Mabel

  Mabel stretched her feet out of the pillow-fort, caressing the tips of her socks up against one another as she rubbed her thighs. These were the softest pair she owned, an expensive saffroni fabric from the south, dark blue with white daisies fluttered all over. They also happened to be her favourite, a gift from the Lady on her 15th birthday that year.

  “I told you using the clotheslines would work!” Merabella exclaimed.

  She crawled in to place another candle in the fort, her black hair falling partly over her pretty green eyes like a cascade.

  “It’s certainly the best one we’ve made thus far.” Neina smiled proudly, straightening her legs out as well.

  “The boys would lose their minds if they saw this.” Isa giggled.

  “Yes, they would. And then they’d get their dirty, ugly feet all over our pillows and blankets. Which is why we’re never going to tell them… right, Isa?”

  Merabella was glaring through Isa with her judging feline gaze.

  “Cut it out.” Isa frowned, looking away.

  “You’re the only one always going around telling Cisco about everything we do.”

  “Am not!”

  “Oh yes you do! The two biggest blabbermouths on the whole estate.”

  “Mabel!” Isa sobbed, tugging on Mabel’s dress for help.

  “Leave her alone, Bella. She’s not going to tell anyone.”

  “Pshh — yeah right.” Merabella scoffed, finding her space in the fort.

  It was bigger than the last one they’d made, bedsheets draped over clotheslines, fitted together with pins and supported by chairs. There were pillows from every bed in the room and few extra ones supplied to them by Madame Song in secret. It felt like the inside of a cave, a very warm one with bright red candles lighting the walls, and a comforting white floor made of blankets instead of stone.

  “Why do you seem so sad today Mabe?” Neina asked.

  Mabel looked up from her socks, giving Neina a smile. “Oh nothing. I’m just feeling tired that's all.”

  The other girls were now gawking at her too.

  She couldn’t help but blush, laughing the attention away. “Really! It’s nothing!” She reiterated, putting her hand through Isa’s short-cut hair.

  “Is it because of what happened outside?” Neina asked, her earrings twinkling over the candles.

  “No, of course not.” Mabel shook her head absently. “The boys are always being idiots.”

  “I heard that Engin got slapped by Mr. Piggot.”

  “WHAT?” gasped Merabella.

  “How did you hear that?” Mabel raised her brow.

  “Mm, I-” Isa coiled further into her pillow. “Cisco told me in the hallway before we went to our rooms.”

  “Hah! I told you they were both blabbermouths!” Merabella shouted.

  “Ugh shut up!”

  Merabella crossed her arms, pursing her lips proudly. “Well, he probably deserved it, the brat. Always giving me trouble.”

  “No one deserves to get slapped, Bella.” Mabel snapped at her. “It isn’t right.”

  Merabella looked down at her dress, fidgeting nervously with the folds of her cummerbund.

  “He was just doing what he thought was right,” Mabel continued. “It was me who should have stepped in sooner. None of this would have happened if I’d have just stopped Boog.”

  “I’m sure you did the best you could, Mabe,” said Neina. “You always do.”

  Isa interlocked her arm with Mabel’s. “I want to hear about your new boyfriend, Mabe. Tell us about him.”

  “What?” Mabel recoiled, caught off guard. “I don’t have a boyfriend, Isa.”

  “Yes, you do.” Isa cooed, her cheeks inflating like a squirrel. “That handsome boy who’s always waving to you from the flower shop.”

  “I remember him! He was very cute.” Neina said, hugging herself.

  Mabel felt her blood go warm.

  “What’s his name Mabe, what’s his name?”

  “I-uh, I don’t know!” Mabel’s voice climbed a few octaves. “I’ve only spoken to him once!”

  Merabella was eyeing her suspiciously now. In fact, they all were. Mabel didn’t like it. She couldn't handle all the attention.

  “My first husband is going to be tall and muscular, just like the Sovereign Prince,” declared Merabella.

  “Your first?” Neina giggled. “How many do you plan to have?”

  “Whatever makes me happy.” Merabella beamed.

  “You wish,” Isa gave back to her. “You’ll have to grow out of those small dresses first.”

  “You’re the same size as me!”

  “And I’m two years the younger!”

  Mabel rolled her eyes. Her tummy grumbled. She hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast.

  “I’m going to go check on dinner,” she said, getting up to crawl out of the fort.

  “But- we were going to tell frightening stories,” Isa complained, trying to stop her.

  Mabel turned back around, grabbing her cheeks. “After dinner. I promise.”

  She looked at Merabella, and then the other two girls. “Behave. At least until I get back.”

  ***

  During the nights of the Kreaman fog, Elenora Estate often had an unusual dimness to it. A shade of darkness that only seemed to come around a few times a year.

  The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  It wasn’t that the lighting was any different, the terra-stars still glowed just as bright within their lanterns and chandeliers. It was rather the unspoken mood; the eerie quiet of the halls, the lack of cheering footfalls on the hardwood, and the ever-forbidden curiosity of what may be lurking outside.

  Mabel found herself clinging to the console tables as she made her way to the kitchens, stopping to check the health of every potted plant arranging the walls between their sleeping quarters and the foyer. She held their strength in her palms, running the veiny leaves along her fingers.

  Finnel-leafs were a tough grow, the light had to be just right, the air and soil; not too dry but just damp enough. And when they grew, they grew to be kings, outgrowing their small pots, in need of something larger. In the Estelas, they were everywhere, you couldn’t find a home that wasn’t adorned with their sheening emerald leaves and fruit-bearing trunks. The fruit had managed to become famous all over, they were small and red-skinned, fig-like in shape, with a honey apple interior. Mabel wasn’t the biggest fan of it, she liked harder, more sour fruits like white plums or those big green apples that came around to the market every summer season from Tristan.

  However, there was a certain appeal to growing things that were hotly desired. If not by her, then the other orphans on the estate, at least they could appreciate the fruits of her labor.

  I should get to snipping this one now, Mabel thought, stopping at one of the older Finnel plants.

  “If it seems like its dying, just cut it right from the top.” The old lady mossseer from the market had told her. “Chop from the trunk like so… and you should be fine there, lass. These here ones can grow right back, good as new.”

  Mabel let go of the decaying plant in her hand, debating whether to go through with snipping it or not. Perhaps there was still a chance it could survive in the new soil. Maybe it would be better to give it another day or two.

  Her gaze shifted down to the end of the hallway. A voice was hissing, rupturing the silence of the walls.

  “I CANNOT believe you would let him inside without consulting with me first!”

  “MR. PIGGOT!” Madame Dietrich gruffed, the sides of her pale rolled up fists coming into view as Mabel edged closer to the noise. “I may not hold the same authority as you on this estate, but on Tiol’s word, if you expect me to turn a blind eye to a wounded child on our doorstep, you have sorely mistaken me for a bloody tool!”

  “He’s a damn backward, Madame Deitrich!”

  “HE IS A CHILD!”

  Mr. Piggot snarled, exhaling to his side. He was trying to control his disdain, but it was showing all over his face.

  “Do not tell me that you would not have done the same, Mr. Piggot, because I know it’ll be a damn lie.”

  “I wish you had just spoke with me first.” He growled. “You know how I feel about opening our doors during the peak of the fog. Ever since the Haastarians have put down their damn flags here, nothing good has come of it. Every year... it just seems to be getting worse.”

  “If we let their stories frighten us, then they have already won, Mr. Piggot.”

  “They’re not just stories anymore, Madame Deitrich.” Mr. Piggot’s scowl turned pale. “It’s much bigger than that now. It has been for the last five years. Don’t you see it. The monarchs are angry. Their resting graves are rolling. And the Haastarians will never acknowledge that they and they alone are the reasons why.”

  Mr. Piggot’s lips had begun to quiver, his hands, trembling at the beat of a nervous rhythm.

  “You are still in pain after what happened to your friend,” said Madame Dietrich, reaching her palm out. “I understand that- Burn. But you must-”

  “Renley was a good man.” Mr. Piggot whimpered out, his voice suddenly catching on the edges of a sob. “He would have never done what they say he did! He loved his family, more than anything in the world.”

  Mabel had never seen Mr. Piggot cry before. Nor did she ever think he was capable of it. The sight of it made her legs go numb, her heart unsure of how to feel.

  Madame Dietrich was tense, but trying to be caring. That didn’t happen often either.

  Seeing this side of the both of them made Mabel question if she was supposed to be hearing any of this.

  “It was the fog.” Mr. Piggot went on, beading red eyes welling with tears now. He was shaking, uncontrollably. “It was that damn madness that took him over, Madame Deitrich. That-that damn monarch madness!”

  “Please, Burn. Please, please, sit down somewhere.” Madame Deitrich pleaded, trying to calm the heavy man down. “Pull yourself together,” she said, leading him to a lounge chair.

  Mabel took a few steps forward, coming into their view, if she wasn’t already before. It took a moment, but Mr. Piggot did see her. He was wiping his eyes clean, and sniffling back what sounded like an abundance of snot.

  “Let me get you some water. You just wait right here.”

  “I can–” Mabel spoke up.

  Madame Dietrich finally noticed her.

  “I can get the water,” Mabel repeated, more confident this time.

  “Yes, girl,” Madame Deitrich nodded, a hint of relief on her brow. “Get it from the kitchens, Madame Song is in there as well. Quickly now.”

  Mabel nodded, taking long strides out of the foyer to get away from the tension as fast as she could.

  “I don’t need it-”

  “Oh heavens, Mr. Piggot, it won’t hurt you to drink something other than booze-”

  The voices of their bickering faded behind her as Mabel paced towards the kitchens. The smell of tenderloins and red pepper mash hit her fast down the corridors of the caretaker wings.

  She didn’t like this feeling. She didn’t like what she’d walked into. What if Mr. Piggot resented her now? Now that she’d seen him shed a tear.

  And who was Renley? And what was that about letting a child in?

  When she pushed to enter through the arched doorway of the kitchens she felt a fluffy ball of fur squeeze between her legs.

  “Oh no! Don’t let her in!” Mr. Dooley shrieked, immediately running forward as the doorway opened.

  The humble, long faced man had no stubble today and was fully covered in black cotton garments.

  “Don’t you dare!” He yelled, crashing into the side of a few lonesome pots as he dove to stop Chae in her hot pursuit for a snack.

  The fur-ball pranced across the stone tiles of the room, using the handles of a cabinet to catch herself onto a counter top. She was fast, but Mr. Dooley was smarter.

  “GOT YOU! You little deviless,” Mr. Dooley guffawed, taunting the cat as he triumphantly swooped her into his arms from the other side of the counter.

  He ruffled her head and rubbed her belly as she pushed her paws out in an adorable little struggle.

  “Sorry, Mr. Dooley! I didn’t see her, I swear it.”

  Mr. Dooley smiled. “It’s alright, lass. She’s been finding new corners to hide in all week. You’re a cunning little girl aren’t you?” He cooed, looking down at the cat.

  Chae meowed back.

  “Everything alright, Mabe?”

  At the far corner of the kitchen, seated on a side table, Madame Song was looking back at her with her head turned. Across from her was a boy about Mabel’s age, maybe younger, wrapped in gauze all over and holding a spoon over a bowl of steaming hot stew.

  “Um, yes Madame Song,” Mabel replied, confused. “Mr. Piggot wasn’t feeling well, so I came to fetch water for him.”

  Madame Song immediately got up from her seat, her teal dress twirling to expose the white stone anklets adorning her sandaled feet.

  “What’s the matter, is he hurt?”

  “Not hurt. Um…” Mabel couldn’t say that she’d seen him crying. That would be rude.

  No. She couldn’t, she couldn’t ever say that, not to anyone. “He’s just not feeling well I think,” she said quickly. “Madame Deitrich is with him.”

  “Ugh,” muttered Madame Song. “Must be his stomach again. I don’t know how many times I’ve told him to put down the booze.”

  She beckoned Mabel over with her hand. It fell out of the sleeves of her dress, showing off swirling golden veylas drawn onto her bronze skin, the birthmarks of every young Esteleron maiden. “It’s alright Mabe, I’ll see to him myself. Come here, maybe you can get something out of this poor boy. Found him banging on our windows, screaming for help. Hasn’t said a word to me that I can understand, but he was right cut up, beat up and warm as a fire before this.”

  The boy continued to stare at Mabel as she slowly approached the table. She made out a hint of a grin breaking through his lips when she waved to him hello.

  Madame Song’s golden braids fell over Mabel’s shoulder as she bent over to give her a kiss on the cheek. “Be nice,” she whispered. “I’ll be back in a hurry.”

  She looked down at the boy again. “Eat your stew now, youngin. It’ll heal the pain. Mabe will keep you company.”

  Mabel took her seat on the table, watching Madame Song scurry over to the taps to fill some water.

  “Hungry, Mabe?” Mr. Dooley asked her, Chae still in hand.

  “Yes,” she nodded. “But I can wait to eat with the others.”

  She felt awkward at first, unsure of what to say to the boy. His hair was very long, and unkempt, like all of the other backwards boys. There was a chain around his neck, tiny beads of grainy feldrock strung together. The backwater folk worshipped the mire gods, or at least, that was what the sovereign church called them. To the backwards it was the freegods. The freegods who ruled long before Tiol, as they would say.

  Contrary to their moniker however, their followers didn’t have much freedom for the longest time. Backwards were called backwards simply because of who they worshipped.

  But Mabel didn’t see much difference between her and the boy sitting across from her. No matter the clothes he wore, or how untidy he looked, in that very moment, they were both nervous, and that, she felt, made them one in the same.