by Gill James
The girl in pink introduced herself. ‘Your Highness, my name is Itola. I serve the High Counsellor. This is his chamber. Oh, Your Highness, where have you been all this time? The Court has been most worried.’
‘I’m not sure. Another place. A world with machines and clothes you could not imagine.’ Christina decided it was best to go along with what Mona had suggested. But what had happened to the real Imigriana?
‘The people will rejoice that you have returned.’
There was a knock at the door. The High Counsellor opened it. The visitor stepped into the room. He wore a tight-fitting white suit, and on his head a shining white turban.
‘Your Royal Highness, the Counsel doctor. If you will permit him to examine you.’
‘Of course,’ whispered Christina. She had never seen a doctor quite like this before. The man sat down next to her on the divan. He had neither stethoscope nor thermometer. He simply held his hand a few inches above her head and closed his eyes. Then his hands moved to different parts of her body, always hovering a few inches away, so that he was not actually touching her. It made her feel warm and tingly.
‘Aha!’ said the doctor at last. ‘She has most certainly suffered a blow to the head, which has caused her to lose her memory. There is a very slight disturbance in the brain, but everything else is functioning perfectly. I recommend a good night’s rest, some wholesome food and then she should be returned to her family.’
‘It will be arranged. She may spend the night at my home. It would be an honour.’
In fact, Christina spent a very pleasant evening at the High Counsellor’s house. Off duty, he was much less grim and pompous. His wife was very kind, even if she did try to ask too many questions about where Christina had been. They had no children, but considered Itola to be almost a daughter. And it was good having a hot perfumed bath. Afterwards she ate meats and salads in tasty sauces accompanied by all sorts of different breads. She tried new sorts of custards and fruits for dessert. Itola offered her some of her own fine clothes to wear while Christina’s were laundered and her veil was repaired.
She brushed Christina’s hair a hundred times before she went to bed. ‘I will sing to you before you go to sleep,’ she said.
She started singing. Her voice sounded like the wind whispering through the trees on a warm summer evening. Christina found her eyelids drooping. The silk sheets felt so comfortable next to her skin. Soon she was drifting into a deep, comforting sleep.
Even so, when she woke up the next day, she felt very nervous. She knew she was an impostor and wondered what was going to happen when they found out.
‘The journey to the king’s palace will take all day,’ said Itola, as she helped Christina to dress. This time, she wore a fine green silk.
‘You have a long journey ahead of you,’ said the High Counsellor. ‘But we shall make the carriage comfortable for you.
Carriage, thought Christina. She hoped they could make it more comfortable than the one she’d travelled in the day before. Hadn’t they got any better form of transport, especially for a princess?
When the carriage arrived servants piled it high with cushions. Two boys stood on the boards at the side and constantly fanned her and the High Counsellor.
At least this one was a bit better than the other one. The seats were deep and comfortable. The windows were spotlessly clean. As they moved off, cheering crowds lined the street.
They wanted to kill me yesterday, thought Christina. And now look at them.
The journey was long and tedious, but the people of Ixeria certainly treated her well, making frequent stops and always ensuring she was comfortable. The scenery was fascinating. They seemed to be going up and up, and then down again slightly, through orchards – the trees filled with types of fruit she had never before seen, and at last into the craggy mountains, which loomed above them, their peaks covered in snow.
At last the carriage stopped and the footmen opened the doors. Christina stepped out. It was almost dark now, but bright lights shone from the palace windows and doors. The first impression was of hundreds of arches and millions of tiles. But as Christina walked towards the main entrance, she could see that the walls of the palace were just elaborately painted. There were only a few real arches, the rest were reflections in mirrors or just painted on the walls. The palace was surrounded by perfumed rose gardens.
The great door opened. A young girl appeared and walked slowly down the path, which led up to the entrance of the palace. As she saw Christina, she squealed with joy, and turned and ran back towards the palace. ‘The princess is here! The princess is here!’ she cried. There was a great commotion. Servants ran here and there, as news spread that Imigriana had returned.
‘It seems,’ explained one of the footman, ‘that the message became garbled between here and High Town. Your parents and most of the servants have gone there to collect you.’
‘So, Imigriana, you have returned. Let me bring your things to your room.’ The voice came from a tall, elegant speaker, draped in grey and with dark eyes peeping above her veil.
‘I don’t really have any things.’ Then Christina realised her mistake. If the servant did not bring her things up to the room, how would she know where her room was?
The High Counsellor spoke just in time. ‘Take care of her Highness. She cannot remember what has happened to her or much of her life here. Our doctor thinks she will begin to remember when she is in familiar surroundings. Please show her around her home.’ He turned to Christina. ‘My dear, I regret I cannot stay until your parents return. I have urgent business at the Counsel tomorrow. But Lydia is a good and faithful servant, and she will take good care of you until they come back. I wish you a good recovery.’ He bowed slightly. Then he turned, and he was away.
Once more Christina found herself alone amongst strangers.
‘Come. Let us go inside.’
‘I’m – er – sorry, Lydia. I don’t remember my way around the palace.’
Lydia stared at Christina. Then she lowered her veil and smiled. But the eyes didn’t smile.
‘Yes, it must be very difficult for you. Come, let us take a walk.’
Lydia and Christina walked through what seemed like miles of corridors.
I’ll never find my way around here, thought Christina.
Many of the rooms looked the same, and she couldn’t work out what they were all used for. But with some it was clearer.
‘This is the bathing room,’ Lydia pointed to the deep pools. ‘Your Highness usually takes at least four baths a day.’
The whole room was covered in real tiles, which were decorated with pictures of sea creatures and dragons being chased by handsome soldiers.
‘And this is the grand dining-room.’
The ceiling was very high. Marble pillars held it up. In the centre was a heavily carved table and chairs.
‘How many seats are there?’ asked Christina.
‘One hundred and twelve. But we only use this room when all the court is present.’
Thank goodness, thought Christina. I like company, but that’s ridiculous.
‘Where do they – er – we eat the rest of the time?’ asked Christina.
‘Well in the small dining-room, of course. Though of late, you have preferred to eat in your quarters and that has worried the king and queen.’
‘Actually, I would like to go there now,’ said Christina. ‘And I would like to eat there now. I promise I will eat with Mother and Father when they return.’
Lydia stared at her. She was frowning slightly.
‘Is there something wrong?’ asked Christina.
‘Not really,’ said Lydia. ‘I expect it is the effect of the memory loss. But you never usually refer to the king and queen as Mother and Father, though you address them by those names. When you speak to others you normally say “His Majesty” or “Her Majesty”.’
‘Could you leave me alone now?’ asked Christina.
She would be sure to make more mi
stakes if she stopped to talk to Lydia for much longer. And there was something about the woman she didn’t like, but she couldn’t work out quite what.
The woman bowed slightly. ‘As you wish.’ She left the room.
Christina unwound her veil and flung herself on to the four-poster bed. She had to admit, she did like the bedroom. It was spacious and airy, but at the same time, the rich rugs and tapestries made it feel cosy. There was a large carved wooden chest at the foot of the bed. Christina went to open the lid, but as she did so, there came a knock at the door.
‘Come in,’ she called nervously.
Two servants appeared, carrying trays of salads, cheese, fruit and breads. They laid all of the food out and made a fuss of Christina as she ate.
‘Would you like more water, Your Highness?’ one servant would ask.
‘May I offer you more bread?’ the other suggested.
The food was good, though the bread was different from what she knew at home and many of the salad vegetables and the fruits were not like anything she had tried before. It was quite nice having people serve you as if you were the most important person in the world. ‘Is the food to your liking?’ asked the taller of the servants.
‘Yes, thank you,’ replied Christina.
‘Is there anything else we can get for you?’ asked the other.
It was a little difficult to answer the last question, as she did not understand what food was available in Ixeria.
Soon she had finished eating.
‘You may go now,’ she said to the servants. Goodness, I’m really beginning to behave like a princess, the thought.
She went back to the carved trunk and found that it was full of old books and papers. Rummaging around for a little while, she found some small cloth bags hidden between the leaves of some of the books. One or two were filled with coins and others with jewellery.
Christina then moved over to the wardrobes. The outfits were exquisite and of course, were all a perfect fit. A white satin suit, prettily embroidered with a turquoise cording stood out from the rest. Sewn in between the corded shapes, were gold and silver medallions. There were even some dainty pointed slippers to match. The veil was actually a type of hat, which had flaps at the side and a piece which could be drawn across the mouth and the nose. She tried it on. It felt so much more comfortable than the loose pieces of silk, which she wore with her green outfit.
She pulled on the rest of the white suit. Her heart was thumping as she stepped out into the corridor. She really had to find out more about where she was, though.
The corridor was partly outside, in effect a covered balcony, and she could see the mountains sloping up to the moonlit sky. If she heard the slightest noise, she hurried back to her room and stayed there until it was quiet again before she set off again. Each time she counted the doors carefully so that she would be able to find her room again.
The palace was huge. That much was clear. But there didn’t seem to be much going on. Was it really just her and Lydia and a few servants here?
She made her way back to her room for a final time and had another look through the wardrobes. She found a long loose dress, which she guessed was a type of nightie and changed into it. She supposed she ought to think about getting some sleep but she didn’t really feel tired yet. She spent a while looking out of her window on to the town below with its lights and noises. There didn’t seem to be a curfew here like there had been down in the city. The air was still warm and the night scents of the flowers were relaxing and gradually they made her sleepy. She gave in and lay down on the bed. Seconds later, she was fast asleep.
She awoke with a start. The door had banged. She could tell there was someone else in the room. The light snapped on.
‘What on earth are you doing lying on my bed in my prayer dress? Who are you anyway?’
Christina sat straight up in bed and rubbed her eyes. She looked at the speaker of the voice. It was like looking in a mirror. It was the girl from Pandora’s Potions and she was wearing the same green trousers and tunic, and the same green veils.
‘Well?’ said the mirror girl, lowering her veil. Christina now stared at her own face.
‘You must be Imigriana,’ she whispered.
Chapter Nine
Home
The bus stopped on the corner of Apollolaan. Paul got off with a couple of the other students and walked the small distance to the Jan van Eijckstraat, not really noticing the others. He was grappling with a piece of maths course work. The IGCSEs were only a short while away now and he really wanted to do well.
He took out his key and let himself into the flat. There was a pile of mail in the letterbox. He sorted it quickly, one for himself – local post mark, several for Mum and Dad, but mainly junk mail by the looks of it, or perhaps bills, and a couple for Christina – one of them with the same writing as on his letter.
Christina! He’d been supposed to wait for her. Drat! Still, it was her own fault for having a detention in the first place. The bus driver would not have been too pleased if he’d held the bus up. Ah well, she would probably give him an earache when she came in.
Paul went into his bedroom and changed his T-shirt. It really was a bit stuffy today, he thought, but at least the high-ceilinged room was cool and fresh. It was always quite shady in the apartment. The sun never found its way into the little street. Not that there ever was that much sun in Holland, and when it did come, it was usually accompanied by sticky, moist weather. It was good then to sit out in the little patio garden.
Paul liked that area a lot, even though it wasn’t exactly private. The neighbours could see into the garden by just looking over the fence, not to mention those people in the apartments on the upper floor of the buildings opposite. But he didn’t mind that as he enjoyed watching the others too. Today it was quiet, though. There weren’t that many people with families living round here. Those with very young children were out and about, taking advantage of the unusually warm weather. Nearly everyone else was at work. Paul poured himself a glass of orange juice, and unlocked the kitchen door, the letter still in his hand, and went outside. He settled himself down on the weatherbeaten old bench to read the letter.
He hadn’t recognised the writing, so he looked straight to the end to see who had written it, Jan de Vries. Aha! Christina and the men in her life! Well it would be interesting to see the sparks fly when she read her letter.
Dear Paul,
Sorry to write to you like this, but I really want to get through to
Christina. I’ve texted her, emailed her and left voicemail and she just doesn’t get back to me. Do you have any influence with her? Or with your parents? Perhaps you could speak to her for me!
The girl is pure gold, Paul. I want her back. Tell her I heard about the fight. I can’t believe she would get herself into so much trouble because of me. I am so sorry. That Susanne Richards doesn’t touch her. I have no interest in the little tart. She is just a nuisance, following me around. But tell Christina, Susanne has not been near me since the fight. I heard her parents have sent her away.
Okay. I like my bike. And I go to conventions. But she’ll be older one day, and then she’ll come too.
I know your parents don’t think much of me. But I’m really just a normal sort of a bloke – who rides a motorbike, wears leather (because of the machine) and has long hair. I start at the Uni next year. Masters in Architecture. Is that okay?
I’ve looked after her. And I look after myself. I wouldn’t let anything hurt her.
Please speak to her for me. I’ve written to her too. But she might not want to read the letter. I’ll phone you later to see how you’ve got on.
Jan de Vries.
Mm. Pure gold. It was odd to think of anyone seeing Christina like that. Yes, she was very clever and she could make you laugh. But she was just so weird sometimes and she was ever so bossy. Not many of his friends liked her, but Paul was rather fond of her. They had always stuck up for each other when they were little.<
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Golden girl! And being looked after! She was always so independent. On the other hand, not always sensible, so perhaps she did need to have someone keep an eye on her.
Well he was pretty sure she wouldn’t speak to Jan. Wasting your time, Jan, mate, he thought.
He did not know Jan very well. Christina had always whipped him out of the way pretty quickly. Mum and Dad had made one or two scathing remarks about him from time to time. It was odd that Paul had never thought of him doing anything ordinary like going to university. He was just a biker, who arrived on his motorbike and took his sister away on his motorbike, and then brought her back again on his motorbike. It had never occurred to them that Jan would have a daytime occupation.
He’d always been friendly, though. He waved cheerfully to Paul whenever he saw him. One day the bike had been playing up, and he stopped outside the flat to tinker with it after he had dropped Christina off. Paul had watched. Jan explained what he was doing and Paul ended up helping him, holding parts in place and passing bits and pieces to him. By the time the bike was working again, he’d learnt a lot. And he was covered in oil.
‘Oh, he’s got you roped into helping with that filthy machine has he? Well, don’t you go getting any ideas!’ was all Mum could say.
Oh give him a chance, Paul had thought. ‘No,’ he’d said. ‘Don’t worry. Not my scene. But Jan’s all right.’
‘That’s a matter of opinion.’
And that was all the real contact he’d had with Jan up until now.
Paul finished his drink and folded the letter thoughtfully. He leant back on the wooden seat and stared up at the sky. There was a big dark cloud overhead. It looked as if there was going to be a storm. Five more minutes, and he would go in and make a start on his homework.
