If only Felix were here. If only he’d made it. My breath caught in my lungs, and though I covered my mouth, pitiful sounds escaped me.
Between sobs, I heard someone yelling.
“Stop crying. Stop your blubbering or we’ll all go insane!” Knot’s voice echoed in the low-ceilinged pit.
Somehow I managed to halt my near hysteria.
“It gets easier,” Knot said.
How could it get easier without a piano? I needed to play. “I’m a prisoner to my soul.” I gripped the edge of my cot. “A prisoner to my own memories.”
“Enough!” With his hands over his ears, Knot paced.
I’d been a difficult child. Stubborn. My parents knew I would not go easily. I would have challenged their authority, made a scene. How could I ever have said good-bye to Wren? The thought made me ache. Yet I was not even given the chance. My parents knew the good-bye was too big for me to bear. They had to drug me. I never would have left willingly.
My memories might haunt me for the rest of my short existence.
“I’m sorry, Dory.” Knot’s voice faltered. “I spoke harshly. You are not used to deprivation; I am numb.”
On the cold, hard cot, I wrapped my arms about myself.
“In the prisons of our mind”—Knot gripped the bars—“we must learn to live with our mistakes and to forgive ourselves.”
“Thank you, Knot.” I inhaled deeply, picked up a small, thin rock off the floor, and like my first friend in prison, scratched one tally mark into the white stone above my cot.
“Write your name, too,” Knot said. “I think the next prisoner to have my cell will feel honored when he reads: Knot, adviser to the King.”
I suppressed my first giggle since I’d arrived. Thanks to Knot, I’d found something humorous about being a prisoner in Yonder.
Behind me on the wall, I engraved into the stone one word: Dory.
ΦΦΦ
“Swamp Woman . . .” Duron rung his stick back and forth across the bars.
Too scared to whimper or complain, I slowly rose and crossed the cell. I was exhausted, but must walk the treadmill or be flogged. When I reached the door, he did not unlock it. “A blanket…” Through the bars, he handed me a folded brown blanket.
“In my hand,” he whispered, turning his back to me. In his large, open palm, he held forth a head of garlic.
“Thank you, Duron.” I dropped it into the pocket of my skirt. “Is it time to walk?”
“No, it is time to sleep and peel.”
I lay on my side, with my back to Knot. I’d never worked with garlic before, and slowly peeled off the fragile, paper-like skin. I popped a raw clove into my mouth and crunched. It was like a pungent firecracker going off. Garlic permeated my nostrils and my brain. I forced myself to eat three more before I spread the blanket over me. Hopefully by morning, no one would recognize me.
‡
Chapter Ten
Three days passed, and I could not rid my hands or my breath of the stench of garlic.
“Do not speak, Dory,” Knot and Long both complained as we walked the treadmill.
“The smell is manageable if you don’t speak.” Despite his words, there was a twinkle in Knot’s jaundiced eyes.
“Has my complexion improved?” I asked, gripping the bar.
“Are you asking me or Knot?” Long asked. “If you are asking me, your complexion has always been lovely in my eyes.”
“Thank you, Long.”
“No, Dory, I am sorry to say your complexion has not improved,” Knot said.
“Stop talking,” yelled Duron.
“Though Dory smells like garlic…” Long’s aged voice hummed a tune as he often did. “Hmm… what rhymes with garlic?” He usually sang tunes about his wife. “Sick, lick, trick, tick.” He cleared his throat. “Though my Dory smells like garlic, it doesn’t bother me a brick that she is sick.”
“Stop singing!” yelled Duron.
As the exhausting work continued, I retreated inside my mind to happier times—waltzing in the ballroom with Pierre, gooseberry tarts, the comfort of Felix’s shoulder when we traveled—but still my mind struggled. Finally, the treadmill slowed, and we staggered back to our cells.
Later that morning, a new prisoner was escorted in by Cragdon and two other guards. He was both blindfolded and chained. When the cloth was removed from his eyes, my heart lurched in my being. It was the dark-haired young man from Liisa’s—Fallon, with the earring scar. His clothes were soiled and his hair disheveled. What was he doing here?
As he neared, I waited with bated breath. Could he possibly recognize me? What crime had he committed to end up here?
“Swamp Woman,” he jeered as he walked past.
ΦΦΦ
I stared at the scuffed stone floor and recalled Liisa’s. Felix had been so right to leave in the middle of the night. “Why is he here?” I whispered across the way to Knot.
“He’s a newcomer.” Knot chiseled today’s events on the wall behind him.
“Who is talking about me?” Fallon gripped the bars of his cell.
“I was telling Dory that this is your first time here,” Knot said.
I closed my eyes. Knot had mentioned my name. I didn’t want the gypsy to know who I was—
“Dory . . . Dory of Boxden?” His voice echoed in the cavernous pit.
Shoulders stiff, I remained seated on the edge of my cot. An uncomfortable silence passed.
“Boxden?” Knot said.
“Where is your chicken farmer father?” Fallon laughed.
I remained silent, willing myself only to breathe.
“Where is your father?” Fallon now demanded. His voice echoed through the cavern.
“At the entrance to Shepherd’s Field…” I paused, collecting myself. “He used himself as a decoy to save me from the giants.” I looked across the way at Knot. “They weren’t supposed to be awake.”
“Do you mean hibernation?” Knot asked.
I shook my head. I wasn’t ready to remember.
“The giants’ hibernation always ends in May, when the ground thaws,” Knot said.
“What happened to your odd accent?” Fallon’s voice rose above my ability to reason.
“It’s too bad your father did not know,” Knot said.
“Know what?” I breathed.
“What happened to your accent?” Fallon gripped the bars of his cell.
“Leave the Swamp Woman alone!” From the front of his cell, Fjord, the massive human, glared at him.
Fallon eventually sat down upon his cot, lowering his head.
I would tell him nothing. How in the world had a gypsy been invited to Liisa’s home that evening?
“Dory . . . what happened to your odd accent?” Fallon’s voice was now a whisper.
If Felix knew his way to Yonder like the back of his hand, he should have known. I am familiar with the giants. If he was familiar with the giants, he should have known they weren’t hibernating. I tried to make sense of it all.
“What happened to your accent, Dory?” Fallon asked, loudly.
My mind knotted with questions. Liisa’s was in Merner—the most politically dangerous section of our journey. And now this gypsy was here. Had he followed me? Did he know who I really was? He was not to be trusted.
“Are you absolutely positive that the giants’ hibernation is over in May?” I stared across the corridor at Knot.
“Yes, May has always been the spring thaw.”
I stared at the stone wall of my cell. I was hired by your father because I know the way to Yonder like the back of my hand. How could Felix have missed such a huge detail?
“Is it possible”—my chest expanded as I peered at Knot—“for one man to fight the giants and win? A large, very strong man?”
Knot smiled. “That is a question for Rhoda.”
ΦΦΦ
Overhead, the sunrise cast long, slender fingerlings of light through the gaps in the masonry. We had not had our porridge yet or
walked the treadmill, as Duron had the morning off, and a young guard was on duty.
My stomach threatened to turn itself inside out in hunger. For a long, punitive moment, I let myself dwell on the things of home: my soft, light blue slippers, the thick, down-filled coverlet upon my bed, Cook’s custard tart, my mother brushing my hair… How I longed to pour my mourning and despair into the Great Beast. I missed the catharsis of self-expression.
“Knot,” I called across the way to him.
“What is it, Dory?”
“I was told that I may work a month for my freedom?”
“Yes, that is correct.” He stretched his skeleton-lean arms to grab the highest rung of the bars. “One of the king’s men, sometimes the Queen, will decide if you are fit for castle work or for the farms. Usually it is on Tuesdays that new prisoners are positioned.”
“What about you, Knot?”
“I will continue to walk the paddle. King Ulrich knows that I would be too set on freedom, and that I am keen enough to escape.”
“Do you think he is correct?” I wondered how much longer Knot could live; he was skin and bones.
“It has been his conviction for over three years, and the man knew me well. When you are working in the castle, Dory, sneak me a piece of Rhoda’s peach pie.”
Fallon’s snide laughter echoed through the prison. “The Swamp Woman does not know how to cook or clean. They will make her return to walk the paddle.”
“Is serving prisoners pie a punishable crime?” I asked, ignoring Fallon for the blemish that he was.
“Undoubtedly.” Knot smiled. “But it would mean so much to me.”
There was boisterous banter; it was Fallon again. Singing loudly, he’d taken off one shoe, and, walking back and forth, he strummed it against the bars of his cell.
“He could be tricky,” Knot informed Jorgensen, the young guard, who walked past. “Do not underestimate him. I would not get too—”
“Now, that’s enough. Stop being a nuisance. You’re to be orderly during my watch.” Rapping his stick into his open palm, the guard stopped near Fallon’s cell, and then he turned to walk away.
With hands as fleet as dove’s wings, Fallon reached through the bars and, snatching the stick, struck the guard on the back of the head.
“Duron! Where is Duron?” I gripped the bars.
“He is not here,” Knot said.
I couldn’t bear to watch, yet I could not pull my eyes away as Fallon pulled the body of the guard close to his cell and rummaged through his pockets. He found the gaoler’s keys, unlocked his cell, and dragged the body of the guard inside.
“Help,” I yelled toward the gaps of light, hoping someone, anyone in the outside world might hear me. “Help, we need help!” Only leftover stars littered the morning sky.
No one answered.
“Is the guard dead?” I whispered. Was Fallon a murderer? Was that why he was here?
“No.” Knot shook his head. “If it had been to the side of the head, it might have been different.”
Fallon locked his cell door behind him. Would he come for me? Did he know who I was? I sat down and gripped the edge of the cot, afraid.
The wiry young man stopped in front of my cell. “I’ve heard swamp pox can last several years. That is a long time to wait for even a woman of your beauty and… position.”
I kept my head bowed, not meeting his gaze.
“You see, not everyone at Liisa’s could keep a secret.”
Fallon knew! My eyes flashed open to stare at my hands. What would he do with the truth?
“A royal pianist traveling with her father under the guise of chicken farmers,” he whispered and then laughed. “Never for a moment did I believe you.”
So many parts of the plan had been good.
“It is not too late, Fallon, for you to have a good life. Stay here. Apologize for what you have done and work for your redemption. There is both evil and good in all of us. Fight for what is good.”
“Says Dory of Boxden.” He bowed, keeping an eye on me.
“It is not too late.” I met his dark gaze.
From his bowed position, he dropped the keys to the ground, several feet in front of my cell. Swift of foot, he disappeared up the quarried path.
‡
Chapter Eleven
If I had had shoes, I would have taken them off and used them for extra leverage in reaching the keys.
“Are you trying to escape?” Knot asked.
“No.” I pressed tightly against the bars, stretching my arm, my wrist, my fingers, but still the keys were a hand’s breadth beyond my grasp. “I’d like to help the guard.”
“Then employ your blanket.”
When rolled, the dark brown blanket made itself into a snakelike instrument thin enough to flick through the bars. Slowly, I batted the keys toward me, sometimes away from me. My fellow inmates clutched at the bars of their cells. In pensive cries and moans, they agonized over my progress. At last, the keys to freedom were in my grasp.
Cheers of “Onderyay!” erupted.
When I reached my hand through the bars to unlock my cell, the prison was as quiet as a sleeping babe. My door creaked open, and I walked toward Fallon’s old cell.
“Dory, unlock mine!” Stapleton ran back and forth in front of his cell.
“I haven’t seen my wife in years,” Long, the blind man, cried.
“Dory, my brother will take us in, feed us. Chicken, eggs, bread…” Fjord gripped the bars.
“Dory, don’t listen to them.” Knot’s voice reminded me of Felix’s—low and firm.
His was the voice I would listen to.
The red-haired guard sat propped in the corner against the wall. I touched his forehead. He was not cold; blood still pulsed steady through his veins. I praised God that he was alive.
I returned the keys to his side and left the cell door propped open.
My fellow inmates moaned, pulling at their hair. I blocked out their bleatings and stopped in front of Knot’s cell. At one time he’d been one of the king’s most trusted men.
“The guard is alive. Should I seek help or…?”
“There are two stairwells. One is more secret than the other.” He motioned toward the quarried path. “When you reach the second bend, there is a notch knee-high on the wall,” he whispered. “You must push it firmly for the route to the kitchen to be revealed. When you reach the top of the stairwell, you will arrive in a breezeway. A door is straight ahead; it is the back entrance to the kitchen. Inside, you will find a… large woman. Her name is Rhoda. Tell her that you are the Swamp Woman, and that Knot has sent you. Tell her that there has been a disturbance in the prison, and help is needed. She will tell Prince Wron. After you tell her, you are to immediately return here. Promise me you will return.”
“I promise.” I took a step away.
“What do you promise, Dory?”
“I promise I will return here, Knot.”
He nodded. “When you return, you must hit a notch knee-high on your left side to release the door. Do not be afraid. Rhoda is sensitive.”
Torches lit the rock walls of my ascent. At the second bend, I looked behind me. I could see nothing of the prison below. I feared running into Fallon more than speaking with the woman. Only because Knot had told me to look knee-high did I find the notch in the stone. A short wall in the rock rolled back a few feet, wide enough for a tray of food to be transported through. This passageway was dimly lit by only one overhead torch. Instead of a sloped path, there were twenty stone steps to the top. Fallon was not here.
I forced a heavy door forward to find daylight and an empty breezeway. I remembered my vow to Knot and strode into the back room of a white brick kitchen. A band of large kettles hung from the ceiling. Heaped baskets full of bread, apples, onions, and yellow pears lined the countertops. A live chicken perched on the windowsill. There was a powdered round cake on the counter, and the incredible smell of bacon frying.
“Who are you and wh
at are you doing in my kitchen?” In the center of the room stood a giant of a woman with massive shoulders and dark hair pulled into a strict bun. In her hand she gripped a wide-bladed cleaver.
My mind returned to the entrance to Shepherd’s Field. With her hair down, this woman would look like the giants who now haunted my nightmares, the weight of their steps pounding the earth. Panic surged through my being, and my limbs began to shake. Perhaps it was due to my deprived state that I remembered my mother’s words at such a time: A daughter of the king does not shake. Our country looks to us for assurance. Even when fear is at our doorstep, we can never quake.
Though my knees felt like I was standing on the saddle of a galloping horse, I forced my shoulders back. “Knot sent me. I am the Swamp Woman. There’s been a disturbance in the prison, and we need help.”
With eyes as wide as teacups, the giant woman nodded, and then she waved the meat cleaver toward the door. “Leave my kitchen, and then I will tell them.”
I understood. I was a prisoner, and because we were being starved, and food was the ultimate of our longings, I was not to be trusted in the king’s kitchen. I swallowed and, despite the rackish feeling of my emptiness, forced myself to turn and retrace my steps. Without being seen, I crossed the breezeway, hurried down the stairwell, and found the notch on the wall. The stone rolled back a few feet. Once I was home to my cell, I pulled the door closed behind me.
“I told Rhoda.” I felt trembly and out of breath.
“Good girl. What did she say?” Knot watched the stone walkway.
“She insisted that I leave her kitchen before she would tell them.”
He laughed, and began to cough.
“I like how you told me that she is large rather than the truth—she is a giant.”
“Since you are familiar with the giants, I should have told you: Rhoda will not be a worry for you—she is a vegetarian.”
ΦΦΦ
The Piano Girl - Part One (Counterfeit Princess Series) Page 10
