There was a sharp intake of breath from Madeleine. ‘You’re being one of those wise teachers, Mum! The ones who ask the probing questions!’
Jack sighed contentedly.
‘Well, I’m glad you asked that, Holly. Because there’s a lot I could say about how Byron was dead sexy with curling eyelashes, which is me personified apart from the curling eyelashes. When he was in high school, his headmaster said he was a wild mountain colt with his mind in his eyes.’
There was a pause.
‘At this point,’ Jack said gently, ‘you don’t all sit there like fish. You go, Oh, I get it. Jack’s a bit of a wild mountain colt himself. Just like Byron.’
Holly waited for Belle and Madeleine to stop laughing, which took a while. She was still leaning forward, chin resting in hand.
‘Here’s what I want you to do, Jack,’ she said. ‘Find out all you can about Byron’s life. The light and the dark.’
‘Your teaching’s getting a bit ad hoc now,’ Madeleine declared.
‘All that we see or seem, is but a dream within a dream,’ Holly announced. ‘That’s Edgar Allan Poe.’
‘It’s good the way you keep reeling us back in,’ Madeleine said. ‘That aspect of your teaching has improved. You’re like a relentless, dream-poetry machine.’
‘How come you know so many poems about dreams?’ Belle asked.
‘I Googled them last night. Listen, why do you think poets are so drawn to dreams?’
‘See? Reeling us back in. Nice, Mum.’
‘Madeleine.’
‘Okay, well, I’ve noticed that people can’t say the word dream without their eyes going all soft and wistful,’ Madeleine said. ‘Which is a poetry thing. I mean, that’s the effect poets want to achieve, so talking about dreams is like a shortcut.’
‘But actually the things our brains do at night should be called sleep garbage,’ Belle pointed out. ‘Not dreams.’
‘Night is relevant,’ Jack said. ‘It’s like a poetic time of moons and stars, and the time when Madeleine used to climb out of windows and go dancing with strangers before she came here to Cambridge and reformed.’
‘Just keep in mind that that’s my mother right here,’ Madeleine said.
Holly was leaning back, studying the cakes in the glass case behind her.
She looked back, smiling. ‘What’d I miss?’
‘I like your focus,’ Belle said.
‘You know, that’s something we discussed at our homeschooling teachers’ meeting the other day?’ Holly stretched her arms above her head. ‘We’re trying to figure out what to do now that we’ve lost two of our teachers. Belle, your mother seems determined not to teach. I thought I’d be able to change her mind. And with Denny gone too . . . well, it’s disastrous. Darshana offered to take over the French teaching but we pointed out she doesn’t speak French. Another thing we discussed is how you all comment on our teaching. It’s disconcerting and post-modern. We don’t know how to deal with it.’
‘I like how open you are,’ Jack said. ‘Laying your teaching issues out for us.’
‘There,’ Holly said. ‘You’re doing it again. It’s like you’re all outside the lesson, looking in. We think you need to be more present.’
‘Like you,’ Madeleine said. ‘When you do your sewing at the same time as teaching.’
‘Right,’ began Holly, and then, ‘Oh, ha ha. That’s different. That’s multitasking.’ Holly glanced at her watch.
‘Here’s another one,’ she said. ‘These lines were written by a Chinese woman who was born in 1084. Li Qingzhao. You ready?’
‘This morning I dreamed I followed
Widely spaced bells, ringing in the wind.’
There was quiet.
‘I like that one,’ Jack said.
Holly spoke up again.
‘Once a dream did weave a shade
O’er my angel-guarded bed.’
‘Oh, well, I think we’ve had enough dream poems now,’ Belle said politely. ‘Thanks, though.’
Holly looked at her watch. ‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘We’re done.’
‘Shall we go get a falafel roll?’ Jack suggested. ‘My horoscope today highly recommended Middle Eastern food, with extra points for crushed chickpeas.’
‘Has anybody moved into Abel’s place?’ Belle asked.
Jack looked at her. ‘Why do you keep asking about that flat?’
‘Why do you lie about your horoscope?’ she shot back.
Jack and Belle held each other’s gaze. There was that jostling silence between them again. Even Holly noticed it. She raised her eyebrows at Madeleine.
‘Anyway, before you all go, I need to give you an assignment,’ she said.
The tension folded and fell.
‘Actually, the assignment’s in your aura, Holly,’ Belle said. ‘It’s sort of radiating out of your left ear? So you don’t need to tell me. I can see it perfectly.’
‘You’re making that up.’
‘I am,’ Belle agreed. ‘Let’s go eat.’
4
Yo. Madz.
You crazy like a freakin school of plankton caught in one of them circles made of sound and bubbles that the humpback whales make to catch plankton!
Wait. What were we talking about?
I remember. You want me to try that street corner again. You crazy like a freakin school of plankton caught in one of them (etc).
Nah. I’ll do it. What’ve I got to lose? (Just my job, LOL.) (No. I’ll only stay ten mins this time, like you say.)
Why do you say you’ll miss me when I go back? Don’t they have email in Cello? I was thinking, you can visit and we can hang in the dungeon (ha ha, hang, I don’t mean that the way it sounds, I promise never to schedule your execution, the way those douches have scheduled my sister’s execution! What even? I mean it’s not like killing someone’s a dentist appointment! What’s with the scheduling?) (But like you say, hopefully they’ll rescue her.)
I also promise I won’t go all, ‘I am princess, you are common scum, scrape the mud off my boots and put it on a sandwich and eat it!’, on you.
Not to be stupid, but you’re sorta my best friend here in Berlin. Seriously. And you’re not even IN Berlin. Just, I mean, I haven’t really met anyone I trust the way I trust you. Weird, I know, but true.
What’ll it be like going back to Cello? I’m sorta excited but also sorta scared about (a) meeting the strangers who are supposed to be my royal family (eg Will they like me? And how am I supposed to talk? Once I’ve said ‘henceforward’ I’m all out) and (b) how do I actually get there? Someone will collect me, right? And will they just sort of ‘magic’ me there? Will it hurt? Or will they take me on a long, mad journey, so I should bring a magazine to read on the way?
Jupiter XXX
PS Are you still getting nose bleeds? Maybe stop picking your nose? LOL.
*
Dear Jupiter,
The most important thing that I have to say is this:
I DO NOT PICK MY NOSE.
The doctor says it’s the cold air making the inside of my nose dry out, crack and start bleeding. She gave me ointment which sometimes helps, and she said it could be ‘cauterized’ if it keeps happening. It’s still happening.
Actually, it might be the tension between Belle and Jack that’s affecting my sinuses.
I’m very sorry but I don’t think we will be able to keep emailing when you go back to Cello. It’s a different dimension, see. I don’t think they even HAVE the ‘world wide web’, and if they do it’ll be the ‘Cello wide web’. Cause, see, it’s NOT in the World.
Also, it’s illegal in Cello for people to communicate with the World. It’s like a capital offence. (That’s why Elliot got in so much trouble for writing to me.)
Yeah, it must be scary for you, going back. I hadn’t thought of it like that—I was just thinking it was exciting, and I was sort of jealous because your dad wants to get you back, whereas mine ignores my letters. But if you don’t remember
who your dad IS, that’s a whole other ball game.
I think you will remember everything as soon as you get thru, so then you’ll be fine and you’ll know how to speak Princess. Plus, I think people usually FIGHT with their family rather than worrying about whether they like them or not. So it’ll all fall into place.
Finally, I don’t know about your journey, sorry. They’ll use a mirror and light to open the crack, and I think you’ll just sort of instantly go through. The crack here is small, so Elliot and I only went to the space between. I’ll be honest with you (I like how you said you trust me, but now I feel hyper-aware that I have to be honest)—the space between DID hurt sometimes. It was loud and wild and I felt like I was having a fever fit. Another time, it was peaceful but the total darkness terrified me. If Elliot hadn’t been there I would’ve freaked out.
It was beautiful, being there with Elliot. It was like there was nothing except him and me. I remember his palms, his chest, his chin, but it was like we were more than just our bodies. As if our essence was there in the darkness.
I guess this isn’t very reassuring, but you’ll probably just get through smooth and quick. I doubt you’ll have time to read a magazine.
Bye,
Madeleine
x
*
Hey Madz,
Re this whole getting arrested if I talk to you thing, I’m the princess, remember? So I’ll just get my dad (the King) to change the law, and we can visit each other all the time. Not too often, so we don’t get sick of each other (that happens with friends, no offence). But I’m not giving up on you.
You spooked me talking about the ‘space between’, because what exactly is that?
Princess J xx
PS I’ve started trying to get people here to call me Princess J, instead of Ariel, as a sort of rehearsal for the Kingdom but they just stare & don’t get me, as per the usual.
PPS Only 2 more days to go until Thursday. Coolio. Won’t have to work the Friday shift.
*
Dear Jupiter,
You’re leaving tomorrow.
I should have started this email: Esteemed Your Royal Highness.
Oh well. Too late.
Not sure you’ll be able to change the law—Princess Ko couldn’t do it, and your dad is still trying to figure out ways around it to get you home, so things might be trickier than you realise.
But you should totally give it a shot.
Sorry I spooked you about the space between. I don’t actually know what it is. It’s just, because Cello is another dimension, there is SOMETHING between our worlds. It’s like a total emptiness and total darkness, but sometimes there are sounds or colours or lights.
I’ve been reading about alchemy lately, and two books I’ve read MIGHT be relevant.
The first one says there’s ‘original material’ from which everything was created. It’s a sort of magical chaos, I think, which is still around, but out of reach. Alchemists used to try to find residue of it by spreading out burlap bags to collect the morning dew. The idea was, you untangle some original matter and then you sort of impress the ‘idea’ of gold onto it. Anyway, it makes me wonder if the space between is where you’d find it?
The other book I read is by a guy named Jung. He thinks that whenever we look at darkness or chaos, we see the hidden parts of ourselves. So, for him I guess, the space between is like a mirror of the secrets we don’t tell ourselves.
Jung thinks all the symbols in alchemy are a sort of universal language, like a web that links our psyches. Also, he talks a lot about people’s dreams. He seems to meet people who have very short dreams, which never happens in real life, so maybe he made them up. My favourite is this: a man dreamed he was leaving a party and he accidentally took the wrong hat.
That’s it. Dream done.
Jung thinks it means the man put on the wrong PERSONALITY, like he took someone else’s character when he left the party. That’s bollocks. The guy was just having one of those anxiety dreams where you do something stupid and embarrassing.
At the moment, you are wearing the wrong hat. Tomorrow, you will get your own hat back.
Well, that’s enough for today. For good. Forever. Ha ha.
It’s almost midnight. I’m about to go have one more ‘conversation’ with Keira about tomorrow’s plans. So check email before you leave in the morning, in case anything else has changed?
And if anything goes wrong, email me right away.
Take care,
Have fun being a Princess,
Enjoy the cakes and bubblebaths,
I don’t know what else to say,
except
bye.
Love,
Madeleine
5
The conversation with Keira that night lasted three minutes. Keira wrote first:
All good here. Anything new there?
Madeleine replied:
Nah, just freezing as usual.
Keira responded:
Not asking about the weather. Anything new from the Royals?
OK, Ms too-cool-for-climate, nothing new from the Royals. I still haven’t heard from the Queen or Prince Chyba but I guess there’s still a little bit of time. Even if we don’t hear, that doesn’t mean they’re not coming. Jupiter will be there.
Great. Thanks. Don’t forget to tell them all to wear disguises.
I have. But they’re sort of disguised already without knowing it, if you see what I mean?
Not really. Gotta go.
Wait, is there any news about Princess Ko?
Not yet. We’ll get her out tomorrow. I’ll seal this crack again in the next day or two. Thanks for yr help. Bye. K.
Madeleine was turning to leave then—Keira’s words could be the ones to go unanswered, for once—but she stopped and wrote a final note.
If anything happens to Princess Jupiter, I will personally blow open this crack, come through and tear you to pieces.
She waited, shivering, for five minutes, but there was no reply.
6
Early the next morning, Madeleine received an email from someone named Sasha Wilczek.
That was Queen Lyra. Emailing from Taipei.
For the first time, the Queen of Cello was writing to her.
Madeleine: I do not know who you are or what you have to do with things, but I’ve had enough of the hiding & the running. I can’t stand it any more. I might as well be dead. The stress is making my rheumatoid arthritis so bad I’d quite like to be dead, to be honest. I’ll be there. Do with me what you will—shoot me down on a street corner—but know that I have not breathed a word about any of them or their activities or the locations of their safe houses etc to a soul, so I deserve nothing but kindness. Sasha.
Madeleine emailed back right away.
Hi Sasha, I’m not exactly sure what you mean, but I guess it has something to do with the alternate identity you’ve created for yourself. Nobody is planning to shoot you down on a street corner—they just want to take you home to your Kingdom so you can be the Queen again. (I can’t actually guarantee your safety in Cello, as things seem a bit out of control there, so wear a disguise and be careful. But, nothing to worry about here in our World.) They’ll be so happy to see you. M.
Madeleine’s mother was still sleeping, so Madeleine went out to buy bread and tangerines. When she returned, Holly was still not up. It was Thursday, one of their free days. Denny/Abel used to teach them today, but nobody had figured out how to replace him or Belle’s mother yet. Temporarily, they’d labelled these as ‘study days’ and, to celebrate, Holly often slept late.
Madeleine sat at the computer, thinking it would be funny to do some actual ‘study’.
‘I’ve got a wicked headache,’ murmured Holly from across the room.
Madeleine swung around, knocking a pile of papers to the floor.
Holly chuckled sleepily. ‘That’s the draft of my design essay. You’d better put it back in order.’ She yawned loudly. ‘Don’t worry, this is
n’t that sort of headache. People without tumours get headaches, too.’
Madeleine bit her lip.
‘Are you sure?’ she said eventually.
‘I am.’
‘Have you had any other symptoms? Have you been acting weird?’
Holly shook her head so it rustled the pillow. ‘I’m probably getting the flu. And you’d have noticed if I was behaving strangely again. Have I been?’
Madeleine continued to study Holly.
‘It’s hard to tell,’ she said. ‘You’re always strange. You want some Nurofen?’
‘I’ll sleep it off.’ Holly turned over.
*
Madeleine wrote a new email to Jupiter.
Dear Jupiter,
If everything went to plan, you should be in Cello by now. If not, you will be mad at me and trust will be all blown to hell.
Well, I won’t keep talking. I just heard from Queen Lyra—your mother—she’s going to the crackpoint, so that’s good news. You’ll get to see your mum again. She sounds a bit confused but hopefully that’ll get sorted once she comes thru & her memory returns.
I know you’re scared, so I wanted to tell you this. A long time ago there was an alchemist called Paracelsus. He believed that the stars are made of the ‘quintessence’ and that inside everybody, there’s a hidden star.
So, there’s a star hidden inside you. It’s your quintessence.
You’re probably long gone and listen to me, still talking.
M.
P.S. It’s the strangest thing to write to nobody.
P.P.S. Email me right away if you’re still there.
P.P.P.S. My dad still hasn’t answered my latest letter.
*
The room seemed to sway quietly to the rhythm of Holly’s breathing.
Madeleine stared at the screen. There was no reply.
She began picking up her mother’s essay. It was sprayed out on the floor, a series of half-hearted fans. She gathered pages slowly, stopping now and then to reach back up and refresh the screen in case Jupiter replied.
A Tangle of Gold Page 17