by Anya Allyn
“You know,” she said, “we haven’t heard a great deal about you since you’ve been here—and I’m sure we’re all anxious to hear.”
Hesitantly, I stepped over near the fire, seating myself on a chair. “What would you like to know, Jessamine?”
“Well I’m sure we’ve all guessed where you’re from—the Americas. Perhaps you could tell us all about your homeland.”
The girls looked over to me—appearing happy to drop their needlepoint and sewing.
“I’m from Florida—on the East Coast of North America.”
“I’ve been there,” said Jessamine wistfully. “Orlando was delightful—so many carnivals and sights to see.”
"Would you believe I've only been to Disney World once, even though I used to live quite close to there?"
She frowned. "Is that a circus?"
"No. Disney World, you know, as in Walt Disney?"
Missouri shook her head at me.
I guessed Jessamine was thinking of another place entirely, but she didn't like to be wrong. Changing subjects, I talked on about Florida—the ocean and the dolphins—which seemed to delight Jessamine.
“I’ve heard tell that performers ride the dolphins there and perform the most amazing tricks!” she told me.
“Well, no one actually rides the dolphins—as that would be cruel,” I replied.
Missouri shook her head at me again.
“Unless,” I hastened to add, “the dolphins wear harnesses.”
I rattled on—inventing a story of a beautiful girl, named the Silver Mermaid, who used to perform ballet on top of a dolphin—diving to the depths of the ocean with the dolphins after the show.
“But how did she breathe?” asked Philomena.
I thought fast. “She was born with gills as well as lungs!”
Jessamine clapped, laughing. “Of course—we all should have guessed that!”
Even Sophronia smiled—the first smile I’d ever seen from her.
Jessamine decided then we should all draw dolphins and circus performers.
We moved to settle in at our desks.
I sketched a dolphin in a harness—with a very ungraceful Silver Mermaid riding her.
Sophronia drew a circus lion standing on top of an elephant—with an Indian princess on the elephant’s back. Jessamine cooed in delight when she saw it.
Missouri penciled the same lines over and over, coughing.
Philomena tugged my sleeve. “Would you please draw me a dolphin? Missy’s feeling awfully poorly.”
Philomena’s phrasing sounded a lot like Jessamine’s. I guessed it made sense when she’d been around her since she was a toddler.
Missouri raised her face to me. Her eyes were red-rimmed and her face flushed. She looked as if she was running a temperature.
I made a quick sketch of a dolphin leaping from the water.
Jessamine stared down her nose at it. “You must continue to practice hard or your drawing skills will never improve. Angeline—please show Calliope how a dolphin is drawn.”
Aisha moved her pencil over a fresh piece of paper. Her dolphin's smooth lines were perfect.
Philomena looked from Aisha's drawing to mine. She snatched up both pictures, and ran zooming them up and down around the room.
Jessamine let out a tinkling laugh—running to chase Philomena. The closer Jessamine got to Philomena, the harder Philomena giggled.
Aisha left her desk to curl up on a chair and sleep. Sophronia went to tend the dwindling fire—cold air was already numbing my fingers.
“Can we talk?” I whispered to Missouri.
Her pencil stilled on the page.
“I need to tell you something. About those people who were here.”
Missouri breathed in heavily, eyes down at her paper. “I hated them. We all need to band together. Be aware.”
The image of Henry and that woman mocking me bled through my mind. “The blonde woman—the one in the black dress. She told me Henry was going away and we were all leaving here soon.”
Missouri risked a glance at me. “Oh God...."
I cast my eyes down. “There's only one way we're leaving here... isn't there?”
“Every morning I see Philomena, she gives me hope. She is hope.”
I gave a tight smile that Missouri didn't see.
“That dress—the one the woman wore—Jessamine made me wear it in The Dark Way,” I told her. “It was... like it was alive. Like it was trying to kill me.”
Missouri stiffened. “You've been in The Dark Way with Jessamine?”
“Yes. I gave Evander and Angeline food when they were both in the cells... and my crime was discovered.”
She shook her head slightly. “I'm sorry you had to see... that place. But if Jessamine made you wear the dress, it was to protect you.”
“She sent me in there. How is that protecting me?”
“She has a strange sense of right and wrong. And yes, she's still very dangerous. But I don't think she intended to kill you.”
I rubbed my forehead, staring hard at the desk. “You've worn the dress?”
She nodded. “Twice.”
“What did you see?”
“I saw my life. As it was before I came here. Like I was really back there. You'd think I'd say, things didn't seem so bad looking bad on them, considering where I am now. But it isn't like that.”
I cast a sideways glance at her, but knew she wouldn't say more. She'd told me very little of her past life. My mind travelled back through The Dark Way, through the twists and passages. To the desk. The desk that had to belong to The First One. Had I imagined it? Would I go to the book I'd stuffed the drawings or writings into, but find they weren't there? There hadn't been a chance to look at them again.
“In The Dark Way,” I began, “I saw... something...."
“Lots of nightmares are dreamed up in there,” said Missouri quickly, an undercurrent of warning in her voice.
“No, not a dream. I saw... a desk. Like the ones we have here. But filled with poetry, and drawings of snakes. But I don't know how I got to it. I must have blacked out, or sleepwalked.”
“That was Prudence's desk.” Missouri's voice faltered. “Don’t tell the others. Please. They don’t know... about her.”
“Who was she?”
“A beautiful girl. Just fourteen years old. A poet. It's hard for me to even speak her name...."
I looked around for Jessamine—she rode the carousel with Philly, her guard down.
“I have her drawings,” I told her. “And some of her poetry. Would you like to—”
“I don't want to see them,” she cut in.
I studied her face, dropping my gaze when Jessamine noticed us not drawing. I hastened to sketch a picture—an ocean with a wobbly shoreline. Jessamine relaxed and turned back to play with Philly.
“Please, tell me what you know about them. I need your help.”
“I do what I can to keep the other girls going. Please don't ask more of me than that.”
“I thought you'd at least tell me something, now that I found evidence,” I pressed.
Missouri was hardly being rational. She was the one who'd told me to find out about The First One, but now she didn't want to discuss it.
She stared ahead with a cold gaze. “Evidence? This is not a game.” Tendrils of deep red hair fell to touch her desk. “You know, you could have brought help down here, when you first discovered the underground. We could have been saved. You should never have passed through the carousel. And now Henry and the others have visited us. I can't help but wonder if that's something to do with you or Evander. And the food and wood stocks are dwindling. That hasn't happened before.” Her jaw quavered. “I've tried my best to keep Soph and Philly safe. And now you and Angeline and Evander. But I don't think I can do any of it anymore.”
Words burned raw in my throat. I couldn't tell her now about my being in Henry's dream, and Henry knowing about it. She was holding on by a thread here in the underground�
�a thread that was fast unraveling. So far, she'd been the one I could trust, the one who could help me figure this place out. But now a wall had moved in between us.
In some ways, Missouri was as difficult to understand as Sophronia. A desperate loneliness tightened in my stomach. People moved in ways known only to themselves, listened to voices in their minds I couldn't hear. Even if I was out of here, out in the world—there might not be a single person anywhere I could understand completely.
Leaving my desk, I stepped over to the library. Tracing a finger over the book spines, I came to the War and Peace title. I needed to see that Prudence's papers were there, some proof that I at least was still sane.
I flicked through the pages. Prudence's mildewed pages slid free. Secreting them in my sleeve, I chose another book to read.
Jessamine, having enough of play for the morning, settled into her chair and slept. No Clown or Raggedy came to watch us.
20. AEOLIAN HARPS
I woke with blood soaking through my clothing. I guessed the date had to be around the twentieth of the month. That meant I had been underground eighteen odd days.
School had already started back. Now I knew. I knew that the tea made you sleep for days at a time—possibly depending upon how strong it was made.
Missouri was in the bathroom fixing Philomena’s face and hair. She turned and noticed the bright patch on my nightie.
“Use the toilet paper,” she said.
“That’s all there is?” I said.
She grimaced. “None of us have our periods. They stopped for Sophronia and me a few months after we were brought in. I think we don’t eat enough.”
“What’s periods?” Philly pointed her chin upwards.
“Never mind pumpkin,” said Missouri. “Why don’t you run off to breakfast now? I'll come straight after.”
Philomena skipped away.
Missouri pulled her hair back and applied the makeup to her own face.
“I feel bad using a load of toilet paper,” I said. “There’s not enough much of that here.”
Shrugging, she brushed her hair into pigtails. “You soon won’t need the toilet paper for anything much anyway. We don’t. We all have chronic constipation—and when we do go—it’s barely anything. Welcome to the funhouse.”
She left the room. There was a distinct change in her tone towards me after the conversation we'd had yesterday. I'd pushed too hard. I wasn't the one who'd spent the past five years in this place, but there I was telling her what she needed to do.
I washed the slip out as best as I could, and left it hanging—Jessamine didn’t allow wet towels or anything to be dried near the fire. Wrapping a thin towel around myself, I went to select a dress from the storage room. The dresses I’d worn when I first came in here were hanging loosely and I needed a smaller size. I sensed the black dress slither on its stand behind me. Missouri's words rang in my head: Welcome to the funhouse.
I took out a simple dress and slipped it over my head.
Breakfast this morning was canned sardines and dried fruit. I guessed we’d run out of oats. I averted my eyes from the lowered stocks of cans when Sophronia opened the cupboards up.
* * * *
The faintest glimmer of a smile creased the corners of Ethan’s eyes as Aisha and I approached. He and Aisha touched fingers through the bars.
He didn't ask why Aisha and I were on friendly terms again. But then, Ethan wouldn't. He concerned himself with what was, and didn't care so much about the why.
“Ethan,” I said quickly. “There was a girl. Prudence. She was the first one to come in here. She left drawings and a poem. I've already showed them to Aish. It's not much, but it may be all we have right now.”
Reaching inside my sleeve, I pulled out Prudence’s work and carefully pushed them through the bars of his cell. “We'll come back when we can.”
Nodding, Ethan slid them inside his jacket. I caught his eye for just a second, then let my gaze drop quickly. All that time months back I'd spent wondering why he liked Aisha better than me seemed so childish now. You could make things up in your head and focus on them so much they became real, became fact, and controlled you.
Aisha handed him a packet of dried fruit and canned sardines. “Sorry about breakfast.”
He accepted the meager breakfast gratefully.
Rushing away, Aisha and I made our way to the ballroom.
Jessamine had put out board games on the floor. She didn’t seem to feel the coldness of the floor—but we were all expected to sit there and play games.
Period pain cramped my abdomen as I sat cross-legged opposite to Jessamine. We played games of checkers—Jessamine winning every time.
“You mustn’t mind losing,” Jessamine consoled me. “A lady never shows discontent.”
I realized I must be scowling—the pain grew increasingly severe.
Jessamine had Sophronia fetch a Monopoly game next. The Monopoly game came in a big wooden box—with a set of metal playing pieces that were all circus performers and circus animals. I chose a roaring lion.
Missouri sat Philomena on her lap—letting her move Missouri’s piece around the board. Sophronia seemed to enjoy the game—playing with strategy.
The game went on interminably—just the same as any Monopoly game.
Jessamine begged off halfway through—going to rest on the rocking chair. Missouri soon followed, falling into a deep sleep.
Philly—bored and restless—went to jump around on the carousel.
Again, no Clown or Raggedy Ann guarded either the ballroom or hallway—they remained in bed. That worried me. Missouri felt that Jessamine, despite her cruelty, was on our side. But Jessamine seemed to be weakening, tiring. Maybe she'd caught the same bug as Missouri.
Aisha and I quietly exited the ballroom.
Ethan rose unsteadily to his feet as we drew near him, resting himself against the bars of the cell—wheezing.
He handed the papers to Aisha. “I don't want to be caught with these. Or I'll be in here even longer.”
Aisha eyed him with a anxious expression. “What did you think?”
“I don't know. The poem is some kind of riddle. I'm not good with this stuff.”
“I've been thinking about it a lot.” Aisha's eyes were bright, misted. “I think it's a message. A message in a riddle.”
She secreted the pages between the hook of her arm and dress, and began reading in low tones:
A Lily fair
And dripping rose
In the dark fairground
All of them stay
In the merry-go-round
But one of them goes
Comes and goes
Like the pendulum
To and fro
Ever sent
Dove in guises
Shadows of scales
Rises in descent
Aeolian harps play
The dark rock listens
Night of day
Betray.
She hastened to hide the poem in her sleeve afterwards.
“I wish she’d just stated what she wanted to say,” Ethan remarked.
“Maybe she knew that Jessamine would destroy it if she did,” I said.
Aisha nodded. “I think so too.”
“Okay,” said Ethan. “So I get that the merry-go-round is the carousel.”
“It could also be a metaphor,” said Aisha. “All of us are on a carousel—time goes around in endless circles here.”
I nodded. “Yeah, it’s like time has no meaning. Then the dark fairground could mean this whole area—underground. And I know what the pendulum is—that freaking grandfather clock in the ballroom. I’ve seen the hands on that clock... spin out of control. The time changes to whatever suits Jessamine—or whoever controls time here.”
“So who,” Ethan said, “is the one who comes and goes? Jessamine?”
“I’d put a bet on it,” said Aisha. “It’s definitely someone who moves in different patterns to everyone else. Someon
e who goes to and fro, rather than in circles—someone who leaves here and returns.”
Ethan gripped the bars. “Is Prudence trying to tell us to make a run for it when Jessamine leaves the underground?”
Aisha closed her eyes for a moment. “That could be it. She wanted to tell others how to leave here.”
Could the poem really be a message of escape? Missouri had made it clear she wanted nothing to do with it. So it was up to us to figure it out.
“But what is the Lily fair?” I frowned. “I wonder if the word fair is another reference to a fairground?”
“Could be,” said Aisha. “It could mean other stuff too?”
Even here, in this dark place far underground—Aisha was still the same—still making questions out of statements. Something about that made me feel better, or at least connected, to life as it was before.
Aisha wrinkled her nose. “Lilies are white—fair in color—which could mean Jessamine as well. She’s pale and fair.”
I immediately thought of the flowers upon my grandmother's coffin back in Miami. “The lily is also a symbol of death... funerals.”
“Maybe she hated Jessamine and wanted her dead,” said Ethan darkly. “Like me.”
I gazed back down the corridor. It was empty. “And what about the dripping rose? What is that? It’s another flower reference. But there’s no flowers down here—maybe it’s meant to mean dead flowers.”
“I’ve been thinking about it a lot,” Aisha said. “I think the rose and the lily are people—girls. Lily fair is contrasted with the rose, as though they are two opposing things. Prudence capitalizes the L in Lily but not the r in rose. So the other person has a name and identity, but hers has been stripped away.”
Ethan nodded. “Makes sense. Because she was taken to this underground dungeon, and given strange gear to wear and given a new dopey name. She had no identity.” He bit his lip hard. “But, if she got away—why didn’t she tell the police? Why is the dungeon still here?”
I stared at him, thinking. “Maybe she's scared out of her mind, too scared to tell...."
Aisha slid the poem out again. “We should keep going on this. This is the last part...."
She whispered:
