"Papa, can I come with you?" a young woman asks her father as she swings herself around the doorway that leads from the hallway to the family study. Her dark brunette locks gliding with every movement she makes.
"Not today Prissy" a man replies, most likely her father. His hair was the same dark brunette as the woman's except his had quite a few gray hairs sprouting out of it. "Not today"
"Father, please! I know…" the woman fades to silence, not sure if she should tell her father what she thought he was really up to. If she was wrong she would never have any respect for herself again. It was silly, immature, but so real.
"What do you know Prissy?" her father asks with a raised eyebrow and a cheeky smirk. "Go on"
"Well… I think… Remember when I was little? You used to tell me stories of mythical places then you left to see that teacher of yours and you would no longer tell me the stories, and when you did they were different. I think they're real. I believe that place, he Archipelago, I think it's real and that's where you go" she finishes, her hazel eyes staring unfixed at a spot on the glazed timber floor-boards.
Turning visibly paler, her father gulps. "Prissy, they're… they're just stories, that's all. They're not real"
"No. No they're not. I'm not that little girl hat would have believed that anymore. I'm my own person. Besides, you told me once 'anything's real if you take the time to believe in it' and I do believe"
The man looks at his daughter, a mix of confusion, anxiety and pride evident in his eyes. Her eyes. She was right, of course. She had grown up. She was no longer the little girl she once had bee. She's a young woman. She's 20 for heavens sake!
"Alright, but you will do everything I tell you, and we're just going to 'see an old friend who's sick' if your mother asks. Go pack a change of clothes or two and some food.
Smiling he watches Priscilla's retreating form half walking, half skipping off to her roo to get ready. Had I been any of his other children he simply wouldn't have allowed it, well maybe Chris. But Priscilla had always been a very strong independent and intelligent girl and he knew, even without Charles, Jack, Bert and himself watching over her, which he knew they would do, she would be fine all the same.
Walking into living room he sees his wife sitting reading on the couch.
"What is it Ronald?" she asks, not looking up from her book.
"I'm taking Priscilla with me, you know how bored she is around here" he replies sitting down next to her.
"Alright, but don't be too protective of her, she can look after herself"
"I know, we'll be fine. We'll see you in a few days. Goodbye love" he says kissing her gently on the cheek.
"Goodbye" she says, returning the gesture.
"So, how do we get there?" Priscilla asks her father after twenty minutes of silent driving.
"We're going to Charles place first, Jack will meet us there and I believe Bert's already there"
"Wait. Charles, Jack and Bert. Are they the Caretakers? What about John? And how come we get to be there as well?" she questions without stopping for so much as a breath.
"Breathe, Prissy, breath" he replies with a smile at his over hyped daughter. With no reply he turns to glance at her. Her smile had disappeared and she was staring half-heartedly out the passenger's seat window. "Pris, what's wrong?"
"If I'm going with you I want you to call me Cilla, everyone else does but you" she replies continuing to look out at the dark raining scenery.
"Alright, Cilla. Bert was, as I used to tell you, a Caretaker but not anymore. And I know everyone calls me Ronald but, as you know, my first name is actually John. I'm the Caretaker Principia."
"Wow. And I used to think you were boring!"
"Geez, thanks" he replies poking his tongue out at her.
The conversation slowly died back to the blissful silence until John stops the car in a quiet little street with dreary, small cottage sized houses lined along the dark road.
"Best behaviour Priscilla. No adolescent mischief" John orders his daughter seriously.
"Alright, Dad" she replies before sighing "hypocrite"
Rolling his eyes, John walks towards a small house. Knocking on the Oak front door three times he turns to his daughter and, putting a calming hand on her shoulder, guides her to be in front of himself and slightly to his left.
The large door opens slowly, cautiously, and a short man with a rather odd large hat behind it.
"John! It's so good to see you my boy!" the funny man says, vigorously shaking his hand.
Looking at Priscilla's wide-eyed curiosity, John chuckles slightly. "Bert, this is my daughter, Priscilla" he introduces.
"Cilla!" she cries before finding her manners. "My apologies, I never liked my name" she explains to the stranger.
"You're not along, always hated my own" Bert states. "Which is why you may call me Bert. It's a pleasure Cilla" he says taking her hand and kissing it lightly. "Now why don't we go inside before we all catch colds?" he offers taking Cilla by the arm and leading hem into a large study at the back of the house.
With mainly Victorian furniture, the room Bert had lead them to shouted knowledge, history and much elegance. Two men sat at a large desk, quietly arguing over something, a large, and very old-fashioned, book in-between them.
"Charles! Jack!" Bert shouts to get their full attention. "May I introduce Cilla, John's daughter"
Both men go silent and quickly turn around to face the young girl and one of the men tried to cover the book with parchments.
"Um, hello, Cilla, was it? I'm Charles" the older of the two men introduces himself, shaking her hand officially.
"An absolute please, Charles" she replies sweetly. "And you'd be Jack??" she asks refering to the other man standing in front of the table.
"What? Oh, um yes. Jack" the man replies seemingly coming out of trance. "Lovely to meet you, Cilla" he says, manners coming back to him, taking her hand and kissing it, gentler than Bert, almost like he were kissing the hand of royalty.
Once she has her hand back, Cilla looks back towards where the book was, now hidden.
"Was, was that the Geographica?" she asks no one in particular.
The three men all look straight from her to John, waiting an explanation.
"What? I told her some stories, I told her they were only that, but she figured it out. What was I meant to do? She's always been able to tell when I'm lying!" John exclaims sheepishly.
"Well, my dear, why don't you take a look at the book?" Charles asks kindly, "Perhaps you can make sense of this confounded mess" he explains taking the old book out from it's poor hiding place and laying it back on top of the parchments meant to cover it.
Looking at the enchanting old book, Cilla delicately opens the cover to find what she presumed to be a able of contents in Ancient Greek under a pile of splattered symbols covering any chance of reading what was underneath. She turns the page in confusion to see what had been a map before the same symbols as before covered every detail, making it completely illegible.
"Is this meant to be a joke?" she asks, looking at her father.