Moments in Time
Disclaimer: Copyright J.K. Rowling & C.S. Lewis
III: Living or Existing
or
"Sometimes you get the best light from a burning bridge."
"Sh-shall we move onto the taxes?" Count Edgware stammered as he flicked through his leather-bound book of accounts.
Edmund lazily turned towards the man; he cocked his eyebrow as he tried to remember the last time Count Edgware had ever made a statement during court processions. His memory came up blank. Count Edgware was a quiet man, he went about his business and rarely made a fuss - Edmund initially assumed that this was because of his non-Narnian ancestry as his father had been from London. But, he was one of the most amiable men Edmund had ever worked with. What Edmund most appreciated was the preciseness in which he went about with his job. Today, however, the man was surrounded by so much nervous energy that just looking at him made Edmund feel edgy.
"What is there to discuss about the taxes?" asked Edmund.
His voice smoothly cut through the low grumbling murmurs amongst the attendants, effectively drawing everyone's attention to him and bringing order to the court.
No one was immune to the humdrum of the weekly council meetings, more often than not; several lords and councilmen dozed off - as they had today. But the minute his inimitable baritone cut through the room, those slumbering started with surprise. They (not so) conspicuously darted their eyes and fumbled with their hats deliberating whether they had attracted any attention while they had dozed off. Edmund, of course, eyed each and every single lazy body with a gaze that told them that the Just King, as always, had not missed a thing.
"Your Highness," Count Edgware inclined his head with respect, standing up a bit taller now that he had the king's attention, "I've been going through the books and there appear to be several discrepancies. At the moment our outgoings are more than our incomings; the books just aren't balancing," he notified.
Edmund narrowed his eyes, "That should not be the case; it was only last month that we raised the taxes by 2.5%. Any more and our citizens will be leading a life of poverty. We discussed that the increase in tax was more than substantial to cover all costs."
"Indeed, that is true Sire, but I just cannot seem to find where the disparity has occurred. I'm almost hesitant to suggest ... well-"
"Oh, just spit it out, man!" Lord Eugenbert rasped from his seat impatiently; evidently he was not pleased to have been awoken from his enjoyable nap. The large, plump man pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the sweat from his forehead; the Narnian heat was getting to him.
"Well, I believe that there may have been some embezzlement."
Shocked gasps and outcries ran through the court as those who had been paying part attention suddenly stood alert. The monarchs of Narnia stiffened on their thrones.
"How preposterous!" Lord Eugenbert cried. Several members of the court echoed their opinions, thievery in Narnia - it could not be dreamt of!
"Are you certain Count Edgware? Accusations such as these are not taken lightly; I'm sure you know," Peter said gravely; a frown marred deep into his face.
The count nodded vehemently, "I am aware of my allegations, Your Majesties."
"Very well," Caspian stated, after a clear moment of thought, "this court is adjourned, Count Edgware, if you would please, stay behind to discuss the situation."
Lord Starcious and Lord Eugenbert opened their mouths to argue but were quelled by stern looks from their kings and queens. Slowly, but grumbling about the state of affairs, the amassed court filed out through the large wooden doors, unable to believe the turn of events. The door thunked shut with a loud echo.
The nervous accountant fumbled with the book in his hands, pressing loose leafs of parchment back into their places before walking up to the thrones. He bowed respectfully before them.
"If you wouldn't mind Count Edgware," Edmund suggested, as he held a hand out for the book. The man hurried over and pressed it into the king's hands with eagerness.
"Take a look for yourself, Sire. Perhaps you will be able to see what I cannot," the man spoke humbly, he fumbled with his hands, entwining them and twisting them.
Edmund spared a kind smile towards the gentleman before glancing down at the book. He frowned as he skimmed over the numbers, Edgware was right; some inconsistencies dated back to almost six months ago.
"Why has this only just been brought to our attentions?" Edmund questioned as he looked at the man with watchful eyes.
The accountant wilted slightly under his gaze, "You must forgive me, Your Majesties, for I did notice the alterations as it initially started occurring, but I was a fool. I believed it to be -" the count coughed uncomfortably. "...Well, a cause of the frequent lavish parties the castle held."
The count blushed as he pointedly avoided making eye contact with the Gentle Queen.
Susan looked equally uncomfortable and flustered.
"Do continue," she spoke softly, staying true to her title, wearing a genial smile on her face despite her embarrassment. Count Edgware looked visibly relieved that he was not in trouble for indirectly offending the queen.
"But then it sustained," he continued, "an equal amount every week, it is all in the books as expenses, but never from the same station which made it difficult for me to track."
"Are you suggesting that someone is deliberately adjusting the book figures to make it seem as though there are more expenses incurred than actual?" Edmund questioned.
"Yes Sire," the man nodded, his hat slipping down on his forehead slightly, "that is precisely why it has taken me so long to uncover the truth. Of course, last month when I mentioned it in court - it was mistaken as an opportunity to increase the taxes..." he fumbled clumsily through his words.
"Which is why you were outright this time," Peter finished with a sigh, rubbing his forehead, looking as though he had a severe headache coming along.
"Why did you not come to us in private? I'm sure our Just King would have gladly looked over the accounts with you," Caspian told the man politely, though, the exasperation in his voice was not hidden as well as he'd hoped.
"But I tried Sire, I was told that the kings were too busy to take an audience and that the queens simply did not indulge in affairs of accounts."
Lucy and Susan bristled at the insult.
"Who told you that?" Lucy asked, in her honey-sweet voice, though there was an undercurrent of acidity running through her tone.
Edmund hid his smirk behind a carefully placed hand as his younger sister's rare vindictive temperament came out.
"Why Lord Eugenbert of course," Count Edgware said, slightly flustered, referring to the Lord of Communications.
The monarchs frowned in thought. Edmund's eyes darkened as he flicked through yet another page.
"You wouldn't mind if I kept hold of this to take a better look?" The Just King asked out of simple courtesy, but everyone in that room knew that it was more rhetorical than anything.
"Of course not Sire, if you would like, I can give you the information I've gathered thus far regarding where I believe the discrepancies formed each month?" Count Edgware suggested graciously; obviously wanting to be of most help to the monarchs as possible.
"That would be most appreciated," Edmund agreed with a smile. "I'll take off now; I thank you for your astuteness Count Edgware." Edmund nodded at the man who bowed to him again before stalking off to his study.
Edmund could feel a migraine forming, and the Narnian heat was not the cause of it.
"Would you like to join us for some tea?" Susan kindly offered to the man in the background.
The last thing Edmund had heard before he left the courtroom was the count's gentle protests against Susan's and Lucy's keen insistence.
Edmund held great pride in himself for being the most read out of all of his siblings and Caspian. Peter and Caspian often, quite impulsively, thought with their swords and Susan and Lucy did stay out of dealing with most issues of the court. The queens felt that they had a softer touch when it came to their citizens and it was seen in the past that they struggled to stay impartial when dealing with difficult issues - discovered after that one time Lucy invited an entire orphanage to stay at the castle while the building was being repaired after a misfortunate bout of flood. So by default, the duty fell to him. A great deal of cloak-and-dagger matter went on in political circles; and only he, of everyone, could ever keep up.
Edmund also had a flair for numbers, it was a natural talent. He could quickly process data in his mind like no other man in Narnia, and he was able spot miscalculations in mere seconds. Therefore, it truly stumped him when he realised that Count Edgware had been right. Whoever had messed with the accounts had been extremely subtle and smart because there was not one specific detail that he count pinpoint as the access point from where the money had gone missing.
The young king let out a long-suffering sigh, as he ran his fingers through his tousled hair. He leaned back into his dark antique wing chair and closed his eyes to escape reality for a short while. He had only been at the tavern last night, but he felt the need to return for another alcoholic beverage - it was the only thing that cleared his mind off the stress of being a king - even if it only provided him a short relief and (almost always) a nasty hangover.
"Long day, Sire?" Edmund kept his eyes closed as his security detail, Dagger slinked into the room and found his comfortable spot under Edmund's table, by his feet.
The calming rhythmic motion of the large canine's tail tapping the ground soothed Edmund somewhat as he re-opened his eyes.
"That's one way to put it," Edmund stated.
The grey wolf let out a noise that resembled a snort as he lifted his head and looked at his king. His expression morphed from amusement to concern as he noticed and felt the tension radiating from the king's body.
"It's only just turned midday, Sire. What's happened?" He drawled in that rumbling, languid voice of his though his concern was evident.
Edmund lazily trailed his eyes over from the window to his guard, "There appears to be a thief in the court." The frown that had previously been present on his face reappeared.
"What?" The large wolf snarled, looking outraged - a terrifying expression to see on such an animal - and in his haste, forgetting to attach a title when addressing Edmund.
Edmund could not reply, for he had no answer. He did not even know where to begin his search. "Embezzlement in court. Never thought I'd be saying those words in regards to Narnia." Chagrin was clear in his voice.
"This is what happened when you let Telmarines live comfortably in Narnia," Dagger commented offensively, with a long growl.
Edmund gave the wolf a dark stare, expressing silently his wishes for him to mind his words, for such discrimination, was the main root of most of the problems in Narnia.
"I misspoke, my King. But you know that my words are true, Sire, the Talking Animals, and Old Narnians would never cause conflict such as this," replied the Talking Wolf, feeling suitably cowed.
"Be that as it may," Edmund warned as they retraced a time-old argument, "the Telmarines are also rightful citizens of Narnia and we, the monarchs, have accepted them as such. Narnia is no longer only a home for the Old Narnians. It is a moot point to blame the wrongdoings of one man on many."
Dagger offered no reply and merely rested his head back on the ground, choosing not to argue with his king. Such was the presence Edmund held, to argue back would only make him look shameless and at the end of it all, Edmund would win the argument anyway. The king had a way of making you see his motion.
Edmund knew that the opinions of Narnians would be hard to change; for the long years of their suffering at the hands of Telmarines caused such a huge drift between the inhabitants. The mere respect that the Narnians held for the Kings and Queens of Old prevented another civil war from arising in Narnia. The differences in cultures and traditions between the Narnians and Telmarines, however, could not be married so suddenly; that would take time, and the monarchs all realised this.
"You have visitors," communicated Dagger.
His sensitive senses picked up noises and scents that Edmund, as a human, could not. Edmund stirred from his thoughts and turned his attention to the door.
"Enter," he called on time as two sharp raps sounded on his door.
He held in his surprise as the girl from the inn last night walked in with Captain Peter Kader. He berated himself silently as he remembered the invitation he'd extended regarding her asylum in Narnia.
"My King," Peter Kader bowed.
The girl visibly digested his actions before, though reluctantly and slowly, following suit with a perfected curtsey.
"Captain, I'm glad you took my invitation," Edmund greeted, as he stood up and encouraged them further into the room.
"Of course, Sire," the man smiled, "His Majesty is most kind to offer us audience in his free time."
Edmund waved it off as nothing.
"Do you have the papers?" He questioned, as he eyed the file that Peter held tightly in his grasp.
Peter hastily handed over the pieces of parchment. Edmund took a brief look at the first page before looking directly at the girl. She was staring right back at him, and she remained stoic as he kept his penetrating gaze on her.
"Sire?" The Captain prompted.
Edmund snapped his attention back to him with a frown.
"If you'd give us a moment alone Captain," Edmund spoke and then continued as Peter looked at him confused, "I'm sure you know the procedure."
Not refuting his king's wishes, the man laid a placating hand on the girl's shoulder before striding out the door.
"You may take a seat," Edmund commanded, as he walked around and took his seat.
He made a show of taking deep interest in the paper in his hand while he watched, with mild curiosity, at how she carried herself. She remained stood stiffly for a brief extra moment, before slowly making her way to the comfortable chair opposite him. But as she sat he had to hide his amusement, for she was as stiff as a board - almost as though she expected manacles to shoot out from the arms of the chair and ensnare her.
She placed her hands delicately on her lap after a moment, but he could see her white knuckles, which indicated that her fists were clenched with tension. She was not clad in breeches and a blouse today and instead, to his surprise (though he was not quite sure why he was surprised), she was decorously wearing an elegant dark green dress that accentuated the slight curves her blouse and trousers had not shown.
'Shame,' he thought, 'the breeches had absurdly suited her.'
He could tell that she was uncomfortable wearing such pretentious clothing, for her formal posture was a dead giveaway. He could just make out, after intense scrutiny, the minute twitching of her fingers as she scrunched the material in her clenched hands. A woman who had been brought up to appreciate such fine material would have never done such a thing.
Her expression was carefully blank, completely devoid of any emotion or hints towards what she was feeling. It was strange, though, for someone who had just escaped from the slave trade to have such control over her emotions - or perhaps it wasn't strange at all; for he had never dealt with such a case before. What he had been expecting, however, was a blubbering mess - not emotionless.
She was calm, too calm.
Were he a simple man, he would have completely discarded the thought that she was hiding something, but he knew better.
Her face was proud and her posture even more so, she was clearly a woman from an upper class lifestyle, and suddenly, Edmund started to see the contradictions to her story.
His eyes narrowed.
"State your name, please," he said monotonously, feigning disinterest, as the looked over the papers the Captain had filled out in his distinct scrawled script that Edmund had become acclimated to over years of reading reports.
The Kader family were loyal to the Narnian Kings and Queens - the brothers were some of the best men in his personal ranks, but he also knew that loyalty could be easily led astray with a pretty face.
No man was immune to the charms of a beautiful woman. And the woman before him was nothing but bewitching. Perhaps it had been the lighting at the inn that had not done her justice, but out in the clear, broad daylight, he could see her for what she was.
Thick brown wild curls framed her heart-shaped face. She had a fair complexion that glowed with a hint of pink (though, there were hints of a formation of a tan), clearly she did not get out much (but could he expect any more from someone who had been enslaved, was she even who she said she was?). It was not her pouting pink lips and the sweet smile he'd caught a glimpse of last night that was the most alluring part of her; no, it was the fire of intelligence that burned behind her eyes. Her chocolate brown, almond-shaped eyes were framed by an abundance of dense eyelashes. They were orphic, and he felt himself being drawn in like a vulnerable man to a siren.
"Hermione Granger," she answered in an equally wearisome voice, though, hers was not as grave and still sounded angelic - as though she was casting a spell over him.
Her name was quite strange, her surname, in particular, not like any of the others that he'd heard of in Narnia or Calormen. But Edmund's vocabulary was voluminous, thanks to Susan's fun wartime games, and so, he knew that 'granger' was another occupational name for a farmer. Farmer was not a word that existed in Narnia, they were called agronomists.
His skeptical scrutiny of her increased.
"You seek asylum in Narnia, is this correct?" He inquired as he looked at her date of birth.
September 19th.
He frowned at the lack of the year written on the page.
"That is correct." Edmund glanced up at her, noticing that her eyes were unfocused and staring out of the large glass windows that dominated his western wall - it offered a picturesque view of the coastline below.
"How did you escape to Narnia?"
He held his composure as her attention snapped back to him, her brown irises connecting with his. He had caught her off-guard.
"I beg your pardon?" She questioned.
If you were paying close attention (like he was), you could hear the slight hitch in her voice. It was only ever so slight, but details were Edmund's niche, and he was not ignorant to the sudden fear emitting from her. Dagger whipped his tail against his calf; he'd heard, or rather felt, it too.
Slowly, he placed the papers on his desk and crossed his arms on the table exuding his intimidating presence.
He stiffened faintly as her eyes casually roamed over his figure, they followed the length from his hands up to his sinewy biceps that were accentuated by the new tight white shirt that Susan had ordered to be made-to-fit for him (it was the new fashion now, apparently). Before resting on the light dusting of the day-old-five-o'clock stubble on his sharp jawline that he'd not had the time to shave off this morning.
While he was quite aware that his kingship came into play regarding his overall charisma, Edmund knew that he was not the most repellent creature in Narnia for the Ladies of the Court made him well aware that they found him extremely attractive.
Peter spent an inordinate amount of time grooming his appearance whereas Edmund let his casual roguishness work naturally for him. He should probably have thanked his father for the messy black hair that never seemed to tame. His soft, dark hair was unkempt unless he slathered it with wax (to the point where he resembled his beastly cousin, Eustace), so he decided that it was not worth the effort since it was a constant habit of his to run a hand through his hair subconsciously throughout the day. He didn't cut it short, like Peter, but it also was not hanging by his ears like Caspian; it was long enough to fall in front of his eyes and short enough to be cropped close to the back of his head.
His eyes were his best feature, if he said so himself, they reminded him of his mother when he looked in the mirror. They were pools of molten grey and he felt special that he and Susan were the only ones who shared that feature (Peter and Lucy had their father's bright, blue eyes, a colour that was far more common in Narnia). Edmund's eyes tended to change colour depending on his mood, which made them, on most occasions, appear many shades darker (because he was often pissed off about something or the other). His skin was clear and bronzed; his facial features were smooth, angular and proud. He had also inherited his father's tall 6'0" frame; Peter (annoyingly) was a couple of inches taller than he was.
Her eyes suddenly fastened on his, and he was slightly taken back by the lack of emotion in them.
Clearing his throat, he repeated, "Captain Kader stated that you were found in the woods, having escaped." Edmund looked pointedly looking down on the piece of paper that offered him that information. "My question is how?"
"I don't quite remember," she said, after a pause.
Edmund squinted at her, her accent … it was recognisable, yet so foreign.
"And, of how you crossed the borders into Narnia?" Edmund pressed, watching closely as her spine straightened and her hand trembled slightly.
"I don't remember," her voice wavered.
She was lying.
"So you have no recollection of your escape, and you cannot tell me how you managed to hide from the patrol at the borders?" Edmund confirmed as he stood up and walked behind her.
It was an old trick of his, to give his transgressor the impression of being out of sight and being fooled by the momentary relief. Then, they let their guard down, and true expressions showed on their face; all the while, he watched their reflection through the craftily placed mirror on the north wall.
He watched carefully, befuddled, as her expression remained blank.
His eyes widened in shock, as slowly, she raised her head and met his gaze steadily through the mirror. She knew his ploy, she had found the mirror, and she'd figured him out and disarmed him in mere moments.
She was exceptionally astute, he could tell by her voice that he was dealing with someone incredibly bright, but she claimed to be a mere slave.
She was a paradox and also a liar.
Not wanting to let her have the pleasure of knowing that she'd caught him out in his act, but also not having another option, he walked back around, feeling slightly sheepish. Making a quick decision, he placed himself directly in front of her, leaning against his desk, his arms crossed against his chest. His tall frame towered over her petite one. There was a moment of tense silence as both occupants refused to tear their gaze from the other. In the end, her resilience wore out as she realised that she was the disadvantaged one in the room. He was, after all, King. There was not much she could do that wouldn't end up with her in the dungeons.
"There was a rebellion, you see. The slaves were tired of being told where they belonged and that they were inferior, so they fought back. Formed their army, an uprising, to fight for their freedom."
There was truth in her words that much was evident, as there was an unmistakable fire of indignation in her eyes and her nails dug into the red leather arms of his armchair. But the story also had gaping holes. He felt like he was only being fed a slice of the whole cake.
"Surely such a battle would not have escaped the notice of Narnians," Edmund commented skeptically.
"Well, the slaves weren't victorious," she replied, eyes downcast and suspiciously shiny, her voice had a tremor to it, "and no master would ever admit to losing control of his slaves. So it remained a secret."
"And you? How did you escape?"
"I saw my friend killed, in front of my eyes. I was running towards him, and then my mistress," she spat the word with such disdain and hate that his eyebrows rose to his hairline, "...stopped me. She grabbed me and tortured me." Her voice turned colourless again; it sent shivers down his back hearing someone talk about their torture with no emotion. "I lost consciousness and then, I found myself here. In Narnia."
He knew that the tale was the basic truth embellished with white lies; for that was the best form of lying. She'd stripped down to the core of the story, removing all other essential details that would have tied it up with a neat bow. The lies were evident, but the truth was even more so. Though her eyes portrayed no dishonesty, his gut knew otherwise. It had taken him a while, but the more she'd spoken, the longer he'd listened to her voice, and he knew instantly that she was no Calormene slave.
"I'd have an easier time believing you, were it not for your accent," he stated.
Her eyes met his; there were bewilderment and despondency there, but the fear was so much more clearer to him this time.
"So perhaps I should rephrase my question to you, why would a Londoner pretend to be a Calormene slave?"
He watched as her blank face turned slack, mouth opening slightly and body unmoving. The colour drained from her face as she stared wide-eyed at him; the most emotion she'd exposed so far.
He braced his hands against his mahogany desk, leaning towards her, his face just several inches away from hers.
"How could you know? No one here seemed to recognize the city, let alone the United Kingdom!" She spoke with a raspy voice; the hope in her voice was raw. "Do you know how I can travel back to Britain? Please, I would be forever grateful to the Kingdom of Narnia if you can help me take the next flight or even a boat to London."
Edmund flinched away from her. "That's not possible." She didn't respond immediately, but the confusion was clearly visible on her face. "Narnia exists in a different world. All those that enter Narnia have no safe passage home. If you're here, then you're dead there. The in-between no longer exists for the safety of Narnia and its people."
He was quite worried that she was going to faint, the lack of colour on her normally flushed face was alarming.
"How could you know for sure?"
"Because I too am from London, Finchley 1942 to be precise and I cannot return."
She remained ashen and still for a moment, he felt an instinctive wave of discomfort and pity - as he always did - when he saw a woman cry.
He didn't try to stop her when she quietly excused herself and gracefully walked out of his office; she didn't break out into a run until she was clearly outside his doors. He could hear Captian Kader call for her as she ran.
He sighed heavily, for a moment there, he thought that he had solved the puzzle that was Hermione Granger; but now, he only had more questions. He thought back to her story, it was an embellished truth, but had she truly been a slave in London? That was most unusual. When he and his siblings had been transported to Narnia, as fuzzy as his memory was ... the World War had ended, and slavery was illegal. Had the Great Kingdom fallen that far?
"Your Highness," Edmund snapped back into his rigid stance as the Captain bowed before him. "If I may be so bold…" Edmund nodded. "What happened?"
"I may have been insensitive about some subjects... Please pass my condolences to Miss Granger," Edmund said, though without any real guilt.
He walked around his desk and plucked his ring off his finger. Pouring some hot wax from a lit candle onto the citizenship paper that had been waiting for approval, Edmund stamped his royal insignia on the ring into the wax. Satisfied with it, he handed the papers to the captain.
"And please welcome her to Narnia on behalf of myself and my siblings."
"Of course, Sir," Peter bowed again.
His confusion remained, but the man knew better than to question his king's actions.
So silently, he left in search of the upset girl.
.
.
.
EDITED: 07/04/2017
A.N./ So there's Chapter 3. The truth's out, Hermione knows a bit more about Narnia now, and has a definite answer for the unlikeliness of returning home.
Thank you to my kind reviewers: Royal Lemur, Utrix, and Comic Critic! You guys are awesome! :)
Let me know what you thought of this chapter!