John Wright - Orphans of Chaos

“The maps show the woods are only two miles wide,” said Quentin softly. “If you pass through them, you come to Oxwich Green.”

“Maps of England,” said Colin, “On Earth. The real forest goes on for a trillion miles, and then leads to a forest darker than it is.”

Quentin said in a mild voice, “I am not claiming this is Earth. But maps are powerful symbols, and may be influencing us in a subtle fashion. We should destroy or deface the maps here, to loosen their grip on us, and draw maps of our own portraying the true world beyond these walls.”

I said, “You know, maybe we should listen to the Headmaster. I mean, what you guys are saying does sound a little, well, crazy, doesn’t it? He said that the Board might just release us. And he said there were funds waiting for us. Some sort of trust fund held for us when we reach eighteen. I mean, can’t we try to give him a chance? The Headmaster?”

Victor looked puzzled, as if I had gotten the wrong answer on a math sum. Quentin looked pensive and slightly sad. Colin laughed at me, and stuck his hands under his own shirt, pushing them out as if he had breasts. “Let’s give the Headmaster a chance!” he said in a high falsetto, batting his eyelashes. “Oh, let’s listen to him! I want a good grade on my toad-eating class next week!”

Vanity yanked the pillow out from under Colin’s head so that his head fell back sharply onto the wooden bed frame, and smote him in the face with it, before he could get his hands clear of his shirt to defend himself.

She said, “Did you ask the Headmaster about the talking dog? Or Dr. Fell saying he wanted to cut us up for experiments? About me being a princess, and you being from before the fall of Adam?”

Victor and Quentin stared. “What talking dog?” came Colin’s muffled voice from under the pillow.

Fortunately, we had enough time to fill them in on the details before the nurse, Sister Twitchett, came back in.

By the time we were done reciting the tales of our discoveries, my pleas to give the Headmaster a chance began to seem to be the crazy talk, not Quentin’s soft-voiced observation that the room we were in might have a peephole in it, and could we have Vanity look for the secret door?

That night Vanity climbed into bed with me, despite that we now had a roaring fire blazing in the hearth. After the lights were doused, all the shadows in the room pointed toward the fireplace, swaying and hopping to the music of the merry crackle of wood.

Mrs. Wren had actually been more watchful than normal, and stared at Vanity while she swallowed her medicine. While Mrs. Wren was looking at Vanity, I put a few drops of the liquid on my lip, and threw the rest of the cup into the fire. When she turned to me at the noise, I only licked my lips and smiled. This puzzled her. Mrs. Wren could hardly be angry for me being too eager to drink my medication, since she apparently did not want to admit she was supposed to watch us quaff it.

After she left, I tried to get Vanity to upchuck into the chamber pot, by putting her finger down her throat, but she was too squeamish to make a sincere attempt.

Now, lying next to me, she whispered in my ear: “If there are peepholes in the rooms, they have been watching us this whole time. Our whole lives.”

I did not bother to tell her my theory that she had created the secret passages, peepholes and all, out of her own thought, and that reality had shifted to accommodate her imagination. The word “reality,” by definition, referred to those things we cannot change by mere wishes. I had always thought the physical world was included in that set. Now, I wasn’t sure.

I said, “They all believed you. About the talking dog. Victor’s question about whether we saw the dog talk was just, you know, for the peepholes. Why do you think we were left alone in the infirmary for so long? They all had to pretend not to believe us. Except that it took Colin forever to catch on. What an idiot.”

“Do you think they were watching?”

“Boggin knows about our codes. He knows about the time Victor and I snuck out to measure the moon years ago. I think he knows everything.”

“But you still want to trust him, don’t you?”

“I don’t think he’d let Dr. Fell kill us, if that’s what you mean. I mean, if he were going to, why didn’t he do it when we were six or eight? Why wait till now?”

Vanity replied, “Well, if I knew the answers to that, maybe I’d trust Headmaster Boggin also. Because then he would not be keeping the answers from us.”

We heard noises from outside: the sound of an automobile engine, the noise of tires crunching the gravel on the carriage circle before the East Wing. Vanity and I hopped out of bed, went over to our North-facing window, and raised the sash.

The warmth of our nicely firelit room rushed away; the icy wind was shockingly cold against our faces. We heard motors, doors slamming, voices raised in welcome. From the reflection of the light against the trees in the distance, we could tell the East Wing windows were lit up. Faintly, over the snow, came music. Miss Daw was playing her violin, a haunting melody of a few simple notes, some Highland air I did not recognize. Nothing was visible from our side of the building.

Vanity said, “It’s the bigwigs.”

The Visitors and Governors. Plus whoever or whatever Dr. Fell had referred to as “the Pretender,” who might be the same person as Headmaster Boggin’s Trustee.

The noise of car engines receded, as the vehicles were driven in the direction of the horse stables. Vanity said, “Chauffeurs. They are parking the cars away from the house.”

The sound diminished. We heard the dull boom of the main doors being pulled to.

Vanity and I both turned and looked at the heavy oak door, bound with its enormous iron hinges, unlocked for the first time in our lives.

I said, “I promised not to.”

Vanity looked at the door and bit her lip. “But I didn’t.”

And she scampered over to the door.

I raised my hand, but then I couldn’t think of anything to say. Had the Headmaster actually not talked to her because he was not proud of her, as he was of me? I closed the window and moved over to stand in front of our new, warm, lovely fire.

She put her hand on the door, frowned, put her cheek to the door, her wide green eyes turned toward it.

Vanity jumped back. She put her finger to her lips, as if to hush me, but then said in a loud stage whisper: “He’s watching the door.”

“Who?”

“Boggin! Headmaster Boggin! He’s just waiting out there. Waiting for you to open the door. What a sneak!”

“How can you tell?”

“What do you mean, how can I tell? When I touch the door, I get that feeling I am being watched.”

I walked over to the door and put my hand on it. “Feels like wood, to me.”

She rolled her eyes in an animated fashion. “Oh, come on Amelia! You’ve had that feeling!”

“What feeling?”

“That feeling of being watched when no one is there. Everyone has it. It’s in all the novels! Are you the only person on Earth who doesn’t?”

“I might be. But how do you know your feeling isn’t just, you know, a feeling? Your imagination?”

“Well, I found the peepholes, didn’t I?”

“Actually, Vanity, you found the secret passage. But we did not actually see and find peepholes when we were in there. It was dark, and holes leading to lit rooms would have sent a beam of light…”

But Vanity was already hopping across the room to where the seven-foot-long candlesnuffer was kept. “Thanks for reminding me.”

And she took up the candlesnuffer and tugged in the mouth of the gargoyle mask on the wall eleven feet above.