Amelia Dee and the Peacock Lamp

by Odo Hirsch

  ‘Oh,’ said Amelia’s mother again. ‘I’ve been . . . Excuse me,’ she said, suddenly becoming aware of how she must look in her dust-covered smock with her dust-covered face and dust-covered hair. ‘I’ve been sculpting.’

  ‘How nice,’ said the Princess evenly.

  ‘Having a bit of trouble, I’m afraid.’

  ‘How unfortunate,’ said the Princess, and started up the next flight of stairs.

  Everyone followed. Amelia’s mother joined the end of the procession and went up the stairs as well.

  They stopped at the top, outside the door to Amelia’s room. The lamp hung from its chains a metre or so above the banister. Only from this close, as Amelia knew, could you appreciate how big the lamp really was, and how intricate the metalwork.

  The Princess gazed at the lamp. Seconds passed, then minutes. The Princess continued to stare, hardly even blinked.

  Amelia frowned. What was going on?

  She thought about how she had swung on the lamp. That was a long time ago. No one knew about it.

  The Princess continued to stare. Not a word. Amelia glanced at Eugenie and Kevin. The whole situation was starting to feel quite odd.

  Amelia’s father cleared his throat. ‘We don’t know where it came from,’ he said. ‘Or how long it’s been here. It’s not an original feature, though. If you look right up you can tell from the way it’s been fitted to the ceiling. See how the chains have been attached?’

  The Princess didn’t look right up. There was nothing to show she had heard a single word Amelia’s father had said.

  He laughed nervously. ‘Afraid we can’t tell you anything about it. Nothing at all. Wish we knew someone who could. Right, Amelia? Amelia?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Amelia, who just wished her father would stop talking. He had a habit of talking when he didn’t know what was going on, as if filling the air with sound would make things clearer. Usually it did the opposite.

  ‘Yes,’ said Amelia’s father. ‘Nothing at all. Must be quite a story, I’m sure. Or maybe not.’ He gave another short laugh. ‘But there we are! A mystery.’

  Amelia watched the Princess. She was utterly, utterly uninterested in anything going on around her. The lamp took her entire attention.

  ‘Well,’ said Amelia’s father. He clapped his hands briskly. ‘I think we’ve probably spent enough time—’

  ‘There were six in the palace,’ murmured the Princess. ‘Each one different.’

  ‘Pardon?’ said Amelia’s father. ‘I didn’t quite catch that.’

  But the Princess wasn’t talking to him. She was talking to herself, or to someone else, perhaps, who existed only in her mind.

  ‘One in each of the children’s rooms,’ she murmured, ‘even the youngest.’

  The Princess was silent again.

  ‘Who was the youngest?’ asked Amelia quietly.

  The Princess smiled to herself, still gazing at the lamp. ‘Me.’

  CHAPTER 13

  There were footsteps on the stairs. It was the Princess’s driver. He was coming up slowly, holding his hat in his hands, with the hesitant steps of a person who isn’t quite sure if he should be doing what he’s doing.

  As he came up the last stairs, the Princess looked down at him. The driver stopped.

  ‘Do you see, Asha?’ said the Princess.

  The man nodded, and kept coming. He reached the landing where everyone was standing.

  ‘Do you see?’ said the Princess again, turning back to the lamp.

  ‘Yes, my Princess. I see.’

  ‘It is the peacock lamp. See? See them? And look, the monkeys. There they are, on the side. There. Do you remember how Ali El stood on his ladder and held me up so I could see them?’

  ‘Yes, my Princess. I remember.’

  ‘And I couldn’t see them. But Ali El showed me, and then I could. To find a monkey, you must look for the curve in the tail. Then follow the tail and you will find the rest of him. Do you remember, Asha?’

  ‘Yes, my Princess.’

  ‘And the one with the face of a person. That was supposed to be the face of Ramzi Ghav. Everyone laughed when they found out. Do you remember, Asha?’

  ‘Yes, my Princess.’

  The driver smiled apologetically at Amelia’s mother and father, as if to beg them to excuse his mistress.

  ‘Here it is. My lamp. Here, in this plain little house. Why, Asha?’

  ‘It’s not such a little house,’ said Amelia’s father.

  ‘And it’s hardly plain,’ added her mother.

  Asha looked at them apologetically again, spreading his hands helplessly.

  ‘Why is it here, Asha? Why?’

  Asha turned back to the Princess. ‘I do not know, my Princess. Come away. You have seen it. Come away now, my Princess. What good does it do to torment yourself?’ ‘But it is here!’

  ‘Yes,’ said the driver.

  ‘It is here, Asha!’

  ‘Yes, but it does not change anything, my Princess. Nothing will change anything.’

  Amelia’s father leaned close to Amelia. ‘You don’t think she wants us to give her the lamp, do you?’

  Amelia watched the Princess. She almost thought she saw tears in the old lady’s eyes.

  ‘Come,’ said Asha.

  But the Princess made no movement. The driver, who might have put a hand on her arm to lead her away, stood by, obviously unwilling to touch her.

  He looked around and smiled his apologetic smile again, as someone who had long been accustomed to seeking forgiveness for the whims of his mistress.

  The Princess continued to gaze at the lamp, lost in her thoughts.

  ‘She said there were six in the palace,’ said Amelia. ‘Did she mean six lamps?’

  Asha nodded.

  ‘Which palace?’ asked Amelia.

  ‘The palace where she was born,’ replied the driver. He glanced at the Princess again, but she was oblivious to all.

  ‘What palace was that?’

  ‘The Grand Palace of Ervahan.’ Asha sighed. ‘Such a palace, Mademoiselle Amelia! I was her servant there. Young. Young almost like the Princess.’

  ‘And you’re still her servant,’ said Amelia. ‘The last one?’

  Asha bowed his head. ‘She is my Princess.’

  ‘Loyalty,’ murmured Amelia’s father, nodding approvingly. ‘Very good.’

  ‘Where is the Grand Palace of Ervahan?’ asked Amelia.

  Asha shook his head. He glanced anxiously at the Princess, then held a finger to his lips. ‘It no longer exists,’ he whispered.

  ‘Nothing?’

  ‘Nothing,’ said Asha, and he held his finger to his lips again.

  Amelia nodded.

  Her father leaned close to her. ‘Maybe we should give her the lamp. What do you think?’

  Asha looked at Amelia. His eyes were full of despair. ‘She is exile. Since a little girl. Since the revolution, she has never been back to our country. She can now, for many years she can, but it is too much. Too bitter.’ He smiled sadly. ‘Too bitter.’

  The Princess frowned, staring at the lamp. Then her head quivered briefly, as if some memory had just run through her mind, a memory she couldn’t quite believe. And then another.

  ‘Come, my Princess,’ said Asha. He took a step closer to the Princess, and spoke to her, this time in a language Amelia didn’t understand. Still he didn’t dare to touch her, to wake her from reverie.

  He spoke to her again. Suddenly the Princess looked around. For a moment she stared at the people watching her, as if she had forgotten where she was. Her eyes were moist.

  She turned away, so that no one could see her face, and put out her hand and muttered something very quickly. Asha handed her a handkerchief. She dried her eyes, still facing the wall, then held out the handkerchief. Asha took it. She turned back.

  She had recovered her poise now. ‘I am very grateful,’ she said. Her voice was controlled, her expression almost haughty. ‘Mademoiselle Amelia, you have
been most gracious in allowing me to see your lamp. Madame Dee, Monsieur Dee, I thank you also.’

  Amelia’s father nodded, and then he didn’t know what to do, so he nodded again, and the nod turned into a kind of bow.

  ‘You’re very welcome,’ said Amelia’s mother.

  ‘Come, Asha!’ said the Princess. ‘We go!’

  She headed down the stairs. Everyone followed. Down the hall she went, out the door. Asha opened the back door of the car for her.

  ‘Thank you. Goodbye,’ said the Princess.

  Eugenie dropped in one of her exaggerated curtsies as the Princess got into the car.

  Asha closed the door behind her. He smiled his apologetic smile. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘This means much to my Princess, to see the lamp.’ He went around the car and opened his own door. ‘Thank you,’ he said again before he got in.

  The car started, and a moment later it moved off.

  On the pavement, Eugenie was still curtsying.

  Kevin Chan rolled his eyes. ‘Eugenie, what are you doing? She never said one word to you!’

  CHAPTER 14

  It was true, everything the Princess’s driver had said. There really had been a palace in an ancient city called Ervahan, and there had been a revolution, and the palace had been destroyed, and the family that had ruled the country had been driven into exile. Amelia had checked.

  She found it in a book. The only clue she had was the name of the city, Ervahan, and she didn’t even know where Ervahan was. But the school librarian helped her track it down. It was in a country called Irafia. The book they found was called A History of Irafia, and went back hundreds and hundreds of years. It wasn’t an easy book to read, written in a very dry, uninteresting fashion, but it was bloodcurdling enough, with deception and violence and murderous wars on a monumental scale. Princes always seemed to be plotting against the ruler of the country to get hold of the throne, only to be plotted against themselves. The stories of treachery and bloodshed in the book would have been as scary as anything Amelia had ever read if only the whole thing had been written more excitingly. Way back, about three hundred years ago, a pair of princes had actually managed to stab each other to death in a fight for the throne. That just meant a whole lot of their younger brothers started fighting and set off a fresh series of wars. Finally, in the last century, a very intelligent man came to power and united the country, and there had been peace. But his son wasn’t as wise, according to the book, and besides, by the time he came to the throne, the people were beginning to question whether they should be ruled without having any right to choose their ruler, and one thing led to another, dissatisfaction led to more dissatisfaction, and eventually, fifty-nine years earlier, there had been a revolution.

  That was the part that really surprised Amelia. There was nothing unusual about all the tales of war and betrayal. History was full of stories like that. And revolutions as well. But only fifty-nine years ago? The revolutions Amelia knew about, like the French Revolution, and the American Revolution, had happened hundreds of years ago. That was when history happened, long ago. Yet fifty-nine years . . . Fifty-nine years wasn’t that long. It was long, but not that long. There were plenty of people still alive who could remember things that happened fifty-nine years ago. Amelia’s Dee grandparents, on her father’s side, for example, and her Arbuckle grandparents on her mother’s side. Although her grandfather Arbuckle on her mother’s side had become very forgetful in the past couple of years and sometimes forgot Amelia’s name. When that happened, everyone laughed quickly and pretended he hadn’t really forgotten, and was just playing a game, but Amelia knew he really had forgotten, and every time she saw him he seemed to forget more. But Amelia knew that he was over eighty years old, and looked even older, so if his memory hadn’t got so bad he would easily have been able to remember what had happened fifty-nine years earlier.

  And yet the history book spoke about the Irafian revolution just like any other revolution that had happened hundreds of years in the past. It gave the names of the family that had been removed from power, the Shan and Shanna – which were the titles the Irafians used for their king and queen – and their six children. The youngest was Princess Parvin. Parvin! There she was, in a book about history, just like some dead person. Yet she wasn’t some dead person from history. She was a live person who turned up, fifty-nine years later, in a fur coat over a green leotard to do yoga with Mr Vishwanath on the ground floor of Amelia’s house. She scowled and was haughty and then looked at a lamp and cried. And yet, at the same time, she was a person from history as well.

  It made Amelia think of all the people she had heard about in history: Julius Caesar and Napoleon and Galileo and Captain Cook and Florence Nightingale and Christopher Columbus and Madame Curie and Joan of Arc. Suddenly she realised they weren’t really anything more than names to her. But they hadn’t been just names, not when they were alive. They had been real people, with real personalities. Some must have been nice, some nasty, some friendly, some prickly. They must have had real feelings. They must have laughed sometimes, and cried, and had foods they liked to eat and foods they couldn’t bear, and maybe they sang to themselves in the bath. When things happened to them – all the things that happened in history – they must have felt real pain, or real pleasure, just as Amelia herself felt when things happened to her.

  What happened in the Irafian revolution, according to the book, was that the Shan didn’t want to allow the people to have any say in choosing who would be in the government. He wanted to choose the government himself. In fact, instead of allowing the people to have some choice, which might have kept them happy, he tried to take away even the small amount of choice they already had, and he became more and more brutal as the people resisted. It was complicated, and Amelia wasn’t sure she understood it all. There was also some kind of disagreement with officers in the army about the way the Shan was talking to the leaders of some other countries which they regarded as enemies. Eventually it all exploded in a revolution. A number of people died, and the Shan and the Shanna themselves might have been killed had they not been secretly spirited out of the country on a boat, together with their six children, by a loyal captain. They had no time to pack or prepare, and could take with them only what they could carry. When news spread that they had fled, the violence got even worse. Looting and riots broke out. The Grand Palace in Ervahan, parts of which were more than a thousand years old, was burned to the ground.

  Eventually the army seized control and restored order, leading to a kind of military government. The Shan himself continued to create trouble from exile, living on money he had illegally put away in foreign banks and encouraging people in Irafia to rebel so he could reclaim his throne. But he never succeeded in returning, and died eighteen years later. His wife, the Shanna, lived on another fourteen years. As for the six children, the book didn’t say what happened to them.

  Amelia told all of this to Kevin and Eugenie when they were in the café at the cinema, waiting to see a film. There were about a hundred other kids in there, noisily waiting as well.

  Kevin frowned, toying with the straw in the milkshake he had just finished. ‘That’s amazing,’ he murmured.

  Eugenie nodded. ‘Poor Princess.’

  Yes, thought Amelia. Poor Princess. She was just a child when she was driven from the palace, chased out by an angry mob. Probably no older than Amelia herself.

  ‘And the lamp in your house was from the palace,’ said Kevin.

  ‘I didn’t know that before,’ said Amelia.

  ‘Then why did you tell her about it?’

  ‘I just mentioned it when I met her.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I don’t know. It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘Yes, it does,’ said Eugenie.

  Amelia glanced at her. Eugenie had that look in her eyes again. She knew Amelia was hiding something.

  ‘Tell us exactly what you said.’

  ‘It was nothing.’ Amelia turned back to Kevin. �
�They must have looted it before the palace burned down. The book said there was looting.’

  ‘But how does it get here? All the way from Irafia to your house?’

  Amelia shrugged. ‘No one knows who installed it.’ ‘It’s amazing.’

  ‘No, it’s not,’ said Eugenie impatiently. ‘Someone loots it. Then they sell it. Then they sell it to someone else.’

  ‘All the way from Irafia?’

  ‘What’s so surprising?’ Eugenie’s uncle had an antiques shop which was full of things from other countries. ‘People bring my uncle all kinds of stuff.’

  ‘How does he knew it isn’t stolen?’

  ‘When someone brings him something he always asks for proof they bought it or inherited it. I’ve asked him. He won’t take it if they can’t show him. But he admits there’s no way of knowing whether whoever they bought it or inherited it from didn’t steal it themselves. According to Uncle Randolph, somewhere along the line, maybe even hundreds of years ago, a lot of stuff in antiques shops has been stolen, but there’s nothing anyone can do about it.’

  ‘I suppose that explains how the lamp got to my house,’ said Amelia.

  ‘But it still doesn’t explain how you came to mention it to the Princess,’ said Eugenie, which was what she was really interested in.

  Amelia sighed. ‘It’s not important, Eugenie.’

  Eugenie looked at her knowingly, then stuck her nose in the air.

  Behind them, people were coming out of the cinema into the lobby. The first session was finished. Kids around them in the café were already getting up to go in for the next session.

  Eugenie frowned. ‘Imagine losing everything like that. One minute you’re living in the lap of luxury, the next minute you’re running away with nothing but what you can carry.’

  ‘True,’ said Kevin, ‘but look at it from the other perspective. One minute you’re a poor person with some Shan and Shanna controlling you’re life, the next minute you’re free.’

  Eugenie shook her head.

  ‘Eugenie, think about it. If the people revolted, they couldn’t have been happy. I bet the Shan and Shanna made life pretty hard for everyone.’