Half Heart
Page 19
“I wonder,” I said aloud, searching the walls. I didn’t see anything I could pull. Then my eyes met the desk again. There was three drawers. Could this parchment be more than a story? I stood and counted down to right, out loud, to be safe. “One, two, three. Pull…” I opened the third drawer from the left. It had empty spools littering it. I pushed them out of the way, and tried to pull up on the bottom of the drawer. No luck. I sat back down on my bed, shrugging.
Don’t be fooled;
Thou must be smart.
Which one is third, is in thy heart.
The last part didn’t even make sense. And that was the last of the tiny writing. I set it on the bed in front of me. Suddenly there was a knock at the door, and I jumped.
“Come in,” I said with dread in my voice. If it was Soea, I’d feign ill. But then, of course, there was Dr. Perbal. The door creaked open slowly. For a moment it seemed as though no one was there, but then I saw the small man whom I had grabbed two nights ago at dinner. He peeked around the door timidly, a plate of food in his hand.
“Come in,” I said more pleasantly, and added under my breath, “it’s about time. I haven’t eaten in a day.”
The small man brought the plate to me. There was three piles of food, and even though they didn’t look appetizing, I was grateful I couldn’t tell what they were.
The small man turned to leave, but I stopped him. “Wait!” I called. He turned slowly, keeping his eyes on the ground all the while. Then I saw he was a man at all, but closer to my age, matured rapidly by being worked to hard. “I’m… I’m sorry,” I said. “About the other night. I didn’t mean to be so rough, it just… well, there’s no excuse. Not even being kidnapped.” I laughed through my sorrow, and I saw a flash of light on his face. “What may I call you, good sir?” I asked.
He looked up with more confidence. “You may call me Kirken, your highness, if it pleases you.” Yes, his voice was very young. All at once my heart wrenched for him.
“Very much so. You may call me Layla.” I stood and curtsied. Kirken made an attempt to bow, but I found it to be awkward. He probably didn’t have many formal introductions with royalty. “This looks positively scrumptious. Are you the cook?” I picked up my fork.
“Yes,” he said, shy but a hint of eagerness. “I was forced to…” he trailed off, looking alarmed.
“Yes?” I ushered. His humbleness made me feel guilty.
“W-when my father passed, I was forced to take over some areas.”
“For how long have you been in the position?” I asked, taking a bite.
Kirken wet his lips. “For about two years now.”
“Well, you’re excellent,” I offered. “What is this?” I crossed my fingers and hoped I didn’t regret asking.
“Oh, the third one is Orange potatoes.”
I looked down. To him, the third one was my first one. “Ah, tasty.”
After a bit more conversation I finished it off and gave the plate back to Kirken. “Feel free to come up any time. If you want me to be your taste-tester, or anything, feel free. I don’t get much company.”
Kirken smiled broadly, brighter than I’d seen before, and I felt good inside. He nodded and shuffled out.
I came to the conclusion that he had been beaten early in his life, or was continually beaten. He acted like a mistreated dog, casting his eyes low, and waiting for permission to speak. My heart poured out for him, and I was happy beyond words that I had found another soul in which whom I could confide in here. It would make my stay so much easier.
I started gathering the papers. My eyelids were beginning to droop, and I decided it was time for some rest. I picked up the parchment with the incredibly small writing, and suddenly a thought flashed back into my mind, jolting me, and remembered what had happened earlier. To him, the third one was my first one. I dropped the papers and ran to the desk. I slowed myself as I opened the first drawer. There was lots of papers, or at least shreds. I took them out. I smiled abruptly, unwillingly.
There was a little ring on the floor of the drawer. I put my finger through it, held my breath, and pulled. It came out! It came out! My hands became shaky. Did the parchment really have meaning? What could it be? The compartment under the drawer was dusty. I pushed the dust around until my fingers touched something. I grasped something cold, small. I picked it up and dusted it off. It was a skeleton key. And attached to it with a ribbon was more parchment. The ribbon was so old it nearly crumbled between my fingers. The key wasn’t hardly tarnished, just a little dirty, so I figure it to be gold. I put the trap door and the paper strips back in the door and closed it. I put the key in my pocket incase I had any intruders. I continued cleaning the parchment and putting it back in the desk.
When I was through, I took the key out carefully. It was intricate, skillfully designed. Then I read the paper.
Dost thy brain exceed thy own?
The hand in which you hold the key
Hold it dearly for a time, you see;
Thee shall need it when it comes to battlement
But do not harm!
That’s a cause for only resentment.
It was a clue, to find something, a battlement. But it didn’t tell me where to look, or what not to harm. It left me baffled. Then I turned the parchment over. There was more tiny inscription.
Alas! Thou is very smart.
Success, for thy followed thy heart.
Now follow mine
Through the deep, and the grime
Under all
Is where thy will find it all.
But don’t be fooled!
It is not treasure that you seek.
It’s help for the humble and the weak.
If thee decides to take this quest
Take thy wits with thee; it would be best.
And also the key, for safe keeping
For if thy lost it, thy would be weeping.
Under everything, where there was grime, or filth. That’s where I would find what the clues were leading to. I put the key back in my pocket for safe keeping, like the riddle said. I was sure to need it later.
It was sort of my job, to help the humble, and the weak, and I felt obliged to follow the riddles along their course. And even if it was just a wild goose chase, and there was nothing at all, at least it would occupy my time here. Next time I came across Kirken I would ask him if he knew of a place under the Palace that was dirty and grimy. He was sure to help me. And I felt sure I could trust him; he didn’t seem to have many friends around here, like me. And Kirken was kind of like having a pet; he seemed grateful, obedient, and happy to serve. Although, I wouldn’t treat him like one. That was cruel. He was taken advantage enough, from what I could tell. I would help him out as best I could. And, if at all possible, rescue him from the wretched place. That is, if he wanted it. I was getting a little ahead of myself.
I crawled under my blankets and pulled them over my head. I always slept on the left side, because they hadn’t changed my sheets since I had stunk so bad. I closed my eyes and breathed slowly. I wanted to sing, for I felt more cheery than I should, but sleep came on all too soon.