ROYAL REPLICAS
MICHAEL PIERCE
Copyright © 2017 by Michael Pierce
http://michaelpierceauthor.com
Cover by Yocla Designs
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Edited by Annie Jai
http://www.e-scribes.com
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.
Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
Royal Replicas/Michael Pierce. 1st Edition.
CONTENTS
Sign-Up
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Epilogue
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Also by Michael Pierce
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To little baby Dari.
My other new adventure.
PROLOGUE
Beatrice Ramsey stood against the wall by the bookshelf while the doctors were working on her daughter; the girl was still lying unconscious from the procedure and looked so peaceful in her bed. Beatrice gazed upon the wooden crucifix above the bed that—once upon a time—had been her own. She felt the full weight of guilt for everything the poor girl had been subjected to.
Doctors Sosin and Crane had been taking care of Victoria since before she was born. They had good reason for their investment and concern with her wellbeing. Her current state was a definite cause for worry.
A lot of equipment had been loaded into the small, dark room, so much so that the portable dress rack and dresser needed wheeling outside. The machines blinked and beeped, connected to her daughter in a multitude of ways; some were more invasive than others.
“When will she wake?” Beatrice asked.
“In a few hours. Maybe a little longer,” Dr. Sosin said.
“You don’t sound so sure.”
“There’s always some degree of guesswork in science. For all the many things you believe you control, equal numbers of variables and unseen factors challenge that certainty. You’re a woman of faith; you must understand there are things beyond our control?”
“And things we should not even be attempting to control,” Beatrice said.
“I’m not here to have a theological discussion with you, but to help keep you in good standing with the Queen,” Dr. Sosin said.
“After this, I don’t see how we can continue to be in good standing,” Beatrice answered.
“To the Queen’s knowledge, this is another routine checkup. Nothing more.”
“I don’t know whether I should be worried or relieved.” Beatrice stepped forward, approaching the bed. She reached out to touch the still girl lying beneath the covers but pulled back. “What will she remember?”
“We’ve reset her to last summer—that should be far enough—before their first meeting. We didn’t want to take too much from her.” Dr. Sosin checked the screen of one of the chirping instruments. “Just so you know, this isn’t the first one we’ve had to reset. Teenagers can be… well, unpredictable.”
“Tell me about it,” Beatrice said with a pained chuckle. “I practically have three.”
“I fear you’re getting too close,” Dr. Sosin said. “You do realize she’ll have to be returned soon?”
“I know. I’ve been preparing for it—though it doesn’t make it any easier.”
“You should really distance yourself more.”
“Are you telling me you always do the right thing?”
“Of course not. We all have our… vices and regrets.”
“I don’t regret this.” Beatrice gently laid a hand on her sleeping daughter and waited for her to wake.
“Neither do I,” Dr. Sosin said, removing a roll of gauze from his bag and beginning to wrap Victoria’s head. “She’s my daughter too.”
CHAPTER 1
I was only ever allowed to wear shoes when sent on errands into town. This was mandated by Master Ramsey and had been so ever since I was a little girl. I wasn’t a Ramsey though; I was a Sandalwood and was reminded of that every single day of my life.
The Ramsey estate was large and sprawling, a testament to their position as Duke and Duchess of the 24th Ward. We were in the ring of the outermost wards in the Kingdom, considered the Borderlands. The electric fence protected us from whatever stirred in the Outlands, but from my limited experience, protections from things inside our very own Kingdom were most needed.
From one of many hallway entrances, I padded outside on calloused, bare feet and followed a path through the East garden, making my way to the gaping mouth of the hedge maze. On one side of the maze entrance grew a cascading willow tree, and on the other, a copse of young birches, hazels, and hickories.
I approached one of the hazels with its low-lying branches, gripping the handle of my paring knife in one hand. There were fewer and fewer branches every time I came out here, but I found two that were sturdy yet flexible and cut them down. I’d become something of an expert in choosing and smoothing them, always returning with two just in case one snapped before my time was up. If only one was supplied and it broke before the determined time, then I’d only have to fetch another, and the whole act would begin again.
I returned with haste to the Master’s den—the one where he loved to sit by the fire, read from one of his hardbound books from his library, and occasionally watch television. I found him waiting there, and presented him with the switches.
“These look adequate enough,” he said, taking them from me and proceeding to bend and flex them. “They shall do nicely.”
Master Ramsey pulled the leather-bound bench away from the wood-paneled wall. Above where the bench was stationed, sat a shelf displaying a stuffed mountain lion;
the Master had shot it himself in his younger years before the shades of gray hair had completely overtaken his beard.
I got into position, lying down on my stomach across the hard leather and placing my hands behind my back. I gazed at the open doorway as he secured my upper body and lower legs to the bench and bound my hands.
Mina passed by, stopping in her tracks when she saw what was happening—my preparation for punishment. She was only twelve, but already a stunning copy of her nineteen-year-old sister, Johanna. And the boys were taking notice of her—even Johanna’s regular gentleman callers.
“Mina, darling, please fetch your sister for me,” Master Ramsey said in an even, but commanding voice. “And you come back with her as well.”
“Yes, Father,” she said as she scampered off.
The only thing worse than the switching itself was having an audience. Mina and Johanna sat in quite often, so they could learn their life lessons vicariously through me—through my pain and shame. I felt my pain rising like the tide from the last session. I was supposed to be learning. I was supposed to be more disciplined and obedient. I seemed to be none of those things.
Master Ramsey pulled on the ropes securing me to the leather bench; he said they were for my own safety. My skirt was pulled up to just past my knees, and he leaned the second switch against the wall where it would wait for its chance to kiss my imperfect skin. He stood silent and stoic, awaiting the girls’ arrival.
Waiting was also excruciating when all I wanted to do was get this over with and go back to my room. And this was not the only time I’d be forced to wait in terrible anticipation of the coming waves of pain.
When the girls entered the room, I knew it was time and my whole body tightened.
“Good, now we can begin,” Master Ramsey said.
The girls knew exactly where to stand.
“What are you being punished for?” Master Ramsey asked, stepping to the side of the bench where he could see my face and I could see his.
If I did not answer, then it would only be worse. “For going into town unescorted,” I said.
“Yes. You know the rules.”
“It is a new rule,” I pleaded. This rule hadn’t been implemented until after my recent accident.
“A new rule or an old rule, it makes no difference. Disobedience does not have varying degrees,” Master Ramsey said. “What interested you in town? Was it to meet him?”
“I don’t know to whom you’re referring. I was simply asked to retrieve a few supplies for the kitchen.”
“Be that as it may. I cannot allow this insubordination to go unpunished.”
“Yes,” I said and closed my eyes, anticipating the first strike. A single tear escaped at the mere thought of what was to come.
The switch came down with full force across the vaults of my feet, followed immediately by searing pain. I cried out, as I did every time on receiving the first blow. Only so much tolerance could be built up, not enough to keep me from screaming; the girls standing before me melted away in the blur of tears.
I tried to catch my breath, but there was no time during the initial onslaught of strikes. One after another, they rained down on me. I could feel the welts forming on the bottoms of my feet already; Master Ramsey didn’t hold back. He hit me again and again, as fast and as hard as he could. And as I screamed, I strained against my restraints, but there was no escape, no reprieve; I couldn’t shield my sensitive flesh from his powerful blows.
Johanna and Mina watched on with blank, almost black expressions. Mina cried too, sometimes, but I could never hear her over my own sobs. Johanna had become hardened over the years and no longer empathized with my pain.
“I’m sorry, Father,” I cried, unable to form any clearer thoughts. And I hadn’t even realized what I’d just said until I heard his reply.
“I’ve told you never to call me that!” he yelled, finding some extra strength in the yell to make me sorry for those words too.
The bottoms of my feet burned like they were being poked by a red-hot iron. I tried to go somewhere else in my head, but the pain kept me present. After a few minutes—though it felt like an eternity—the blows slowed as Master Ramsey grew tired. The strikes became more infrequent, bringing back the horrible anticipation of when the next one would land.
“Johanna, come here,” Master Ramsey commanded. From the watery blur of my vision, I saw her join her father’s side.
“Aim for the weals in the center of the feet and strike fast. What do we do to stubborn mares that insist on remaining wild?”
“We break them, Father.”
“Good girl.”
I took a few labored, deep breaths while the switch changed hands. Then I felt the familiar sting of being struck again. The first one seemed almost hesitant. A pause. The next one was less so. A shorter pause came.
“Yes,” Master Ramsey said. “She needs to know you mean it.”
Then the full force and volley returned and I found myself screaming again. Johanna grew tired faster and her blows weakened but I knew it wasn’t over.
“Mina, come take your sister’s place.”
But Mina didn’t budge; she stood glued to her spot and shook her head. Her face matched mine as a ruin of tears, partially concealed by the pink and red locks accessorizing her naturally blonde hair.
“If you do not, you will only be making it worse for her.” Master Ramsey’s voice was deep and sinister. He did not shout.
Mina dragged her feet as she reluctantly complied. When she took the switch, it was almost a mercy; she missed the primary target half the time, and the blows she landed correctly had a greatly reduced severity. But even the touch of a feather hurt at this point.
She didn’t last long and then the real punishment continued, causing me to wail once again like a dying animal. I knew I wasn’t even bleeding—Master Ramsey was too practiced—but the pain inflicted by each calculated blow felt like my feet would split open at any moment, like overripe fruit.
Just when I thought I couldn’t take another licking, it was over. The girls were sent on their way with warnings of disobedience, while I was untied from the bench. My arms fell limply to the floor. I lay across the leather unable and unwilling to move.
“You may go about your chores, Victoria,” Master Ramsey said, snapping the sticks into smaller ones before throwing them into the lit hearth. Next time would require new ones I’d also have to supply. It was all part of the ritual.
He gave my butt a pat and left the room, allowing me the slight dignity of hobbling out of the den in solitude, but not before returning the leather bench to its original location under the trophy.
CHAPTER 2
I carefully made my way to my room in the cellar, another reminder of my place in the family and within the community. The wooden stairs killed my feet, but the cold concrete at the bottom slightly dulled the pain.
The lights down there were dim and the air cool and musty. This was where much of the extra furniture for parties was stored, tables and chairs that would fill the main ballroom. It was all kept under white linens to maintain the items relatively clean between uses; I felt I was living amongst the dead.
My room was far from the stairs, far from access to anyone, and I treasured my moments of seclusion. There was one overhead lightbulb I could turn on using a string; it didn’t provide much illumination for the whole room, even though it wasn’t much more than an oversized closet. Two small windows close to the ceiling let in a little more light, though I usually kept my curtains drawn. The furnace and water heater were on the other side of the wall and I listened to them crackle and cough, on and off, throughout the nights.
Besides an intercom by the door and the crucifix over my bed, the walls of my room were bare. The Ramseys were a God-fearing family, and the crucifix they’d given me as a little girl was the reminder that He sees everything and I was being watched and judged wherever I went.
I had a nightstand with a digital clock and a few candles, a
metal clothes rack for my dresses, a portable plastic dresser for the rest of my clothes, one pair of casual dress shoes for when I was permitted to wear them, and a small bookcase containing hardbound copies from Master Ramsey’s library. I made sure each book received no more than an extra crease in my care; they were so sacred to me. They were my escape.
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