Into The Wonderlands

..the waves of crescendoing waltzes filled the ballroom, the chandeliers were on fire, and the reflections in the shining mirrors amalgamated with the dancers in endless revolutions. The sugary, floral fragrances hovered over the hall, mildly exciting, tenderly intoxicating.

“Fourteen, just a little too early for the balls?”

“Oh, I come for the desserts,” I say, smiling

And another dessert cart rolls by, the first tray taken by marble cakes and berry-covered pies, the second housed marzipan tartlets, and crispy pastry, third lodged whole pickled pears, and glazed nuts, and plum confiture, while chocolate pralines and delicate mousses occupied the fourth, finally - the fifth tray of that tower was covered in ice shards and reserved for all sorts of ice cream. Champagne ran like a waterfall from the minuscule cliff in the center of the room and the burningly hot coffees were served upon request in tiny exquisite cups of royal porcelain.

And just as I sink my teeth in the plum-and-raspberry pie -- the sharp shriek of the sirene pierced the air. The mirrors shattered loudly one by one, dessert carts went upside down, the chandeliers crashed down and darkness flooded the ballroom...

..Morning at the orphanage is like a faded, washed-out, colorless palette

I sit down in my bed, stiff and reluctant

Last seconds in that dark oblivion

First, comes the coldness.

Then, the sounds intrude, crushing remains of a flamboyant cheerfulness. The ballroom exultance is torn apart and pushed away by the morning cacophony.

I open my eyes. A greyish wall, a greenish light. I've observed it every morning for the last four years.

I am not waiting for the smells, my nose is blocked by rhinitis. Maybe it's for the best.

And as a last remembrance of exquisite desserts is melting away from my tongue, the taste comes in with the same hollow bitterness.

 Rusted old sinks, a towel, a toothbrush - each movement automated. I can do it in my sleep.

Behind the windows, the bleak morning twilight fills the world with hopelessness.

The canteen's walls are no better, that yellowish carpentry

As I stare into the plate of a liquid porridge, yellowish as well, I wonder if it somehow reflects the walls.

Mechanically, I lift and lower the spoon. I hope somehow it will hypnotize me.

I drop my head down to the table, close my eyes.

Muffled words, Vlad is saying something. Perhaps asking for my porridge, gosh I don't mind.

My head is dull, the yellow is replaced by black, and a sudden breeze of fresh air tingles my nostrils

Oh, do I really managed to fall asleep

Here it comes - glowing oval of a door, I grab the knob -

Warmth, birds, sunlight, flowers, their odour is so rich I can almost taste the sweetness

And right into the glowing brightness of a shiny morning, I storm, my feet landing firm onto the rough gravel of a road that runs amid the hills, covered with emerald grass and ruby flowers.

I know where I pick up - Mastnick and Kailow march in front of me, clothes soaked in sweat, covered by thick mud. I glance down - of course, mine are even worse.

I rush to them, my legs swelling quickly with pleasant tiredness, my back aching, stomach growling

“Almost there!” says Mastnick. “Let's speed up.”

“It's been thirty miles and you keep saying that” Kailow retorts and I couldn't agree more

“Now it is, I surely recognize the hill.”

“You do know a lot of hills.”

“We have to rush!”

We know he is right.

I hope the princess is there, I hope we come in time.

Step after step, we run, legs sore, metallic taste in my mouth.

After the last of Mastnick's familiar hills, out of nothing it seems - the gate, the carved iron entwined with flowers - the guards, and here she stands - princess of the Meadows - flowery circlet in her hair, lips smiling, eyes flooded with anxiety

After we spilled out the grave message, a short but sharp extract of the gathered intel, the princess called for breakfast but insisted we take a quick bath before, right into the dark blue lake, I am so relieved of all the mud and dust and sweat and exhaustion -

And here we are - refreshed and revived, in the clean clothes we sit beside the wooden table.

Servants arrive, Mastnick is already drawing imaginary maps in the air, frantically describing the enemy's power, and Kailow recalls more names, more traitors, but I can only stare at a magnificently hot pot, glistening brightly in the sunlight and here it is - burning black coffee, and irregular cubes of sugar, and thick cold cream.. and soft, warm, freshly baked buns, and delicate butter, and ripening oranges in the glowing jar of marmalade. And then the pans with hissing eggs and ham and tomatoes, accompanied by the carafe of snowy white milk, and another pot with golden honey, and a plate full of dried figs and dates, and --

-- and as I sink my teeth into the cinnamon roll, an imperceptible movement, a hint of metal catches the eye..

My body jolts to the left in an automatic response but in a horrifyingly slowed scene, I see the servant thrusting the knife through Mastnicks throat.. 

I see at my right how Kailow hits the table leg crushing it out, and a sizzling hot pan is sliding down to him he sticks the fork into the assaulter's eye, but the pan is not sliding quick enough and he is weaponless.

Another servant - flash of a knife - and as I jump across the table in a desperate jump to somehow cover the princess to push her away from the line of attack, a painful thought pierces my mind - as much for a gathered intel, it was not fresh enough

..And with that thought, I drop hard to the floor and the world explodes with a blast --

“..you go! Up you go!”

Oh, that yellowish prison again. Those bowls of thick yellowish water. The supervisor screams in my ear, and torn from my beautiful flight, shot mid-air - I stand up and walk away.

Corridors again, step after step, I wish I fall into darkness again

We stop somewhere, everyone sits, oh - the classroom, I try the last rows but not a single place

 “Sleeping too much?” somebody gives my already aching head a slap.

The classroom is a large room, with bleak yellowish walls, despite the bleak light behind the window it is filled with a greenish false light of fluorescent tubes, its constant humming being torturous. In Ancient China they would position your head under the dropping water, I say they haven't got to know what a humming fluorescent tube could do. Around me - dull, tintless walls. Behind them - all the same, the bleak, insipid, joyless, hopeless world. I pray for the darkness, and please put the tubes away.

We sit through the double math, then the physics. I try to fall asleep but the teacher suddenly awakes from the monotone bubbling and hits me with a wooden ruler. Apparently, my head turned the sensitivity off.

A ring arrives, I finally drop my head onto the desk but,

“Do you need a blanket?”

I don't think she really means this and I still don't want to fill the wooden liner on my temple so I leave.

I wander through the grimly lit hallway, so cold, I think I am shaking. I scan the faded world behind the windows, not finding anything, not trying anymore. I look for someplace to collapse when forced to stop abruptly, pulled harshly by the shoulder. Gregori and his devotees, of course.. is a twenty-minute break reserved for the bullying? I recall they had some special plans for me, to burn my only jacket, was it? Gregori's mouth moves, the sounds are so muffled, my head is like a stuffed pillow. I am dragged roughly, across all the hallway, I vaguely register someone’s panicked face, the overseer who turns away, the faded walls.

Into the washroom I land hard on the floor, a lighter appears, my jacket - already pretty ragged - is torn apart, I stand up, I am pushed, I head to the door, I pushed so hard I hit the wall and my head bounced back hard, a bright bluish explosion feels my head, I slide down to the floor, a bit of me wonders if I leave a dramatic strip of blood on the tile behind. A blue cedes to the black and I slip gratefully into the darkness --

-- muffled sounds, louder, clearer, sharper –

             “You with me? You hear me?”

Acute pain in the back of my head is what I hear. I touch it with fingertips - it's thick and sticky. I deduce it must be red, too.

I open my eyes, a face - blurry and talking. Paved square, fruit carts.

I refocus on the man leaning over me. A scarlet camisole, bandoliers criss-cross the chest, burnished revolvers at the belt.

I also have a camisole, only its sleeve is freshly burned. And now guns or cartridge belts.

I remember!

A man is my Captain and our ship is waiting at the Bay of Tides twenty miles northwest, ready to set sail any minute, and we have to get the Detective aboard, and the Duke's guard is stepping on our left heel and the Swasher's thugs on the right and all considered - we have not a second to lose!

I jump up and groan as the pain dissects the back of my head.

“Easy now! Quite a hit you took!”

“Cap, I will be at ease once aboard!” I shout, already on the run

Before us, a Town at the Cliff watches us haughtily from its daunting heights.

Erected along the high street (a quite literal there), which spiraled up to the very peak, the Town presented offbeat mishmash:

for the hustlers - the garish tents with few palms around

for the sorcerers - the colorful, gingerbread houses covered by glaze,

for the financiers - the wooden mansions entwined with lianas and pineapples

for the mercenaries - the sturdy crenellated towers, full of embrasures, ballistas on top

Not to mention the huge market pavilions, the camps of come-and-go merchants, the bathhouses, the guesthouses, the libraries, the armories, the taverns, the restaurants.

And in the heart of it - the Townhall, the fortress and the palace, marveling and menacing.

All kinds of trade were welcome here and day after day the Town bonvoyaged its children on their various journeys, all appreciated if it brought a gaining to the Town.

Now, we weren't bringing anything in - instead, we were going to take out, to steal one of the Town's most valuable assets, to kidnap its beloved child - the Detective. Both the Duke and the Swasher will seem like dear friends compared to the Town's secret guard if only we don't move quick enough.

Air, I need air, my throat burns, legs filled with melted lead, my head split with pain. So many running today.

And as we cross another square, I know things will get ugly.

Dozen of the Duke's men are here.

“Are those firearms?” a silly thought crosses my mind before Cap pushes me hard to the side so that I fall behind the fried food cart, with a thunder of the shots, I register Cap escaping death as well, evading it in some implausible leap.

The next moment he is behind the little clock tower, both revolvers locked and loaded, face furious, eyes cold.

Through the cracks in the cart, I see Duke's men spread out, encircling us, their shooting rattling in furious cannonade. I turn away frantically, searching for a way out. Just in time to see Swasher's fellows flooding in, armed with axes and clubs, but richer in numbers. Captain is shooting both hands, barrels of his silvery revolvers throwing out flame and death.

Thugs are closing in, I shout to Cap, he knows, I pull out the knife, squeezing hard in both hands. Captain jumps again, covering me, protecting me from both fronts, one hand for each. Not enough - a bullet finds him, another, his blood is spraying over my face, and down he goes.

Duke's shooters are first to reach us, and when the black muzzle is so close I feel the warmth coming from the inside, I know it's over and I thrust my knife into the black boot, - and suddenly the air ruptures with an unbearable sound and the world explodes with white. I feel being pulled somewhere, the white vacuum is filling rapidly with grey smoke.

I can't focus, I can't think - only follow the hand which pulls me on and on.

Sounds return, shouts, footsteps, a door bursts open, I stumble at a threshold, another door, another run, staircase, out again, a ladder, a jump - a jump? I freeze - a five meters gap between the buildings can do that.

“Go, now!”

Oh, Captain. You are alive.

Cap stops abruptly, blood on his face, revolver in his hand.

“We run and we jump! That's an order!”

I choose not to bring the fact we're not on the ship, I take a run, the edge is closer, three, two, one --

Unbelievably, I jump and land hard, and fall and Captain land here a second later. Never leave a man behind. 

We remain to lie on the rooftop, injuries finally kicking in.

And then a delicate and clear voice asks “Now, how did I cause such fervent interest?”

We turn heads, and there she is - in the grey cloth from top to toe, black hair in a tight topknot, lips curved in the ironic smile; lighting a cigarillo, examining us. The Detective.

“On the behalf of the Crew of Swift of the Seas, allow us to extend our greetings. Indeed, we were looking for you, but seems you've found us.”

“I am a Detective. That's what I do.”

“Point taken. Our crew,”

“Consists of 17 members, ready to set sail from the Bay of Tides. I would not suggest postponing that commendable intent, since the shock bomb will hold Duke Marloneser and Swasher Bolk back only for so long. Therefore, spare the details, Captain Rasdal. Give me the story.”

“She is good” I thought and suddenly felt that the world is spinning away from me. My hearing gone again, eyes flooded with dark, I can't feel hands or legs and –

-- And I am on the bed, it's cold, and the tart odour of medication fills the room, and I open my eyes to the yellowish light of the infirmary.

I've been dragged out again, so unfair! But we did find her. Well, rather she did find us. Mission accomplished. I am sure they will come to terms with Captain.

The nurse has another twenty patients or so to attend. Why is it so cold, why my forehead is burning, and why inside of my head a swollen clot of blunt pain is growing... I cough, I shake.

“Give me that”

Oh, I had a thermometer

The nurse stares at it like I stared at the Detective. Does it mean she is glad about what she sees?

She rushes away without a word.

I rush to get down.

Humming of the tubes, a pain, tiredness, it is so cold --

--darkness comes quickly, I happily sink, humming is going silent, still here...

..humming is still there, and I open my eyes. It's an elevator, all walls of metal, humming pleasantly as it goes.. somewhere, with a tick of numbers on the panel.

Besides me, there is a woman, tall and slender, a single briefcase in her hand.

The elevator stops, the doors slide open - in the glowing golden light I see the spires, I see refined buildings, smooth and splendent, from here the city is so tangible, I can raise my hand and grab the tower I think.. My companion steps outside, a glimmering golden path leads to the city below, star-laced firmament glowing all above us.

I stand up, I want to go with her, to help her on the quest! - but my legs won't abide, and my voice won't come..

I helplessly fall to the floor and the world in front of me fades to darkness...

..I feel a sharp sting in my shoulder.. humming, voices, footsteps - I open my eyes

A nurse, and maybe a doctor? Why is it so cold, why my head is exploding with pain, I tremble, I want to ask for a blanket, for anything..

Some words still registered by my hearing, “left lung”, “neglected inflammation”, “so exhausted”..

I cough again and I shake, I try to stand. I see the syringe, I close my eyes..

And I collapse in the bed again, like broken bird collapses in the nest

The blanket hugs me cosily, warming and soothing

But I don't feel it, I am floating far away, fleeing effortlessly

The bleakness and hopelessness of the orphanage are dissolved in the darkness

As I step beyond the glowing threshold I found myself in the gigantic library, labyrinths of shelves longing away, sky threaded with stars above the transparent semisphere

I've been here, I know who I find there - that wise man whose words are sought by kings and wizards, who seem to know every answer

I knew where I was, and since I got there tonight, I know what I am going to ask - the same thing I keep asking myself - amid those beautiful worlds, endless roads to walk, countless cities to explore, why, oh why do I ever have to return to that dull and dismal place, that shell of a world, lonesome and lackluster, filled with nothing but the monotonous humming of the false lights.