At midday, when the torches have reached their fullest light and the brightness almost resembles daylight, one family invites us inside to eat. I’m fussed over and made very uncomfortable with princess-y attention. The family consists of four people—Sophie, the mother; Aimee, the daughter that I think they said is ten; Rainier, the Dad; and Raphael, the toddler son. Four chairs gather around a rather tiny square table, but the family sits on the mattress and floor while Adele, Louna, and I are offered the table. Afraid of trespassing on cultural customs or being unfathomably rude, I do as I’m told and sit.
After the meal, Adele continues our tour of the tunnels. There’s one tunnel in particular that I find a bit odd. It has homes along both sides, just like the tunnel Adele and I are in, but it continues past the tunnel network without more doors, turning off to the right.
“Adele, what’s down there?” I point down the tunnel.
She grabs my hand, suprising me with her urgency. “Il est interdit. On ne passe jamais ce point dans les tunnels. Il est trop dangereux.”
‘Passe’ and ‘point’ give me the general idea of passing a certain point in the tunnels, and I got the whole ‘dangerous’ thing, but I have to ask about the first phrase. “Interdit?” Of course I butcher the pronunciation.
“Oui, interdit, défendu, prohibé. No.”
“Prohibited, you mean?”
“Oui. Il est prohibé.”
I glance back down the tunnels a final time before Adele, Louna, and I start walking back to our tunnel. “What, is it falling apart?”
Adele makes a sort of noncommittal noise in her throat, clearly avoiding answering me. A long pause ensues.
“Well, if it’s prohibited…someone had to prohibit it. Why?”
Again, she doesn’t answer. I try a different question.
“Who’s in charge here? Who makes the laws?” If I’m a princess, maybe I have some command here.
“Notre roi.” Her voice is pinched. I know she doesn’t want to continue this discussion, but if I’m going to learn anything about this odd world, I’m going to need a little help. I can figure out the church and the garden thing, but I can’t figure out that tunnel without actually going there myself. Which may or may not be a bad idea, but it’s an idea for later.
“Roi…Royal?”
“Oui.”
“Who is the royal?”
She refuses to answer me again.
“It’s not me, is it? I mean, obviously I didn’t make the law about the forbidden tunnel. There is a different royal, right?”
“Hmm.” The sound seems affirmative, but I can’t be sure.
“Am I related to this royal? Is that what makes me a princess?” The thought of having some long-lost uncle or grandparent or something down here intrigues me. Once again, though, Adele is quiet. I give up on my questions, for now.
We walk back to the common area in the middle of the garden, where the entire tunnel village has gathered for an evening meal. Invisible villagers work at levitating pots and pans by the fire, while others gather edible plants in shared baskets. Maybe, after a little while here, I can be a part of this. I can help with the meals, and share in the care of the children and the garden, and invite people into my room for lunch. Although I don’t have a dining table, or any sort of living room furniture—just bedroom stuff. What makes my room different? Why this whole elevated princess act? I really wish someone here would give me some straight answers.
The torches are still brighter than they’ll get by nightfall when everyone packs up and returns to their own homes. Adele repeats her warning from last night before closing me in my room and taking Louna home. They haven’t been gone long when the first terrible noises start. I sing to myself to block the noises from my mind, change into a nightgown, and crawl into bed.
“Hi, me again.” I make myself comfortable on the dirt floor of the five-walled room and cock my head at the cloaked man. “You know, I really should have something to call you.”
“I cannot—”
“I know, I know. You can’t tell me your name. Nobody can tell me anything here. Still, it’s not right for a girl to spend so much time with someone with no name to go by. Can I make one up for you?”
There’s a pause before he answers, sounding a bit surprised. “You may.”
“All right then.” I study his cloak, his chair. I glance around the room. I stand and walk up to him, closer than I’ve ever come before. My palms start to sweat and my heartbeat rises the tiniest bit. For a moment, I just stand there, neither of us moving, neither of us speaking. What’s he hiding under that cloak? Slowly I reach out a hand and pinch the fabric of the cloak between my fingers. He doesn’t move to stop me, which surprises me a little, but my pulse still races. The cloth is thin velvet, soft as a cloud. I smile and, sort of testing his limits, let my hand wander back across the cloak, over his head, until I can feel his neck under the fabric.
This whole time the man has not so much as twitched. It’s a wonder that a person can remain that still in such an odd situation. He’s very accommodating. Or…trusting. The thought gives me a strange thrill in my chest and gives me the nerve to ask, “May I see you?”
He doesn’t reply, instead shifting a little in the chair. I pull my hand away but stay standing where I am. Something about this man is comforting and familiar—perhaps the fact that I’ve spent so many dreams with him by now. My emotions are often affected by my dreams; sleep sometimes has a strange effect on me that no waking experience has ever come close to.
My thoughts are interrupted when he says, “Not yet.”
I can’t help the disappointment that crashes through me, but I don’t miss the “yet.” I sigh and nod before taking a step back and lowering to the floor. “So I will eventually?”
“Yes. But not in these meetings.” He pauses for a moment and then continues, his voice still as steady as ever. “Beila, we have met these three times, correct?”
“Yeah.”
“This third dream is our final.”
What? “But you just said I’ll be able to see you. How can I do that if this is the last time I’ll dream myself in here?” The idea of not seeing him again is confusing. I don’t exactly know him that well, but I feel attached to him. I’m sure I’ll miss him. Quite simply, I’m sad at the thought. And why would he agree to let me nickname him if I’m not going to see him again?
“You must find that out yourself. We shall meet again, but tonight our conversation must end.”
Now I’m upset. Why do dreams always end too quickly, especially the good ones? I get up anyway and turn partway toward the door. “This is the part where you say farewell,” I remind him, not able to keep the anger out of my voice entirely. To be honest, I’m not really trying to.
“Yes.” I can actually hear a smile, possibly even a laugh, on his voice. It’s irritating. His next sentence is quite serious, though. “Beila, promise me. Promise me you will find me again.”
His change of tone surprises me, and his serious insistence washes away some of the anger. I turn back to face him. “Of course I will.” I pause. “And I’ll have a name for you then, too.”
The cloak shudders. There’s no nod, like I expect. I get the impression that he’s as reluctant for me to leave as I am, which makes the leaving easier and harder at the same time. “Farewell, milady.”
I glance down at my necklace for a long while, committing the image to memory, before putting my hand on the door handle. “Farewell.”
The next day is Sunday. Or, it would be, back home. Magic taken into consideration, I’m not sure if the day I fell through that hole was the same as the day I landed down here. I wake up feeling blue. Adele dresses me up, fussing and hair-pinning and face-painting like a crazy person. Then she and Louna and I find our places, on the front bench in the church. Naturally. Before the sermon, I’m officially introduced to the congregation. I stand and wave, feeling not only like I’m on display but also a
bit ridiculous for smiling and waving at empty benches. After that bit’s thankfully done with, a French sermon commences. I understand a great deal more than I expected. I mean, I miss a few anecdotes and laugh at a few jokes belatedly, but I definitely wasn’t this good with the language yesterday. What with all the enchantment and magic in these tunnels, I begin to wonder if my insanely rapid learning of the villagers’ language has had some fairy-tale assistance.
Lunch is a common meal in the garden like last evening’s dinner, and the afternoon is spent talking and lounging about with neighbors while the children play in the garden paths. Everyone eats freely off the vines, bushes, and branches throughout the day. I follow suit. A good thing, too, because it turns out there’s no actual dinners on Sundays—just the common lunch and a lot of produce snacking.
Curfew comes all too soon. I sleep fitfully, waking often, with the awful roaring echoes and the occasional snap in my fireplace the only sounds through the night.
Five
I get out of bed before the fire indicates it’s daytime. For a while, I sit on the edge of my bed and think about everything that’s happened since I went for a walk in those woods and ended up here. Going through it all, I’m struck by two things. One, that it’s a little insane I haven’t had a full-on mental breakdown considering the insanity that is a magic underground village. I mean, I’ve never been a drama queen, and I don’t get panic attacks like my friend Anne does sometimes…but you’d think invisible people and a dirt world and magic clothes would be enough to send even me over the edge. The second thing that comes to mind is how different time seems to be here. Maybe it’s just the overwhelming nature of events or how busy I’ve been kept since I arrived. Or maybe it’s the lack of clocks, and how firelight keeps time here. Whatever the case, it feels like I’ve been here far longer than three days.
I want to explore this place a bit more today, but on my own. I’m determined to have a bit of freedom, some space to process everything. By the time Adele comes in to prepare me for the day, I have my speech ready. I let it all out while she pulls corset strings and paints rouge on my cheeks, refusing to let her reply until I’ve finished.
“Adele, I know down here I’m a proper princess. You said already that you want to serve me, and I don’t mind at all. In fact, I’m really very glad for the help, because I don’t know how else I’d ever put a corset on or do my hair appropriately—the fashions are so different from back home, you know.” I take a deep breath and push on through the speech, ignoring the pang that ‘back home’ sends through me. “But I’ve spent the last three days adjusting to life here, and you’ve introduced me to everyone and shown me all the tunnels. I know where there’s water, and food, and I know the people—really, you’ve done a great deal for me. I’m sure you have some sort of routine and things you need to do and all—it’s not like you always sat around, waiting until the day a princess showed up for you to be maid to. You have a life here. And I’m sure Louna would want to see more of you. I say that it’s only right that you resume your life down here and I can spend my days how I please.”
I pause and take in a breath. “I don’t really need a guide anymore, is what I mean. You’d still help me dress and all that. But after that I don’t see the point in you sticking with me all day.”
By the time I’ve finished speaking, she’s finished preparing me. Instead of protesting or arguing or trying to explain why that’s a bad idea—like I expected—Adele just pulls me up from my vanity chair, kisses my forehead, and replies with her thick accent, “Of course.”
I’m shocked into silence. She cleans up my makeup paints, closes up my wardrobe, and leaves the room.
I wait a few minutes before leaving the room, too. What I really want to look at is on the other side of the village, but I don’t think it would hurt to explore the rooms near mine first. They’re the doors with signs on them, the ones Adele skipped over during my neighborly introductions.
The first room on the left smells odd before I even open the door; it’s labeled “herbes.” When I enter, I realize why: the place is an old-fashioned apothecary. Tied bunches of dried herbs hang from the ceiling, and neat dirt counters line the walls. It’s still weird, seeing things made of dirt that shouldn’t stay up but do. They’re covered with jars, mortars and pestles, charts and books. There’s nobody tending the shop, but perhaps it’s a common space like the garden. I read the titles on the spines of a few books. It would seem they’re mostly about remedies for various ailments. Makes sense. Mom would like this room. She could spend all day in here, I’d imagine, and could teach me all about the plants and their purposes and how to use them. She’d probably make corrections to the outdated books. As much as I love tending a garden, I doubt I could make any sense of the text even if they were in plain English.
The room across the hall isn’t anything particular, it would seem. Instead of counters, there are dirt shelves. They look wrong and impossible, but they’re jutting out of the wall like the metal shelves one might find in a garage or shed. Jars and wooden boxes and crates line the shelves, while barrels fill the center of the room. The sign on the door read “Stockage.” I guess this is storage.
Next door to “Herbes” is “Viande,” which I haven’t a clue to the meaning of. I don’t spend long in this room—one glance inside tells me it’s full of meats. There’s no flies or rotting smell. That’s probably the magic. Which is also the only explanation as to where meat would come from down here under the dirt, too. Are all these rooms magically filled? That’s an incredible idea.
Then there’s “Jouets et des livres”—again a mystery. This room is much more pleasant than the last. It’s full of books! Well, partly. It’s a room for toys and books, mixed together on the shelves with no distinction of which shelves are for toys and which are for books. Sadly, this room is quite a bit less full than the past three. I guess the villagers either don’t need, don’t have, or don’t see the use for toys and books as much as meat and herbs. Of course, they seem to live a simple life of survival, so food would take precedence over children’s playthings. I long to stay and read, browse, smell the old French papers, maybe even find something for drawing, but I move on to the next room.
Its door reads “Pains.” The word is familiar, and I know that I know it, but I can’t remember the meaning. I open the door and am greeted with warm air and the delightful scent of freshly baked bread. Oh! Everyone knows that the French are masters of pastries, and this place is full of them. I briefly wonder if it’d be stealing if I just took one and ate it—but then I bump into someone. I’d assumed I was alone back here, but of course these rooms are all here for use. I decide to ask about the pastries.
“Pardon. Forgive me for asking, but…who am I speaking to?”
“Ah, Beila!” A small, soft hand takes mine. “Je suis Aimée!”
It’s Sophie’s daughter, the girl from the family Adele and Louna and I ate with on Saturday. “Bonjour, Aimée! I just want to ask, is it okay for me to.. well, do I just take a pastry? Or do I pay—is this a store?”
“Pay? Payer? Non, non. Pourquoi voulez-vous payer?”
She sounds surprised and a bit amused at my question. I don’t see what would be so strange about paying for bread in a bakery. Then I realize that, if these stores all fill themselves magically, and nobody runs the shop, then people must always just take what they need or want whenever. Which means that a ten-year-old girl probably would find the idea of paying for something absurd.
“All right then. Merci!”
I squeeze her hand and she leaves the store, with me and my warm croissant close behind.
There’s one more shop to visit. I eat and walk. “Les vêtements et les chaussures,” this sign reads.
It’s a clothing…shop, I guess I’d call it. Dresses and shirts, pants and shoes, belts and undershirts, petticoats—there’s everything in here! But nothing comes close to the finery in my wardrobe. In fact, everything looks a bit the s
ame. They’re all drab, dull colors and practically mass-produced cuts. There’s only one or two choices for each item, if that. The fabrics feel rough and plain, too.
“Bonjour, Beila. Vous êtes perdu?”
The woman’s voice startles me. “Pardon? I didn’t quite understand.” I can’t place the voice, but the entire village knows me already.
“Perdu. Eh…lost?”
“Oh. No, I’m not lost. Non perdu. Just exploring.” I smile briefly. “But tell me…is this what you, the villagers, wear?” I gesture around the shop.
“Oui.” She sounds a bit confused, like it’s crazy that anyone wouldn’t know that.
“But they’re so… plain. Rough.”
She laughs. “C’est normal!”
“Okay, so that’s normal. I got that. But then why…I mean, my clothes…”
“Oh, je vois. Simple. Tu es la princesse!”
I hold back a sigh. These poor people, finding it normal to live in poverty and dress me in fine gowns. It’s sad. And frustrating, being the one everyone elevates. “I see. Well, I’m off to explore today. Au revoir.”
“Au revoir!”
It does occur to me that, if I can see the clothes in the shop, then shouldn’t I see the clothes walking around? Wouldn’t just the people’s hands and heads be invisible? But I figure the magic must somehow affect what they’re wearing too. I mean, it’s magic; it’s not like it can be explained in the first place. Who says it has to make sense?
The sad state of this place weighs on me, but I didn’t shake off Adele’s guiding hands to just peek into some shops. Since there’s obviously nothing I can do right now to help these people’s living conditions, I decide to return to my original plan for today.
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