Time Catcher

by Cheree Peters

  We pass the door to my private parlour where I receive guests such as Finn, who isn’t allowed in my bedroom. Finn will be at the dinner tonight. What will I say to him?

  Tahan stops before a full-length brass-framed mirror, critically regarding her reflection clothed in my formal, conventional dress. We each wear a long, green gown in different shades, but that’s the only similarity – we look nothing alike. Tahan’s dress is too big for her. She has always been skinnier than me, perhaps due to her genes, or perhaps from living in the poverty-stricken West Quarter. Lucy has brushed out the tangles from my hair and pinned it up in a style suitable for a princess. However, something looks different about me but I cannot pick it.

  ‘I hope they serve apple pie.’ Tahan’s words slip by me.

  The lamps on the walls flicker, making me blink. Within Casteel electricity is constant, just another luxury in my royal life. ‘The party on the tenth floor must be sapping the power,’ I say.

  ‘You know, A, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were taking your situation for granted,’ Tahan says, twirling. ‘Your own personal chef to cook what you want, and you’re worried about your precious electricity running out.’

  I turn to her, pouting. ‘Admittedly this place was built for a giant family and only Father and I live here, but we deserve all this luxury and I shall enjoy it all,’ I say with a wink.

  Tahan laughs and grabs my left hand, squeezing it. Her warm hand reminds me of the heat from the prickling sensation on the underside of my wrist. When will the prickling go away? Why is it here?

  ‘Not another seizure, A?’ Tahan asks gently, interrupting my thoughts. She has seen me fall into my trances many times but that does not stop her worrying.

  ‘Not tonight,’ I say. ‘Just thinking.’

  She looks back at me with a gentle smile and we begin climbing the steel spiral staircase.

  ‘Has Dr Kelvin been by?’

  ‘Yes. I saw her today,’ I say. ‘She took more blood, though I don’t know why. After all these years it is clear to me that nothing will cure my trances. The damage from the accident cannot be fixed.’

  ‘Maybe not, but . . .’ she trails off.

  ‘From doctors to scientists, needles to scans, they have not found a solution,’ I say. ‘Litres of blood have been taken from me, and still no answers.’

  ‘Uh huh. I think you like escaping your life, checkin’ out for a while.’

  I smile. Tahan knows me too well. ‘Maybe. A little.’ The seizures are freeing in a way; each feels like an eternity spent in the autonomy of my mind.

  We reach the tenth floor and step into the corridor. Sounds of the party drift towards us, inviting us in. I pause and Tahan nudges me towards the archway entrance. The dining room takes up the whole tenth floor, long tables covered in red velvet tablecloths dominating the room. Candles in brass candelabra illuminate the white porcelain table settings and perfectly aligned silver cutlery. I recognise the centrepieces as a speciality from the gardens of Finn’s mother, artfully arranged green-and-white carnations.

  Delegates crowd the open space on the right, drinking wine and champagne from antique crystal glasses. The women wear corsets under their dresses of velvet and satin, and the men wear brocade suits. My father is in discussion with Delegate Singh of the South Quarter and his wife. Father sees me and smiles. I incline my head and smile back.

  I walk past the important citizens of the kingdom to the floor-to-ceiling window on the west-side wall. Infinity Lake in the Imperial Gardens gleams in the moonlight, its figure-of-eight shape dominating the centre third of the gardens. I see the shadowy outlines of a few night-walkers, lanterns in hand to guide their path.

  Tahan leans against the glass, looking back at the room. ‘Who’s single here?’

  A snicker escapes me as I look at Tahan. ‘You cannot be serious.’

  ‘Why? You should be the only one with a dashing swain?’

  ‘Please, T, we all know there is no way you could ever be a delegate’s wife. You are far too . . .’

  Tahan pops her hip and places her hand on it, accusing me with her eyes. ‘Far too what exactly?’

  ‘Far too marvellous to be a delegate’s wife.’

  She continues to glare, before tossing her red curls and replying, ‘Precisely so. Far too marvellous.’ Tahan knows that she could never live the life of a delegate’s wife – always having to be proper and attend such dull events as this. ‘Bunch of serpats, anyway.’

  ‘Tahan!’ I say, almost shocked.

  ‘Too strong?’ she asks innocently. ‘Nah.’

  Mr Singh and his wife head towards us. Mrs Singh wears the latest in conventional kingdom fashion, a black velvet dress that splits at the waist down, revealing her white, ruffled hoop skirt. Mr Singh extends his hand, which I shake. ‘Good evening, Your Highness.’

  ‘Hello, Delegate Singh. How are you?’

  ‘Your Highness, never mind how I am. I believe you had quite a dreadful morning.’

  Tahan jumps in before I can speak. ‘Oh, quite dreadful for her, sir! Having to put up with people asking her all day about how dreadful the dreadful ordeal must have been. Can you imagine?’

  Delegate Singh looks at her incredulously. I am certain his staff would prevent anyone like Tahan accosting him in the South Quarter factory district.

  ‘Please accept my apologies for my friend, Delegate Singh. She is a free spirit, as you can see.’

  ‘I quite understand. We cannot help the way we were raised.’

  I have come to expect such arrogant attitudes from delegates, and have learned to smile and walk away. ‘Please excuse me, Delegate Singh.’ He bows his head before I drag Tahan off. ‘T, I know you don’t like formalities, but you cannot speak to delegates that way. In this room are the most powerful men and women in the kingdom. Being my guest does not grant you permission to behave inappropriately.’

  A servant walks past with a tray of wine and instead of arguing with me, Tahan takes two glasses. For the last few months, Father has allowed me a glass or two but I am yet to appreciate the bouquet and taste of his cellar.

  After the events of today, I accept the crystal glass of red liquid. ‘Thanks, T.’ I sip the wine, tasting the grapes from the vineyards that lie in the far south of the kingdom, amongst the farming lands, where the land is more open.

  ‘No worries.’ She winks and we clink glasses.

  Ten minutes later I am sipping my second glass, and I feel the warmth of the wine spreading. The fuzziness blurs the lingering shock and allows me to brush off the delegates’ questions about my ‘ordeal’. As I laugh at one of Tahan’s jokes, an arm slips around my waist. I turn and see my swain, Finn, smiling gently at me.

  ‘My lady.’ He leans in and kisses my cheek, the familiar crisp lime scent of his aftershave making me smile. Tahan clears her throat and Finn turns to her. ‘Tahan, what a surprise to see you here,’ he says begrudgingly.

  ‘Always a pleasure, Finn. I’ll just be off to find a seat.’

  Finn turns back to me. ‘How are you?’ he asks seriously.

  ‘I am fine, thank you.’ As if to remind myself that I am not, my wrist begins to sting. The alcohol had helped me to ignore it.

  Finn runs his hand through his slicked-back brown hair, looking intently into my eyes. ‘Althea, I have courted you for over two years, I know when you are not “fine”.’ His familiar smooth voice eases the tension I have been holding.

  ‘Honestly, Finn, I am fine.’ As much as I appreciate his care for me, I do not wish to further discuss today’s events.

  ‘I do not believe you, Althea. Please let me in.’

  ‘Whether you believe me or not, that is my answer,’ I reply, annoyed at his prodding, annoyed at the curious faces turning our way.

  His heavy sigh is well known to me; it is I who is its main cause. He sighs at my unexplained seizures, just as he sighs each time I best him at our weekly card game – every week.

  Thankfully, my father’s appear
ance saves us from an argument. ‘Hello, darling. Good evening, Finn.’

  Finn bows before adjusting the lapel of his charcoal jacket. ‘Good evening, Your Majesty. Happy Kingdom Day.’

  ‘And to you. Your mother tells me you have been working with her on the armament movements. I hope you are not planning to run against her next year when you come of age?’

  ‘No, sire. I only wish to learn from my mother. She is doing a wonderful job.’

  ‘That she is, indeed. Now, I believe it is time to be seated for dinner.’

  I go to follow my father but Finn pulls me back by my hand. ‘Althea, is everything all right?’

  ‘Finn, I told you–’

  ‘I am not talking about today. You have been acting strange lately.’

  I am caught off-guard. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You just . . . I cannot explain it. You seem distant. I have tried talking to you about working with my mother. You know I am interested in running for Delegacy one day. But you act uninterested and detached.’

  My mouth is open but I have no words for him. I am unsure about my future with Finn. He has been my swain for so long that I can barely imagine my life without him. Yet I can imagine it. ‘Sometimes I feel as if my whole life is planned for me, you included. Maybe I do not want things to be laid out before me.’

  He drops my hand. ‘Do you still love me?’

  I say nothing, unsure of how to answer.

  ‘Don’t think you can leave me at the table by myself, I’m only here for you,’ Tahan says, picking the perfect moment to approach.

  ‘We are in the middle of a discussion, Tahan,’ Finn says firmly. From different backgrounds, each with decided views, Tahan and Finn have never seen eye-to-eye.

  ‘And now I am in the middle, Finn.’

  They both look at me, waiting for me to pick a side. I do not want to move. Moving means talking, or walking away. Tahan crosses her arms, waiting. Finn dips his head, looking at me with sad eyes.

  A bell rings, signalling the commencement of dinner. Finn is the first to move, walking past me and taking a seat next to his mother. I follow, taking a seat next to my father who sits at the head of the Monarch’s table.

  As we sit, Tahan asks, ‘What was all that about?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Uh-huh. You’re starting to tire of him, aren’t you?’

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘You don’t talk about him as much anymore. You were more lively when you spoke about the Manipulators from this morning than you are about him. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not his biggest fan, but he loves you.’

  I reach for my glass and let the wine take my voice.

  The dinner drags on, as they always do. My dessert lies untouched in its white porcelain bowl, while my wine glass dangles between my fingers. I watch the liquid slide around, slapping the sides like a gentle wave.

  Tahan is boisterous, the wine creeping through her veins and up into her head. She throws her head back, laughing, her bright-red hair trailing down her back. ‘So you control the factories?’ she slurs to Delegate Singh. ‘What’s the chances of getting some free garments?’

  Delegate Singh does his best to ignore her.

  ‘Tahan, please, quieten down,’ I say.

  She slumps in her chair, sulkily sipping on her wine. Servants take away the bowls, their white cotton smocks spotless. I regret the wasted food, especially mine. Like electricity, food is a commodity easily accessible to myself and everyone else here – the privileged. But just because we have something does not mean we should waste it. Or not share it.

  ‘How did you enjoy dinner, darling?’ Father interrupts my jumbled thoughts.

  ‘It was lovely, thank you.’

  ‘Is all well between you and Finn? You hardly talked to him over dinner.’

  ‘Yes, Father, everything is fine. I’m just tired from today.’

  ‘Please, Althea, do not use contractions. We would not want you confused with a commoner, would we? Finn is an admirable young man. Both Delegate Donoghue and I believe the two of you are well matched,’ he says with a smile.

  My stomach sinks. I have drunk too much wine and eaten too little food. ‘May I be excused, Father? I really must get some rest.’

  ‘Just one moment, darling.’ He stands up and chairs scrape against the floorboards as everyone rises. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for making this Kingdom Day a wonderful celebration. I know Jasper Cardiff would be proud of all that we have achieved this year, from the extension of the Rampart to the east, to our recent opening of the steel factory in the South Quarter.’

  The room breaks into applause. Even Tahan manages to clap.

  Father continues, ‘I encourage you to stay and continue celebrating, but unfortunately, the princess must retire to her chambers.’

  I incline my head. ‘Thank you, and goodnight.’

  At the archway, I look back to the room. The guests chatter happily. Mrs Norman, the delegate for the South-west Quarter, speaks animatedly with my father while her son, Brighton, is captivated by the drunken Tahan. I watch Finn converse with his mother, unsure how our relationship turned so quickly. Is he right? Am I pulling away?

  I spin around and walk unsteadily towards the stairs. I feel like my life is split in two. One side of me enjoys my royal, privileged life, while the other side feels trapped, locked in, screaming silently that this is not who I am. But who am I?

  I race down the stairs, my cheeks burning from my pent-up emotions. Or perhaps it is the wine. I want control to make decisions about my own life, but I can’t even control the stinging of my wrist. I stop and lean against the stair rail, the cool steel easing the irritation.

  I sit on a stair and examine my wrist. A slight red tinge marks the soft skin, disappearing at the crease of my palm. Is this the outward sign of the sting, or is it my rubbing and itching that has created the mark? I giggle; perhaps it has darkened due to the wine burning in my veins.

  Staggering to my feet, I arrive back to my chambers and see a varnished wooden door has been installed. I slam it behind me, shutting out the world, and almost run to my bed, stripping off my gown. I bury myself in my scarlet sheets and cream quilt, my wrist prickling. Every time I close my eyes, I relive this morning’s events: the noise of the crowd, the crimson flags, the adoring little girl, the dark burning gaze of Jay, the flash of blue, and Eli’s deep blue eyes. My stomach is queasy and my head is spinning. Although I am lying down, I feel like I am swaying.

  I am asleep and my dreams stir.

  The dream-nightmare invades my mind. The sky is dark, the stars and moon hidden by clouds. I realise I am small, perhaps eleven or twelve. The familiar bang seems louder, almost as if my ears have been unmuffled. In the darkness, panicked people run past me, their petrified faces clearer than before. The dilapidated buildings in the background seem somehow more distinct; I can see green-and-brown shrubs and lichen have almost conquered the rubble. I await the appearance of the boy. He emerges from behind one of the collapsed buildings, and his form is sharp, his features well defined – as if the rest of him is finally matching the clarity of his bright blue eyes. He appears to be the same age as I am.

  As he skids through the dirt to stop next to me, I can almost make out what he is yelling. ‘. . . E . . . ah . . . un.’

  The second bang follows and the older boy runs between two fallen buildings, and disappears behind the rubble, his blue light trailing.

  As I am dragged along by the blue-eyed boy, I tense myself for the explosion. The blast still scares me and we both plummet backwards. My head strikes the ground and, this time, the pain feels real. The cluster of trees in the distance seems to sway. Sweat drips down my face. The boy lies next to me, blood trickling down from a cut in his forehead.

  The man strides from behind the rubble, his elongated limbs even more terrifying than in earlier dreams. His hands curl around my arm, gripping me tight.

  My mind is screaming at me to wake up. The m
an pulls me up. Why am I not waking up? I always wake up at this point. My heart is beating faster than I think is possible. I look up at the man, his dark eyes piercing me.

  I take one last look at the boy on the ground, his blue eyes open and afraid for me. In that moment, everything is clear.

  I wake, and pull myself up to rest against the headboard. My heart races, my breathing is shallow. I clench the bedding.

  The flash of blue, the bright blue eyes – I know them both from more than my dream-nightmare. I saw that flash of blue this morning, and I saw those eyes. The blue light came from Jay, the Manipulator; the blue eyes belong to his fellow Manipulator, Eli.

  Who am I?

  I feel a scream bubbling up. I do not know what to think.

  My first instinct is to call for Lucy, who is always reassuring. My next impulse is to send for Finn, whose strong presence would ease my confusion. But what would I possibly tell them? You recall the young men who tried to kidnap me this morning? For as long as I can remember, I have been having a recurring nightmare about them when we were all younger together.

  At the edge of my bed, my feet hover over the floorboards. If my feet touch the ground, I feel my life will come crashing down. I turn on my lamp so that the darkness does not consume me, and the light banishes some – not all – of my fear.

  The floorboards under my feet feel rough and coarse. Perhaps it is my skin that is rough and coarse. The hairs on my arm are standing up and my sweat feels sticky. The prickling of my wrist is increasing, searing into my skin.

  My dream-nightmare is a memory – hidden in the back of my mind, slowly creeping out of my unconsciousness at night. Secret memories and hidden pasts. Instead of asking myself how I know these Manipulators, I ask, how have I forgotten them? I pace my room, catching my gaze in the dresser mirror. For a moment, Eli’s eyes look back at me.

  No! I am Althea Cardiff, daughter of the king! I swipe at the mirror and it topples sideways off the dresser and smashes. I storm towards the door, needing to escape the confines of this now haunted room. I reach the door and pause – where will I go? If I go downstairs I’ll only be escorted back up by the sentinels on duty. I could go to my parlour at the end of the hall and sit on a red settee all night, pretending it’s no different to being in my chamber. Or I could just stay here. I slide down the door until I hit the floor, and then the tears come. I rub my searing wrist. Beneath the redness caused by my scratching I see faint lines, the length of my forefinger.