Chapter Six

In all truth, I'd never ridden in a carriage before, only wagons and horseback. It's quite different from what I was use to. For those of you who have never had this experience, I'll describe it. You're sitting in a box, being pulled by several unknown horses driven by an unknown man. Basically, it's a coffin, a glorified coffin but a coffin all the same, only you haven't the pleasure of being dead.

I suppose I would find carriages much more appealing if I was driving. Or if there was more windows. Or if I could see where we were going.

However, Hermia and Ophelia didn't seemed to mind the close quarters. In fact, Ophelia was chattering happily away as if nothing was out of the ordinary, which I suppose was true for her.

"My parents will be dying to meet you." Ophelia gushed.

"I doubt your parents have ever heard about me."

"As do I." Hermia scoffed.

I do confess, at this point, I was feeling a bit ill and I wasn't really paying attention to the conversation, so I can't recall the rest of it. I think I perhaps I dozed because the next thing I remember was that the sun had dipped toward the horizon and we were entering through the city gates.

I had always imagined cities as being clean and orderly places, such as the court house in the village. The clocks would ring on time, everyone would be punctual and all meetings would converge at a certain place at a certain time. None of this wandering in two hours late. I had imagined the buildings to be like Yolanda's father's house, pristine and clean. And, of course, everyone would be fabulously rich, like Master Kinnlison. There would be no lean winters, no starving. I had often heard how magnificent the cities were. I saw no such magnificence.

In hindsight, that comes from looking back on the past, I can not believe I had to be so naïve about life. But I can also forgive myself. I had never been in a city before. The largest place I've ever been is the village. And so, I beseech you, understand.

My first revelation came when I saw, in disbelief, the shear number of people mingling in the street. I couldn't believe so many people would voluntarily allow themselves to be smashed together like canned fish. I never imagined going into a city, even safely contained in the carriage (Now I laugh at how quickly the cage had become the fortress), could be so offending on the nose. The smells were nauseating.

It was akin to walking into an uncleaned barn perfumed with burned dinner and rotten fish. I hate fish. And it wasn't like they tried to clean the smell away. They tried to bury it under scents of lavender and cinnamon. It was simply revolting.

I had lived my life in the quiet, serene world of the country and never once was grateful for the lack of sound. Prior to my encounter with the Princess, the worst din I had to complain about was the village tavern's occasional midnight drinking celebration. As we pushed deeper into the throng of noise, I longed to be home, in the hidden corner of my attic.

I ventured a peek out of the window. Heaven charm! The people. A giant foot could step down on this street and kill twice the number of my village. How horrible. I gave prayer that no such thing should happened. And then offered several for the poor creatures packed up against each other and the carriage, humans and breasts alike. For the peddlers and their wares. To the school children running about. To the beasts of burden, to the strays, to the rats in the gutters. But mostly, I prayed for the beggars, hunched up against building walls. Beggaring to everyone, every familiar and strange face. They were old, or children. Infirm or stricken with disease or crippled. I felt my eyes water in horror.

Princess Ophelia and Hermia seemed oblivious to the offences around us. In fact, Ophelia seemed almost proud of this sweltering, stink of civilization. And, I do admit, there were some very fine things , to be sure. The buildings and towers were terribly high and the more expensive walls were had bright paintings upon them or pieces of glass embedded into the mortar and one wall I saw was made completely of white marble. And, if I looked down alleyways, I could see places that were less polluted and dingy. I even caught a glance at healthy, growing gardens and the sight eased me for a moment, long enough to hear Ophelia rattle on about all the wonderful music halls, play houses, museums and libraries that the city had to offer.

I supposed that if one had no other choice or one knew nothing else, the city was a passable place. But I could never live in such a place. The structures were so tall they reached far overhead and I couldn't even see the tops of them. They blocked out the sun and I could not even see the sky. I had never felt so confined, so trapped. I was a prisoner. I was a lost ship, sent adrift onto a sea of human misery.

The princess didn't seem to mind but it sure made me uncomfortable. Ophelia just kept chanting in a sort of an ignorant way, while Hermia kept staring down at me like a hawk upon a field mouse. And I, sitting between the two, sweated away, sure that I was going to go mad and kill everyone in the silly carriage. I wanted air. Needed a fresh breath desperately. I found myself praying to the being above that a hand would be sent down to ripe off the carriage roof. I needed out. I needed to see the sky.

Just when I think I could stand to live another second, the Princess turned to me and said with a half smile, "Almost there." I couldn't see the castle but I choose to believe the Princess.

We were stopped a total three checkpoints and at each point we were waved through. I noticed with each stop the pungent smell lessened by a degree and the noise faded away. The carriage than stopped on finally time and we got out. I raised my face to the dark sky of stormy ash, the product of the hundreds of family fires and the factories that produced all things. It wasn't a very magnificent entrance, almost an obscure side door, like any other I had ever seen. The only difference was the posted guards. They took one look at the princess and admitted us. They never even bothered to question me. In fact, they nodded to me, as if I was expected. Or maybe the princess was simply in the habit of bringing home strays.

Hermia immediately shuffled off somewhere, so it was up to Ophelia to show me around. It was difficult to keep an eye on her; my vision was so often being distracted. I have never in my life seen such magnificence. Everything shone with a brilliance I had only dreamed off. Every surface polished spotless. This is what I had expected from the city. Just like the courthouse. Yet it wasn't, really. There was something odd about this place because even though the Town Hall is always so clean, it is always so busy. However, here, the corridors were wide and so long that I couldn't see the end but I never saw another person, not even a servant, which I assumed Ophelia had plenty of.

I was more than I little relieved when Ophelia entered a room. Every surface of the wall was covered in shelves, paintings or windows. The shelves contained sculptures and books and things I couldn't identify. The paintings were of landscapes on lands never heard of and some, I'm sure, were a design of the painter's imagination. There were three large windows, with the middle on made of stain glass. The other two contained a glass so clear I could actually see out in. It gave the most remarkable view of the river and the city beyond. The city looked almost innocent from here, almost, dare I say it, beautiful. The floor to the room was covered with a carpeting of rugs, the finest I had ever seen, the weaving was so intricate that I found it hard to believe it was a rug and not a master painting. Under the windows, sat a bed, a simply bed like the one I use to have, except it was perhaps twice as wide. Well, I guess a good bed can never be improved upon. Finally, in the middle of the room, there was a pile of royal purple pillows, with golden fringes.

"Here, we can talk." Ophelia light a couple of lamps for extra light, flopped down on the mound of pillows and started to take off her shoes and stockings. "This is my personal bedroom. It use to be my nursery, when I was little." She smiled, her thoughts far way, as she untried her bonnet and pulled out her hairpins. Her raven black curls unrolled off her head and bounced down on her shoulders.

"Miss Ophelia." Hermia was standing in the doorway with a robe. "It is time for your bath, Miss."

Ophelia let out a long, dramatic sigh, "Yes, Hermia." Ophelia turned to me, "You will wait here until I'm done, won't you?" She didn't bother to wait for my reply, just got out and skipped out of the room. Hermia shot me a glance, as if to say, You're next, before following her highness out. The heavy door swung closed without a creak.

When no one returned after ten minutes or so, I got tired and I tried lying down on the pillows but got up after a couple of minutes. They felt so pristine that I felt uncomfortable sitting on them, like I was so common compared to them. They were so royal. Instead, I started to explore the room. It was a good-sized room, with perhaps the dimensions of the Town Hall, which included the courtroom, and the record room, and the government officials' offices.

Chapel Hill, unlike many other counties, was ruled not by some lord or lady, but by a mayor who everyone voted for. This happened about five years before I was born when the the current lord died without a heir. Well, I'm told he wasn't much of ruler. And know more and more counties are following the same route, some ever violently disposing of their rulers. My teacher in school was always talking about the decline of the royal families and I seriously began to rethink my request to Puss. I certainly didn't want to be part of a family who would be overthrown. And speaking of Puss, where was that little bastard? He did tell Ophelia he'd meet us at the castle, didn't he?

I pick up a book at random and opened it to the first page. I recognized the story at once but I'd never read it in a book before. I had always heard it from Guttian, the bard who always played at the inn. Us kids were never let in there but we managed to sneak in and hear at least part of the story before getting kicked out. This poem, I recall, was one of Guttian's less explisive stories. Only the story wasn't written as a poem, it was a book and a very long story at that, with far more detail than Guttian ever went into. I was half way through before I realized it was not just a story but a history, complete with dates and a family tree. It was so long, in fact, I didn't finish it before I fell asleep.

To be continued...