Curious.
Sabine turned back to the four-poster bed and noted the crumpled sheets where her dirty body had lain. She could beat the glass and dust out of the heavier blankets, but… “It would be nice to have a set of fresh sheets and pillowcases,” she said aloud. “And a pair of thick-soled slippers,” she added for good measure. Instead of pulling out the fourth drawer, she reopened the second.
The drawer that had previously contained nothing now held one set of fresh sheets and pillowcases, and a pair of pale blue slippers just her size.
“Thank you,” she said to the drawer, or the mountain, or whatever god was looking out for her.
She sat down right there and painstakingly extracted the pebbles and slivers of glass from her feet before donning the slippers. Once her feet were protected, she pulled back the curtains and set about stripping the bed, being careful not to inhale the glass dust that she sent flying. She beat the mattress and pillows until they were fluffy again and feathers flew, and then made the bed with the fresh sheets.
“Now.” Hands on hips, she stared at the rest of the messy room. “What I could really use right now is a broom.” She walked over to the tall cupboard—with the gnomes and house sprites carved into its door—and opened it to find one very sturdy broom.
“Thank you,” she said to the cupboard, and promptly set about sweeping the floor clear, beating the coverlet, and then sweeping the floor again.
When the man finally emerged through the door, Sabine was sitting in the chair enjoying a cup of tea—provided by the smaller, ivy-wreathed cupboard—exhausted, but congratulating herself on a job well done.
Unsurprisingly, the man was not so lavish in his praise. Still toweling his hair dry, he took in the room, the pile of rubble and dirty bedclothes, the cup of tea, and harrumphed. “Well, you’re clever at least. That’s helpful.” He tossed the towel into the empty basket and it disappeared. “You can put the dirty sheets and rubbish in there.”
Sabine was sorely tempted to reply to the man’s gruff manner with one of her own, but she remembered her father’s training and tried politeness instead. “I was hoping to have a bath of my own,” she said with her head held high. “Please.”
The man hesitated a moment—would he really withhold such a thing from her after all the work she’d done?—and then nodded. He opened the door with a flourish. “Allow me to introduce you to the water closet.”
Sabine gasped. The floor and walls and ceiling of the sizable room were a white marble that glowed with its own inner light. The brightness gave her a chance to see the man better. His hair and beard were dark with damp, but she suspected when they dried they would be a great deal fairer than her own black mane. The rest of him was certainly cleaner, but still large and scruffy. And grumpy. And tall.
Beyond him, along the far wall, were a chamberpot, wash basin, and bath…but none like she had ever seen before.
“The chamberpot is self-washing,” the man said, depressing a lever to demonstrate. “The levers that control the basin’s spout are here—this one brings forth warm water, and this one cold. Same with the bath, only this”—he turned a third handle in the middle—“controls the rinser.” He pointed to a spout above the tub with a flattened end, roughly the height at which one of Sabine’s maids would have poured clean water over her at the end of a bath.
“Extraordinary,” breathed Sabine. She stepped bravely into the white room, entranced by the perfect reflection of her bedraggled self in the full-length mirror beside the wash basin. Its frame was thick; glowing gems rode scrolling waves of glass as black as the mountain. There were no hammer marks on the surface of the mirror anywhere—it looked more like liquid silver poured by ancient dwarves. Sabine stretched out a hand to caress its smooth surface. “Is it enchanted?” she asked.
“You’re standing in a water closet at the bottom of a glass mountain and you’re asking if the mirror is enchanted?” The man harrumphed again. “Take all the time you need. Toss your clothes in the basket afterward. I’m going to bed.”
Sabine tried to forgive his ill manner—the man was no doubt tired after a long day of climbing the inside of the mountain and then being fallen upon by a clearly unwanted house guest. But she continued her attempts to make the best of the situation. “I’m Sabine, by the way,” she said as he left the room.
“I don’t care,” he replied, and shut the door behind him.
Sabine scowled at the door, and then turned her attention to the much more pleasant task of bathing. In the black-glass cabinet beside the door—this one featuring a young woman with eagle’s wings—she discovered several soft, fluffy towels, large cakes of soap, and several pretty colored bottles whose mysterious contents smelled divine. She immediately began divesting herself of her clothes…but contrary to the man’s suggestion she didn’t want to get rid of them. This dress, dirty and torn as it was, was her one link to her family, her kingdom, her life, and she wasn’t ready to part with it. She took great pains to brush as much of the grime off as she could before deciding her own filthy body was more worth the effort. She stepped out of her shoes—as she suspected, her bare feet left blood trails where the glass shards had punctured the soles—and gently stepped into the bath.
The rinsing spout was a wonder, the warm water a blessing on her aching bones. She crumbled the cake of soap into her hair, rinsing again and again until the water ran clear. She used a cloth gently on her arms and legs and the soles of her feet, but she could tell that the various scrapes and wounds were already healing. By the time she stepped out of the bath, she felt a great deal improved, both inside and out.
Sabine wrapped a towel around herself and quietly stepped out into the cavern, where her clean shirt and trousers were still piled on the table by the chair. Gentle snoring filled the air—the man was spread out facedown across the bed that he obviously did not intend to share with her. She dressed quickly, tossed the towel in the basket, and then went to the chest of drawers. The first drawer gave her blankets and the second gave her pillows. With them she curled up on the floor by the brazier and—in the damp, dark quiet at the base of the Bane of Upper Reaches—brave Sabine cried herself to sleep.
She woke to the sound of falling rain. But it was not rain…it was rubble falling on the canopy that had been stretched out above her. She scurried to the empty bed on the other side of the cavern, in case the pebbles became rocks and smashed her head in. She didn’t want to be the next thing tossed in the basket.
Sabine stared above the canopy into the darkness, but old Rinkrank was nowhere to be seen. Is this what he did, all day, every day: try to scale the mountain from the inside? She tried to remember how far she had fallen before she’d run into him on the way down…however high he’d climbed thus far, he still had quite a way to go.
Years. He said he’d been down here for years.
It was very possible she would never see her family again.
Before her emotions could get the better of her, Sabine rushed to the water closet, used the chamberpot, and retrieved her damaged dress. There was no sense in trying to keep the room tidy if rocks would be clattering down all day long, so she decided to tackle this new chore.
It took her the better part of the day—not that she knew what was day or night anymore—and a very accommodating drawer—it provided needle and thread along with a simple breakfast of bread and cheese—but eventually, she had cleaned and mended her dress sufficiently enough. She mentally thanked her father’s guards for teaching her how to care for her saddle and blankets and sew her own tack. She would never have been able to tailor a dress from scratch, but mending one hadn’t been too much trouble.
Now…where to put it? Sabine worried that if she left it in a drawer or cupboard it might disappear like the basket, or that good old Rinkrank would find it and dispose of it for her. So she hugged the dress tightly and shoved it under the mattress, praying that it would remain safe there.
She puttered uselessly around the chamber for the
remainder of the time. She lit the brazier again—the fire had died out while she was asleep, but the coals had happily replenished themselves. She had a small lunch and more tea, even sang a few songs and danced a few dances until they made her wistful for her homeland. Eventually, she laid down in the bed and fell back to blissful sleep.
The stench woke her.
Sabine gagged. “You reek of brimstone.”
He ignored her. “Time to tidy up, Mother Mandrake.”
“My name is Sabine,” she said as she sat up.
Rinkrank removed his climbing helmet and placed it on the chest. He rummaged in the top drawer and pulled out some clean clothes. The ones he wore not only stunk, they were shredded and covered in dirt and glass. She cold see angry red scrapes on his skin through the tears. “So you keep reminding me,” he said as he shoved the drawer closed. “Afraid I’m going to mistake you for some other princess?”
Sabine crossed her arms over her chest. “Why are you so sure I’m a princess?”
“Just a guess. I’m right, though, aren’t I? Ridiculously long hair, flawless skin, and that dress you fell down here in is a color only worn by royalty.”
“How do you know that?”
He shrugged. “Saw the same color in a portrait once. Only royalty are pompous enough to have portraits made of themselves.”
“But how would you have seen that portrait in the first place?” Sabine narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you a prince?”
“I am no one,” he said gruffly, and slammed the door of the water closet behind him.
Frustrated, Sabine hopped off the bed. She was not ready to finish the conversation. She would harass and harangue him until he answered every single one of her questions.
It wasn’t like she had anything else to do.
She slid her feet into the thick-soled slippers and set about straightening the bedsheets, lighting the brazier, and sweeping the remnants of Rinkrank’s mountain climbing into the basket before he emerged from the bath. When he finally did, she was waiting for him.
“How long have you been down here?” she asked.
His response to her question was a cross between a wince and a grimace. “It’s been a long day, Mandrake, and I’m still sore from the beating you gave me yesterday. Let me sleep in peace, I beg you.”
A long day? What marked a “day” down here anyway? And how did he know? But those were not the most pressing of her questions. “Five,” she said.
He wearily lowered himself to the edge of the bed. “What?”
“Answer five of my questions, and I will leave you to sleep in peace.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed his forehead sleepily. “Fine,” he growled.
“How long have you been down here?” she asked again.
“I don’t know,” he answered.
She tapped her foot. “That’s not good enough.”
“I don’t have any other answer to give you!” he said angrily. “You might have noticed, time has little meaning where the sun never shines.”
“How old were you when you came to this place?”
“Fifteen,” he said softly.
Sabine tried to control her shock. It was difficult to tell with the beard, but she might have guessed he was almost twice that now. To have been trapped in the dark for so long…it was a wonder he had not lost his mind completely. “And how did you come here? Did you fall, as I did?”
“Thankfully no. Without a canopy to catch me, I might not have lived to tell the tale. I got lost while searching in some mountain caves with my friends. Found my way here and never found my way back out again.”
“Which mountains?” she asked.
“The White Mountains.”
Sabine brightened. “So you’re from the north, too?” Could it be she’d managed to stumble on a kindred spirit?
“I suppose so. And that answers your final question.” He yawned. “Good night, Mandrake.”
If he insisted on referring to her as that ugly root, she would happily respond in kind. “Good night, Rinkrank.”
Sabine tiptoed around the cavern and tried to make as little noise as possible, but it didn’t seem to matter—Rinkrank’s soft snoring came soon and uninterrupted. Knowing that he had stumbled into this oubliette instead of falling inspired her to run her hands along every wall, nook and cranny. She found nothing but a stray button and a few glowing gems, the latter of which she placed with their brothers under the band of Rinkrank’s climbing helmet.
Hands on hips, Sabine stared up the climbing wall, as far into the abyss as the brazier would let her see. Assuming “day” to mean “time awake,” she guessed that Rinkrank spent every one of his days up there, working on a way out. Impossible as it might be, it was the only viable escape route.
And, at some point, she would have to climb it.
Sabine was fit enough from riding horses and the small weapons training she’d badgered her father’s guards to teach her, but she knew she did not possess the full-body strength—upper body, in particular—to climb a boulder, let alone a mostly-glass mountain. She would need to become proficient in as much time as it took for Rinkrank to finish the route.
She glanced over at the bed and Rinkrank’s large, sleeping body upon it. Given that it would be a while before his path hit sunlight, she did not need to start her climbing practice tonight.
“Shh,” she said to the brazier, and the light in the burning coals dimmed. Sabine tilted her head back. She missed stars, but the glowing gems in the walls above made mystical patterns of their own, so she wished upon them anyway.
She slid open the top drawer to retrieve a candle—there was a book waiting there for her as well. She procured a cup of tea from the ivy cupboard and lit the candle before settling down in the chair to read about a fantastic lower-class family full of sisters and their misadventures. The story made Sabine miss her own sister, quite dearly. And the taciturn Mr. Darcy reminded her very much of someone she’d just met…
A rough hand shook her awake. Sabine opened her eyes to see Rinkrank’s hairy face staring down at her. The glow of the crystals on his helmet cast a shadow over his eyes. “I’m off to work,” he grumbled. “Go to bed. This chair is terrible for sleeping. Trust me.”
Nodding sluggishly, Sabine closed the book in her lap and obeyed. She curled up in the bed and covered herself in blankets while she watched Rinkrank prepare for “work.” He buckled on his belt full of tools, then pulled out the canopy and affixed each corner to a hook in the wall before grasping a protruding rock and ascending into the darkness.
A lot of rocks and glass chunks fell that day, some of them quite sizable. Sabine spent most of her time in areas of the cavern not covered by the canopy, just to be safe. The rest of it she spent learning how to climb the glass mountain from the inside. The drawer provided her with new, strange-soled slippers, a climbing helmet of her own, and a bag of what looked like chalk dust. The helmet and shoes were easy enough to figure out; the dust she learned to use after the first time her sweaty hand slipped off a ledge. She climbed until her muscles quivered with strain, and then rested. Bathed. Finished her book. Laid down in the bed and fell back to sleep. Awoke in the darkness with the canopy still pulled tight.
Rinkrank had not returned.
Sabine dusted her hands and scaled the mountain wall high enough to see if the canopy had caught Rinkrank’s dead body sometime in the night. It had not, so she assumed he was still alive and went about her day. She needed to believe that he was all right—if he was hurt up there somewhere, he would be dead long before she was proficient enough at climbing to reach him.
She stretched her sore muscles and tended to the larger scrapes on her forearm with a salve provided by the angel cabinet. She tidied what rubble had escaped the canopy and then set about her climbing practice again. She was finishing up her bath when Rinkrank returned and hammered on the door of the water closet.
“Hurry up!” he bellowed.
Sabine only hurried
because she wanted to know why he’d been gone for so long. “Where have you been?” she asked as she emerged. He looked rough, but no worse than what she now knew to be usual.
“Having tea and cakes with the unicorns. Sorry I forgot to bring any back for you. Were you worried about me?”
Sabine chose to answer as flippantly as he. “Did you want me to be?”
He snorted at that; thanks to his infernal beard Sabine couldn’t tell if he was smiling, but she suspected he was. He took up his bundle of fresh clothes and brushed past her into the water closet…and then he caught her hand.
“What’s this?” He held her arm up and the loose sleeve fell away to reveal the marks her practice had left. The bath had mostly healed the ones from yesterday, but the new ones glowed red in the light of the water closet.
“I’m teaching myself to climb the mountain,” she said plainly. “If we use your route to escape, I’ll need the skill.”
He stared at her in silence for a long while. She braced herself for a mocking or a scolding, but neither came. “I’m glad you’re clever,” he said finally, and then disappeared into the closet.
He had moved the enchanted basket, positioning it so that most of the rubble had emptied into it when he’d taken down the canopy. Sabine tidied up the rest before imploring the ivy cupboard to provide dinner for them both. When she opened the cupboard door, she found a pretty service of tea and cakes for two. The delicate porcelain dishes were pale lavender, lined with gold, and decorated with unicorns.
Sabine threw her head back and laughed with her whole body, until tears came to her eyes. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed so hard.
“That’s a sound I haven’t heard in a very long time,” he said from the doorway.
Sabine lifted the tray of cakes and one of the cups and presented them to him. “You might have forgotten to bring me the unicorns’ cakes, but the mountain did not. Now, would you like to picnic by the brazier, sit in the chair, or go straight to bed as usual?”
Once Upon A Kiss: Seventeen Romantic Faerie Tales Page 2
