Chapter 14: Cyril's Offer

...And then eerie yelping sounds pervaded the barn. I felt as though my heartstrings were being plucked by a harpist who had forgotten how to play the harp: dissonances cracked through my mind. The yelping became louder, and I ran towards it, looking for a way up to the balcony.

As I ran from them, I could hear the Masked Men discussing among themselves:

"It's probably a wild animal. You should go and make sure it doesn't eat her alive."

"Don't be ridiculous. Wild animals don't yelp like that - it's a dog!"

"I was joking, Hoodley! I mean, I know I'm never sarcastic or anything..."

"Give it a rest, Tiger. But one of us should go up and protect her. After all, a fragile woman..."

"...and our responsibility..."

"...and the chance of a reward..."

"...that's what I meant by 'responsibility', ignoramus..."

"R-right."

"Hoodley, d'you really think it's dangerous?"

"Enough talk! Grainger, you go, make sure nothing unsavoury happens. It could be a trick..."

And I heard brisk, business-like footsteps following me. I accelerated.

"Grainger, hurry!" - Hoodley's deep, sandy voice followed me as I clambered up a ladder that seemed to have helpfully appeared for my benefit.

I soon arrived at the top, to find not Redmond, nor any cudgelled canine, but -

"Peter Markovski!" Grainger did not sound pleased. "You've interrupted something important. Do you know what we're going to do to you..."

The imp grinned, and gestured wildly to me as he exclaimed in a stage whisper: "Out and away Elf! Out and away! I've got this one covered!"

"But Peter - I can't just - "

"Go, Elf! Run for your life!"

I was not under the impression that my life was in danger - the Masked Men were fairly civilised, take it all in all - but seeing his frantic gesticulations, I obeyed, and slipped out the open door into a shock of fresh air. As I left I could hear Peter inventing marvellous stories about why he was late and what reason he had for impersonating a starving dog.

As I tried to organise the zoo of my recalcitrant thoughts a figure waved from me from next to the demolished haystack. It was Nelly. "Elf! I've been looking all over for you! Where have you been!"

"In the land of mad-hat paradoxes," I called, descending the stairs with a light step. Redmond was alive - he was safe - that was all that mattered for the moment. I would find him, I would rescue him - but first I had to breathe a little, and find out where I stood. A plan, I decided, was vital.

As we walked towards the Inn, Nelly bombarded me with questions. I told her everything that had happened, and she looked thoughtful; "Macbeth, then," she said when I had finished, pursing her lips slightly. And then she smiled.

"You are such an otiose slug," I grumbled at myself, just as I had the day before, and the day before that, and the day before that...I stood in the kitchen of the Yellow Ram Inn, washing dishes: for such was the agreement, we would help out in the kitchen in return for food and a roof over our heads. Nelly had been enthusiastic: such generosity on Whitehead's part, such an easy way to make a living. I was never so sure. In my first few weeks I had broken eleven plates, eight glasses, ten bowls, not to mention the whole of the China tea set that had been through many generations of Whiteheads. But the upshot of it all was that my work in the kitchen prevented me from finding my brother. The Masked Men had left the Yellow Ram Inn almost as swiftly and suddenly as they had come to it, so I could no longer hope for any illumination from them.

The continual growth of the pile of broken porcelain next to the sink could be easily attributed to my lack of presence of mind: I was continually daydreaming, often about the rescue I would give Redmond, and sometimes about Prince James and the ring that I still had to return to him. Most often, though, I thought with a sigh of Jimmy. How could someone so good do something so bad? And what could he, of all people, want with my brooch? The mental chaos caused by the frequent visits of one Cyril Rose only further escalated my scattiness. For he always left me wondering if I did not perhaps prefer him to every other boy in the world - and always, though inadvertently, reminded me of Jimmy's crime. That day, it was by recalling the events of my sixteenth birthday.

He came into the kitchen smiling. "And how does my little princess of the kitchen?"

I blushed. "Very ill indeed. I just broke my twelfth plate."

He laughed. "You were evidently not meant for washing dishes. Your hands are so white, and soft..."

I felt my face grow hot. "Cy-ril...please..."

"Please what? You deserve to be admired. You are, above anything else, admirable. Slaving away for such a small salary..."

"Others work to keep alive, too. There is nothing admirable, nothing pitiable - yes, that's what you implied - about me. I am merely one of millions." Inwardly, of course, I agreed with him, and felt like a martyr.

"I don't think so," he replied. "You are very...singular. Your features are noble. Your hands have no callouses, no blisters. And yet your mien is that of a desperate scallywag..." He grinned. "You would be shocked if I told you whom you remind me of."

"Pray tell," I said, trying to keep my voice as calm as possible.

"Of a princess I once knew - Esmerelda. From the neighbouring kingdom, Starcastle. I remember her 16th birthday ball...she went dressed as Puss in Boots!"

"No!"

"Yes! What's more, she exchanged clothes with Prince James, so everyone thought she was a boy. They only found out when they unmasked James. Not a pretty sight. Of course, he's in mourning now. Nobody can see him."

"In mourning?"

"Yes! Didn't you know? Here we are in Emereldom, and you haven't heard...he's been in a strange melancholy ever since the day following Esmerelda's birthday. It is rumoured that she rejected his proposal. Ostensibly, he's mourning for the death of a friend of his. Nobody knows who. I believe it's just a pretext to stay away from the rest of society."

"Strange."

"Yes, he's an odd fellow. Never liked him much. Whereas Esmerelda...she's been kidnapped, and they can't figure out by whom. Some M.M., apparently. Until they find out the name of who it was, she'll be kept in custody. Rumpelstiltskinish. That's what the papers say, at least. I don't believe a word of it."

"You don't?"

"No." He paused. "It's no use. I've done with pretending. I know your secret, Esmerelda Elfreda Eloise."

The thirteenth plate slipped to its broken death. I hid my face.

"...And I will keep it faithfully," he continued. "But you must accept my offer, and come live with me at the Interkingdom Hotel."

"But - "

"Do not fear. We will disguise you so that nobody will recognise you." His lopsided grin returned, and, coming closer to me, he whispered in my ear: "They don't allow men and women to sleep in the same room anyway." Drawing away slightly, he winked. A strange feeling grew in me.

"Do you really mean...?"

"Yes, Esmerelda. I do."

Just then, Nelly burst into the kitchen. Cyril stepped back.

"Mr Rose," she said, curtseying stiffly. "You forget, I think, that guests aren't allowed in the kitchen."

"My memory is as full of holes as a piece of good cheese," said Cyril smoothly. "I aplogise. It won't happen again. Ladies -" He bowed, and exited the room.

Nelly gave me a dark look, took the lasagne she had prepared out of the oven, and whisked it out through the other door.

Though somewhat perturbed by her apparent ill-will, I smiled: a wild excitement was beating in my chest. I knew that freedom, and Redmond's rescue, lay close at hand.