The sun that seemed loathe to rise after the first night at the new castle now bathed the private sitting area with a warm golden light. The room had been set aside for the four to have private breakfasts on occasion, a feature that was not conceivable in Cair Paravel. It was a room large enough for its purposes with tall windows letting the sunlight immerse every piece of furniture with its rays. A small but pleasant breakfast of scones, tea, cantaloupe, honeydew and muffins graced an elegantly carved cherry wood table.
Susan stood behind her chair as she doubtfully watched her big brother limp the length of the room. Although she had dressed the wounds from the shattered porcelain dish Peter had broken the night before, the cuts were deep enough to cause the High King to walk carefully as to not agitate the deep cuts into bleeding again. Edmund and Lucy had not yet rose, leaving the two eldest Pevensies to contemplate the night's experience and its consequences.
"Peter, stop pacing. You'll only open the cuts more." Susan chided, her face lined with worry and doubt from what she had seen. The High King paused for only a moment and studied his sister closely.
She had donned a pale blue pastel dress accented by golden threaded embroidery and artfully braided her long hair. As lovely as the out fit was, it could not hide the fact that she had not slept a wink after the presence in Peter's room had literally walked through her and the dark circles under her eyes testified that. There was no denying what the two had witnessed and the only problem remaining was to apologize to Lucy and convince Edmund of the presence. The former was a daunting prospect for both agreed that it had to be dealt delicately incase Edmund overheard and then made the task of convincing him impossible. If they went about it the wrong way, Peter and Susan feared that Edmund would accuse them of caving in to Lucy's "outrageous" claims. And then all hope of convincing him would be lost.
As if their prayers had gone unheeded, Edmund slumped into the room, looking every bit as tired as his elder sister and brother. With a heavy sigh, Edmund flopped into a chair by the table. A loud clunk sounded as Edmund's let his head drop onto the breakfast table. Although never really a morning person, the Just had never resorted to sleeping on the breakfast table. "Sleep well last night, then?" Susan wondered with the corners of her mouth curling into a slight sly smile as she gently rubbed her little brother's back.
"I need to speak with Avril." Came the croaked out reply, as if his voice had not been used for days. "She needs to discipline those pups of her family's."
"Since when did you grow an interest in the business of raising meerkat pups, Ed?" Susan wondered in an uppity tone that belied her anxiety over the previous night's experience. A new wave of pups had been born into the Bristlesplat family prior to touring the Marshlands and the pups were beginning to become rambunctious and brave enough to play farther away from their den in the courtyard.
"Since they decided to play in the corridors to our chambers at all hours of the night." Edmund answered testily, cocking his head back to examine the ceiling. "Did you not hear them?"
Susan cast Peter a questioning look as if to silently ask how they were going to respond. The High King had paced to the large window that overlooked the courtyard. Despite his lack of sleep, the High King did not skip a beat. "The Bristlesplats are warming up in the sun. You might want to speak with Avril before she leads the family on rounds." He observed with a tone that did more than suggest. Heaving a sigh, Edmund slumped out of his chair and left after Susan's joking comment of 'No rest for the weary'.
A silent moment passed as the fifteen year old king's footsteps resounded from the halls. Long before he was out of ear shot, Peter and Susan had exchanged grim glances. They had been awake with Lucy long after Edmund had retired for the evening and both knew that there was no one in the corridors before or after the run in they had with a spirit.
"At least Edmund experienced something." Susan commented at last, running a finger over the embroidery of the tablecloth as she spoke.
Her brother scoffed in reply. "You can't be serious. You know as well as I how stubborn Edmund can be. He'll write it off or something of the sort." Peter paused for a moment as if debating to speak or stay silent. "I'm inclined to agree with Lucy." He admitted at last and got a quizzical look from the Gentle. "Su, I think we should pack up and return to Cair Paravel with in the fortnight. Sooner, if possible."
The eldest queen rolled her eyes at her brother and replied in a calming mothering tone as if Peter was a small child scared of a storm. "You know we can't do that. We've expired half of our yearly budget on this castle."
"You're brilliant with numbers though. I'm sure if anyone can make up for the losses, its you." He flashed her a hopeful smile in an attempt to butter Susan up enough to agree with him. It faltered under her hard stare and the High King felt the urge to explain. "Something's not right in this place. Lucy has felt it as have we-"
"I've said nothing of the sort, Peter Pevensie!" Susan exclaimed, raising her voice. Her outburst surprised the High King. With the patience of a saint, she was never so easily provoked.
"And yet you're about to join me in telling Lucy that we believe her claims. What is this now, sister, a contradiction?"
"There's a world of difference between acknowledging something is there and agreeing that it's dangerous. And besides," She added with an indescribable glint in her eye, "if we're counting contradictions, then perhaps we should visit how Narnia's High King who has fought the Witch, herself, wishes to retreat to the Four Thrones with his tail between his legs. All because something he couldn't see flicked his nose." It was a harsh accusation and one unlike Susan to make. She glared at Peter uncharacteristically with a dark look in her eyes.
"Beg pardon?" The High King asked half in way of a challenge, half in a way of testing the water.
Taking a deep breath, Susan sat down on a chair; the dark look replaced by her usual soft countenance. "Only that I think the spirit in this castle is not vicious." Came the reply. "Did I not say that?" The look on her face revealed that she was not teasing in her question.
The High King opened his mouth to utter a confused reply, but was cut short as Lucy practically bounced into the room. "Morning." The youngest chirped as she briskly made her way to the table. She paused upon seeing the looks on her siblings' faces.
Standing in the crisp autumn morning, Edmund began to feel the most uncomfortable he had been in all of his fifteen years. The Bristlesplats had emerged from their courtyard den and in the weak heat of the sun, had begun their daily social grooming sessions. Unlike Lucy who knew the names of each Bristlesplat and how they were related to Uncle Fungus, Edmund was never one who was able to tell one Bristlesplat from the other. He silently rued his deficiency as he took in several large piles of meerkats scattered in front of the den. Affectionate chirps and chitters emitted from each grooming group as they cleaned their cousin, child, aunt, uncle or parent. The Bristlesplats were oblivious to their king's presence and the grumble in Edmund's stomach goaded him to get it over with.
Choosing the group to the far right, Edmund knelt down on one knee and hopefully called out, "Avril?" For a horribly uncomfortable moment, Edmund thought that they had not heard him and was about to repeat himself when the head of a female Edmund wanted to call "Schmooey", poked out from the center of the grooming cluster. "Third one on the right." She informed the Just, inclining her head to the group where the dominant female was. However, before Edmund was able to thank Schmooey, she had disappeared into the pile of tan and stripped fur.
It took a while for Edmund to locate Avril, but in time he knelt in front of her and her mate of three years, Sabine, who was grooming his lady tenderly and humming an old Narnian song. The couple seemed to be lost in their own little grooming-world and- as was with the other Bristlesplats- were too absorbed in cleaning to notice the King. "Avril?" He ventured tentatively and got a small serene 'Mmm-mm' in reply as Sabine groomed near her neck and ears. Shifting uncomfortably, Edmund was at a loss of what to say and had a feeling that he should permit the couple privacy. "Er," He stammered, suddenly painfully aware of his age and how foreign the prospect of earthly pleasure was to him. "Perhaps I should return after the grooming sessions."
A laugh escaped Avril's lips as she slipped away from Sabine. She paused to compose herself with a guilty smile across her face. "Forgive me, my lord." She apologized, giving Edmund a deep bow. "What is the nature of which you wish to speak?"
"I'm here to address a problem about your pups." Edmund admitted evenly, keeping any traces of anger over the situation concealed. Cloaked anger, as Mr. Tumnus had once advised, was the mark of a great statesman.
"My lord?" Avril questioned, tilting her head to the side in confusion. It was clear that she was unaware of her pups playing in the royal corridors at all hours of the night.
With the utmost composure and patience, the fifteen year old many Narnians referred to as the Law of Narnia, explained the noises that had kept him from sleep the night before. All the while, Avril listened intently, her small dark eyes grew in a mixture of confusion and graveness with each passing word until the Just had finished.
Around her, the family had finished grooming and the seven young pups in question gleefully played in the entrance of the den. Their cries of mirth filled the air much as they did the prior night.
"With all do respect," Avril began carefully, "All of our pups sleep in the farthest reaches of the den with the rest of the family piling the passageways in front of them."
Sabine nodded in agreement and added in a raised tone, "Aye, m'lord. If any of the wee ones were to venture even to the mouth of the den, they'd have to step over all seven and twenty of us adults." He explained, taking into account the three meerkats who stayed behind in patrols to watch the pups. Sabine was a naturally loud creature with the sometimes unfortunate tendency to sound razzed at anything he spoke of, be it as tedious as the weather or as significant as wartime strategies.
The king shook his head in disbelief. He knew he heard the Bristlesplat pups outside his chambers last night. The three paused, long enough to process the information given as Yevgeni made his way to his parents and his king.
"Perhaps my Leige heard another group of young Narnians last night." Avril suggested evenly as Yevgeni called out, "Ma? Ma? Ma? When are we to go scrounge for breakfast? Ma? Ma? Ma?"
"There are other youngsters of Narnia besides my pups." Avril finished over her dimwitted son's low pitch whir.
"Yes," Conceding by a nod King Edmund agreed, for she did have a point, "But the nature of their play, their voices and the sounds I've heard last night match your pups to a tee."
In response Avril shook her head as the pups in question skittered to their mother. "Mumma," One Edmund was certain was named Sarah began, adding to Yevgeni's never ending query. "Mumma, Cyril bit me tail! And bit it good. Look." She added turning to display her tail.
"Mumma's busy speaking with the king, Dear One." Sabine whispered to the small pup just as her tail biting brother, Cyril pleaded with Avril to not believe a word little Sarah told them. These mixed into the tumult of "Ma? Ma? Ma? When are we to go scrounge for breakfast? Ma? Ma? Ma?"
Closing her eyes as if to remain composed, Avril spoke over the hullabaloo. "As I have said, my Leige- WE EAT AFTER ROUNDS!" She informed Edmund then turning her attention to the clamor of her family, yelling in an attempt to gather order.
Silence fell over her shocked children and relatives, many of whom had not been involved in what had set Avril off. "When are rounds, Ma?" Yevgeni ventured at an ill timed moment. With out warning, the dominant female of the Bristlesplats launched herself at her half-wit son in an attempt to set him straight.
While Avril contended to the domestic incivility, Edmund pondered what she had said: the pups had not left the den the night before. It could have been that he was imagining the noises, but Edmund was never one to have such a vivid imagination. That was Lucy's department. No, the voices of children playing were real despite what the meerkat had told him. His thoughts were cut short by Avril turning from her display of dominance to show her usual composed and elegant self. Sweeping into a deep bow, she resumed what she was telling Edmund. "As I have said, my Leige," She continued as if nothing had interrupted her at all, "Our pups would not be able to sneak out with out any of us noticing. I wish I knew what to tell you."
The Just nodded in agreement and admitted with a sigh, "As do I, Avril."
The small square white stomach of a tiny calico cat caused a stark contrast between the blue of Susan's gown. A contented purr echoed from the petite cat on the Gentle's lap as Susan sat quietly in the court yard with her eyes on the gate. Due to the "castle-warming" celebration ball scheduled for later in the evening, all courtly duties for the four monarchs had been cleared, leaving Peter, Edmund, Lucy and Susan to enjoy an afternoon to themselves.
Currently Susan had situated herself in the courtyard to await Waylon's arrival. Besides her siblings, Waylon was her mainstay and had it not been under his guidance, she would have never succeeded in convincing the Archenland nobility into aiding Narnia. Although in secret, the Gentle did at one time fancy Waylon, it soon became apparent to her that her affection towards him was nothing more than a deep friendship.
" 'Tis a glorious day for just sitting and soaking up the turning of the leaves in all their majesty." The furry, stretched out cat admitted from her position on her back. "It is a crying shame that your royal siblings decided to stay the day's course training in the sword or inside."
Susan gave a slight nod as the Bristlesplat pups played near their den under the watchful eyes of the designated baby-sitters, Pran, Ebb and Valerious.
Peter had taken to reading after breakfast but found himself unable to stay awake and had fallen into a deep, recuperative sleep on a long chaise. Much to Lucy's amusement, the High King had fallen asleep in an awkward position. The Valiant on the other hand, contented herself in finding Mr. Tumnus and visiting with the faun. Edmund, however, seemed to embrace the idea of a free afternoon with less alacrity than his brother and sisters. He seemed troubled by something that he was resigned to be tight lipped on. What ever his grievance, though, Edmund had decided to spend the afternoon doing the absolute opposite and was to be found in the practicing lists, perfecting his sword work further.
"Aye, Voz." Susan agreed absentmindedly, stroking the grateful cat's belly. "They know not what they're missing."
Voz, the tricolored calico perked her head up at the seemingly automated response. Purring a bit in a short, cooing tone, Voz rested her forehead on her queen's abdomen. "You say so, your majesty." The calico admitted, without moving. "Yet I doubt that is what your mind is mulling over." A perceptive little cat and one of the litter adopted by the Elderly Gentleman, Voz was the most promiscuous cat Susan had ever met. Always sneaking off with tomcats from the stables, Voz had never heard the word 'no' from any non related male.
This had concerned the Edlerly Gentleman for he thought that Voz's perceptiveness rivaled that of her learned sister, Chielo. When the old cat found out that his adopted daughter had other plans, he hired Ira and Ezra, two deer who made Clyde seem mild in comparison. The two were staunch matrons who had absolutely less humor in their bones that a pebble. They were also just what E.G. thought his morally loose daughter needed and hired the deer to keep his Voz from indulging in too much earthly pleasure. Currently, the deer stood on either side of Susan and Voz. The two sentries flanking the queen and cat did not utter a single word but kept their eyes and ears open for any form of imprudence.
" 'Tis nothing, Voz. I did not sleep well last night…unfamiliar surroundings, I suppose." Susan admitted, half lying. She stroked a dainty finger along the cat's throat. Voz squished her eyes together in contentment but found her Lady's claim to be wanting. She brushed her cheek against the Gentle's hand and stretched her neck out a little further as if encouraging where to pet.
They sat in silence, with the seven Bristlesplat pups, Sarah, Cyril, Sayuri, Cipriano, Smith, Salvatrice and Oddity engaged in a loud game with one of their sitters, the crippled Valerious, who hobbled along to keep up.
Voz opened her mouth to speak just as the keep's gates opened to allow way to a gilded red carriage inlaid with intricate gold filigree. It was unusual for carriages to be used in Narnia and was decidedly an Archenland feature. However, the circumstances of the passengers called for the contraption and the royal siblings had no qualms lending it to them if it insured the safety of the party.
Ebb yelled for Sarah and Cipriano, who were playing farther from the den than the other pups, to come to them, else the two little ones get trampled by the chestnut and bay horses or the carriages wheels.
A smile spread across Susan's features, knowing that those she had been waiting for had arrived. She scooped up Voz and strode forward, leaving her shawl behind on her seat. As if on cue, the curly head of Waylon popped out of the carriage door. The simple act made Susan forget the spirit in the castle and the arguments spawned from its presence and her grin widened. Waylon had always had that effect on her. His unspoken support in all her actions was uplifting. And no matter who he spoke with, he made them feel like the most important person in the world. The youthful courtier caught sight of the young queen and gave her a wry smirk before winking one of his gray eyes and dipped back into the carriage to retrieve his wife.
Voz, never one to be held for more than a minute, wiggled her way out of Susan's arms and set off in the direction of a black tomcat. Never missing a beat, the deer purposely strode after the "loose" cat.
"My lady!" came the overjoyed cry from the carriage as Waylon held out a hand to help his heavily pregnant wife.
Dores was the daughter of an extremely well to do Archenlandian merchant who sold materials to the royal family. She was a plain woman whose "enthusiastic" nature played off of Waylon's laidback kindness. Bearing her first child, Dores was forced to calm her nature down but before her pregnancy, she enjoyed her wine and was known for her wit when tipsy. Unlike her husband, though, Dores was quick to doubt and anger but nevertheless, brought a "different" breath of air into the court.
With a wide grin on her face, Dores took her husband's hand and with her free hand on her back to steady herself, she stepped down from the carriage. It groaned in release from its load and now free of the weight of its passengers, lifted to its original height from the ground.
"Susan," Waylon's lady greeted with outstretched arms as her husband trailed close to her side. While relatively an easy pregnancy for seasoned mothers, Dores had found herself experiencing enough troubles to cause Waylon to become more attentive than a mother hen. The Gentle accepted her friend's embrace and upon pulling apart, found herself subject to Dores' scrutiny. "You have circles, right here." She informed, touching with light hands under her eyes to indicate where the circles were on Susan. "Has my lady been sleeping well?" She paused, as if deciding to pursue the matter then deciding against it, she linked her arm with the queen's.
"I missed you terribly, Susan." Dores admitted, walking Susan away from the carriage, "The Cair is not the same when you four take leave. But I hear that you did wonders on the interior of this castle."
Susan looked behind her to glance at Waylon who had a worried look on his face. The couple was only several years Susan's senior and the prospect of a child had caused Waylon to worry and hover. "Don't worry so, Waylon." Susan reassured him with a grin, "You'll bound to look that way forever if you do."
The young courtier caught up to the women in several strides as they made their way to the entrance of the castle. Behind them, faun stewards gathered the trunks of the two.
"How's Mumma and Papa?" Susan inquired of the couple.
"Papa's gone off his rocker." Dores giggled as the wind caught her light brown hair and pulled it out of her braid. "The other day, Waylon, here, finds me among the company of some of the courtiers who shall not make it to tonight's gala. And rather than addressing myself or Lady Peahen or Duchess Buttuconnis, my lord bends down to my belly and rubs it saying vigorously, 'Well met, my son!' And then-as if I, the mother of his unborn child just strolled into the room with a foul smell on her breath- then Waylon turned to me and greets me with a 'I missed you too, my love."
Susan attempted to hide a snort of laughter and Waylon, desperate to cover his tracks, said defensively, "Listen not to what my wife has to say, Gentle Susan. The long trip has gone to her head. I have never spoken to the child in Dores' womb as if she was not there." He paused and bent to the height of his wife's stomach. And patting it, continued jokingly, "Isn't that true, my son?"
Dores smiled fondly at her husband. "You should be carrying this child, Waylon not-" She cut off, with her eyes wide and placed her hand on her protruding belly as if she was confused at what was transpired.
"Dores?" Waylon wondered, hovering like a hummingbird. "Shall I rush for the midwife?" He seemed torn between standing by his wife's side and running for a midwife.
"No," came the halting reply. "No. The baby was just kicking as if he wished to run about these hills." Dores paused and addressed the life within her, "Patience is a virtue, Dear One. Do not be so hasty to leave; life will never be this straight-forth."
Susan heaved an almost inaudible sigh of relief that the trip had not brought on the child early. After all, the babe was to be due a month from the very day. The queen glanced at her close friend and mentor whose blood had drained from his face at the idea of becoming a father a month before he was ready. In sooth, Waylon looked as though he was about to faint. Susan felt a pang of guilt for her friend. He would truly never live it down if he did pass out and it did not serve his sanity very well either to be disquieting over the matter either. What Waylon needed was a distraction.
"Waylon," Susan began, in an attempt to give him an excuse to not think about the babe for but a few hours. "I do believe my royal brother, King Edmund, would like a word with you on defending our Northern most boarders. He's very anxious to speak to you. Mentioned nothing but for days. You'll find him in the training lists near the stables." Susan paused at Waylon's reluctant glance at Dores.
"I am fine, my love." His wife assured him with a smile, "Go, speak to the king."
"I will watch after her." The Gentle assured her advisor who nodded reluctantly.
"Be mindful of her limitations." He said in a way of conceding as Dores led Susan away.
"I promise I shall be ever vigilant, Waylon." The young queen said in reassurance.
A sly grin embellished Waylon's features and a small fraction of color returned to his cheeks. "I was speaking to my wife, with all due respect, your Highness."
The statement was too much to keep a demure face and Susan had to join her close friend in giggling with out restraint as their path deviated from Waylon's. Once he was out of sight, Dores quietly examined her queen's countenance. There was something the sixteen year old sovereign was not telling and it was obvious that the queen suffered internally from it. Susan had always found Waylon as a confidant in the earlier years and while she still did, Dores had found herself immersed in the role of a matronly confidant within a few months of living inside the Cair. In sooth, the Gentle's reluctance to speak of her burdens upset Dores and she took no pains in telling Susan so.
"Please, my lady." Dores began silkily, like a mother tempting a wrong doing from her child. She ran her hand down the Gentle's hair and continued, "I implore you not as your loyal subject but as a close confidant, do tell me what's haunting you."
A moment passed in silence as Susan internally countered and weighed the repercussions of telling the woman who she saw as her guide to everything feminine. At length, the Gentle heaved a sigh, conceding to tell Dores everything from the reoccurring night terror of Lucy to the previous night when a spirit had walked through her. Touching Dores' arm lightly, Susan motioned to one of the doors. "I would rather speak of such matters away from prying ears." The Gentle quietly explained. She felt childish and ashamed that she let such a notion as ghosts bother her. Although she had conceded the existence of one in the castle, she had mentioned to Peter that she felt more than a little silly jumping at shadows. And as such, she did not want her subjects to hear of her almost asinine fears. The girl many called the Lily of the North, sighed and led her confidant through the threshold to the interior. She hoped that she was right to impart to Dores her clandestine concerns.
In a sunny sitting room in the castle's east wing, Lucy held up the dainty white teapot up in invitation. "Another cup, Mr. Tumnus?" The Valiant asked politely and received a nod from the faun. She had asked him to accompany her on her afternoon tea for both faun and Daughter of Eve had little time to catch up in all the excitement that transpired within the week or so.
His blue eyes twinkling, Mr. Tumnus nodded and held out his cup and saucer to be filled. Taking a moment in the brief silence, the faun examined his little friend. She was certainly growing up to be quite the lady, the faun decided. But underneath her elaborately done hair and courtly garb, he could not but remember the small little girl he had met on the winter's day. How adamant she was in insisting that she was certainly not a bearded dwarf. And now there she was before him, quite the elegant lady. Tumnus could not have been prouder even if she was his own daughter.
"Two lumps of sugar, I suppose?" She wondered, holding silver tongs above the sugar dish. She had the color in her cheeks back. Quite the contrast from several months ago and her cheerful nature had returned. Here, away from the glances of her elder sister, the queen had not restrained herself from placing four sugar cubes in her tea.
"I have a question for you, Mr. Tumnus." Lucy chirped contentedly, sounding more like a lark than a girl.
"And I have an answer, Lucy Pevensie." Tumnus replied, his tone becoming unintentionally as cheerful as the queen's.
There was a pause as the Valiant unceremoniously dipped her scone into the lemon tea to soften it. With the cookie completely saturated, she leaned over her teacup before the tea soaked pieces had the chance to fall on the fine table cloth. Giggling at her lack of genteel manners, Lucy continued, "Do you believe in ghosts?"
The faun blinked. "That's an odd question, your Highness." Tumnus admitted. He was present for his little friend's "encounter" but had not had a chance to speak with her about it for two months time.
"But you did promise me an answer, did you not?" Lucy quipped, catching the fallacy in the faun's words.
"That you are right, Lucy Pevensie." Mr. Tumnus conceded with a smile, "I suppose I did." He paused, not feeling at ease at what she was trying to get at. "Tell me though, what developed such an interest?"
"Peter and Susan experienced something unearthly last night." The Valiant explained, hoping to find a common agreement in Mr. Tumnus. It was quite reassuring to have her oldest brother and big sister behind her on the matter of a haunted castle. Although it seemed that they were keeping a few details from her-as always- it would still have been nice to know from Mr. Tumnus that she was not insane.
The faun's eyes widened at the idea. He could not shake the notion that the siblings would unknowingly go along with a notion such as spirits. It was common for brothers and sisters to "play along" with something and eventually believe. But he could not tell his little friend so. After all, she did come to him with the news in the first place.
"If they had an experience then it must be so." Lucy explained in lieu of the faun's hesitance.
"Perhaps, Lucy Pevensie." Tumnus began, his voice giving away the fact that he was censoring every word from his mouth. "While I do not out right…deny the existence of spirits in Narnia, like General Oreius or the Elderly Gentleman, I tend to be reluctant to label an area as haunted. Where as the Calmoren believe most avidly in the dead visiting the living. They not only believe that they visit but that the spirits can even take over a body of the living-"
Lucy's expression fell at the statement. "So you don't believe me." She inquired with an underlying hurt in her voice as she sipped her tea. Lucy had counted on Mr. Tumnus to support her claim of the fox and her dislike of the new castle if she told him that Peter and Susan had like experiences. The idea that he was not behind her one hundred percent disappointed the Valiant to say the least.
"No." Mr. Tumnus replied shortly and then continued as if he was walking among a den of lions. "Although I do believe in spirits and ghosts, I am reluctant to admit one dwells here. That is for the moment, my Queen. One's opinion is subject to change, you know."
Looking in her lap, Lucy felt a severe disappointment fall upon her. Mr. Tumnus would have done better to dismiss the idea like Oreius or Edmund had, not tip-toeing to spare her feelings. Although she knew it was a sweet notion for Tumnus to take her feelings into consideration, it still was no consolation in the end. "Yes," She emptily agreed with her trademark grin, "I suppose you're right."
Dores wrinkled her brow as Susan's story came to a close. It was quite a mouthful and was no wonder the queen had not slept well several nights before. Through out the tale, the Gentle's tone had been quiet and pleading for answers. At length, the pregnant courtier sighed and with a shrug let her hands fall into her lap.
"Please say something, Dores." Susan begged, stepping in front of a chair. Her green eyes shone with fear and the older woman wished she could quell it.
"My lady," Dores began slowly, an idea forming in her mind, "…that necklace, how long have you worn it since last?"
The queen cast her friend a perplexed look as her hand reached for the delicate golden chain with a single pearl gilded calla lily pendant. "This?" She asked, confusion written upon her face clearly, "'Twas a present from the dryads for my fifteenth year, six months and a year ago."
"Do you always keep it on, your Grace?" Dores persisted.
Her perplexed expression deepened and Susan answered, "Nay, though I neglected to take it off before I retired last night."
Dores' hands fluttered in response as if the action was the only way to keep the idea that had dawned on her in check. Wordlessly she stood up and strode over to a small maple card table and began dragging it to sit between where she was sitting and another comfy chair.
Susan strode over quickly to help pull the table into place. Although it was light, the queen did not feel at ease allowing the woman to drag it over with out over exerting herself or the baby. When the table was in place, Dores looked up at the Gentle. There was a resignation in her eyes that Susan could not label.
"Do you have ink and parchment in this room your Highness?" Waylon's lady wondered. The question seemed detached from what was transpiring, but nevertheless Susan dutifully strode to a writing desk to retrieve the items.
"Are you going to tell me what idea you fabricated in your mind, Dores?" the queen wondered flatly. She did not like being left in the dark, monarch or not.
"You want answers, am I correct?" The question was shot back with the same amount of persistence and Dores gave Susan an unwavering glance, making her hazel eyes appear to be challenging an answer.
"Aye." The Gentle countered, placing all her resolution in three letters.
In response, Dores walked to the threshold and scanned the hallways for eavesdroppers and passersby. At length she returned to her seat. "In Calmorene culture, they believe that there is a thin wisp of a veil that separates the netherworld and ours. When the veil is breached, interaction between the dead and living can transpire." She paused and leaned forward. Dores had seen Aslan once when he came to the court, but always held a fascination for the Calmorene culture. Some could argue, though, that her fascination had grown like a weed into an obsession. "And so, the Calmorene developed a system to speak with the dead. Give me your necklace."
Susan blinked in confusion. She had no clue what linked speaking with the dead to her necklace but complied nonetheless. "Dores, where are you going with this?" She wondered.
"The Calmorene invented a method to speak to the dead. The séance requires a necklace that has been worn for four and twenty hours and something for the spirit to write on." She paused and placed the chain in Susan's hand. With out speaking, Dores placed the tied clasp between Susan's fore and middle fingers so the pendant hung swinging between her hand. It was clear that Dores intended to do a séance and the notion frightened the Queen.
"Wh-why must I hold it?" Susan questioned hesitantly.
"Because you wore the necklace, not I. It will act like a focal point for the spirit to focus on. Since you've worn the necklace for four and twenty hours, it holds the warmth your person gives off. Spirits are drawn to heat which is why ghost stories describe the room becoming void of heat. And with you holding the necklace, your grasp is keeping the metal from going cold. It simply won't work if the necklace is not held by the person who imparted the heat to the pendant." Dores paused, sensing the apprehension. "You want answers, right?" She asked shortly.
"Aye," Came the hesitant answer.
"What better way than to ask the source itself. You have said it doesn't seem to be malevolent, right?"
"Aye," The queen repeated, despising herself for being reduced to saying nothing but the three letter word.
"Then what better way to find answers than asking benevolent spirits innocent questions?" She paused and planted a motherly kiss on her queen's cheek. "I promise no harm shall come."
A long moment of silence passed between the two until Susan heaved a sigh and asked quietly in a way of conceding, "And what purpose does the parchment and the ink hold?"
Dores gave her monarch and friend an almost feral smile at Susan's compliance. "What you'll do is hold your arm and the pendant steady. And we'll take turns asking the spirits questions. If it is a simple yes or no question, the pendant will swing back and forth. But if the spirits comply, we may ask more complex questions in which the pendant will go poker straight and an answer will be written on the parchment." She paused and her confidence faltered for a moment. "…or so I'm told." Susan cocked an eyebrow at the woman and Dores shrunk under her queen's gaze. "I've never really done this before." She admitted sheepishly.
Susan sighed and held the bottom of her pendant to steady it. She did not want to voice it, but she doubted that the entire séance would work and Dores admitting that she never tried such a thing before did not bode well for the credibility of the endeavor. "How do we begin it?" The Gentle wondered.
"By calling out." Came the answer and held the palms of her hands up in an invitation. A small gesture instructed Susan to do the same with her free hand. Once the two were set up, Dores spoke in a clear, loud voice. "If there are any spirits in this palace, we implore you to make your presence known. I am Dores of Archenland and my companion is Queen Susan the Gentle of Narnia. If there is anyone who wishes to make contact, please come close for we wish to speak at length with you."
"Is that it?" Susan wondered, her eyes on the still pendant that swayed slightly from her breaths. In sooth, it was a little silly to introduce oneself to an empty room but the queen kept the thought to herself.
"We'll keep calling out until we get contact. Just keep inviting them to come." Dores instructed.
"We wish to speak to the one who has been in contact with myself, my brothers and sister before." Susan spoke up, feeling the epitome of silly. Although she felt a little chilled, she was certain she and Dores both looked and sounded ridiculous. And her impatience began to show within her words. "I want to know why you are keeping us up at night. Will no one speak? If any spirit is present, speak up. You're responsible for your dealings even in death and I grow weary of your antics. Don't be a co-" Susan cut off mid sentence as the pendant began to swing violently left to right.
"Is there a spirit present?" Dores wondered after a brief awed silence. "Swing towards me to say 'yes' and towards the mirror for 'no'." Even though Susan believed gestures were futile, Dores inclined her head to a large gilded mirror that sat to perpendicular to their left. The mirror itself had been found during renovations in relatively decent shape and gave those who walked through the threshold a chance to check their reflection.
The pendant grew still and ceased from its agitated swinging. As it subsided, Susan almost opened her mouth to question Waylon's lady. But before a syllable could have been uttered, the pendant began to swing back and forth between Susan and Dores with much force.
The pregnant woman cast her friend an elated smile and asked the spirits, "Do you frequent these rooms?" The pendant continued its arch between the two women, giving a resounding 'yes' in response.
"Did you sit on my brother's-the High King Peter's- bed last night?" Susan wondered, receiving a 'yes' in answer.
Dores smirked at her queen's astounded expression at the question and asked hers. "Did you die of disease?" The arc between the two women stopped suddenly and the spirit moved the pendant towards the mirror.
"You were murdered." Susan summed up posing a statement rather than a question but the pendant stopped and began to swing between the monarch and courtier indicating that Susan was correct. She didn't give Dores a third question and felt compelled to inquire, "Are you the only spirit that dwells here."
Once again the spirit answered, 'no'. Deciding that it was time to ask more complex questions, Dores shifted in her seat. The child in her belly was protesting his confinement again and quite adamant for that matter. "We would like to ask you more questions; can you use the parchment to write an answer?" When she received affirmation, Dores continued. "What is your name?" Going completely rigid, the pendant paused over the parchment and in jagged, almost square writing the single word 'Madame' appeared in shining black ink.
"How many dwell here?" Susan quipped, returning to the question of numbers. Once again the jagged ink shone black and Dores could not hold back her gasp of surprise. " 'Multitudes'." Susan read, trying not to notice the chill that traveled down her spine. Swallowing her fear, she prepared for another question.
"What in the Lion's mane?" A new voice filled with confusion and surprise spoke from the entrance. The women looked to find Edmund at the threshold of the door, his eyes locked on the mirror parallel to him. The Gentle followed her brothers gaze and gasped. The reflection of a woman, clad in an elegantly simple blue gown stood at the table. Bent over the parchment, it was obvious that she was writing her responses. With in moments of Edmund's entrance, the spirit who identified herself as 'Madame', turned to face the Just. All color fled from his face as he beheld what was 'merely a fabrication that kept children in check'.
Dark hair piled in a disheveled bun that would have been quite elegant in life hung loosely on her. Madame's chilling face was void of a mouth to speak, a nose and eyes like any conception of these orifice was never conceived it was horrifying yet oddly entrancing. Any attempt to flee was lost and any attempt to scream was lodged in their throats. She took a few steps forward and disappeared entirely from the mirror but not before Edmund noticed the spirit's heels leading the steps.
A moment of silence passed between the three. Susan locked her eyes on her lap and could not bring herself to speak to her brother who was without a doubt no longer a skeptic in the castle's darker side. The silence grew heavy and almost unbearable. At length Edmund opened his mouth to speak but in a split second thought better of it and turned on his heels. Susan knew his destination-Peter- and in an instant followed her brother's steps. In an urgent attempt to intercept him, Susan called out.
"Try me, Su. I could use a laugh." Edmund challenged in exasperation. He knew she was chasing him to explain what he saw. Despite the cooler weather, his training with Oreius had yielded sweat and dirt to cover his countenance and clothes. The combination of training in the lists and lack of sleep had made Edmund's temper short. Susan bit her lip; her resolve fizzled under her brother's reproach and under his stern gaze she was at a loss of what to say.
A/n: dang this was a long chapter! Well, I'm pleased it is finished. I worked really long and hard on this. I hope you enjoyed it. This chapter was influenced heavily by play-doh. Thanks goes out to Elecktrum, my roomie and my chicken chasing pal, Kenz for being my TNT for writer's block. Also thank you to all my hitters and reviewers too. Couldn't do it with out you all. hug happy finals to all the university students out there!