‘I’ll show you the library first.’
I tucked Aiden away into the farthest corner of my heart, threw my arms around myself in a hug and followed Robbie out the door.
We passed the room in which I’d gotten dressed for my birthday dinner with Marko before we arrived at the cross-section.
‘The kitchen is down there, but you already know that,’ he said, avoiding my eyes.
I blushed, remembering my failed escape attempt and the way he’d pinned me to the floor with the length of his body, then shivered with cold when I remembered the big beefy guard and the nasty glint in his eyes.
‘You can go in any time and ask for food if you’re hungry. They’re pretty nice in there.’ He shrugged. ‘Though I’m not sure about the new head chef. It used to be a seventy-nine-year-old man named Manu, but he’s been stood down and replaced with a woman named Dina. I’ve only met her once.’
‘That’s horrible.’ I said, instantly protective of Manu. He was the same age as my grandad. ‘He must be upset.’ He must hate me.
‘Marko has rewarded Manu and his family well. He’s fine.’
As we followed the corridor I wondered how all the men who had been working in the castle really felt about being stood down. Surely they resented me.
As soon as we turned right into a narrower passageway, I knew we were close to the library: I could smell the books in all their delicious, woody mustiness.
I ran ahead of Robbie and saw two doors crafted out of dark wood facing each other on opposite sides of the corridor.
I decided to try the right one first, but Robbie reached around my waist and, in a flash, covered my hand with his own before directing me to the left door instead.
‘No-one’s allowed in that room,’ he said, in a chiding tone. ‘This is the one you want.’ He pressed my hand onto the other handle. My fingers wriggled beneath his.
He loosened his grip, but his hand still touched mine, lingering for a few seconds before withdrawing. He was smiling at me with affection, the look in his eyes making me blush hard.
Oh, God…I’m affecting him. I might just get out of this place.
But then I thought of Aiden, locked away in the dungeons, and wondered if, when the time came—if it ever came—I could leave Marin without him. Full of hate for me or not, he had been my best friend, and I owed him big time.
‘That room was Frano Tollin’s study, Marko’s grandfather. Apparently he did some crazy research in there,’ Robbie said, in a low, secretive voice, and when I bent my head to look up, his lips curved into a shy smile. ‘It’s locked. I tried several times when I was a kid. This one’s the library.’
I turned back to the door, blinked away my tears for Aiden and grinned to myself, imagining Robbie as a young boy sneaking around the castle.
‘Go on,’ he said.
I twisted the knob and opened the door, stepping into a well-lit room that was lined, wall to wall and ceiling to floor, with books.
My sandalled feet sank into the soft, carpeted floor as I trailed my fingers along the book spines.
When I looked over my shoulder I caught Robbie watching me, but he quickly reached out and plucked a random book from a nearby shelf. He glanced at its cover and blanched before hastily shoving it back into its slot.
‘What book was that?’
‘Nothing. I should go now and leave you to it.’
‘Where are you going?’ I asked, not hiding my disappointment. ‘I thought we could look around and choose books together.’ It was only after the words escaped my lips that I realised how lame they sounded.
‘I’ve got duties,’ he paused. ‘Marko’s ordered me to get some sleep, finally.’ He half smiled and, for the first time, I noticed how dark the shadows beneath his eyes were.
‘Oh, okay,’ I said, my eyes downcast. I had to get a grip. The guy couldn’t be around me twenty-four-seven. And anyway, operation-guilt-him-into-taking-me-home was hopefully already in motion. I had to be patient. Thank God I’d have a library to lose myself in until then.
Robbie stopped at the door and rested a hand on the knob before turning to face me.
‘Just so you know, I won’t be guarding you for the next two weeks.’
I pretended to be checking for titles, my fingers tapping an endless row of spines.
‘You won’t?’ Goosebumps prickled my arms, and for the first time I realised I actually wanted Robbie around for more than just possible accomplice–escapee purposes. ‘What about Damir’s men? They could be lurking around the castle,’ I said with a shiver, remembering Poh’s words.
‘Marko got rid of all the men, remember? Apart from me, of course…’
‘Right.’ I breathed a sigh of relief. ‘So you’ll still be in the building.’
‘Sylvia is going to be…’ He paused and pushed the hair out of his eyes. Were his cheeks tinting pink? ‘…training you. So for the next week or so you’ll have a female guard.’ He turned to exit, but I called his name and he stopped in his tracks.
‘What sort of training?’ I asked, thinking it had better not be what I was imagining. I recalled the Sex Ed. classes at school where I was called up to the front of the classroom to demonstrate how to put a condom on a banana while everyone looked on, smirking, the boys all wide eyed and grinning from ear to ear. And my condom had of course been the only one in the entire class to fall into the .01 percentile and burst.
‘Dancing,’ he said in a formal tone, his jaw stiff.
‘Dancing?’ I asked and nearly laughed out loud. The waltz and the foxtrot sprang to mind. I’d always wanted to learn ballroom dancing, and at least it would give me something to do while I was stuck here.
But Robbie was studying the door frame as if it was the most fascinating piece of architecture he’d come across—ever.
‘What kind of dancing, exactly?’
‘It’s a pre-wedding fertility dance. Marko wants you to learn it and then perform it, before your engagement.’
A long silence followed.
‘And, what exactly happens in a fertility dance?’ I asked, my face burning just talking about it.
‘I’m sure Sylvia will tell you everything you need to know,’ he blurted out quickly before exiting the room.
I listened to the click of his boots until the sound died away completely.
After a minute or so of scary mental images of what the fertility dance might involve, I shook my head and inhaled deeply the intoxicating scent of books. It worked.
I scaled the closest ladder to the highest bookshelf to discover what treasures dwelled there. With each rung I climbed, thoughts of the stupid fertility dance faded until they vanished altogether.
There was a weird mixture of books up top. I pulled out an interesting-looking one with exotic golden inscriptions running along its spine, but when I opened it, a delicate page slipped out and fluttered to the floor like flakes of golden snow. So I put it right back. A puff of dust rose to cloud my vision and I coughed and gripped the ladder.
I made a mental note to ask Robbie about the book later—maybe it hinted at who the original inhabitants of this place had been—but then remembered I wouldn’t be seeing him for a fortnight.
My eyes digested several other ancient-looking books with interest, and I nearly lost my balance when I spotted a book on making animal felties. I tried to picture Marko or Sylvia making little fuzzy bunny rabbits but failed. The next book was a turkey-breeding book, followed by a bodice-ripper called Handled by the Highlander. It was a weird, obscure selection.
Shaking my head, I gazed out across the room, and decided to set myself the task of sorting through all the books and categorising them. I estimated there to be tens of thousands of books—a big job. But then I figured that, if I hid here long enough, Sylvia might leave me alone and forget the dreaded fertility dance.
An hour later, however, I abandoned my task when I came across the entire Harry Potter series. It wouldn’t hurt to read it again for the fourth time.
With my hair full of dust, I found a green chaise tucked in a warmly lit corner, and threw myself on it.
I ended up reading the entire book in one go. Hours passed, who knew how many, and when I turned the last page, my hands felt like they were about to drop off. All the sensation in my bottom was gone, and when I moved, pins and needles prickled my skin.
I yawned, stretched out my limbs and wondered if anyone had noticed my absence. It was weird not having my every move monitored. It blurred the lines of my captivity.
I rolled over onto my side and, using the book as a pillow, closed my eyes and tried to sleep. Mercifully, I drifted off. But I dreamed of my parents and woke up in a cold sweat when they told me that I deserved to be eaten by the sharks in the Colosseum for what I did to them.
I must have cried out, because a middle-aged maid bustled in sweating and panting, her grey-blonde hair scraped back into a loose bun.
‘I was looking everywhere for you. You’ve missed your lunch and it’s past dinner time now.’ She frowned and shifted her weight from one leg to the other. ‘I’ve left the meal in your room. You must eat before Sylvia arrives or else I’ll get the blame.’
‘Can I eat in the kitchens?’ I wanted to avoid Sylvia as long as possible.
The furrows in the maid’s brow grew deeper.
‘The new cook doesn’t like people coming into her kitchen, but,’ she shrugged her shoulders and added, ‘Marko himself told us you’re allowed to come in as you like, so I guess you’re welcome. Although I can’t think why you’d want to; it’s steaming hot in there.’
I stared at her flushed cheeks and shivered convulsively in the icy library air. ‘Sounds perfect,’ I said and hurriedly returned all the books I’d taken from the shelves. I planned on coming back later and reading more.
I fell into step with the maid, who told me to call her Pat, first to retrieve my dinner from my room and then to the kitchen. She was a bit of a babbler, providing me with background information on the kitchen staff all along the way.
‘Young Anne is sweet and everything, but she always leaves bits of food stuck to the dishes when she washes. She’s been spoilt, you see. At eighteen, she’s one of the last children to have been born here, and I don’t reckon she lifted a finger at home before she came to work here for the king. She’s been babied all her life. All of the young ones have.’
‘Now, Thelma’s lovely; she’s got a quiet nature and a heart of gold. Doesn’t say much—doesn’t smile much either.’ She glanced over her shoulder before she continued in a whispery voice, ‘she’s one of the many women here who were born barren, but like countless others never accepted it.’
I watched as Pat brought a coiled hand to her lips, repeatedly, to indicate drinking of an alcoholic nature. ‘I don’t think the poor woman will ever get over it.’
‘Then there’s Dina. She’s our new cook.’ Pat nodded her head. ‘Good worker, does everything right, but,’ she glanced around again before lowering her voice to barely audible tones, ‘but she’s a bit—’
Pat opened the kitchen door and a blast of heat slapped my face. She wasn’t joking when she’d said the place was hot. Ovens, similar in style to the old wood-fire ones we had in the shack at Bob’s Bay, the kind made in the forties or something, lined the walls.
On top of these were pots and pans brimming with a variety of sweet-and savoury-scented dishes simmering, boiling and frying. My stomach growled as if it had awoken from three months of hibernation.
A tall, skinny woman stood at the heart of the kitchen, like a commander-in-chief, overseeing everything with a large wooden spoon in one hand and an oven mitt on the other.
‘What’s she doing here?’ the woman, whom I assumed was Dina, barked at Pat.
‘I’m Miranda.’ Remembering how everybody had greeted me in the sorting room, I extended my right hand, but pulled it back when Dina started tapping her wooden spoon hard against one of the oven tops.
‘She’s supposed to eat in her room, Pat,’ she said, her eyes so narrow I couldn’t even make out the colour of them.
I flicked a glance at Pat, who was holding the silver tray in her trembling hands.
‘Miranda wants to eat in here with us. Marko himself has allowed it.’ She finished her sentence with a self-satisfied nod of her head, patches of red flaming her cheeks, and motioned for me to follow her past the ovens and around the corner to where a small stone table stood, surrounded by little wooden stools.
The German-speaking maid was sitting there, eating soup and a bread roll.
‘Miranda,’ she mumbled, covering her mouth while she finished chewing her food. She tapped at the chair beside her with a free hand. I sat down, but when Pat did the same the woman raised a hand, dismissing her from the conversation.
‘Get back to work, Pat, and cover your ears, too,’ the woman said with a wave of a faded-blue tea towel.
‘Thanks for bringing me here, Pat. I appreciate it.’
Pat set down the tray of soup in front of me and winked, before disappearing into the kitchen.
‘Pat talks too much, but she’s good at heart,’ the lady beside me chuckled, her blue eyes twinkling. ‘Kris is my name,’ she said, before inclining her head towards the cooking area, ‘Dina’s a little bit cold. She’ll probably take a while to warm to you,’ she frowned. ‘Actually, a lot of the women here will take a while to warm up,’ she said, smiling with pity. ‘It’s only because they see in you what they themselves want but can’t have.’
My spoon stopped halfway to my mouth.
‘They want to be held against their will?’ I protested, before spooning soup into my mouth. It tasted amazing, and was filled with mouth-watering chunks of white fish. I had to restrain myself from throwing my head back and tipping the bowl’s entire contents down my throat all at once.
‘They want children,’ responded Kris in a soothing voice.
I swallowed down another mouthful of soup and grimaced.
‘Not to disrespect anybody here, but I don’t want children.’
To inflict my touch of death on innocent souls would just be plain cruel.
‘Most people want what they can’t have. It’s human nature.’
‘Were you born here?’ I asked, changing the subject.
Kris set her spoon down.
‘Yes. My parents were part of the pioneer group. They’d had enough of their ordinary existence back home.’
I put my own spoon to rest in the bowl.
‘But in ordinary life they had the sun and freedom. Why would they, or anyone, choose to come here?’
‘Children,’ she said, staring at my half-eaten soup. ‘My parents were childless and my father was an employee at one of Frano Tollin’s many pharmaceutical companies he had scattered across Europe. Frano was both a successful businessman and well-known scientist and explorer at the time.’ Kris met my eyes, but she was somewhere far away.
‘My mother used to say they knew Frano was telling the truth the instant he’d told them about Marin, and my parents agreed on the spot to become pioneers of this secret underwater civilisation.’
A gentle smile played on her lips, ‘She said that, if they didn’t survive the journey to Marin, it would at least be a romantic death—forever lost at sea. A hundred times better than to remain where they were, listening to their families and friends pestering them about having children.’
‘But if they couldn’t have children, then how—’
‘How was I born? In exchange for their commitment to Marin, Frano provided my parents with a drug to assist with my mother’s infertility. A miracle occurred. Just one baby, but for my parents it was enough. And although I was born fertile, as well as most of the others of my generation, my own daughter wasn’t. She’s one of the many women from the third generation who cannot have children. Some say it’s to do with the lack of moon down here.’ Kris sighed again and stood, taking her plate and sweeping the bread crumbs from the table onto it. She looked me firmly in the eye. ‘Ot
hers say it was because Frano Tollin had strange ideas about mermaids and conducted cruel scientific experiments on all the first-generation women, somehow altering them forever.’
‘You mean he was like Damir?’ I asked, but she was already moving away.
‘Eat quickly, Miranda, or Chef will get the grumps,’ she said, chuckling, before she was gone.
By the time I’d finished my soup and placed my dish in the sink, all the maids had vanished, perhaps returning to their partners or parents. It was strange to think that these people didn’t, and wouldn’t ever, return home to the sound of children’s laughter.
Even though I shuddered at the idea of bringing children into my already doomed existence, the idea of a childless civilisation left me feeling hollow inside. A world without a sun was bad enough, but a world lacking both the sun and children was all-out bleak.
A cold shiver rippled through me as I wondered what sort of experiments Frano Tollin had conducted. I pictured Poh tracing her shucking knife down the seam of her trousers.
I skipped dessert and decided to go straight to the library—to perhaps look up some information on Marin or the Tollin family—deliberately avoiding Sylvia, who, Pat had informed me earlier, was waiting for me in my room. But when I turned down the narrow corridor and spied the door to Frano Tollin’s study, another idea seduced me.
Standing before the very room that Robbie had warned me was forbidden gave me an adrenaline rush, and placing my hand on the doorknob made the rush intensify.
If only it was unlocked, I mused, as I twisted and turned the knob and rattled it about. Frustrated, I gave it one last jiggle and heard a tiny click.
My breathing stopped; my pulse drummed in my ears.
Glancing over my shoulder, I made certain the coast was clear and gave the door a firm push—
It opened.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
STALE, ICY AIR invaded my lungs. It was dark inside the room and the air so thick with dust that I had to step back out for a coughing fit. I ran into the library, grabbed one of the crystal lamps by its wooden base and returned to the forbidden room.
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