4
As they drove through the night in a magical carriage he summoned, she grew more and more apprehensive. The excitement of the moment when she had made her promise to come to the Dark Castle left her, but the exhaustion and the bleak fear of the unknown remained. She was deeply uneasy. She had no idea what to expect from this man who was now her master. The glimpse of kindness that she saw in his eyes back at her father's castle seemed to be gone entirely. He sat opposite her in the carriage, staring in front of him, apparently lost in thought. He paid her no attention whatsoever, and she felt strangely offended by that. He did ask her to come with him, for some reason – he could have given at least a hint on why did he want her.
She made an effort to compose herself, turning to her sensible side for support and strength. She must not panic; she should try and distance herself from the enormity of the change in her life. It is impossible to analyze what happened, anyway – at least not yet. She must learn more – she wished there was a book on the subject, so that she could consult it. Oh, just imagine it: 'A Comprehensive Guide for Princesses Abducted By Evil Wizards'. Alas, there was no such book – she'd have to use her wits to adjust to the situation as best as she could. And the good way to start is to get to know the man in whose power she placed herself.
She cast furtive glances on him, trying to access him at least outwardly.
The word 'bizarre' kept coming back to her mind. Everything about him was puzzling and overblown and absurd to the extreme, from the color of his skin to the cut of his coat – she had never seen anything remotely like this leathery number decorated with dark frills. It was strangely elegant, though, as if the owner took extreme care with his appearance; it's just that this elegance seemed to come directly from the madhouse. The hair, though greenish in hue, was clean, and it was strange to see such abundance of curls on this wild-looking creature. The hair obscured his face, making it difficult for her to see anything apart from the long and narrow nose and sometimes, when he moved his head and moonlight outlined his features more clearly, his ridiculously long eyelashes. With this nose and those lashes and this… floppy mass of hair he looked to her a bit like a dog – a nervous skinny mongrel, staring into empty air as lost dogs sometimes do before springing into crazed action, running around chasing their tails and barking at everything that moves.
His hands were neatly folded on his knees, right over the left, and she shivered uneasily when she had a closer look at them. They looked like paws, green and leathery and clawed – fingernails long and black and decaying.
'The man looks as if he is rotting alive', she thought. Yet there was no stink of dying flesh – he smelled clean and fresh and… crisp. That, as everything else about him, was puzzling.
All and all, he did not frighten her – that was the conclusion she reached by the end of their journey through the night. In fact his very cold and hostile manner was much more unpleasant than his appearance. And it became worse when they arrived to the castle – he broke his silence and started sneering again, and drugged her to the dungeon, ignoring all her questions and pleas, locked her and went away – she heard him giggling maliciously as he retreated. That was rude and beastly, and that made her angry – he could have at least given her some food and water, he should have offered her some comfort, and she expected to be shown some measure of respect. She was a princess, after all.
But then she remembered that all that was a thing of the past. She was not a princess any more – she belonged to this strange man, and he could do what he pleased with her.
She felt cold, lonely, abandoned and extremely exhausted. She sank to the floor – there was some straw there – and cried bitterly until she cried herself to sleep.
In the morning, he was as nasty and cold as before, but at least she found he has somehow provided her with a jar of fresh water to wash her face. Then he came to unlock the cell, and showed her around the castle, which was indeed vast and dirty (it seemed that his need for a caretaker was genuine), and briskly indicated the things he wanted her to do.
She decided to start with making tea – for her own sake rather then his: he didn't look likely to eat anything, yet she desperately needed some refreshment. Before bringing the tray into the dining room, which was huge and had an entirely unused look, she drank a cup of tea herself: God knows what he'll make her do now; perhaps she wouldn't have time for food.
She felt much better after that cup of tea, and she almost pulled off her 'calm and efficient' act, but then he made a stupid and cruel joke, which made her lose control and drop one of the cups, which was damaged by the fall. She was truly frightened for a second, and she nearly cried with frustration. She stood on her knees in front of him (not out of humility, mind – she knelt to pick up the damned cup!), babbling some apology. And then, suddenly, she saw it again – that glint of kindness in his strange reptilian eyes.
He did not look angry and cold then. He had a dreamy, sad and musing look. And a strange thought came to her regarding his nasty manner; perhaps it is all an act, she thought. Perhaps it is a mask he puts on to conceal something, to keep people away. He is scared of something, this small and dapper and sad man in flashy clothes. He is hiding something.
And the dreamer in her said: 'He is hiding his true self'.
Then the practical girl took over, told the dreamer to shut up and get along with her duties.
It was a busy day – what with cleaning and swiping and some washing and cooking she didn't have a spare moment to think of her situation, and surely not a moment to get really upset. It is amazing how much you can endure when your hands are busy.
She hadn't given much thought to her master, either – she simply had no time. She noticed him out of the corner of her eye while she was working; he seemed strangely idle, and he was always on her way, doing something in the very room that she'd come to clean. 'Doesn't he have anything to do?' she wondered. She always supposed dark wizards were busy folk, but this one just walked from room to room, looking a bit lost. 'May be he is just not used to having someone around the house', thought the practical girl, and added with a hint of malice: 'Good. That will teach him not to abduct princesses he didn't really want'.
'May be he is just lonely', thought the dreamer.
The really unpleasant moment came when, by the end of the day, she found herself in the cell again – alone and cold and tired to the bone. The tears came by they own volition, and she spent some time sitting on her bed of straw, being sorry for herself.
It helped, somehow; her nurse often told her that a good cry is a nice way to relax, and it seemed she was right. She slept peacefully for the rest of the night.
