by Nikki Chase
Did it…
Did the rock just…
Did it move?
What the…?
I stop to look down at the sandy soil between the two cliffs. There’s a clear line on the ground, where the rock used to be. It has definitely moved.
I don’t know what’s happening. Apparently the laws of physics don’t apply tonight.
But I guess I just have to keep pushing. At least the guy is not just pulling my leg, right?
As I push, I realize why it’s hard to tell that this rock can be moved. The grains of sand keep moving as strong wind blows between the two cliffs. This makes it impossible for any imprints on the sand to remain for much longer than a minute or two.
I’m also in the dark so it’s hard to tell, but the colors on this fake rock look convincing.
Whatever this is, it wasn’t made by some punk from the town. This is a work of art. Whoever made this must be very proud of his creation.
The rock keeps moving as I push on it. I’m afraid of this guy because he’s a stranger and I have no idea what he wants, but I’m also impressed and fascinated.
A dark tunnel is revealed to my left.
The path is narrow, and the ceiling is low. There’s just enough space for one person to pass through.
It looks like a pretty long tunnel. I can’t see very far inside because there’s only one torch hung on the rock wall, close to this entrance. Beyond that, there’s only darkness.
Who does this place belong to?
A freaking tunnel inside a cliff, with a secret rock door?
Who could build something like this? Or, since a place this big can’t possibly be the work of just one pair of hands, who could commission people to build something like this?
My initial guess was correct after all. This guy has to be someone. I mean like, some wealthy nobility.
But what could someone like that want from an average girl like me?
Rosemary
I hold the torch up, the heat warming up my face. The flame dances on the wooden stick, and the warm light flickers in the dark.
I tried to push the rock back to close the entrance, but it wouldn’t budge. I experimented with a few ideas, and none of them worked.
I figured the guy probably didn’t want me to close it anyway. He would’ve sent me an email with the instructions if he wanted me to.
So now a little cool breeze is still flowing into the tunnel. With the torch, I can only see a few feet in front of me, but at least the ground is not muddy anymore.
Here, the ground is made of rock. In fact, I’m surrounded by rock. It feels a little claustrophobic, although I’m used to small spaces.
Now, this rock ground… Something about it is unusual. It’s flat and completely even—unlike regular caves, where there are natural variations on the surface of the ground.
Someone has obviously taken enough care to even sand down the hard, rock ground until it’s level.
This is crazy.
I mean, it was already crazy before, when I was volunteering to take on my father’s punishment and let whoever this guy is imprison me.
But now… Now, it has gone up a few levels in crazy.
Secret doors and hidden tunnels? I thought these things only existed in the movies.
Now, to find out they’re real and they’re still in use? That blows my mind.
Add to that the fact that this place is within walking distance from the town of Willowdale, and I just…
I don’t even know what to say anymore. I’ve run out of words to explain just how absurd everything has been since Father got home.
Is it weird if I say that even though this secret tunnel looks old and sinister, but it kind of improves my impression of whoever is behind all this?
I’ve always been into mystery books—detectives and stuff. Little clandestine routes appeal to me on a deep level.
When I was little and my father was away on business, my sisters would pick on me. They’d say mean things about me, and sometimes they’d even lock me inside the closet when they were particularly angry at me.
So I’ve always wished for a space of my own, hidden from view. A place where I could read in peace, where nobody could find me.
I can’t believe Father didn’t mention this cool rock tunnel to me. He knows I love this kind of…
Wait… No, actually I can believe it.
He probably knew that I’d get curious and try to find this place if he’d told me.
But Father is grossly overestimating me if he thinks I can find this secret tunnel on my own, without any directions.
But how did he get here?
He didn’t mention how he came upon the palace—only that he did.
I should remember to ask him next time we see each other. Maybe I’ll keep a notebook with all the things I want to ask Father, so I won’t miss anything when we meet.
My insides feel heavy as lead. I take a deep breath and let out a big exhale, but my lungs still feel compressed.
The stale air inside the tunnel doesn’t help. As cool as this place is, it doesn’t exactly have the best ventilation.
I seem to have reached the end of the tunnel. The narrow path has been getting bigger and bigger. Where I am, there’s a five-foot space between me and either wall. The rock ceiling is about three feet above me.
In front of me is a big wall. A big, red, hard wall of rock.
I hold my torch to the wall, checking to see if there’s any opening for me to go through.
I pull out my phone and check for new emails. I did set up a notification sound, but it’s possible I missed it because I was so fascinated by the tunnel.
But there’s not even one bar of signal on my phone.
This can’t be it. This can’t be the end of the road.
From his emails, this guy seems to be well-prepared. He appears to be a man with a plan.
There has to be something else.
I scan my surroundings and spot a piece of paper taped to the rock on one corner of the wall in front of me. In a neat cursive, it says:
Push here.
I put my hand on the paper, my heart and mind conflicted.
I really want to push the rock to reveal more secrets, but should I really be so eager to meet the man who has threatened my father with jail and is blackmailing me?
On the other hand, even though the charge is laughable, Father did break the law. And so far, the sender of the emails has been courteous. Maybe he’s a kind person who wants to give our family a chance to right the wrong that Father has done?
That said… it’s unlikely that someone that benevolent would resort to blackmail.
Besides, I have no idea why he’s even chosen me. Why not contact Irina, or Clara?
They’ve always fared better with boys, charming them and laughing with them, while I have my nose buried in a book as I occasionally watch them from a distance. They also dress themselves in the latest fashion (as much as we can afford it) and paint their faces with make-up.
I don’t understand why he’d choose me. Out of all the guys in the town, there’s only one who has overlooked my sisters to pursue me. I’m too weird for all the other men in our sleepy little town.
Oh, no… This guy, he’s not Graham, is he?
I’d hate to owe something this big to Graham.
But this theory is not too far-fetched. Graham’s family has lived in Willowdale for generations, which is why his father is the Chief of Police and his uncles also hold important government positions. It’s possible that they have a secret place in the woods.
Whoever he is, I guess I’ll have to meet him and listen to what he wants.
So I press on the piece of white paper, and the rock wall moves to the side, the sound heavy and dull.
My jaw drops open. I can’t believe this.
I glance at my hand as the wall continues to slide, making a deafening noise. I must’ve touched some kind of a lever. There has to be a trigger mechanism.
But I can’t focus on my thoughts. I can’t care too much about the exact system that governs these secret doors.
Because as the rock wall disappears, I see something that takes my breath away. Literally. I feel like I have to take deep breaths to deal with the opulence in front of me.
“Welcome, Miss Wilson,” says a male voice, startling me.
Is this the guy who’s been sending me emails? But he seems too polite to be the same person. In the emails, he calls me Rosemary. He’s even called me a “good girl.”
“We’ve been waiting for you,” the same voice says.
I gingerly step forward, past the bit of rock wall that’s sticking out.
Is there more than one person? Who’s “we”?
I turn to the side and find a tall man. He’s the most formal man I’ve ever seen. He’s wearing a three-piece suit: black jacket and pants, as well as a grey vest. A crisp white shirt and a dark blue tie complete the look. He’s also wearing a pair of white gloves.
The man seems to be in his sixties. The color of his thinning hair matches the color of his gloves.
“My name is Albert,” he says, smiling. Lines appear on the skin around his kind blue eyes. “Welcome to Ardglass Palace.”
I look around me, my mouth still hanging open. It takes me a while to understand what the man is saying.
No wonder Father said it was like a dream. He told us the rose he stole was the only proof that everything had happened the way he remembered. And now I understand why.
“Wait, did you say ‘palace’?” I ask, tearing my gaze off the beautiful interior to take a good look at Albert.
“Yes, Miss Wilson. This is Ardglass Palace, the residence of the crown prince.”
Rosemary
Even though I don’t always get what I want, but I do always have what I need. Without fail.
Just because my family doesn’t have money in excess, doesn’t mean that we’re lacking in anything. Clara and Irina might disagree, but that’s what I think.
I mean, just looking around me…
At my house, we have wooden floors. They're plain planks with chips all over.
In this grand hall that I’ve just entered through the secret tunnel, the flooring is made of wood as well.
But the wood pieces are all kinds of different shades of brown, and they’re arranged in intricate geometric patterns. Despite the fact that the floor consists of hundreds—no, thousands of little pieces, the surface looks perfectly flat.
The floor, shiny from the lacquer, reflects the light from the ten big chandeliers overhead. They’re arranged in two straight rows to distribute the warm light evenly throughout this great hall. Each chandelier is a golden work of art with more little lightbulbs than I can count.
Likewise, there are walls at my house, too. They work fine. They do a good job at keeping rain and snow out, and they’ve done pretty well at protecting our private space from the curious eyes of strangers.
The walls here are so different they may as well be a different thing altogether. They’re painted royal blue, but I can only see glimpses of the color because there are white decorative panels everywhere. The golden plaster on these panels forms designs like delicate sprigs of leaves and luxurious drapes of fabric. I can almost see these motifs moving—which is impossible, of course, but they’re so life-like!
There are more plaster panels on the ceiling, which is so high that the furniture appears tiny.
It’s almost like whoever built this place wanted to live inside an artwork. Everything is so grand and extravagant it’s almost too much.
And yet… How is it that I’ve never heard of the Ardglass Palace before, when it’s so close to Willowdale, where I’ve lived my whole life? And why would the royal family build such a beautiful palace in such an isolated area? Why all the secrecy?
I turn to look at Albert, who’s patiently waiting for me to stop gawking.
“Sorry,” I say. “I’ve just never… I’ve never been inside a place like this.”
“Very few people have been inside the Ardglass Palace, Miss Wilson.”
“So why me?” I ask.
If they’ve gone through all that trouble to hide this palace, it doesn’t make sense that they’d reveal it just because of one rose. I mean, it’s a nice rose, but there are so many precious treasures in this place. If someone intended to steal something, it wouldn’t be a worthless rose.
“I’m afraid I can’t answer that, Miss Wilson,” Albert says as he continues to stand at attention. He looks perfectly ordinary, but at the same time he appears tall and grand because of his suit and the way he carries himself.
“Who’s the person who has been sending me the directions to this palace?” I ask another question, hoping to get an answer this time.
“I’m afraid I can’t answer that either,” Albert says with a smile.
“Is there any question you can answer?” I pause, realizing how harsh that must sound. “I’m sorry. I mean, is there any information you can tell me? This is all very strange to me.”
“I imagine it would be,” Albert says. “If you’re ready, you can follow me to meet someone who can answer all your questions.”
“Who—” I begin to ask, but I stop myself. I purse my lips. “You probably can’t answer that either, can you?”
“You are correct, Miss Wilson,” Albert says. “I was instructed to meet you here and escort you to the study, but that’s all I’m supposed to do.”
“Can I at least know why I’m here? It can’t be just because of a flower, can it?” I ask, wondering if Father really stole a flower or if he did something worse.
“I’m sorry, Miss Wilson. You’ll just have to follow me,” Albert says.
I nod. There’s no use pressuring this poor man. He’s too loyal to his master—whoever that is—to give me any valuable information.
Albert gives me a smile before he turns around on his heels and starts walking, his steps echoing in this great hall.
As I follow behind him, I notice the two sets of oversized French doors at one end of the hall. There are so many things in this hall that demand my attention that I missed them before.
Above the doors, there are large paintings of men wearing thick, red capes and elegant women in big, poofy dresses.
I recognize these paintings—I’ve seen their pictures on books and their reproductions in people’s homes. These people are long dead now, but they were kings and queens when they were alive.
Albert is not lying. This is indeed a royal palace—not that I doubted him before. He seems like an honest man and this place is way too imposing to be anything other than that.
Albert opens the door and holds it open for me. I smile at him as I pass. I can get used to this royal treatment, but it’s also kind of stiff and awkward.
That’s probably the least of my worries, though. I wonder how much longer I’ll get to enjoy this. Seeing as I’m here to take on my father’s punishment, I’ll probably sleep in a dark cell in the dungeon tonight.
Albert steps into the hallway and asks me to follow him again.
This hallway looks just as opulent as the grand hall we were just in. The walls are lined with decorative patterns and paintings. The tables and mirrors are gilded gold.
Everything’s so perfect. Maybe a little too perfect.
I mean, of course a palace is supposed to be luxurious. But not one painting is crooked, and not one thing is out of place. Then again, I’ve never been in a palace before, so it’s not like I have a frame of reference regarding what a palace should look like.
Still, for a moment, I wonder if maybe this place is a mere ghostly illusion. It seems too strange to be true.
Maybe Albert is a spirit, and he can’t give me any answers because he’s taking me to his leader, who’s going to turn me into one of them, to serve the apparitions of royal rulers of the past forever.
I shake my head.
I’m being stupid.
Yes, the events of tonight has
been strange, but there’s no need to come up with silly supernatural reasons to explain things. Like Albert said, I’m about to meet someone who can tell me stuff, so there’s no need to speculate.
I wonder who I’m going to see, though.
That person is probably a high-ranking member of the palace staff. Maybe the chief of staff is unhappy that someone’s damaged his garden, and now he’s going to give me a set of daily chores to do until I’ve made up for Father’s wrongdoing.
Yeah, given the strange situation, that seems like the most likely explanation.
The palace is quiet. Maybe there’s only a bare-bones staff maintaining this place. The royals probably stay at the capital most of the time and only come here when they really need a break from the outside world, from the crowds and the paparazzi.
Albert’s long legs come to a stop, and I abruptly halt, my thoughts interrupted.
“We’re here, Miss Wilson,” Albert says, turning around to give me a smile.
We’re standing in front of yet another set of big, white double doors with gilded carvings of birds, dragons, and climbing plants. Around the doors are a frame consisting of a tall pillar on each side and two golden cherubs sitting on the top.
This looks like the entrance to an office that belongs to someone really important.
I imagine a man, perhaps about the same age as Albert, sitting behind a big desk. He’d have a stern face and he’d preach to me about the importance of being a gracious guest before he finally tells me what he wants me to do.
“Thank you, Albert,” I say.
He nods, then he extends his arm to grab the door handle. As the chunky wooden door slowly swings open, my heartbeat grows faster and faster.
What could be waiting for me now? Who could be waiting to see me?
“Please,” Albert says as he holds the door for me.
I take three steps and reach the open doorway with legs limp as spaghetti.
When I look inside, my breath catches in my throat.
It can’t be.
I snap my head to look at Albert, my mouth hanging open in surprise, and he just smiles back at me.
Is that really…?