Read Online Lady Churchill's Rosebud Wristlet No. 20 by Kelly Link Gavin J. Grant - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kelly Link Gavin J. Grant
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eyes.
"She's just saying that to make you feel better,” the girl says and looks at me finally. I wait for the apologies, the “oh, I didn't know you were a boy” stammering but there isn't any.
"No he's not,” Jack pouts, and I really should leave because Granddad could be back at any moment, but I can't. “Did you know the world is getting brighter?” he says. I just shake my head. “Soon it'll be day all night."
"Jack,” she says with a loud sigh, putting down her book. Now it is his turn to roll his eyes.
"I have to go anyway,” I say and the girl just lifts her eyebrows at the young boy as if to say “I told you so."
As I walk away I hear his bright voice behind me. “Is he really a girl?"
"Don't be rude."
* * * *
"But what am I the prince of?” I ask, trying desperately not to whine. My tie is too tight and I feel like I might choke to death on the chewy bread, but this has been bothering me since that day in the bookstore.
"Be quiet and eat your dinner,” he says without even looking up. Granddad has been in a foul mood for weeks. He hates summer, which is strange. You'd think somebody who likes the sun as much as Granddad would love summer, but not him. “It's all the filthy plants and flowers,” he'd say. I can just imagine him somewhere in permanent winter where the light never stops bouncing off all that white.
"You can't even tell me which country?"
His eyes finally move, flashing at me like hard metallic sunlight. “You'll find out soon enough.” Which is exactly the kind of answer he always gives. Nothing is ever for right now . It is always some day far from now.
"But shouldn't I at least learn the language?” It's a reasonable question, but he rises and throws down his napkin angrily.
"You are learning your language, from Lao.” And that is all he says before leaving me alone in the too-big dining room. As the servants nervously clear his dishes, I think back on the lessons with Lao, strange movements that are like sharp dancing, chanting and fighting all at once. And the memorization. Hours and hours spent learning long, impenetrable strings of meaningless sounds that almost but never quite repeat. But nothing about my country, and no words that have meaning or hold anything inside except themselves.
"Your grandfather will be gone for the next week, your Highness.” I jump at the sound. Granddad's assistant is always sneaking up on me like that, thin and sharply silent. When he is gone and there is nothing but the harsh overhead light, I make my way back to my room, cringing as the servants lower their eyes and bow their heads.
This house isn't really a “house.” Not like the one I used to live in with Mama; Granddad's house is a building, four stories of brick, stone and glass and a basement. A mansion, really, even though it doesn't look it from the outside. There are extra mailboxes for people who don't live here so it looks like every other brownstone in the neighborhood, but there are no light switches anywhere.
Inside, it is a maze of hidden rooms and crooked hallways that dead-end in ancient plaster walls. My room is on the third floor near the back, so no one can steal me through the windows. It's much larger than my old room back home, but there is still nowhere to hide. The lights burn loud around the clock.
That's the way he likes it. The entire house lit up so that no night can ever sneak in. I remember being afraid of the dark, before Lao came for me and took me away from Mama and the tiny worn-out house in Mt. Sterling. I would slip into Mama's room or rise after she had gone to sleep to turn on a lamp. Things moved and walked in the darkness, shadow people who spoke in long whispering sentences I could never quite understand. They would move around and through us in a kind of darkness—the second kind of darkness, but I could feel that it held the first hidden inside it, and that sent me into the closet with the light on or under the bed with a
"She's just saying that to make you feel better,” the girl says and looks at me finally. I wait for the apologies, the “oh, I didn't know you were a boy” stammering but there isn't any.
"No he's not,” Jack pouts, and I really should leave because Granddad could be back at any moment, but I can't. “Did you know the world is getting brighter?” he says. I just shake my head. “Soon it'll be day all night."
"Jack,” she says with a loud sigh, putting down her book. Now it is his turn to roll his eyes.
"I have to go anyway,” I say and the girl just lifts her eyebrows at the young boy as if to say “I told you so."
As I walk away I hear his bright voice behind me. “Is he really a girl?"
"Don't be rude."
* * * *
"But what am I the prince of?” I ask, trying desperately not to whine. My tie is too tight and I feel like I might choke to death on the chewy bread, but this has been bothering me since that day in the bookstore.
"Be quiet and eat your dinner,” he says without even looking up. Granddad has been in a foul mood for weeks. He hates summer, which is strange. You'd think somebody who likes the sun as much as Granddad would love summer, but not him. “It's all the filthy plants and flowers,” he'd say. I can just imagine him somewhere in permanent winter where the light never stops bouncing off all that white.
"You can't even tell me which country?"
His eyes finally move, flashing at me like hard metallic sunlight. “You'll find out soon enough.” Which is exactly the kind of answer he always gives. Nothing is ever for right now . It is always some day far from now.
"But shouldn't I at least learn the language?” It's a reasonable question, but he rises and throws down his napkin angrily.
"You are learning your language, from Lao.” And that is all he says before leaving me alone in the too-big dining room. As the servants nervously clear his dishes, I think back on the lessons with Lao, strange movements that are like sharp dancing, chanting and fighting all at once. And the memorization. Hours and hours spent learning long, impenetrable strings of meaningless sounds that almost but never quite repeat. But nothing about my country, and no words that have meaning or hold anything inside except themselves.
"Your grandfather will be gone for the next week, your Highness.” I jump at the sound. Granddad's assistant is always sneaking up on me like that, thin and sharply silent. When he is gone and there is nothing but the harsh overhead light, I make my way back to my room, cringing as the servants lower their eyes and bow their heads.
This house isn't really a “house.” Not like the one I used to live in with Mama; Granddad's house is a building, four stories of brick, stone and glass and a basement. A mansion, really, even though it doesn't look it from the outside. There are extra mailboxes for people who don't live here so it looks like every other brownstone in the neighborhood, but there are no light switches anywhere.
Inside, it is a maze of hidden rooms and crooked hallways that dead-end in ancient plaster walls. My room is on the third floor near the back, so no one can steal me through the windows. It's much larger than my old room back home, but there is still nowhere to hide. The lights burn loud around the clock.
That's the way he likes it. The entire house lit up so that no night can ever sneak in. I remember being afraid of the dark, before Lao came for me and took me away from Mama and the tiny worn-out house in Mt. Sterling. I would slip into Mama's room or rise after she had gone to sleep to turn on a lamp. Things moved and walked in the darkness, shadow people who spoke in long whispering sentences I could never quite understand. They would move around and through us in a kind of darkness—the second kind of darkness, but I could feel that it held the first hidden inside it, and that sent me into the closet with the light on or under the bed with a
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