Six
My heartbeat doubles in an instant. I’m gasping as I tear down the sharp turns, skirts hiked in one hand, shoes swinging in the other.
I can tell from its cries that the griffin is coming closer, coming out of its room or lair or cave, sounding out from someplace in or near the palace. I whip my head around to glance behind me just as I leave the forbidden tunnel. I don’t see anything, but the movement was a mistake—I lose my balance and fall, my toes skidding across the dirt. My shoes go flying in front of me and my skirt catches on my bodice and rips as I throw my arms out to break my fall. My hands sting when they skid on the floor; my right elbow hits the ground with a sharp pain. Abandoning my shoes, I push myself back up and use both hands to carry my shredded, billowing skirts.
I don’t look back again, but I can still hear the creature’s calls. It’s not moving as fast as me, because the sounds are slowly becoming more muted as I put more dirt between me and that thing. Finally, I fall against my sturdy wooden door and grasp desperately at the handle. Closed safely in my room, I collapse to the floor, panting and sweating.
Nothing but awful, sickening fear fills my mind and stomach as I prepare for bed. I search for something—anything—to think about that’s not related to the monster. The only thing that comes to mind is the fact that, despite my being here several days, I’ve never washed. I hone in on that odd thought. At this moment, I’m only as dirty as I would have been if I’d gone on a similar day-long excursion back home. Every morning I wake as clean as if I’d showered the night before. More magic? I think back on my first morning, when the dress I’d left lying on the floor was automatically clean and hanging in my wardrobe. Life is so odd in a place where magic is the only thing that makes sense.
Even the chandeliers and bookshelves and furniture in the palace weren’t dusty or cobwebbed. Of course, that could be because there really are people living in it, or at least cleaning it. As I’ve had to learn quickly in the tunnels, just because I can’t see anyone doesn’t mean they’re not there. But maybe that castle’s truly abandoned, and the magic simply prevents it from falling to ruin? The magic, not the villagers, keep up the shops by my room—at least, it seems that way.
I fall asleep thinking about the strange laws of magic here, blocking the roars outside my room with my pillow and my thoughts.
The next morning I work very hard to hide my impatience and not fidget while Adele selects my gown. Today’s a muted purple color with burnished yellow embroidery. She dresses me, twists my hair up in a complicated sort of braid crown, and does my makeup. I’m pretty sure she can see right through my thin charade, but she just kisses my forehead as usual, puts my things away, and leaves. Maybe I imagined the knowing smile I felt as she pressed her lips to my temple. How difficult it is to read people without any body language to go by.
Just like the day before, I walk slowly down the side tunnel and stop in the garden. Today, I’m a bit more prepared for the commotion that ensues. I even stop for a bit of breakfast, which consists of bread and a hot drink resembling coffee made from the roots of small blue chicory flowers. After saying my goodbyes, I slowly make my way down to the forbidden tunnel. Once I’m there, I stop to listen for villagers. I’m about to walk to the castle tunnel when a young boy behind me calls my name.
“Beila! Beila! Bonjour!” He runs to me, panting and cheerful, his footsteps thudding on the dirt. I recognize the voice belonging to Samuel, a seven-year-old village boy.
“Bonjour, Samuel! How are you today?”
“Je vais très bien!” He pauses to heave in a few breaths. “How are you?”
I smile at his slow English, and decide to try a little of the French I’ve been picking up. “Je vais très bien, merci!”
He laughs. “Vous apprenez vite! C'est très bien!”
I don’t understand the first sentence, but ‘tres bien’ I know means ‘very good.’ I smile and nod. “Merci.”
“Que faites-vous aujourd'hui?”
I turn his words over in my head a few times, but I don’t remember the meanings for any of them. “I’m sorry, Samuel, I don’t understand.”
“What you do today?”
“Oh!” I try to give a vague enough answer that satisfies him. “I’m just looking around, exploring—you know, wandering the tunnels.”
“Ah!” His tone is urgent. He takes my hand and holds it up to point toward the tunnel behind me. “Bien que l'un est interdite? N’ y vas pas! C'est dangereux.”
I nod. “Yes, Samuel, I know. Forbidden tunnel. Adele told me.” If I play this right, he won’t suspect a thing. I feel bad for tricking him, but I have to find the cloaked man. The castle tunnel and the path to the cave are the only places I have left to look. “Don’t worry, Samuel, I know which tunnels are safe and which are not. You know, you should probably be going. So should I. Your friends and your mother will wonder where you are. And I have plenty of exploring to do!” My voice sounds a little too chipper to me, but the seven-year-old doesn’t catch my overblown enthusiasm.
“Oui, oui. Au revoir!”
“Au revoir.” I wait for a few minutes, waving at him and listening to his footsteps, before turning and running down the twisting castle path.
As soon as I reach the marble hall, I remove my shoes and set them on the floor to retrieve later. Then, as much as I long to return to the library or the ballroom, I walk quickly past them both and head straight for the hall between them. Today I plan to finish searching the castle.
I glance around briefly while hurrying down this hallway. It’s not at all like the marble one—it’s more like a regular indoor hallway than a grand entry. The walls and ceiling are wood, and the floor is the same stone material found in the rest of the castle. The ceiling holds hundreds of small wood panels in place, creating a pattern of three-dimensional geometric shapes like diamonds and rectangles. The walls have larger panels like the ones in the bedroom, but instead of painted flowers they hold carvings of the letter F. It’s the same design in the ceiling of the marble hallway. Maybe the people the palace was built for had a last name starting with an F. Wouldn’t a place like this be inhabited by people with crests and signet rings and stuff? These panels line the top halves of the walls, while the bottom halves alternate between more panels and a selection of marble statues. Crystal chandeliers hang across the ceiling. It would take days to notice all the details of this hallway alone. My favorite part, though, is the windows—more windows letting in more light than any other part of the castle. They’re huge, running from floor to ceiling, set at evenly-measured intervals. The sunlight reflects off the crystal prisms dangling from the chandeliers, casting little rainbows on the walls.
I reach the end of the hallway, where it turns left, and am both surprised and disappointed. It turns out this hallway is just like the marble hall in one respect: they both suddenly give way to endless dirt. It would seem I’ve reached the end of the palace’s marvels.
However, another dirt tunnel means more to explore. I think of the possibilities waiting for me in the maybe-cave tunnel. I remember the dirt room with the cloaked man, and my promise to him. My pulse begins to race as I keep walking, much slower and more cautious now, letting the cool, moist red dirt rub up and seep into my feet. If I remember correctly, several spas in the city sang the praises of mud treatments. Maybe magic red dirt will be good for me.
I reach a set of magnificent double doors. They’re the same dark wood as the doors back in the village; the intricate, ancient-looking design of their carvings is clearly the handiwork of a skilled craftsman. The handles are leaf-patterned curves of cold metal, either brass or a grander but more tarnished material. I wrap my hands around both doors’ handles and pull hard.
Nothing happens. I tug both handles again, bracing my feet against the hard-packed dirt floor. I grasp the right handle with both hands and try again. Still nothing, not even a little give. The same thing happens with the left handle. I step back, resting
my hands on my hips, and look the doors up and down again. There’s not exactly a surplus of grand double doors in the dirt tunnels here, and I know from my dream that the cloaked man’s room definitely had double doors. I think through the dreams, trying to visualize the doors—that’s when I remember.
A bit more hesitantly this time, I place one hand on the right door handle, take a deep breath, and give a gentle push.
The door swings inward slowly, silently.
I push it open further and step into the room. I grin, even start to laugh a little. An unexpected rush goes straight through me. My eyes haven’t adjusted to the dimmer light here, but this has to be it, the cloaked man’s room. I’ve found him! I’ve really found him, the cloaked man, in the strange five-walled room, hidden behind a grand hallway at the back of the palace. I take another step and the door eases closed silently behind me.
“Hello?” I breathe, my voice barely even a whisper. My laughter dies out and I bite my lip, suddenly feeling a bit shy.
I didn’t really think about it before, but standing here for real, with my bare, now dirty feet and my fancy gown and princess hair, is different from the times in my dreams. I think of the necklace and glance down. It’s not there. I’m not surprised, but I feel a bit disappointed. I look up again, trying to see through the darkness. Everything seems much more real and detailed. I’m hyper-aware of my appearance, of the feeling of cool dirt against my feet, of the way my breaths echo ever-so-slightly every time I exhale. It’s darker in this room than I’d realized before; my eyes haven’t fully adjusted to the low, flickering light of the torches. I can make out the tall, dark shape that is the throne in front of me.
“Hello?” I say again, louder this time.
“Hello.” I can hear the smile in his voice. I’ve missed that voice, even if it has been only two days since I last heard it.
It’s as though, down here in the tunnels, far from home and surrounded by magic and dirt…it’s like he’s the only thing that really makes me keep it together. He seems to connect me and this place and my real home, up top—and I’m sure he knows how and why I’m here. The invisible people with their grand ideas of princesses make me a bit uncomfortable. My room is strange and so different from anything I’ve ever lived in. I don’t have normal clothes or even normal food anymore. Every time I think of New York or my family I get this really weird headache and eventually I just give up and focus on something else. But this man, this strange man with a calm voice and a real visual form, even hidden under a big billowing cloak, existed before I came to this place. He ties the me in this world to the me I remember. Even if he can’t tell me anything, even if he’s practically a stranger, he makes me feel more at home in the tunnels.
He speaks again, his voice soft and musing. I can’t tell if he’s really talking to me or to himself, even though he addresses me. “I thought you were pretty before, but your beauty is much better displayed here in the flesh. I’ve waited so long to see you in person. I just…I didn’t realize how beautiful you would be.”
His comment surprises me. Not that he thinks I’m pretty—I know I look good. I’m a seventeen-year-old girl with long hair and clear skin, not to mention I’m a freaking princess in a ball gown. But does it really matter how I look, exactly? It surprises me that that’s the first thing he says now that I’ve finally found him.
I grew up being told I was pretty. I mean, I’m fairly convinced every little old lady will tell every sweet little girl they meet how beautiful and darling they are and how the boys will fight over them someday and all that nonsense. But I’m not like my sister, always bemoaning her imaginary faults. I know I’m pretty. I’m just not like Cecelie, who knows she’s pretty but pretends otherwise to get boys’ attention, or like Jen, who knows she’s pretty and flaunts it. I know I’m pretty. I also know it doesn’t really matter. Especially now, down here, in a world of dirt and darkness. I mean, until recently, I was the only person I could even see. In no possible situation can I imagine my physical level of attractiveness mattering less than right here, right now.
So yes, I know I’m pretty, but his compliment still surprises me. “Um…thank you, I guess?”
He doesn’t say anything else. I can’t think of anything to say for a few minutes, until I remember our last conversation. “I’m sorry.”
“Oh? What for?” He sounds amused.
“I’m afraid I haven’t come up with a name for you yet.”
He actually laughs, and I realize it’s the first time I’ve heard him do that. It’s a nice sound, deep and rolling, pleasant and warm. It fills and stretches the hollow in my chest, the way the first deep breath after a good gym session feels. “Well, we have much more time today than our previous visits. Perhaps you’ll come up with something later.”
“Maybe.” I pause. What now? “So…I saw the palace. Or castle. Whatever you call it.”
“Yes.”
I think about walking closer to him to sit, like in my dreams, but it feels much more awkward and noticeable now in waking hours. I just sit down where I’m standing. “The library’s awesome.”
“Isn’t it?” I think I catch a sigh. He continues talking softly, but I can’t really tell if he’s still talking to me or just thinking out loud. “I designed it for someone special. The whole castle was…built with her in mind. But then…well, the circumstances changed.” He sounds a little bitter. “I don’t know…” He pauses for a long moment. “I’m not certain of anything these days.”
I wait a while before speaking to make sure he’s finished. “Who was she?”
“Someone very special to me. I’m sorry, but I can’t say anything more. I wish I could, truly. But I can’t risk it.” He doesn’t sound annoyed with me, so I know he means what he says.
“Too dangerous, I know. Should we talk about something else?”
“Whatever you like.”
“Alright then. Um…” I try to think of something lighthearted to say, but nothing comes to mind. So instead I just blurt out the first thing I think of. “The other day, when I was in the castle, I found windows—windows in all the rooms, instead of torches and fireplaces, lit with natural sunlight. It’s beautiful. The whole palace is practically bursting with windows. I love it. But there’s nothing to see out them, just light.” I pause; he doesn’t speak. “Are they magic? I guessed they were.”
The hood nods.
I look around, not sure what to say next. How did I converse so easily with him in my sleep, and now I keep finding myself casting around for something, anything, to say? I decide to abandon awkwardness and polite conversation together. After all, I was comfortable enough in this room with him before. I push myself off the ground and sit down several paces closer, so I have to look up a little to see him, but not so close that it’ll give me a crick in the neck. With my eyes adjusted and the distance between us closed, I can see the folds in his cloak as it drapes down over the chair onto the floor. He doesn’t react to my movement at all. This doesn’t feel awkward or intruding; it seems familiar, it seems right.
Suddenly I feel like I don’t really need to talk. The silence isn’t empty or awkward; it’s just quiet. But I do want to talk with him. I ask one of the things I’m really wanting to know. If he can’t say anything, we’ll just move on. We’ve had plenty of open conversations before. He never gets upset with me, so I don’t think I could really say the wrong thing here. “The griffin—that thing that makes those sounds, at night, that is a griffin, right?”
Another nod, slower this time.
“Well, yesterday when I came here, I stayed too long. I heard the-the griffin.” I pause for a moment, wavering in my boldness, but I want answers, so I press on. “I had to run. It sounded much closer than it does during the day. Does it…I mean, is its den or whatever somewhere back here, near the castle?” Do griffins live in dens? I should’ve done better research before I came here.
A third nod.
Now we’re getting som
ewhere. “But I went through all the rooms in the castle. There wasn’t any sign of the griffin. And in this tunnel, back here…well, it seems to be a dead end. Is that right?”
He nods again.
“Well then, where does the griffin live?” I realize I’ve asked more than a yes/no question and laugh, a little frustrated but also glad to finally be getting somewhere. “Oh, I know, you can’t answer that—I’m just thinking out loud. You know about the griffin, and where he lives and all that, don’t you? More than the invisible people know.”
He clears his throat. “You could say that.”
I look at him, just sit and take in the vague shape of the black fabric, for a minute. We’ve reached the extent of my yes/no griffin questions now, and his tone has changed. I realize how little I really know about this man who makes me feel so at ease. “Can I see you now?”
There’s a very long pause. I’m not even sure if he’s going to answer. I could change the subject, but whether or not he ever answers me, I’m happy just sitting here in the dark, warm silence with him.
After a while, he clears his throat. “I’m not sure.”
I wasn’t expecting that. “Why do you hide behind your cloak? Is there danger in me seeing you?” The only time he’s ever uncertain about something is when he’s afraid of the mysterious danger in telling me too much.
He clears his throat again, shifting in his seat. Obviously the issue makes him nervous, which is new. I hadn’t really thought him being capable of nervousness. “I don’t know. That’s why I’m not sure whether to continue…in my shadows.”
I sit and wait, still just looking at him. “I’m not dangerous, you know. I can’t begin to understand all the magic down here, or all your secrets, or the laws against entering the castle or any number of other things. But I wouldn’t hurt anyone.” Physically, to be honest, I’m not sure I’d even be capable. Even some of the kids in the village could probably get the drop on me.
World of Shadows Page 7