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  “Hello, Rowena.” Her satin voice and cool eyes inspired both attention and response.

  “Hello,” I whispered and sat up on the bed. We were sitting in a stone room with one tiny, barred window. The linens were stark white, and the bed, as I later found out from the constant stabbing, was made of straw. The dimming sun outside and a flickering candle sitting on the solo nightstand served as the only source of light. The door was closed with a matching barred window in it. Panic began to set in, but before I could speak, she did.

  “You’ll be joining the staff for supper. Please wash up, and find your way downstairs in fifteen minutes.” She stood, wiped the wrinkles out of her dress, and made her way to the door. She knocked on it gently. A large man with a spiked collar and bulging muscles opened it and stood aside as she walked out of the room. He closed and locked the door behind her. I could hear the iron clank as he turned the key.

  “Wait!” I yelled.

  “What?” he asked peeking through the door’s window.

  “How will I get to supper in time if I’m locked in here?”

  “Knock and I’ll come unlock it when you’re ready.”

  Still sitting on the bed, I glanced around the room again and took inventory. There was a small basin and vase sitting on a wooden stand directly in front of the bed. Right beside it was a poorly-carved vanity sat, complete with an oval mirror. My positioning allowed me to see the glow of myself through it.

  I walked towards the window and saw that the sun was setting. The two moons that Chester had told me about hung high in the sky, barely visible. The fog had come back and was settling amongst the trees. We were on a knoll, and just at the belt of the hill was a tall block fence, complete with a massive iron gate at the entrance, like something you’d see in a movie. Wow, I thought. I’m in a castle.

  My ponderings would have to wait. I knew my fifteen minutes were winding down quickly. I went to the basin and pitcher, poured the water, and washed my hands and face. A small, cracked mirror revealed my smeared face. Last night’s make-up was not faring well. I struggled to get off the eyeliner and mascara. I then moved to the mop that had become my hair. I had lost the bobby pins that held it up yesterday. I sat down at the vanity and searched through its four drawers, finally finding what I needed in the last. There was a beautiful, yet simple, large comb with burgundy stones dressing the top. I twisted my sloppy curls and secured it into my hair. Finally, I was ready to see what I had gotten myself into.

  I knocked, gently at first, like Mrs. Tresels. But he didn’t come. I knocked again, louder. Finally, I resulted to yelling.

  “Mister! Please let me out for supper!”

  I heard his massive footsteps drawing closer. I stepped back, frightened, when his face looked at mine through the door.

  “Follow the hall down the stairs, take your first left, and then trail that hall into the main house. When you’re there, ask a servant to show you the way to the kitchen,” he said.

  I followed his directions, every step looking exactly like the previous one — cold, dark stone. I came upon a space where the hall widened and windows lined one entire wall of it. I caught myself looking at the two moons again and thinking how bizarre they were. The strangeness of this place made me miss the familiar comfort of home. There’s nothing I wouldn’t give to be washing dishes again at my parents’ house, even though that’s my most hated chore. The smell of coffee in the morning and occasionally late at night on the weekends made my eyes wail in tears. And Dashielle. I kept imagining him in his costume, how incredibly handsome he looked. He was an old-world charmer. My face frowned, and a tear broke through my lashes.

  All the while, I searched the hall for a door or any way to escape but to no avail.

  “You must be Rowena. You’d better get in the kitchen. You’re late,” a woman dressed in a long, black smock with a white apron said. She looked to be in her sixties. She rushed me past two large guards into a room that was near the hall to the left. The stone fire-stove covered one entire wall. The blazing fire and iron pots and skillets lined parallel to the base. Vegetables and bread sat on a wooden bar in front of it. This room alone was the size of our living room and kitchen combined back home. Large candled sconces and chandeliers lit the entire place. Near the opposite wall was a long, rectangular table with two massive benches lining either side.

  Every woman was dressed exactly the same as the one who first greeted me, but they ranged in ages. Many of them were sitting already, and only a few were scurrying around the kitchen grabbing last minute necessities for the meal. I found a spot and caught myself counting their white-bonneted heads. Twenty-two. That’s a lot of servants.

  “Say grace, Madeline,” one said who sat at the head of the table. The bleaker the circumstance, the more faith is needed. They all bowed their heads, me included. It reminded me of what it would be like to eat at a convent; everyone dressed in their stark, simple clothing. The girl recited a simple prayer, and we ate in utter silence. A few of them must have been attending to the royals because I saw them come in and out periodically snatching more food.

  The food wasn’t bad. Bread, a helping of mixed vegetables, and a bowl of soup, all of which tasted unfamiliar, all served in handcrafted clay bowls and plates. I didn’t ask what it was because I knew it wouldn’t have mattered. Afterwards everyone got up and cleaned. A line of ladies from right outside the kitchen ushered in pails of water. There was a well-pump. I watched, surprised that they didn’t have running water like Chester did. You’d think royals would have all the latest technology in the kingdom.

  I was assigned dishwashing, of course. The women warmed the water over the fire until the room was steaming hot, and I could feel the sweat streaming down my brow.

  “It’s so warm in here,” I muttered aloud while wiping the moisture from my face with my arm.

  “You get used to it,” a girl who appeared to be around my age whispered. She was charged with the sink next to me. She’s the one who said the prayer, Madeline.

  I just looked at her and must have accurately communicated my frustration with being here through my facial expression because she said, “It’s really not as bad as it seems. Life here can be simple, and that beats the dangers of the world out there.” She nodded towards the window. While I knew she was right about the enchanted forest being a place of uncertainty, I couldn’t help but want to take my chances out there rather than be locked up as a slave in here. Even better, I’d like to be home.

  After two hours of cleaning dishes and helping scrub the floors and counters, we were released by the Headmistress, Rue. She was a short, stout woman with frazzled gray hair that sprawled rebelliously from her bun. I followed the hall, along with the rest of the women, back to my cell. I was half way down the hall of windows, when Mistress Rue yelled my name.

  “Rowena, you’re wanted in the dining room!”

  I crept back with my head held low. Exhausted, I didn’t know how I was going to find energy to do one more thing.

  Mistress Rue led me to the ornate formal dining room. Velvet curtains draped from ceiling to floor throughout, even where there were no windows to cover. Three large chandeliers flickered, and the newly washed fine silver dressed the table, ready for the next morning’s breakfast. Rue sat me in a chair closest to the door. I ran my fingers along the red velvet seat. Rue stood next to the door and opened it as Mrs. Tresels entered.

  Her dark clothing and features made her Mezzanine glow appear more like an evil shadow. Her porcelain face peered at me emotionless. She sat at the far side of the table’s head. I stared, not knowing what to expect.

  “Rowena, we have a very important job for you here,” she finally stated. “We’d like for you to be caretaker of our girls. They’re truly wonderful young ladies, but they need a lot of help throughout the day to bathe, dress, and so forth.” She glared at me to see if I was listening. “It’s very important to us that they are happy. I think you’d be perfect for the job, don’t you?” The quest
ion was obviously rhetorical, and I didn’t feel it deserved a response.

  Suddenly Rue slapped the back of my head.

  “Ow! What did you do that for?”

  “Around here, we answer when spoken to, ya hear?” she grumbled.

  I turned back to the still blank face of Mrs. Tresels. “Yes, fine,” I conceded.

  “Good. That will be all. You’ll receive instructions tomorrow,” she said and turned to leave the room. Then she glanced back, caught my eye, and added, “Also, we deal very strictly to insubordination in this house. I trust Hans and Greta explained our powers and the possible consequences of crossing a royal?” Her words lingered in the air and trailed me all the way back to my cell.

  When I got there, the guard locked the door behind me. The candle Rue gave me lit my dark cell. I thought about lighting the others in the room, but decided that sleep was the only refuge here. I undressed, saw the nun-looking maid outfit in the rickety wardrobe in the corner, placed my costume inside with it, and put on the long linen nightgown that I found neatly folded at the bottom of the drawer.

  I curled into bed, resisting the cold and the tears that I felt begin to stir again. But it was no use. I was lonely, scared, and nothing could comfort me. I finally let it all out and simply cried. Cried because I missed my family and Dashielle, cried because I didn’t want to be a slave, and cried because I may never get out of this place.

  Movement from outside the cell window caught my eye. It was an owl perched on the stone sill. I got out of bed to take a closer look. As I approached, its large, reflective eyes focused on me. I could see my red, swollen face in its glance.

  “Hoo,” it croaked.

  I took a step back, and that’s when I saw the rolled up scroll in-between its talons.

  It looked down at the paper. Almost motioning for me to grab it, so I did.

  It said:

  Dearest Rowena,

  I hear you crying. I’m so sorry for the pain you must be feeling. I just want you to know that I’m here for you if you need me. Sometimes we all need a shoulder to cry on. I’ll be yours if you’ll be mine.

  Sincerely,

  Madeline

  P.S. This is Humbert. He will deliver messages to me, if you’d ever like to write back.

  While I appreciated the heart-felt note Madeline sent, I didn’t write back. My emotions had the best of me that night, and I couldn’t think of anything to say. There’s no way she could understand what I was feeling, and I’m not sure it would matter if she did. I just nestled myself back in bed, and blew the light out on what was my second night in Mezzanine.

  Chapter 5

  The sun had barely crept in the window when I heard Madeline’s voice outside my cell door.

  “Wake up, Rowena,” she whispered.

  I glared at her, miserable. The night had not been kind to my emotions. I dreamt about being back home and then being ripped away by evil ten-year-old twins.

  “You’re running a bit behind. Come on. I’ll show you the bathing room.”

  She fetched the guard, and he unlocked the door. I saw that she was still wearing her nightgown, same as mine, so I went with her just as I was. We took the opposite direction than the one I’d gone down yesterday. It was full of countless other cells identical to mine. When we got to the end, there was a room with a ceramic pot and a claw-foot tub without a faucet. The smell informed me that the pot was their idea of a toilet. I cringed. A shabby curtain served as the door to the room.

  “I’ll let you go first, since you’re new. We wouldn’t want you to be late for your first day. I’ll stand watch. Sometimes the guard gets a bit… curious.”

  My eyes grew wide and yet another cringe surged through me.

  The water was already prepared. Apparently, as each lady left the bathing room, she would fill up the tub for the next. I dipped my foot into the freezing water. No hot water? I hurried through the bath, making sure to wash my now unmanageable hair.

  Afterwards, I was shown how to refill the tub water for the next girl. A door led to a flowerless outside courtyard. Really, it wasn’t a courtyard. Only a place for the servants to pump their water, surrounded by an eight-foot stone wall.

  I left Madeline to her bath and made my way back to my cell. I had remembered that I was in cell three. They were identifiable by chalk numbers above each door. I put on the bland uniform, and sat in front of the vanity’s mirror. All the women wore their hair in perfectly tight buns, but none of them had curly hair like me. Getting my hair to lay flat would be a small miracle. I brushed the wet strands into somewhat of a bun and secured it with my new comb. I placed the white hat that sort of looked like an old nurse’s cap on my head and secured it with bobby pins that were already attached to it. Voila.

  I found the guard creeping down the hall towards the bathing room and remembered what Madeline had said and felt guilty for not staying there to guard her.

  “Excuse me?” I said in a slightly louder voice than normal.

  “Huh?” He turned around as if caught off-guard.

  “Can you please tell me if any directions were given for me?”

  “Number three?” he questioned.

  I nodded.

  “Oh, yes. You’re to see Headmistress Rue immediately.”

  I tried to stall him by asking how to get back to the kitchen where I would surly find Mistress Rue. He was starting to get frustrated, and that’s when I saw Madeline walking towards us. I felt relieved, and made a note to myself that I needed to learn the ropes around here quicker if I’m to survive.

  She smiled as she approached, and shockingly, the guard smiled back at her. Creepy. She whispered as she walked by me, “We’re nearly roommates.” I watched as she made her way in the cell marked four.

  I went down the hall to the kitchen. It was another foggy morning. The mist blanketed the forest outside. When I got to the kitchen, the maids were scrambling to finish breakfast. Mistress Rue saw me before I hardly got into the room.

  “You.” She pointed. “Find a seat. You’ll be fed and briefed.”

  I proceeded to sit in the same place I sat for supper the night before and waited. She practically threw my breakfast in front of me — something that looked to be slop — and started barking orders.

  “You’re to go to the girls immediately. They should be in their room waiting for you. You need to make sure they’re bathed, dressed, and do their piano lessons before lunch. Here is a list of their daily schedules. It’s your job to make sure they are where they need to be when they need to be. No excuses. The Mistress is very peculiar about them, and she will hold you to the strictest standards. Is that understood?” She passed me a piece of paper with a list of times and activities on it.

  “Yes.” I felt exhausted already. Last night’s emotional surrender had all but crippled me this morning.

  I slowly crept upstairs where I had been told their rooms were, but not without a little stalking in the foyer where the stairs were. Unfortunately, all exists seemed to be guarded by burly men.

  I first approached Dreca’s room and knocked lightly.

  “Miss?” I called out, imitating the way I had heard the other servants address the royals.

  She flung the door open.

  “You’re late!” she griped.

  “My apologies.” I looked towards the ground.

  “Get in here.”

  As soon as I walked in the door, Ana came in from the bathroom door that joined their two rooms.

  “I need my bath!” she croaked.

  I rushed to ready the water. It took me nearly a half an hour, in real world standards, because of loading the boiling water up the stairs took several trips. Dreca asked for privacy while bathing, but Ana wanted help scrubbing her back and washing her hair. I had never lived through something so humiliating as washing a stranger. Now I know that nursing can be crossed off the list of college possibilities.

  When they were finally washed, I helped them get dressed. Dreca put on a yellow dr
ess, complete with hoop skirt, which I was familiar with from back home where people liked to pretend one time a year that the Old South was alive and well. When I tied her corset, I went easy because she didn’t make me wash her. Ana didn’t have nearly as much luck. I understood Lil’s amusement at over tightening my costume’s corset the other day. It felt good. I wonder what she’s doing right now.

  “Too tight!” Ana screamed.

  I loosened it reluctantly.

  By the time they were dressed, which was an amazing feat, they were late for their piano lessons. It seemed odd to me that in a world unbound by time they would still have schedules to follow. Why? I guess they liked the structure that time allowed them. I rushed the girls downstairs. Their reluctance and lack of sympathy for what would happen to me if they were late was infuriating.

  Luckily, their tardiness to piano lessons must have been expected by their instructor, so he didn’t rat me out. Their lessons throughout the day offered me a short break from being their slave.

  Lunch was served as soon as the dull sun hung directly over the castle. They ate in the dining room with their parents, and I ate the sandwich provided to me in the kitchen. Next, they were sent to archery class, then gardening, and then reading. Before supper every night, they changed their attire to something more formal. What a waste, I thought. While I helped them dress, Ana noticed the comb in my hair.

  “Oh, isn’t that pretty?” she commented.

  “Thanks,” I said, though suspicious at her obviously fake kindness.

  “I think I shall like to borrow it.”

  I didn’t know what to say. I realized it was silly but that comb was all that set me apart from the other slaves in the house. It was my only possession in Mezzanine, besides my costume.

  “It wouldn’t look very nice with your dress, Ana. Look the stones; they don’t match,” I feebly attempted to convince her.

  “I like it. No matter if it doesn’t agree with my dress. Give it to me.” She snatched it out of my hair. My curls fell. She stood in front of the mirror and twisted the strands and placed my beloved comb in her golden waves. Something in me winced. I wanted to jump her. Yank every strand of yellow hair out of her head, yet I remained blank and bound by the position I now held.