Chapter 1
I followed Lucy closely as we hurried through the streets of London, careful not to let the excitable girl out of my sight. The sky was gray and threatened to close in around us just as the buildings seemed to loom forward like stone cages threatening to swallow us whole. I bit my lip and shivered, keeping my loathing of the gloom to myself, and returning my full attention to the hunt for her older brother who, oddly enough, had been missing since lunch and was now late for tea. As we hurried along my hair tore free from the braid I had painstakingly bound it to that morning and whipped about my face, stinging my cheeks and I was informed that a storm was soon to be arriving. Not that that was any great news. At least, not since I had been staying in England.
"Come along, Lorraine," quipped Lucy with an annoyed edge. "I know exactly where he'll be." I hefted the groceries and quickened my pace to match hers, wondering idly if she would snap at me if I asked for some help. After much walking we found ourselves in front of the recruitment building for the army and I sighed. It was very likely indeed that this would be where we would find Edmund. Lucy barged into the room, a bossy look on her freckled face and nearly exploded. "Edmund Pevensie, get over here right now! You've got to wash up and then we're going to have tea!"
I watched with compassion as Edmund's ears turned an interesting shade of fuchsia and the men in the recruitment line chortled at him. "Best do as the little lady says, boy," said one. "Yeah, you mustn't be late for tea, come back when you're done, or older." Edmund's fists clenched in anger and he strode over to us and out the door. I couldn't resist sticking my tongue out at the men before following quickly behind the Pevensies as we started the trek towards the home of the Scrubbs.
The Scrubbs were a very forward thinking, no-nonsense, sort of family, and were relatives of Lucy and Edmund, with whom the pair was now residing. I was of no relation to any of them, but was staying with them as a visitor from America eager to learn the ways of British culture and life. My father knew Mr. Scrubb one way or another and so I had been shipped off four years ago, against my wishes mind you, to spend the summer in dreary England while my father gambled the rest of my family's fortune away at various California casinos. But then the war had broken out and transportation between the United States and Britain had stalled, trapping me on this god-forsaken rock until the boats eventually resumed their routes. My mother, may she rest in peace, would continue her slumber beneath the soil and grass of her plot in the cemetery next to my old house in Eaton, Virginia, oblivious of and unable to hinder my father's efforts at self-destruction.
I sighed as we stepped onto a streetcar filled with people, forcing the three of us to stand close to the front, clutching at anything we could to stay erect as the trolley lurched into motion. Finally Edmund seemed to notice the largeness of my load and relieved me of one of the large, crinkly paper bags, earning him a grateful smile. Edmund and Lucy were my only consolations of the summer, breaking the terrible monotony of the Scrubbs' home. While I was barely sixteen, I appeared to unfamiliar eyes to be wholly grown and Mr. Scrubb insisted on having long drawn out debates with me over economics and taxes, neither of which were topics with which I was particularly familiar, and Mrs. Scrubb complained to me very openly about the lack of intimacy in her marriage, as if I was one of her close woman-friends, which never failed to make me feel supremely uncomfortable.
Their son Eustace was worse, if that were possible, constantly going on about the bugs that he had collected and viciously murdered 'in the name of science' and whining about how everyone was so unfair to him, all the while watching me with the hungry eyes of a pubescent boy. Those first few years alone in their home had been a veritable hell, but then the Pevensies arrived and life became more tolerable. They were bright, imaginative children (though in fact Edmund was only a bit younger than I), and I found myself indulging in fantastic games and discussions about fauns and dwarves and talking mice and lions! (Well, one lion, Aslan they called him)
Their creativity drew Eustace's attention from my person and he started a war with them over their imaginary realm, in which I was the sole mediator as Mr. and Mrs. Scrubb refused to get involved in what they viewed to be 'pure nonsense'. The trolley heaved to a stop and we exited, pushing past the dozen or so others who wished to board. We were on the edges of the city, where the houses began to possess weak semblances of yards, making them appear less naked than their companions farther in. We walked for a time n=before stopping in front of one of the homes. Edmund held open the gate for me and Lucy and we walked through, our eyes scanning the house without interest. The building was utterly nondescript like every other house in this particular neighborhood, tall and white with angular roofs and small, pinched windows. The one noticeable difference was the yard, which was impeccably neat and lacked a single splotch of color, not a single flower around the whole home.
I pulled at the door and walked into the clean, orderly hall which smelled faintly of formaldehyde and cleaning agents. "We're back," announced Lucy loudly, pushing her way past me into the living room. Edmund and I followed her, finding Mr. Scrubb slumped in his black armchair, a copy of Friday's paper held as a shield in front of his nose. For a few moments the only sound in the entire room was Mr. Scrubbs scratchy breathing, which I have begun to find positively agitating.
"Edmund," I said briefly. "Why don't you go set that bag on the table? I'll make us some tea and bring it up to your room in a few minutes." The Pevensies did not need to be told twice. Lucy dashed upstairs to flee the oppressive atmosphere and Edmund was quick to follow her after setting his charge in the kitchen. Humming to myself a bit jauntily I filled a kettle with water and set it to boil, pulling a tea pot from the cabinet. After dumping a few spoonfuls of tealeaves in the pot I unpacked the grocery bags, putting everything in its respective place. By that time the water was boiling and I turned off the stove, filling the pot to the brim and putting the lid on. Steam curled outwards from the lip of the pot and the spout forming steamy faces in the dimly lit room. I filled a cup and set it on a saucer, retrieving a few cookies from the pantry before walking back into the living room and setting the ensemble on the small table nest to Mr. Scrubb's chair.
He grunted, the only acknowledgement I was likely to receive, and I returned once again to the kitchen, filling a tray with three cups of tea and an assortment of cookies. I walked carefully up the stairs, not wanting to spill, and down the hall. As I neared the Pevensies' room I began to hear annoyed voices bickering and shook my head, knowing what I would find. I pushed open the door. Eustace turned to look at me as I entered. He was sprawled rudely across Lucy's bed and Edmund and Lucy were standing across the room from him, their arms crossed across their chests and their faces twisted with a mixture of annoyance and disgust. "Ah," he said brightly. "You brought us tea." He bounded over and snatched my cup, taking a noisy swig before setting it back on the tray empty. Then he snatched a couple of cookies before jumping on Edmund's bed, scattering crumbs everywhere.
"Watch it, you!" growled Edmund, angry at the violation of his personal space. Eustace stuck out his tongue.
"It's my house, I'll do whatever I right well please won't I? Besides, bugs in your bed would help with my research." Edmund snarled and I set the tray down.
"Alright, now everyone, just calm down. Eustace, you are making a mess, now get up and eat like a civilized human being." Eustace sulked but did as I asked.
"So you're on their side are you? It figures, you're all loony. What with that Narnia nonsense! Absolutely mad!" Lucy's blue eyes narrowed icily.
"Narnia is not nonsense you irritating pest," she hissed, advancing on him. I was disinclined to stop her but Edmund took her arm, rubbing her back soothingly. Each of them took a cup of tea from the tray and I settled to the floor, resting my head against the wall. The room was sparsely furnished with only a couple of beds and a dresser, but possessed the only appealing piece of art in the entire house. It was of the sea and possessed every shade of blue imaginable. In the distance was the proud bow of a ship raced towards us, its white sails flapping crisply in the wind. Lucy had told me it resembled a Narnian ship once, and I had simply smiled wishing that I possessed a comparable imagination.
There were a few moments of blissful silence before Eustace once again began his wheedling. "What a disgusting picture," he commented, flicking a few crumbs at it. "I'll have to tell mother to have it burned." I couldn't keep the edge of alarm from my voice.
"Oh, don't do that! It would be so sad!" Eustace glared down at me from his newly created position of power.
"Why shouldn't I? I certainly have no use for it. Besides, it's so poorly done. It's certainly not a Manet or a Degas."
"Brat," snarled Edmund, voicing my thoughts out loud. Eustace grinned a little, excited by the imminent confrontation.
"You're the brat, Cousin. What a baby you are, still living out little fantasies in your head. Why, you're positively infantile!" Edmund stood up, his face flushed, his eyes angry.
"The painting's moving," whispered Lucy, awed. The boys continued to squabble, ignoring her, but my eyes snapped to the cracking, mottled frame. I squinted, surprised. The waves did indeed appear to be shifting, bobbing the tiny ship up and down.
"Impossible," I muttered, exchanging a look with Lucy. Then I breathed in and smelled the tang of sea salt, felt the breeze on my face. The painting was coming alive. Excited, I joined Lucy, taking her hand as the waves grew more and more animated, threatening to break from their confines. And then, abruptly they did. Water began to leak from the wall and pool at our feet, spray tossed in to the air, misting our faces. Eustace and Edmund became aware of the spectacle and Eustace's face went pale.
"What did you do?" he shouted accusingly at all of us, rushing to the wall in an attempt to stop the water. It was ankle deep now, and frigid, not nearly as pleasant as I had first thought. Despite our protests, Eustace wrenched the painting from the wall, tipping it over, and water began to flood the room in earnest. In what felt like moments the icy waves lapped at my hips and then they were over my head, netting my hair about my face like seaweed. I floundered about, my skirt like lead casing around my legs, tossed by the current for a few moments, the air burning in my lungs, clawing at my throat in an attempt at release. Then, as abruptly as the current had started, it ebbed, calming enough for me to feel relatively stable.
I opened my eyes. Through the salt I noted with surprise that I was no linger in the small, confining room in the Scrubbs' dull house but was submerged in the open ocean. Glancing upwards I saw the shimmer of what could only be the sun and I fought upwards, clawing my way to the light, kicking against the weight threatening to keep me under. I may have been sucked into a painting, but that did not mean I was going to die in one. No way, no how.