Archanum Manor

by Michael Pierce

  I opened the heavy leather-bound text The Great History of Westeria and flipped to the genealogy charts in the back. I began reciting the names, starting with Queen Dorothea Hart III and her only child, the reclusive Princess Amelia, who hadn’t been seen in public for nearly a decade and a half. She was only a few years older than I was, and I could see myself in the few pictures of her as a child.

  Every girl wanted to picture herself as a princess, but I really could. Oh, to be young and naive again!

  She looked happy in pictures, but she was sickly, with some debilitating illness that seemed to be worsening as she aged. As rumors spread of her declining health, the Princess was locked away within the palace, which certainly didn’t stop the spread of rumors.

  I knew many people thought the Princess had passed, though the Queen assured everyone her daughter was alive. In fact, during a live teleconference, she’d recently stated that—due to new experimental treatments—the Princess was doing better than ever; her condition was not just improving, but actually reversing, and we’d all be reintroduced to her very soon. You would be right to assume that many in the twenty-four wards remained skeptical.

  In my lessons with the Governess, other mundane facts I’d previously had to memorize and regurgitate included details about our Kingdom of Westeria.

  It had survived 579 years, three wars, five natural disasters, and numerous instances of civil unrest. The aftermath of the last war fifty-seven years ago led to the building of the electrified fence, separating us from the lawless Outlands on three sides. The Great Ocean made up our fourth border. Over the generations, we’d been reduced from thirty-five wards to twenty-four—several lost to the Outlands and the rest to restructuring.

  Four faction kingdoms were born out of the ruins of a seemingly untouchable empire: Westeria, Easteria, Northeria, and Southeria. This land we now inhabited had once belonged to a cooperation of small kingdoms called the United States of America. In their timeline, 2064 marked The Rift and the collapse of their great cooperative. This collapse was followed by a decade of anarchy before the new kingdoms emerged, becoming our Year Zero.

  “Now, close the book and recite them again,” the Governess commanded. “Have both hands flat on the cover like you’re summoning the names from within the pages.”

  But that wasn’t why she wanted my hands outstretched. I made it to the fifth generation before faltering, the Governess then slapping me across the knuckles with the pointer, producing a welt almost rivaling those on my feet. Luckily, my hands were tougher.

  “This isn’t a joke,” the Governess said, waving the pointer at me.

  “I’m not laughing,” I said. My hands burned, but I didn’t remove them from the book cover.

  “This is important. Everything I stress to you is important.”

  “If my studies are so important, then why am I not in school with everyone else?”

  “Because we’re not focusing on general education. We’re focusing on the specific knowledge you require.” The Governess looked like she wanted to hit me again, but I remained seated tall and straight.

  “And I’m required to know the Queen’s entire lineage by heart?” I said, exasperated.

  “Yes.”

  We went through the ridiculous drill again. I read the names from the genealogy chart, then recited what I could remember with the book closed; the Governess struck me with the pointer as soon as I reached my memory’s end.

  Not getting hit was supposed to be the motivation, but I’d become so accustomed to the response that it just became part of the exercise. By the time we took a break—after I reached the twelfth generation—my knuckles were bloody and swollen, less inconspicuous than the weals on my feet.

  “Let’s move to the dining room,” the Governess said. “You may have a minute to grab yourself a glass of water. Then we’ll continue with a review of formal dining decorum.”

  Chapter 5

  I was tidying up the front formal sitting room when the doorbell rang. It wasn’t an unusual occurrence; deliveries were made regularly and guests of the Ramseys were always coming and going. The estate workers were also in constant rotation to a point where I couldn’t keep up with learning all their names.

  One of the housekeepers scrubbing the floor in the foyer answered the door. A small messenger drone flew in, which stopped and hovered once inside, its twin propellers whirling.

  “Who may I ask for?” the housekeeper asked.

  “Duchess Beatrice Ramsey and Victoria Sandalwood,” the machine answered in its electronic, monotone voice.

  I was speechless. The housekeeper glanced over at me nervously.

  It must be some mistake, I thought. I was included in the same message as Lady Ramsey? I’d never received or been included in a message from a drone in my life, only a few items I had ordered being delivered by small package drones; I had no outstanding packages I was aware of.

  “I carry a private message for Duchess Beatrice Ramsey and Victoria Sandalwood. Are both present this morning?” the drone asked. A red eye pulsed when it spoke.

  The reiteration brought gooseflesh as I considered my response. It didn’t seem to be a mistake. Maybe just a misunderstanding?

  “I am Victoria Sandalwood,” I said as I exited the sitting room and stepped up to the foyer. “What is this regarding?”

  “I need both recipients present and authenticated before I can deliver the message, Miss Sandalwood.”

  “I will find the Duchess,” the housekeeper said, hurrying down the hallway and turning a corner.

  “I will wait on standby,” the machine said, continuing to hover.

  “I’ll do the same,” I said, not sure what else to say or do. I stood idly for a few minutes, then asked, “Can you tell me who it’s from?”

  The messenger drone did not answer. It either couldn’t hear me in standby mode or was flat out ignoring me.

  “I’m one of the supposed recipients. There must be something you can tell me.”

  Still no response.

  After a few more minutes of no interaction and no one returning, the hovering drone began to move about the space.

  “Please open the door. I shall return when both recipients are present,” the drone said.

  “No!” I exclaimed. “She’s home. Please wait a short while longer.”

  “I have other deliveries and must continue on my route. Please allow me to exit.” The drone moved toward the door, hovering inches away from it like a waiting dog—well if a waiting dog could hover!

  “Do you have a message I can relay to Lady Ramsey?” I asked, approaching the door slowly and trying to bide as much time as possible.

  “I shall return when it is more convenient.”

  I apprehensively opened the door and the messenger drone flew out, returning to the open air. Before I’d fully closed it and finished scolding myself for not persuading the drone to wait longer, the housekeeper came running down the hall with Lady Ramsey in tow.

  “The Duchess is here! The Duchess is here!” she yelled, waving her arms like a maniac.

  I threw open the door and sprinted onto the front landing and down the steps. “She’s here! Lady Ramsey is here!” I yelled after the departing drone. I ignored the screaming in my feet and continued down the asphalt roundabout, determined to make sure that damn machine heard me.

  After a few more attempts to grab its attention, the drone returned and lowered.

  “Beatrice Ramsey and Victoria Sandalwood are both present?” the drone asked, its red eye fixated on me. By this time, Lady Ramsey had emerged onto the front landing.

  “I am Beatrice Ramsey,” she said.

  “I must authenticate each message recipient,” the drone said as it flew back into the foyer.

  My adrenaline was dropping and my feet felt like they would burst into flames at any moment. I carefully limped back up the steps and through the front door, to stand beside Lady Ramsey.

  “Please be still while I authenticate your id
entity,” the drone said in its mechanical voice. A fan of red laser light shot from its cyclops eye and scanned the Duchess’s face.

  “Identification confirmed.”

  The drone floated over to me and repeated the process, confirming my own identity.

  “The message is marked confidential, so only verified recipients may be present during the replay.”

  “We can go into Mr. Ramsey’s office,” Lady Ramsey said.

  “If the room can be closed off, then it will be adequate,” the drone said.

  “It can,” she said and led the way down the hallway.

  Once the three of us were in the office—a room I was never allowed to set foot in alone—Lady Ramsey closed the French doors.

  The messenger drone hovered about the room and scanned the walls with the same, fanned-out laser light. “Privacy confirmed. Please stand by while I retrieve the message.” The red eye dimmed.

  I glanced over at Lady Ramsey, who was fidgeting with the cuffs of her sleeves.

  “Do you know what this is all about?” I asked, but before she could answer, the red light from the drone shone brightly again and projected a hologram into the center of the room. We both stepped back to a comfortable viewing distance while simultaneously realizing who was being depicted.

  “Good day, Beatrice and Victoria,” said the Queen of Westeria.

  Chapter 6

  The hologram of the Queen was colored in shades of red. She had a long flowing gown, her neck and wrists dripped with jewelry, and tendrils of dark curly hair cascaded over her bare shoulders. Atop her head was set the crown she never seemed to be without.

  And in the hologram, she was not alone. Beside her stood a young man who couldn’t have been much older than I was, dressed as regally as the Queen. His facial features were defined, yet soft, and there was a kindness in his eyes and radiance in his smile.

  “In case you don’t know, I would like to introduce you to Prince Byron of Easteria. He has taken temporary residence at my palace in the 1st Ward and is eager to meet you, Victoria.”

  My jaw almost came unhinged and dropped off my face entirely. Lady Ramsey immediately noticed my state of shock and put a comforting arm around me.

  “I am working hard to advance our relationship with Easteria, and a royal marriage between our two mighty kingdoms is a perfect way to do that. I’m sure you’re asking yourself what this has to do with you? There is much that needs to be said, most of which should be done in person. But first I must get you to the palace. So, this is your official royal invitation.

  “Victoria, this concerns you because—and I hope you’re hearing this from me first—you are my younger daughter and the second heir to the throne. I have arranged for you and Prince Byron to meet and build a connection, with the hope that we can make this union between our two kingdoms come to fruition.

  “Beatrice, I want to thank you for raising Victoria and grooming her for her proper place at my side. I’m sorry I could not provide you with more warning, but arrangements have been made for Victoria to leave three days hence.

  “Victoria, I’m sure this is a lot to absorb, but I’m excited to officially meet you and also for the future of our Kingdom. All your questions will be answered upon your arrival at the palace.”

  The Queen turned her attention to the Prince. “Prince Byron, is there anything you would like to add?”

  “Victoria, the pleasure is all mine,” he said, cheerfully. “I’ve heard such wonderful things about you from the Ramseys.” And there was that radiant smile again. “I’m confident we’ll hit it off and excited to discover where this can lead. We shall explore the 1st Ward in style. I wish you safe travels to Capital City.”

  “We both do,” the Queen added. “I don’t want to say too much in this message, but I assure you, things will be much clearer once you’re here. I very much look forward to meeting you. We shall see you soon.”

  Abruptly, the holograph dissolved and the light went out.

  “That concludes your private message,” the drone said. “Thank you for inviting me into your home. Good day to you both.”

  Lady Ramsey showed the drone out. When she turned to face me after closing the front door, there were tears in her eyes.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked. If she had been expecting this message from the Queen, it didn’t show.

  “My little girl’s finally all grown up and leaving us,” she said, producing a pained smile.

  “It seems I’m not your little girl,” I replied.

  “You always knew that.”

  “I still don’t believe what I just heard. It can’t be possible. I can’t be the Queen’s daughter—a Princess of Westeria.”

  “How does Victoria Hart sound?” Lady Ramsey started walking down the hallway.

  “Wrong,” I said, instinctively following her.

  After a few turns, I found myself back in the office with Lady Ramsey. She once again closed the French doors.

  “Yes, I knew this day was coming—not when, but that it would be upon us before too long. It may seem impossible or a cruel joke, but you are the Queen’s daughter and we were instructed to raise you until you were called back. I’m happy for you, but can’t say I’m happy about you leaving.” Lady Ramsey paused and took a deep breath. “I know you’ll do the Kingdom proud. But don’t forget about us way out in the 24th Ward.”

  “What does this mean?”

  “It means you are going to return to your mother, marry a handsome prince, extend the Royal Family, and one day rule the Kingdom. You’ll have more shoes than you can count. Does that about sum it up?”

  “I don’t understand,” I said.

  Lady Ramsey took a few steps toward me and pulled me in for a hug. She cried then, on my shoulder, in turn bringing tears to sting my eyes.

  Chapter 7

  I couldn’t get the hologram and message delivered earlier in the day out of my head. I’d been a second-rate family member and servant for so long, I couldn’t picture myself as anything else. No one jumped this many caste levels in a lifetime, let alone in a moment.

  The 1st Ward was by the coast; I’d never been there before. In fact, I’d never been out of the 24th Ward. The Ramseys regularly traveled to other wards for business, and occasionally were invited to the Queen’s palace for special events. And soon, I’d be living there; that thought was so surreal.

  It was late, but I wasn’t expecting to do much sleeping that night. I lay on the bed with an open novel, but couldn’t concentrate on the story either. Each time I turned a page, I realized I’d completely forgotten what I’d just read and had to go back and reread many pages. I finally gave up and simply gazed around my sparse room, thinking of Johanna’s and Mina’s rooms and imagining my new one dwarfing theirs. My rolling rack of dresses would soon be replaced by a closet larger than my present bedroom; there’d be a four-poster canopy bed I could stretch out on without reaching a single edge, and I’d have racks of shoes of all different colors and styles. My attention fell to my single pair of scuffed flats on the floor.

  I looked up at the sound of a knock at my door. Instead of waiting for my reply, someone opened it; Mina apprehensively entered. Of the two Ramsey daughters, she came down to my room more often—which was still far from regular.

  “Good evening, Miss Mina,” I said, sitting up. “What are you doing up so late?”

  “I overheard my parents talking about you.”

  “I’m sure they were.”

  “And they said you were leaving,” she said. She remained standing by the door.

  “It seems I am.”

  “And you’re a princess.”

  “I—I don’t really know what’s going on yet.”

  “You don’t look like a princess.”

  “I suppose a princess without her elegant ballgowns and tiaras doesn’t much look like herself.”

  “I can’t picture you like that.”

  “If I’m being honest, neither can I,” I said, laughing. “I’m
pretty much a wreck most of the time.”

  Mina smiled, but it was short-lived. “I don’t want you to go.”

  “I’ll miss you,” I said. “And once I’m settled in, you’ll have to come and visit me.”

  “If my parents let me.”

  “I’m sure they won’t deny a request from the Queen,” I said with a wink.

  Mina approached, dragging her feet, and sat beside me on the bed. Her expression was haunting as she peered over at me. “I’m afraid of what will happen once you’re gone.”

  I turned on the bed to better face her. “What are you afraid of?”

  She didn’t want to face me. Her head was down, her attention all given to her fidgety hands in her lap. “I’m not as strong as you are.”

  “What are you talking about? You’re plenty strong.”

  “I can’t take the punishments like you do. I just can’t,” she cried.

  “I didn’t think you got the same types of punishment as me.”

  “Me and Johanna have gotten switchings ourselves. You get most of them. But we’ve been hit by the switch too.”

  “Oh… I didn’t realize…”

  “Ours are behind closed doors.”

  “Does Lady Ramsey—your mother know?”

  “I think so,” she said weakly. “I never brought it up to her.”

  I wanted to tell her everything would be all right, but I couldn’t. I thought that since I was the outcast, I was the only one receiving the agonizing, humiliating treatment. I didn’t want to believe he was subjecting his own daughters to the same tortures. But I guessed like everything else I’d discovered that day, I’d been wrong about that too. Johanna was almost a grown woman and could potentially be out of the house soon, leaving little Mina all alone. Now I was afraid for her.

  “We won’t lose touch. We’ll talk on the phone and write letters and you'll tell me everything that’s happening. If things do get worse like you fear, I’ll do whatever I can to get you out of here.”