allowed in the Elite Lounge. I followed her example, sitting down and ordering the same glass of wine that she did.
When it arrived, I drank it uncharacteristically fast, nervous at the stares and murmurs in our direction. Agonizingly, I wondered how soon boarding would begin for the train. The alcohol hit my empty stomach with a thud, but dulled the piercing edges of my anxiety.
Just as a dainty woman dressed in pastel pink was passing us with turned-up nose, the Queen’s gray hood slipped off her mound of silvery satin curls. The pinkish woman turned and gaped.
“My Queen!” she cried, as she melodramatically hurled herself to the floor on her knees.
Gasps and squeals of delight echoed around the room. I looked at the surprised faces. We were doomed. I wanted to slap the surprise off the woman’s pink face to knock some sense into her. Clearly, the Queen was in hiding—even if she had a lapse in mental judgment that brought her to the one place she was guaranteed to be recognized.
From that moment, the lounge buzzed with activity. The entire room was rearranged so the Queen sat prominently at the head. Bottles of wine were replaced with bottles of champagne. The Queen magnificently played off her presence as a plan to sneak away to the country- side, but she was caught in the act.
I was ushered off to the back corner of the room where I watched the scurry of servants and guests working tirelessly to earn favoritism with the Queen. It was a ballet I had seen many times now in my short stay within the castle walls. Someone provided her with a lovely royal blue dress, completely impractical for the countryside, which she returned from the ladies’ dressing room wearing.
She once again looked magnificent and regal, wearing her pale mask of makeup. Even from across the room, I could see that she was not enjoying such lavishes. Behind her smiling lips were cloudy eyes of concern. For a moment, I felt sorry for her. Her position in life was a prison she could not escape. Although the bars were brightly dressed citizens and the food delectable, she was trapped. Did she ever feel that way in her enormous castle?
A waiter dumped the Queen’s gray garments into my lap as though they were a dead skunk. I neatly folded them, not knowing what else to do.
I could have joined the circus buzzing around the Queen, but as I was the only other person to know that the Queen’s life was in danger, I felt obligated to watch for unwanted guests. Staring outside where a white gazebo was being decorated and rose petals strewn on the ground, I thought what a predictably terrible disaster this was.
When the lawn was properly lavished, the festivities were moved outside and the Queen was settled into the gazebo. Impromptu musicians began playing on stage left, while a bar was erected at stage right. There were no seats to be had close to the Queen, so I assumed my kneeling position at her side, using her wad of plain clothes as a cushion.
I thought about how I wasn’t even supposed to be here. This was a temporary job, a means to get back to earning my degree. Degrees were needed for better paying, less subservient jobs such as those of teachers, healers, writers, ministers of the Queen’s court, sea captains, and small-business owners. There was honor in any job, servant or otherwise, but a degree opened possibilities to those willing to expend the effort, no matter their position from birth. It elevated that status of its beholder regardless of what that status was before advanced schooling. If one had a particular talent, then scholarship funding may be possible. Otherwise, the scholastic fees were adjusted based on what one might be reasonably capable of affording based on one’s economic status. Everyone had to complete eight years of mandatory pre-collegiate education. Some families paid for additional pre-collegiate schooling, but either group could take the university eligibility exam. Those who passed could apply. Oxville University was the largest, followed by Matheo University south of the desert lands and Ntajid University to the southwest.
Classes were a mixture of lecture-based learning, group problem- based learning, and field studies. For field study, students had to pay extra or be willing to perform manual labor in exchange for the privilege of participating. Needless to say, I did quite a bit of manual labor. It was worth the unique opportunity for cultural immersion, and I could often learn as much about the people as the scientific aspects I was there to study.
I looked up at the clock tower above the train station. Twenty minutes until departure. Trying to fathom a way to escape this entourage, I heard a rumbling from the sky. Clouds were overtaking the sun, and the sky was growing darker by the second.
Far across the lawn, I could see the road leading to the front of the train station. Four dark carriages pulled by beastly four-legged animals with the muscular body of an ox and jutting head of a boar had just stopped near the train entrance. The crowd was too engrossed in the festivities to notice. A rotund blob of a man dressed in black floated in our direction, surrounded by four lanky black Swallowers. They were tall and dark with long, overstretched arms—as though someone had taken an elongated human shadow and materialized it into a three- dimensional nightmare.
My heart raced, the scar on my chest burned. I reached up and grabbed the Queen’s wrist, too terrified to speak. She began to pull away from my grip, but stopped. When I felt her pulse quicken beneath my fingertips, I knew she had seen her pursuers as well.
With another roll of thunder and crash of lightning, the dark clouds released their torrential rain. Guests and waitstaff scattered in every direction, screeching with surprise. The Queen stood, walking into the rain toward the black blob in the distance as though resigned to surrender.
I took that opportunity to throw the gray cloak over her shoulders, hiding the vibrant blue dress. My eyes darted around at the chaos. Where to hide? Fleeting waiters and waitresses streamed into their kitchen quarters, and I led her in a sprint with them. It was a dank, square building that was dimly lit by candles at one end and
a large stove fire at the other.
I found the female dressing room and ushered the Queen into an empty stall. After pulling the curtain closed, I fervently stripped the dress off of her and wadded it into a ball, wrapping her gray cloak around it to hide the pretty blue. She was too shocked and out of breath to do more than stand and shiver. I stuffed the wad of unwanted clothes under a footstool and found two waitress uniforms.
Helping her into the light gray dress with white apron, I realized that in the rain and run, all of her hair had fallen down and her make- up had washed off as well. Despite her ambiance of nobility, I thought she might be able to pass as common. Tying her hair back in a braid, I gently rested a towel in her arms and left to hurriedly dress myself.
The dressing room quickly filled with other waitresses readying themselves for the train ride. We followed the crowd out into the main room, more brightly lit now with additional lanterns. The room had filled with chefs, waiters, waitresses, bartenders, janitors, and errand boys all attempting to dry off from the rain. I was amazed to think that it took a waitstaff of fifty for one train, but grateful that it meant we were unnoticed. Leading the Queen to an available seat, we sat at the last table.
I looked outside and could see through the pouring rain that the Swallowers were lurking in the shadows, searching the boarding lines for the Queen. Passengers, distracted by the rain and rushing to board the train, seemed oblivious to their presence.
“Attention, everyone. Same routine, as always. First table waits on cabins A and B. Second table waits on cabins C and D. Third table waits on cabins E and F. And fourth table waits on cabins G and H. I’m told the Queen will be riding with us today, which of course will be cabin A. No mistakes, people.”
