Crown Phoenix: Night Watchman Express Page 48

3. A Strange Place

  espite the red, thumping ache in his head, Simon could smell a delicious odor of soup, violets, and fresh bread. He opened one eye.

  He had an idea that he was lying in a huge bed, his head propped up with luxurious pillows, and there seemed to be several people in one corner. He couldn’t really tell, though, because the curtains were drawn and the room was dark. His general impression was that wherever he was, the room was very expensive and very clean.

  “-waking up-”

  “-better leave -”

  There was the sound of a door opening quietly, and one of the figures left the room. The other came to his side, and he struggled to open both eyes fully. It was a woman in a white, starched dress, with a white cap on her head.

  She put one hand on his forehead and said, “No use rushing things, now, you poor dear. Just close your eyes, and when you’re ready, I’ll give you some beef broth.”

  Simon opened his mouth to protest, but his eyes were closing against the material of her white uniform. Her dress almost seared his eyelids with its brightness. She smoothed his forehead again with one cool hand, and he fell back to sleep in a single instant.

  It was either one minute or a very long time later that he woke up again. He had been dreaming, but he could remember nothing of that dream. He only knew that there had been something that he wanted very badly to get done, and he had been unable to do it.

  When he turned his head on the pillow, the lady in the white uniform appeared again. No, it was someone different, but in the same clothes. How odd! This nurse was smaller and thinner, but she smoothed his forehead in the same way. “Don’t struggle,” she said in a low tone. She turned to the table and brightened the lamp on the table beside the bed.

  Simon could now see that the room was even larger than he had thought, and it was very richly furnished. The velvet curtains at the windows hung down and puddled on the floor in soft folds, and the bed was canopied in white silk, embroidered with scarlet. Large paintings hung on the walls, portraits of foreign royalty next to large landscapes. There were bookshelves on either side of the bed, filled with volumes bound in green, scarlet, and gold leather, and inlaid with gold letters.

  The woman in the white uniform brought a tray to his bed and put it on the round table. “Maybe we’ll try some soup now,” she said.

  Simon was about to protest, but he stopped when she uncovered the silver tureen and spooned some of its contents into a bowl. A curl of steam emerged along with the rich smell of beef, and herbs, and sherry. His mouth watered suddenly, and he tried to sit up and reach for the spoon.

  “Now, now, let me,” she said. She pressed him back on the pillow and carefully held a spoonful to his mouth. “Not too quickly, there, that’s it –“

  The soup was hot and delicious. Still, something nagged at Simon’s memory. Wasn’t there something terribly important that he had forgotten?

  “Where am I?” He tried to prop himself up again.

  She pressed him back and blew on the spoonful to cool it. “Don’t worry about that now.”

  “I must find out-” his words were cut off as she popped the soup into his mouth. “It’s good,” he couldn’t help saying. “But please, just tell me where I am.”

  She interrupted him again. “Just get your strength back now, and we can talk more later. More? Yes?” She fed him the rest of the bowl and held a crystal tumbler of something cold and delicious to his lips. After he had swallowed, she said, “No use getting into a fuss, is it? Just rest now.”

  His head swam. That seemed like a good idea. He closed his eyes and slept.

  The room was suddenly lighter with a few bright streams of sunlight piercing the heavy curtains. Simon sat up fully and winced as he moved his jaw. Raising one hand, he found that it was still swollen from – what the hell had happened to him, anyway?

  Shaking his head as if that would help to clear his memory, he looked around. He was in the large bedchamber, but the linens on the bed had been changed. They were now a light blue, and they retained the smell of a hot iron. His pajamas had been changed as well. In fact, he himself seemed to have been washed. He must have slept for well over twenty-four hours, and yet he felt quite clean. As an experiment he sniffed. Yes, he had been bathed at some point.

  The door opened and the first lady came in, bearing a vase full of flowers. She smiled delightedly when she saw Simon sitting up and exclaimed, “Feeling much better, aren’t we? How nice! Let me just put down these flowers, and we can take a look at you.” She removed one vase full of blossoms on the bedside table, although they still looked as fresh though they had just been picked, and replaced them with the new container of yellow roses, peonies, and snapdragons.

  “Where am I?” Simon asked. His voice was a bit garbled, so he cleared his throat and asked again.

  “In the hospital, of course, dear. You had a nasty knock on your head.”

  “This is a hospital?” Simon looked around in amazement.

  “A private hospital. Now, just stick out your tongue for me – ahhh – that’s right.”

  Simon pushed her hand away. “Ouch. Hey! I remember now! That guard knocked me on my jaw. Back in that horrible place, just off the train. That was it. And what happened to Miriam? They took her into that dreadful factory, the Devil’s Kitchen. I simply must find her.” He thrust one leg out of bed and immediately felt woozy.

  “Oh dear, standing isn’t a very good idea, now, is it?” She chuckled and pushed him onto the pillow, but he resisted her touch and sat up again.

  “Look, I’ve got to find my friends,” he said. “I tell you that Miriam is being held prisoner in that terrible place, that factory, and heaven knows where Neil is.”

  “Is that right? Tsk, tsk.” She widened her eyes and shook her head as she clucked her tongue with elaborate concern. Simon knew she didn’t believe one word of what he had just told her.

  “Look, it really is the truth, miss – what is your name, anyway?”

  “Why don’t you just call me Nurse,” she said. She smiled, and two deep dimples popped into her cheeks.

  “Nurse, I have got to get up and get dressed, and get the police, and find them! Now!” Panic began to surge in his chest.

  “I know, dear.” She walked to the door, carrying the discarded vase of flowers. “But wouldn’t it be best for you to get nice and strong and healthy, and you can find your friends when you feel better? How about that idea? Isn’t Nurse clever? Now, I am going to get you a nice breakfast of buttered toast and coffee, and maybe I’ll fetch you some ham if you’re good.” She opened the door and slipped out before Simon could say anything.

  As soon as she shut the door behind her, he threw back the sheets and blankets. There was a pair of red leather slippers on the floor. They sat beside a little set of steps necessary to get into such a high bed.

  He swayed with the effort, but he managed to climb down and thrust his feet into the slippers, which were his exact size. His legs felt horribly weak and shaky when he stood up, though, and he leaned on the marble and mahogany bedside table before he dared to take a few steps.

  Simon tottered to one of the windows and brushed away the curtain. He was able to look out, or rather, down. The room was at the top of an extremely tall house. In fact, the walls were so high up that he felt he was in the ice tower in Miriam’s story, the one she had been writing in the window seat. It seemed like a very long time ago now. Far below, he could see a deserted park that led to a deep, dark forest.

  He tried to open the window, but the catch would not move. Nothing happened when he tried to lift the sash. Of course, he told himself, he was still terribly weak.

  He dragged himself to the other window, but the view was the same. Oh well, Simon thought. He’d simply walk out, even though he was dressed in pajamas, and find a village somewhere. Every village had to have a policeman, or at least a post office where he could send a telegram.

  On a chair by the door there was a silk, padded dressing g
own. Silently blessing the person who had furnished the room, Simon put it on and tiptoed to the door. He seized the handle, but even though he tried shaking, twisting, and rattling, it wouldn’t budge. The door was locked.

  “Hey!” he yelled, beating one hand on the door. “Hey!” His voice seemed ineffectual against the solid oak, and the heavy door solidly absorbed his kicks and blows. He felt as though he was in one of those diving machines he had read about at school, trying to shout for help through walls of thick glass and miles of water.

  Giving it up, Simon weakly fell into the chair from which he had snatched the dressing gown and looked around. The room was beautiful, it was clean, and he was dressed like a prince. But despite the luxury, he was in a prison cell. There was no question about that.

  To be continued in...

  Devil’s Kitchen