[Thin Ice V2] Chapter 3
Cale awakened to the sound of birds chirping and the feeling of a hand on his shoulder.
He blinked, his eyes opening slowly. Squinting, he stared up at the woman standing next to him. It hurt his neck, craning it back and up so he could get a good view of her. For some reason, he’d been sleeping with his head on top of an open book by the desk. Groaning, he pushed himself up and rubbed his eyes, wincing from the light streaming in relentlessly through the large windows.
Curling up on the chair, he yawned and brought his hands back down. The stranger was still standing beside him, an amused glint in her eyes. Cale did not know her, but he thought it might be the same woman who he’d met yesterday.
She furrowed her eyebrows and looked him over when he didn’t say anything, simply blinking at her. "Young Master, are you alright? Do you require any medicine?”
Pressing a hand over his eyes, he placed his elbows on the table and leaned over it, saying, ”No. I’m fine. Thank you.”
She frowned at him, and he looked down at the desk through his fingers. His head resting on his hands, he waited to see what the woman would do. Finally, she said, "If you're sure." The woman didn't look very appeased, but her face started to smooth out. He decided to count it as a win.
Cale cleared his throat and asked, "What time is it?"
"It is two in the afternoon, Young Master,” the woman answered. She walked over to the bed and began to settle it down, rearranging the pillows and covers and blankets until it was less of a mess. Her hands efficiently swept over the fabric and pulled the last bit of it into place; the movements clearly well-practiced.
He pushed himself off the char, stumbling a little and bracing his weight on the table. When he was sure he was steady, he let go and slowly staggered over to the bed. He sat down on it, grimacing a little as he saw his own pale skin under the sleeping gown. After a bit, he scooted backward and pulled his legs up onto it, crossing them.
She looked at him, stepping back from the bed. ”Will you be eating breakfast here?” she asked, her hands hanging passively by her sides. She was tanned, he noticed now in the daylight. Her skin was much darker than his, and she had a whole score of freckles on her face. The sand-colored hair was pulled into a tight bun at the base of her neck and she had thick eyebrows over heavyset eyes.
Lowering his gaze from her, he picked at the threads of the blanket and pulled it over his legs. He glanced at the window, the sun he could see high in the sky and the utter absence of any clouds. A green garden spread out over the bottom of it, with a forest in the distance.
”Yes. Please,” he added.
She nodded and smiled at him, dimples appearing in her heavily freckled cheeks. ”Certainly, Young Master. I’ll call for breakfast. The Madam is on the patio, if you wish to join her there later.”
She walked over to the side of the door and pulled one of the ropes hanging out from the wall. He frowned, not having noticed that before. He couldn’t hear anything, but she didn’t pull it again so something had presumably happened.
Curling up into a tight ball, he placed his chin on his knees and observed the woman as she went through the whole room, dusting every visible place. She’d opened the four windows wide, curtains fluttering softly in the quiet breeze. With a piece of cloth and a bucket of water (that had been placed by the fireplace and he’d missed earlier), she went over every surface carefully.
Her motions were smooth, her actions showing no hesitation. She’d clearly done this a lot and Cale wondered if she was a cleaner of some sort and that was why she was dressed like that. But he couldn’t make the words leave his throat, couldn’t force his lips to shape the sounds and his tongue to give weight to them.
Somebody knocked on the door while the woman was on her knees in front of a deep bookshelf, pulling books out onto high, precarious piles so that she could get to the shelves. Cale wavered for a second, placing his foot on the floor and his hands on the edge of the bed but not moving. He gazed at the woman. She hadn’t looked at him since she’d started cleaning. He looked at the door. It was presumably breakfast.
Placing a hand on his stomach, he frowned. With a grip on the mattress for balance, he edged his way around it until he had to let go. Ambling over to the door, he twisted the lock and pulled it open.
Another strange woman he didn’t know stood there. She was carrying a tray, her dark hair greying on her temples and swept into just a severe bun as the other woman’s. She gazed at him over a pair of glasses sitting low on her slightly crooked nose and said, ”Your breakfast, Young Master.”
Cale started. He twitched and held out his arms, gripping the tray as she handed it over to him. She bowed and left without another word.
Cale kicked the door shut behind him and quickly walked back to the bed. He gently placed the tray on the bedside table, careful not to jostle anything. Then he climbed back on the bed and scooted up to the head of it, sitting against the wall. He twisted his waist and grabbed the tray, balancing it on his knees.
It was simply bread, jam and milk. Nothing more, nothing less. Cale’s stomach grumbled at him, and he stopped looking at it and started eating it. Meanwhile, he watched as the woman continued on her mission to dust every surface.
She did a cursory sweep of the bedside table before she moved on to the other side of the bed where there was a large dresser. While she did that, he ate slowly with tiny nips at the bread here and there so as to not exacerbate his nausea.
By the time he’d finished his breakfast, the woman was done as well. She threw her rag in the bucket, put all the books back on the shelves, grabbed his breakfast tray, bowed to him, and left. She balanced on one leg while using the other to gently nudge the door closed behind her, but a small empty crack between the door and the doorframe was still left.
Cale slumped facedown on the bed. He exhaled, shuddering, his shoulders shaking as he hugged his head and clenched his eyes shut. He hadn’t been able to get the questions out. Hadn’t even been able to just ask her for her name.
He couldn’t.
”Fuck,” he muttered into the bedding.
He breathed shakily for several minutes before he gulped, swallowing a load of his own saliva, and sat up on the bed again. He brushed his hands through his loose hair, wincing at the tangles catching his fingers. Biting on his thumb, he scooted to the edge of right side of the bed and rolled off, hitting the hardwood floor loudly.
Cale walked the four steps to the wide dresser, the edges flowing and curving here and there. There were elaborate carvings on the wood, too, and he bent closer to get a better look. Then he shook his head and frowned, pulling open the topmost drawer.
Shirts, he would assume. He gripped the loose fabric and pulled the first one he grabbed out of the drawer, holding it up in front of his face and watching it unfold. It seemed like a normal shirt, though the buttons were all covered by white (more of a beige color, really) fabric and there were hints of ruffles and folds that served no purpose. The edge of the sleeves poofed out, too, and the collar sat higher than he was used to.
Good enough, he hoped. He pulled the sleeping gown over his head and threw it onto the bed, uncaring where it landed. Treading his arms through the shirt, he carefully buttoned it up as far as it would go. It covered his skin all the way up to his neck.
The next drawer had pants, and he grabbed a pair of black ones. The fabric was stiff, but soft. There were only buttons. Socks, at least, looked familiar. He exhaled softly when he saw them, grinning a little as he pulled them on. He found a green vest in another drawer and dressed in it, unable to discern what was appropriate to wear among such old-fashioned clothing. He spent some seconds fiddling with the belt with its elaborate gems on the lock before he decided to just wear it and hope for the best.
All of them was decorated in some manner, and he’d grabbed the ones with the smallest stones.
When he was entirely dressed, Cale plopped down on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. His body splayed out like a starfish, he counted the seconds in his head. His breaths were loud in the silent room, the sound of his own heartbeats echoing in his ears. His fingers clenched on the mattress, tearing into the flower-patterned sheets.
What it was about changing clothes that was overwhelming, he didn’t know—but for a second, his chest constricted so sharply that he could hardly breathe.
Curling up on his side, he closed his eyes and continued to count, until his breathing matched the rhythm in his head.
Eventually, he was able to push himself up. Cale groaned as he sat again, grabbing a ribbon from the bedside table and gracelessly managing to tie it around his hair at the base of his neck. He’d spun it around and around, then pulled the ribbon around it several times until he had leverage and could tie it together before it all fell apart.
It was still lopsided and the white strands of hair trailed over his shoulder instead of laying still down his back. But it didn’t instantly unravel and so he would claim a victory where he could.
Silently, he left the bedroom and locked the door behind himself. All he had to do now was to find a door that led outside.
Hopefully, that would be easy.
(He needed to see the garden. Needed to go outside and smell fresh air and then maybe he would be able to breathe without shaking.)
Cale wandered through hallway to hallway as he made his way down stairs and through both rooms and corridors. The bedroom he had been in was on the third floor, so two narrow staircases down should do it.
The more rooms he walked through, the slower he went. He stared in silence with wide eyes at the walls—mostly light colors with elaborate patterns; flowers, birds and so on. All the floor was real hardwood—the kind of hardwood that looked expensive because they’d been so well taken care of. There were huge, imposing paintings every now and then, and oil lamps on the walls. They weren’t lit, instead the sunlight streaming in through the many large windows lit up the long corridors. Cale’s hands itched to open every door and investigate every crevice, but there was something he had to do first.
He looked out the windows periodically, but all he saw out them was the garden and the forest beyond them. There were no electrical lines to be seen.
On the ground floor, he began to look at all the doors he passed until he came into a wide room with windows from floor to ceiling and a pair of glass double doors that had a beautiful garden view. The same one he'd seen from his window, in fact. His breathing stuttered, his hand coming up to press over his rapidly beating heart.
Striding over to them, Cale pushed the doors wide open.
The sweet fragrance of the flowers hit him with the force of a train; the way the sun glittered through the treetops and reflected off the water in the pond stopped him in his tracks. In silence and inexplicably holding his breath, he stepped out onto a white-painted porch.
Cale breathed in the fresh air deeply and took four long strides, until he stood next to the railing and gently placed his hands on the white wood. Leaning his head back and breathing in that delightfully fresh air, his eyelashes fluttered as he stared breathlessly at the wonderful sight in front of him.
The bright green grass was cut short, a sparkling blue pond next to the tree-line and a stone path that led from the porch all the way to the forest. Bugs flew between flowers, the buzz and chirping of birds loud in the summer air. Clouds hazily drifted in the sky, the sunlight glittering on the pond.
A loud gasp broke him out of his staring and he turned his head to stare at the middle-aged woman sitting on a chair on the porch, regretfully tearing his gaze from the serene garden. The stool was as white as the rest of the patio. She stared at him as if he was a ghost.
He really hoped he wasn't.
Rising from the chair with a stocked expression the book she'd been holding fell to the floor, forgotten. She took a hesitant step toward him, her hands held out toward him. Cale watched wearily—taking a small step back and leaning his back against the railing—as her eyes drifted over him, as she licked bright pink lips, started to smile wobbly and finally said:
"Calla... you're well enough to leave your room again."
Tears began to form in the corners of her eyes. Her smile trembled as she choked out, pressing her hands to her chest, ”I've been so worried for you, my darling son.”