CHAPTER THREE
"The boy king"
The heavy reality of her circumstances had finally come crashing down. An ardent desperation driven by the yearning to return home had taken hold and not even Ludil could break her out of it. Ludil flew behind her as fast as his little bird wings could carry him, for Alba was unwavering in her resolve to return to the river from where she had come. It was logical enough: if she had arrived in the river, then she could return through it.
The pungent stench of fish, oil, smoke and river waste struck her quite suddenly. They caught a glimpse of the magic boats drifting along the dark, rippling waters. They blinked in and out of sight as horseless carriages whizzed across the road running parallel to the river.
She was nearly upon the intersection when someone swiftly grabbed her hand and yanked her away from the road. Her whole body jerked unpleasantly, and she collided into the one who grabbed her.
"Watch where you're going – you could get hit, you know!" cried a lanky boy with blonde hair. Alba ignored him and wrenched her arm from his grasp with a feral snarl. She darted across the intersection, weaving through honking carriages and angry drivers, until she lurched against the cold iron railing that bordered the river. Looking over the edge, there were docks and daemon-less magicians unloading and loading their wares onto boats. She would need to get into the thick of the river Thames, for that was where she surfaced upon her arrival. It was only logical.
Alba lifted her gaze from the docks and immediately saw the vast bridge, with its countless arches and embellished stonework, stretching the width of the river. She thought she heard a distant shout as she took off again, but instantly dismissed it. Her lungs burned, and her eyes watered from the reeking city, but she was resolved to return home as soon as possible, even if it meant jumping into the frigid, churning waters that stunk of rotten fish and oil.
She ran to the center of the bridge, dodging the city folk as she did so. Ludil by then had wrestled his way into the safety of her elk skin satchel; amidst the coveted little treasures she had picked up on her adventures. He knew exactly what she planned to do, and even though he was unbearably frightened of what would happen to them, he kept quiet and let Alba decide for the both of them.
Alba paused to catch her breath and to secure her satchel across her chest once more. She made sure her daemon was safe before she approached the ornate balustrade and rested her forehead against the rough stone. Three, long breaths were all it took for her to steel her battering heart.
With both hands, she hefted herself up on the balustrade, grabbing a nearby lamppost to steady her uneasy legs. A chorus of voices rose up around her as several daemon-less uttered their alarm. She didn't give them the chance to stop her.
Alba had never fallen from so far up before; it was an exhilarating, terrifying, peculiar sensation as she cut through the air and the wind howled in her ears and her limbs grappled for something to hold onto. And all too soon, the water rushed up to meet her and she painfully plunged feet-first into the murky depths. She swam down after her initial shock, but she could hardly see anything in the dimness. Soon, she felt the pressure of the water grow in intensity, and the thought that perhaps she had been too hasty in her decision entered her mind. Could it be that the pools do not work the same way? What if you could go in, but you couldn't come out?
Panic seized her heart and spread a fast-growing terror to every part of her body when she realized that she was sinking and getting farther and farther away from the air. Images of what Ludil saw flashed in her mind as they sought each other's security; one moment, Alba was thrashing in the muddy waters, and the next she was drowning in a small dark space and surrounded by her floating treasures. She blinked again, and she was back in her own mind, though Ludil's petrified presence was like a headache that addled her ability to think straight.
There was a distant splash, like the sound of someone breaking through the water's surface, wherever that was. Alba was too busy holding her breath and fighting against the familiar but just as frightening fatigue that was slowly creeping up on her. The urge to close her eyes and just let go was becoming awfully strong.
Suddenly, a slim, strong arm wrapped around her waist and Alba felt herself being pulled against a body and tugged upward. They reached the surface quicker than she thought they would – her mind so starved for air that everything was flickering in and out and she felt like her body wasn't hers anymore.
On her first gasp, she inhaled river water; so, she spluttered and choked, focusing all of her energy on breathing while letting whoever had come for her hold them afloat. Ludil had wriggled free of her satchel this time, and found some sort of white, buoyant plank that was crumbling away in little flakes on which to rest.
The boy – it was a boy, she knew, because of the shape of his body against hers and when he spoke – he coughed for a moment as well, and then immediately set to reprimanding her. "Why would you do that? As-God save us – you're an absolute idiot!" he exclaimed.
Alba's throat was scratchy and sore, and she was nearly spent, but she found it in her to feel quite affronted at the boy's words. "Why don't you just leave me here, then? Save you the trouble and all," she retorted between coughs.
"Right, like I'm going to do that," the boy muttered as he began towing them to shore. "Stop fidgeting – it'll only take longer to get to the docks and I'm tired enough as it is," he told her through short pants, his breath tickling her ear and his arm still wrapped around her waist.
Alba clenched her teeth, both from the cold and the sheer frenzy of emotions swirling like a typhoon within her. Did this mean she could never return? She had been gone for an entire day now – her father must be so worried! And what would her mother think when she returned to the caravan, only to find Alba gone without a trace? Alba wanted to cry, to sob until she felt utterly nothing, but she couldn't – not in front of the boy. It would be humiliating, especially after she had gone and thrown herself off of the bridge. What he must think of her!
A small crowd had gathered around the lower and upper parts of the docks, the daemon-less all trying to get a look at them, though none of them seemed to be making any effort to help. The blonde boy had stopped grumbling to focus on keeping them both above the surface as he pulled them to the closest dock. Alba tried to help by kicking her feet every now and then, but she was weak, and the attempts were ultimately useless. So, she resigned herself to the shame and wretched feelings, wanting nothing more than to find herself in her parents' warm, safe embraces where nothing in the world could hurt her or make her feel the way she did back in the water.
A broad-shouldered man with a heavy, patched raincoat helped them onto the docks, easily plucking Alba from the water and then grabbing the blonde boy's arm to help him as well. Not for the first time since she had been in the city of smoke and stone, Alba found herself drenched and trembling. As soon as she was safe on the dock, Ludil flew to her and she held him tightly to her chest, letting out a few sobs of relief as she took comfort in their closeness. She despised the painful feeling of being stretched thin when she was too far from her daemon.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she crooned into her daemon's little bird ears. "Never again, okay? Never – I promise."
Meanwhile, the boy was also catching his breath, so Alba was able to get a good look at him. It was the same boy who had stopped her from crossing into traffic mere minutes before her jump. He had a roundish face and bright, expressive eyes – which were currently glaring at her.
"What happened 'ere?" said the man who had pulled them onto the dock. He had removed his coat and dropped it around Alba's shoulders.
The boy leveled a penetrating look at Alba, holding her gaze for several long beats, before turning to the man and saying, "We were playing, and she fell."
Alba shrunk back, using the man's coat to hide her from the boy's intensity. She didn't know why he would bother covering for her.
By then, the crowd that had gathered was slowly dispersing. A man in one of the common blue uniforms made his way through the on-lookers and they parted immediately to let him through. Behind him was Mr. Sutcliffe, much to her dismay. He looked harried, with his mismatched shoes and his hair sticking straight up in the wind.
"I've been so worried!" Mr. Sutcliffe said when he and the officer reached the end of the dock where Alba and the boy were still recovering. "Why are you all wet? Don't tell me you – you –"
"This boy 'ere said they was playin' on the bridge and she tumbled over," supplied their burly helper. "He jumped in right after 'er from what I could tell." The man shrugged and scratched his head with his grimy nails.
The officer took this opportunity to speak. "Are either of you hurt?" he asked.
The blonde boy stood up and straightened out his clothes. "No, we're fine," he replied.
Looking at Alba, the officer said, "And you, girl?"
Alba shook her ahead; she couldn't find the words to say anything at all. She was dumbfounded that Mr. Sutcliffe, who had known her for all of an hour, had bothered to come after her.
Suddenly, a boy with dark hair, younger than the one who had saved her, shoved through the loitering daemon-less and called out to Alba's rescuer.
"Peter!" he cried as he descended the stairs to the docks. Two girls, one younger and one much older, dressed in matching skirts and jackets, quickly followed him.
The blonde boy gave them a curt wave. He looked at the officer and said, "Excuse me, sir, but my siblings are waiting for me." And to the broad-shouldered man who had helped them he said, almost regally, "Thank you for your assistance." He never spared Alba a glance before he made his way to his brother and sisters.
Alba watched the youngest girl launch herself around his waist, hugging him tightly, while the eldest checked him for injuries. He brushed aside her fretting hands and trudged ahead to the stairs that were carved into the stone retention wall. The brother, who was a contrast to the rest of his siblings, eyed Alba fleetingly with his dark eyes before he too turned away and followed his family.
Mr. Sutcliffe exhales. "Why, I didn't get the chance to thank that boy," he mused. Then he bent down and offered a kindly hand to Alba. She realized that she had not thanked her rescuer, either. "Come along, child, let's go get you warmed up. Mrs. Parsons will be at the house by now. She'll be happy to make you some tea and a hot meal," he told her.
Hesitantly, Alba took Mr. Sutcliffe's hand and he pulled her upright. Mr. Sutcliffe had a few words with the officer, who left them after a few minutes, and then he thanked the burly man and returned the raincoat from Alba's shoulders. She immediately missed the coat's warmth as soon as it left her body. Ludil chirped pitifully from her arms as she cradled him to her chest.
Mr. Sutcliffe walked them back to the road where his car was pulled haphazardly onto the sidewalk, one front wheel on the walkway and the other on the road. He opened the door and Alba slid onto the black leather row right behind the driver's seat so that Mr. Sutcliffe wouldn't be able to see her very well. As they drove off, half of Alba's brained marveled at the speed and smoothness of the horseless carriage's movement while the other half was utterly numb.
XxxxXXxxxX
Mrs. Parsons reminded Alba of a mother hen with the speed of a hummingbird. As soon as Mr. Sutcliffe and Alba returned to the hundred-windowed house, the housekeeper was upon her with cozy blankets and a fresh batch of chocolate chip cookies. She was a tenderly plump woman of sixty, with snow-white hair and ruddy cheeks. She wore a polka dot apron on top of a bright, floral dress that reached just above her ankles, where shiny black shoes peeked out. Alba felt immediately safe under Mrs. Parsons' kindly fretting.
Mr. Sutcliffe stayed out of the way while his housekeeper took care of Alba, retiring to his office with a plate of biscuits and a steaming cup of mint tea. Mrs. Parsons didn't seem to notice his disappearance, for she was entirely focused on making sure Alba didn't catch a cold from her dip in the river. She procured some boy's clothes that were slightly too big on Alba – they were Mr. Sutcliffe's grand-nephew's old school uniform – but they fit comfortably enough, if a little stiff and musty from being stored in a dresser. The khaki trousers pooled at her ankles, the sleeves of the white shirt covered her hands, and the jumper was a warm grey wool with the school's emblem embroidered above the left breast. Mrs. Parsons clucked at the uniform's fit and said they would have to go shopping for new clothes. Alba let her flutter about because she still in shock and had been since the blonde boy pulled her from the water.
It took Mrs. Parsons a quarter of an hour before she noticed Ludil. The daemon had nestled into one of Alba's pockets, resting his fragile little body, so that there was a noticeable lump in the trouser pocket.
"What's that you've got in your pocket, dearie?" asked the housekeeper as she set down two cups of tea.
Alba almost told her that it was none of her business, like she had done with Mr. Sutcliffe, but something in her wanted to respect the lady who had been so nice to her. "It's Ludil. He's my d-my friend," she told Mrs. Parsons.
"Oh?" replied the housekeeper, eyebrows raised with a gentle curiosity. "May I…see him?" she asked tentatively.
Alba dithered. She didn't like to show Ludil to the daemon-less, however, if she pretended that Ludil was just a well-trained bird they would be none-the-wiser.
"Okay," she agreed. Softly prodding the tiny bump, Alba eventually coaxed him out, telling him in her mind to say nothing, for fear of whatever Mrs. Parsons might do if she saw a talking bird. Ludil was well versed in playing a Dumb animal, though he was far from happy doing it.
The tufted titmouse untucked his short wings, stretching them as far as they could go from his round body before hopping up onto the kitchen table and eyeing a surprised Mrs. Parsons.
"Oh my," she gasped. "What a sweet darling." She reached out a wrinkly hand to pet him, but Ludil quickly darted to Alba's shoulder.
"He doesn't like others touching him," Alba said. It had happened a few times where someone had touched her daemon. The caravan children would play and sometimes it would happen on accident, but nevertheless it was a sickening, repulsive feeling that would course through them when a stray hand brushed the skin of a daemon.
Mrs. Parsons did not press her for information like Mr. Sutcliffe had. Instead, she rambled on about little things that were on her mind, but Alba found nonetheless riveting. She was after all gaining knowledge of this world to tell her parents once she figured out how to return to Narnia.
"Mr. Sutcliffe lectures at the boys' schools on occasion," Mrs. Parsons was saying, "He's retired now, you see, though he still enjoys teaching. The Geographic Society took up much of his time before the War, but now they've put a hold on activities. There's not much else for an old man like him to contribute, so teaching it is." That last part was said with a wink and an impish grin that made Alba giggle despite herself.
"Ask her about the flying things," Ludil whispered in her ear.
Alba reached for another cookie as she asked Mrs. Parsons about the massive machines they had seen in the sky.
"Why my dear, those are airplanes!" exclaimed the housekeeper. "There's a lot of physics to it, to keep them aloft. I'm sure Mr. Sutcliffe would explain the science behind it if you asked him." Alba received a similar answer when she asked about the horseless carriages – automobiles, as Mr. Sutcliffe had said.
It was a short time later when there was a knock on the door. Mrs. Parsons made to answer it, but Mr. Sutcliffe opened his office door and said that he would get it. Alba peered into the hall from her spot at the table and saw Mr. Sutcliffe invite a uniformed officer into the house. Alba watched as Mr. Sutcliffe and the officer went into the study and shut the door behind them.
While Mrs. Parsons was busy preparing another batch of tea for the new guest, Alba quietly snuck over to the office door and pressed her ear against seam. The men were talking in low voices, and Alba could only catch a snippet of their conversation before Mrs. Parsons caught her and shooed her back to the kitchen.
Alba sunk down low in the chair, her appetite gone. The men had been discussing an orphanage.
XxxxXXxxxX
At daybreak, a woman came for Alba.
Her name was Ms. Shaw. She was dressed in a crisp dress that was all straight, starched lines with a pair of matching thin heels. Her grey-streaked hair was pulled taught in a bun at the nape of her neck and a pair of oval glasses hung from a chain around her collar. She was stern and spoke very little. If she ever had a daemon, it would be a stick-bug, the kind that barely moved and were stiff as a rod.
Ms. Shaw led her to a sleek automobile and they rode in silence for most of the way. Alba's head hung low. Even though Mr. Sutcliffe and Mrs. Parsons had no obligation to her, she felt the sting of rejection. From the corner of her eye, the hundred-windowed house became smaller and smaller until it completely disappeared from view as the carriage turned a corner.
A quarter of an hour had passed when Ms. Shaw spoke, her voice just as sharp as her suit "You'll be expected to adhere to the rules of the house. Sister Florence will show you how things work there."
Alba didn't want to meet this Sister Florence. She wanted to go home, feel the warmth of her mother's hugs and hear the gruff voice of her father.
"It is good Mr. Sutcliffe called," mused Ms. Shaw, though it seemed she was speaking more to herself than to Alba. "It is not safe these days for a child to be out. The Sisters take good care of the orphans placed there."
Alba uttered her first words in nearly a day. "I'm not an orphan."
Ms. Shaw gave her a sidelong glance with her bird-like eyes behind thick lenses. She returned her gaze to the front of the carriage, keeping silent. Alba wanted to shout and scream at her: my parents are alive! They're alive and they're looking for me and you're locking me up! I need to be out, looking for ways to return to them. Why won't you listen?
The orphanage was unmarked, as if it was makeshift, quickly put together. Alba found out later, from one of the children, that the original orphanage was, at the moment, under a pile of rubble. Like the rest of the buildings, the orphanage seemed to blend in, a part of one unending row of grey stone exteriors and boarded-up windows. The street was eerily quiet; few carriages rumbled past, no metal birds tore through the sky, no children were playing.
Ms. Shaw marched her charge up the brief set of stairs, with her heels scraping against the stone steps and her hand hovering on Alba's shoulder as if she might bolt at any moment. Ms. Shaw pushed open the front door and ushered Alba through it, leading her into a musty foyer with a tall ceiling. There was a spiraling staircase that went up three or four floors and was coated with a dingy red-velvet rug. Several corridors branched off into different directions, one carrying the scent of baking bread and the sound of distant chatter. Alba naturally gravitated toward the corridor, her stomach hankering for food, but Ms. Shaw grabbed her shoulder and steered her in the opposite direction.
"You may have breakfast after we meet with Sister Florence," Ms. Shaw told her. Alba winced when the woman's talon-like nails dug into her shoulder bone.
The corridor was dim and smelt of something gone stale. Suspended bits of dust cast a thick haze where light filtered through the cracks of boarded-up windows. Alba counted a total of seven doors, three on either side and one at the end of the hall. They halted only halfway down the corridor in front of a door that was partly ajar. Ms. Shaw raised a bony fist and rapped sharply on it.
"Yes?" came a woman's voice, soft and musical-like. Ms. Shaw pushed open the door and ushered Alba into the room.
They had entered a tidy office with hardly anything inside except a desk, three chairs, a few cabinets, and several neat stacks of bright pieces of paper. At the desk sat a portly woman dressed in black robes safe for the white fabric tightly fitted around her face. There was a sheath of black material that covered her head like some sort of veil. She smiled kindly when she saw Alba, her eyes warm and her cheeks rosy like a cherub's.
"Ah, Ms. Shaw!" exclaimed the lady in black. "I see you've brought our newest addition, and just in time for breakfast. Have a seat, my dear, and we'll get you settled as soon as possible."
Alba did not move, for she was too busy studying the oddly robed woman in front of her. Ludil shifted uneasily within the confines of Alba's bag.
The woman's smile never wavered. "It is quite all right, dear," she said. "Come, sit," she repeated, gesturing to the chairs. Ms. Shaw gave Alba a light push.
"Wonderful," said the lady in black as soon as Alba had taken her place in one of the stiff chairs. "You may call me Sister Florence. What may I call you?" she asked.
Alba debated whether or not to answer, but when her stomach growled, she decided that the sooner she complied, the quicker she could get eat. Through clenched teeth, she replied, "Alba."
Sister Florence's expression relaxed marginally. "Do you have a surname, Alba?"
"Yes."
"Yes, Sister Florence," Ms. Shaw snappishly interjected. Alba sent her a scathing look, lips curled, and eyes narrowed. She never liked it when adults corrected her.
"Thank you, Ms. Shaw," Sister Florence cleared her throat. "Would you mind finding Sister Percy and have her prepare Alba's bed?"
Ms. Shaw pursed her lips for a moment before assenting. "Very well."
As soon as the sharp-faced woman left, Alba let the tenseness in her body slacken. Ms. Shaw was much too austere for her liking. She tried much too hard to exercise authority where she had none.
Sister Florence sent her a gentle smile. "Now, Alba–"
"Why do they call you sister? You don't look at all alike," Alba interrupted. She listened attentively as Sister Florence, not in the least bit annoyed at the disruption, explained that she was a nun and served God. A wave of understanding washed over Alba. They had places like this for orphans in Archenland as well, run by devout folk who liked to do good things for others.
So, she asked another question after Sister Florence had finished telling her why they used sister. "Is your god's name Aslan?"
The question seemed to unsettle Sister Florence, whose brows knitted together, and head tilted to the side. "Aslan? No, it is not. Is that what you believe it to be?"
Alba shook her head violently. "No, just wondering," she said quickly, "just heard someone say it and I thought…" she trailed off, hoping Sister Florence would overlook her blunder. She couldn't let the nun in on her secret.
"Oh, very well then," Sister Florence nodded, clasping her plump fingers together. "Let's get your file in order. What did you say your surname was?"
Sister Florence kept Alba for another quarter of an hour, asking her about her birthday, her parents, and her home life. The nun never once lost patience with her, despite Alba's increasingly vague answers. But what could Alba say? She couldn't reveal that she was from another world entirely, that she had come through a small window on the shores of Narnia country. Alba knew well enough that people did not take well to those different than them, not in any world.
XxxxXXxxxX
The orphan children mocked the way she spoke. They thought her accent was funny – which they told her as soon as Sister Florence left.
The dining hall was moderately sized, with three long tables filled with scrawny children all dressed in hues of grey and mottled green. The tinkling of silverware echoed around her and from the kitchen came the sounds of clanking pots and pans and dishes. There was one grumpy-looking nun patrolling the hall, whom the children called Sister Percy.
One small boy sitting across from her, who reminded Alba very much of little Tam, spoke up amidst the cacophony of chatter. "Where are you from?" he asked, scratching at the mop of shaggy brown hair on his head.
Alba glanced at the orphans around them and leaned closer to the boy. "Far, far away from here," she told him.
The boy's eyes lit up like the electric lampposts that lined the streets. "Are you-are you a spy?" he asked, this time his voice was barely above a whisper.
"No, I'm not a spy," Alba was not sure if she ought to be offended with the way he said the word, or that he suspected her of espionage at all. "I came here on accident, and now I can't find my way back."
The little boy cocked his head. "Why would you do that?"
Alba almost went cross-eyed. "It's not like I meant to do it!" she nearly screeched, earning more than a few curious glances from children still remaining in the dining hall. She quickly ducked her head and concentrated on scooping up a spoonful of the watery, grey-tinged porridge Sister Percy had given her.
When the other orphans lost interest and the din in the hall had risen once more to its former roar, Alba recaptured the boy's attention.
"What's your name?" she asked him.
"Call me Alfie," the boy replied, his mouth full of porridge. "What's yours?"
"Alba," she said.
Alfie grinned. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Alba!"
Alba could not help but smile as well. This boy was her ticket out of there. If she could learn as much as possible from him, perhaps she could escape the city of smoke and stone for good.
"Likewise."
XxxxXXxxxX
Back at the hundred-windowed house, Mr. Sutcliffe was feeling somewhat poorly. Mrs. Parsons had been baking up a storm for the past week without stop, and the entire first floor perpetually smelt of biscuits and scones. It was getting ridiculous; Mr. Sutcliffe could only let out the waistline on his trousers so much before he would have to buy a whole new pair – not to mention how outrageously high the electricity bill was becoming!
Finally, after he had burst through the button on his favourite pair of khakis one morning, Mr. Sutcliffe had had enough.
Tossing that morning's paper to his desk and letting out a thunderous, "Mrs. Parsons!", he set out to confront his housekeeper. She was in the kitchen wearing a flour-covered apron, vigorously kneading a loaf of dough and muttering unintelligible things under her breath. She had not heard him, evidently.
"Mrs. Parsons," he tried again, this time in a much calmer manner. His housekeeper kept right on with her mumbling. "Mrs. Parsons, have you gone hard of hearing?" Mr. Sutcliffe exclaimed at last.
"Oh my," the old woman jumped, her hand fluttering over her chest. "Mr. Sutcliffe, you've startled me," she replied.
Mr. Sutcliffe heaved a sigh at the sight of the messy kitchen. Dirty mixing bowls were piled in the sink and used muffin trays were scattered across the counters. Dozens upon dozens of baked goods covered every surface; Mr. Sutcliffe spied a few apple pies and even a crème brûlée.
"Mrs. Parsons, I have been calling for you for several minutes now," he told her. "What has gotten into you?"
Dusting the flour from her hands, Mrs. Parsons looked suitably chastised. "My apologies, Mr. Sutcliffe. I—" she abruptly stopped in her tracks.
Mr. Sutcliffe pinched the bridge of his nose. "What is it, Mrs. Parsons?"
The portly housekeeper let out a deep breath and collapsed in the nearby dinette. "I keep thinking about that strange little girl…"
Mr. Sutcliffe was a man of intellect and thought himself of straightforward, candid character. He loathed to admit it, but the odd girl – in her bizarre clothes and distinctive way of speaking – kept intruding on his thoughts.
There was a long pause before he spoke. "I do too, Mrs. Parsons," he said. "I do too."
A/N: taking into account C.S. Lewis's timeline and WWII, this story occurs in middle- to late-1941, after the Blitz and before the raids in the spring of 1942. The Pevensies have returned from Kirke's estate and will begin school in the fall, preceding Prince Caspian.
The next chapter will have Alba finally meeting the Pevensies! Well, meeting them properly...