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Rachel’s eyes opened.
For a moment or three, she lay in groggy silence, blinking sand from her eyes. Then her senses caught up with her waking self: a distant monotonal ticking, with long intervals between each tock; faint crackling of a fire’s embers that should have long been out by this time of night; a mournful music box’s song, slowly sung.
It had been seventy two days (so she reckoned time by her sleeping hours) since the Lady came down to the nursery and selected her. In that length of time, Rachel had been put through a bewildering variety of classes and exams, most of which she had not the faintest clue of what to do. Nothing she did seemed to bother the Lady, who took all of her failures in stride, but as of late she had begun to notice that with each test her teacher had become somewhat solemn, distant almost. Almost as if she were regretting a decision she had made in the spur of the moment.
It had to be her fault, Rachel had long concluded. None of the classes made sense to her—how was she supposed to know what numbers or letters meant, or the way they formed into complex equations and sentences of endless paragraphs that swam before her mind until her dreams were filled with dancing shapes and symbols? It wasn’t fair! No sooner had she been set a test than was it whisked away and another placed before her upon completion.
Rachel had soon begun to long for a return to the nursery, a dangerous prospect in itself. Her fate was luckier than most children—she had been selected by the Lady of the Maw herself. The other children, however, all eventually vanished away. She had been among the eldest before she was chosen, about to meet whatever end was in store for her.
But as long as Her Grace seemed content to let her fumble and fiddle with her schoolings, Rachel had no reason to give her any impression that she wanted to go back. So she welcomed each night that came, for her mind could rest from the endless studying.
Now, for the first time in a long while, she had come awake of her own accord. The grandfather clock was still ticking, not chiming a long gong. The shadows, too, seemed quite long, not as thin as when she was supposed to be studying. A habit she had picked up in the nursery. This was ominous.
With the grace of a turtle trying to get out of mud, Rachel slid out of bed. It was an exceedingly comfortable—no, decadent, that was the fancy word she had learned from a book—one at that, much softer and nicer than the hard ones she had grown accustomed to. The way the thick covers just swallowed her up was juuust right, keeping the chill of the Maw and of Her Grace’s quarters in particular at bay.
But she was now awake. There was no time to try and fall back asleep.
With a light touch her feet alighted upon the floor. The carpet was cool to the touch, covering her feet up to her ankles. It tickled. She fumbled about in the dark, swearing softly as her hand hit the bedside table. Why is it so high up? With her other hand she located her prized possession—a flashlight she had been allowed from the nursery—and ignited it.
The beam it cast was hearty and strong, piercing the gloom with a keen gaze. Not as bright or as piercing as the Eyes. She shuddered as the memory flitted across her mental sight, of a new arrival, a small frightened little boy, escaping the caretaker’s long grasp and running out into the hall, only to be pinned instantly by a watchful Eye, quickly petrified into a statue. She had vowed from henceforth to keep her eyes open, no matter how safe a place appeared.
She tiptoed out of her room, pushing the door open quietly. There were no Eyes here to keep her at bay.
Rachel was at the top of a large landing, overlooking a massive chamber. It was a cross between a library and a sitting room. Tall, crooked bookcases lined the walls, with empty squares of maroon wall interspersed here and there, portraits framed in each. From the shadows cast by thick bannisters the fire was not only still alive but kicking, somewhat.
Okay, okay, one step at a time…
She crept forward, playing the flashlight here and there, ever mindful of her surroundings. She had learned that the Shadow guards did not like light, so it was a useful shield.
From the ceiling hung a chandelier of many gleaming crystals and glass globes. It was unlit, the lamps extinguished. Beneath, arrayed in a semicircle, were several plush armchairs each one more squashier than the last. Before them was the magnificent fireplace. Books and trinkets lined the mantlepiece. In the hearth burned many gleaming coals, casting a smoky sort of pale orange light that was at once both cozy and creepy.
As she descended the steps, she listened for what had wakened her from rest.
The grandfather clock was most noticeable. Tick. Pause. Tock. Pause. Tick. Pause. Tock. At first the sound had frightened her; the first few days here Rachel had continuously jumped whenever it sounded, and every time it gave out its slow gong… gong… gong… she abandoned all pretense of studious behavior and fled to hide. When the Lady found her, she would be all aquiver with the shakes.
Now she paid it little mind, only as a reminder that it was ancient and belonged here, and she was young and did not.
The burning coals were next. These, the fire itself, had been the most comforting. Many were the days she had spent sitting before its warmth, so different from the dank mustiness of the nursery. Rachel had had a case of the sniffles back then, beyond the care of the caretaker; she later discovered it was because she was always cold and never truly dry. She paused to relax in the residual warmth of the fiery ash before moving on. Her nightgown—more fine and soft than the scratchy woolen ones she had worn—kept her easily comfortable.
Last of all—the music box.
It had puzzled her the most when she had first heard it, two nights after her relocation. She had asked the Lady about it on the sixth night as she was being put to bed.
“Ma’am,” she had said, “what is that music box that plays every night?”
“Music box?” Her Grace had answered. “What ever do you mean?”
“I hear it at night. It’s different from the nursery.”
“Is it disturbing your rest? Little girls need their sleep if they are to grow up.”
“No… it’s not. I like it, actually."
Here the Lady had leaned forward and given her a little peck on the forehead. She never raised her white mask when doing this, but the chill of the cold porcelain felt nice. “Then pay it no mind. It plays to comfort and soothe distressed minds.”
“Are there more children here?” she had asked, then shrank back as the Lady drew away. Something from the way she had moved indicated Rachel had crossed a line.
“That is not for you to know,” she had answered. “Your studies are more important.”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Good night.”
Ever since then, the question of the music box never left her mind. During the day it snored quietly in the background as she worked out half-mad problems of cal-cue-lus and ge-ah-met-tree, but before she went to sleep, she would wait until the first strains reached her ears. Then, only then, did she fall asleep. She had thought of many things as to what it was—it played to indicate the passage of the night; it was secretly another child’s plaything, somewhere, enchanted to sing for that child’s comfort; it was a trapped spirit inside a box that could only speak through sad musical tones; it was a child itself, lifeless and dead, a doll made to represent a former ward of Her Grace’s… the possibilities were maddening and confusing.
Tonight she would find out which one of these it was.
Rachel reached the bottom of the stairs. The carpet gave way to bare wood, polished and slick. It was cool, the warmth of the dying fire not reaching it. She cast her light this way and that—sometimes the Shadows would try and surprise her. Not this time, though. None presented themselves. Rachel felt a sadness of sorts. They looked like children themselves. Lonely children, too. Her Grace, however, had warned her to not touch them, and she obeyed without question.
She listened as the light played about the room. The sound of the music box came to her left, through a door that led into another library—and from that library, a staircase that led to Her Grace’s quarters. She considered her options—she could venture off in search of the musical sounds, and break curfew and risk the Lady’s wrath; or go back upstairs, and wonder forever as to what it meant.
Rachel laughed—a light chuckle that made little sound. She had come this far, who was she to entertain last doubts?
Without any further reluctance she set off at a trot towards the sound.
The music grew… clearer… as she neared it. Notes and key changes that were not apparent from her room made themselves known. It truly did sound mournful. Rachel updated her theories—perhaps it played for each child that vanished from the nursery? It was not a comforting thought.
She ascended the stairs in the newer, smaller library. Upon the wall facing her was an illuminated portrait of the Lady seated. Her black hair was let down, and the painter—whoever he had been—had captured a glossy shine to it. The effect was regal. Above the portrait was the observatory, a contraption of telescopes and prisms Her Grace used to look at the night sky. Sometimes, she even brought Rachel with her to do ast-rono-me classes. The scopes were never fun to look through. There were few stars in the sky—the only consistent ones she could see were the Morning Star, a pale dot low on the horizon, and a reddish dot that seemed to glow most malevolently. Her Grace called it Mars, but did not elaborate further.
The sound was coming louder now. This time she could hear a light creaking undertone to it, the crank being turned. Someone or something was playing it.
Rachel thought for a moment. Could it really be…? No, surely not. She shook her head. That was too good to be true. But she moved forward with caution, keeping her light focused on the ground just in case.
She rounded the corner and entered the Lady’s quarters.
It was small and spartan compared to the rest of her lavish apartments. The same maroon wall coloring was here, the drapes and carpet too, but the ornamentation was lacking. What few bookcases she could see were small and full of dark tomes. There were few statues, all on their own isolated pedestals, and of the bed it was a canopied affair with a purple coverlet. Unoccupied.
The Lady was off to the side, before a dressing table. Its mirror was fractured, with some of the panes missing. There were few odds and ends lying on it, the only hint of disorganization. But one thing was clear: she was the one playing the music box.
And humming. It was a slow affair, a long drawn out hum that hit only three notes, never deviating from the repetitive scale.
Rachel had seen enough. Her curiosity was satisfied. She turned to leave the room.
Unfortunately, she had forgotten about her flashlight, and it hit the wall with a loud bang. With a gasp, Rachel froze. The music stopped.
“What are you doing out of bed?” came the low voice.
“Th—The music box.” Once upon a time she would have kept very still and quiet, hoping the question would go away. She was braver now. “I… I wanted to know what it was.”
“Curiosity can kill, you know.” A rustle of cloth, a shiver of a breeze, and the Lady had appeared before Rachel with the silence of a wraith. She knelt down. There was no telling what lay beneath that mask. “Be glad I am tolerant.”
“Yes… yes ma’am,” Rachel answered quickly. In spite of herself she shivered.
“You are cold.” The Lady reached out and touched the girl’s cheek. It felt cool and smooth, dainty even. “You ought to be in bed now.”
“Can I see the music box?” When the Lady did not answer, Rachel added, “please?”
A soft sigh. “Very well, if it would keep you from wandering in the future.” She arose and went back to the dressing table. Rachel followed her movements. She came back, holding the box.
It resembled one of the toys in the nursery, only not at all battered and dented. It was a lovely work of art, geometric ornamentation encircling its edges and round about the four picturesque Eyes painted thereupon. The crank too was long and straight, not crooked, and had a grip that looked quite new.
“It’s beautiful,” Rachel whispered, suddenly mindful of the time. “Thank you.”
“Do you want it?”
Her heart stopped. Surely…?
“F… For real?”
The Lady’s mask betrayed no emotion, but her voice held slight amusement. “Yes. You have been curious about this little thing ever since you came here. I see now that your distractions are not because of a listless mind but of one who has a mystery to solve.”
Rachel felt her cheeks growing hot. So she had noticed her inattentiveness in class. “I’m sorry—”
“Don’t be. Rather, it is I who is sorry. I’ve kept you wondering this long. It is time I have set it to rest.” She held out the music box. “Here you are.”
Rachel received it. It was too big to hold in her free hand, so she clutched it against her chest. It also meant she couldn’t use her flashlight. “Can you lead me back?” she asked. “I’m… I’m scared…”
“Of course.” With that the Lady stood and stayed beside her as they went. The journey back to Rachel’s room took no time at all, and soon she was being tucked back into bed. “Sleep tight,” the Lady said.
“I promise I’ll be more careful in class,” Rachel said. “I don’t want to go back.”
“Oh, but you do. You are afraid I’m disappointed in your work, and will send you back anyway. So you long to be released back to your playmates.” She leaned forward to give her another peck on the forehead. “But I am not disappointed. I have chosen you for a reason. You will learn, and do well. I have faith in your ability to learn.”
“Oh… okay.” How did she know…
“Tomorrow, after your studies, I’ll take you to meet someone.”
With that Rachel’s attention was fully roused and all drowsiness vanished. “What?! Who? There are other children here, I just knew it!”
“Hush, child. Yes… there is another. He has been lonely for a while now.”
“I promise I’ll do good, I swear.”
“That’s my girl.”
With that Her Grace turned to leave the room. The door closed behind, the lock turning with a finality. But Rachel was no longer afraid. She had found out what it was that had puzzled her these long nights; and discovered that there were, indeed, other children—a boy at that—present here in these very rooms.
As she set it on her bedside table, and turned the crank so it could play its eerie song, Rachel wondered if perhaps the reason why the Lady had kept it secret for so long was because, when she played it, it gave her comfort. She was not that blind to not see there was a kind of weight pressing down upon her shoulders.
Maybe—and here Rachel felt almost guilty for thinking it so—just maybe, the Lady was not unaffected by the general gloom that all of the children felt.
I’ll make it up to her tomorrow, she thought as she sank beneath the warm, inviting covers. I’ll study the hardest I’ve ever done. I’ll show her what I’m made of.
And then she’ll meet the boy. Whoever he was. But that was another mystery for the morning.