We continue up, not interacting with each other. I’m still confused about the whole goat incident, but I know not to talk. I figure if he was going to tell me what is actually on his mind, he would have by now. Now that I’m higher up on the hill, I can see almost the entire Leaders’ Palace. It’s all a giant light grey mixture of stone and cement, a monster of a place to live. There are eight steeples, and four ridge-topped towers. Every one of them has the Kingdom’s draping flag on it. The top view of a single blue rose with a yellow background. The yellow and blue symbolize the timeframe of the battle that left the League in wreckage. The battle was over some land that ended up being where the central neighborhood is now. It stretched from sunset to noon. The colors track the color of the sky. It was one of the most important times in the Kingdom’s development. The rose symbolizes the many roses delivered to the graves of the soldiers that fought, and lost their lives doing so. A silent salute to them.
After what feels like an eternity of walking, we reach the winery. The doors are opened wide, letting anybody mill in and out easily. I step in after my dad, and become aware of just how big the space really is. Shoved in the far North and left corner is a wooden bar with thirty purple-topped stools, twenty of which are occupied by a group of middle-aged men, all being dealt with by one bartender that has my sympathy. In the far right corner is a bar with only five stools, four of which are occupied by two pairs of young women. They also have a bartender, but he seems to have his mind on something else entirely as he smokes a cigarette. In between these bars is a hallway that leads to the bathrooms, kitchen, and a back room for employees only. On the left side of the wood-panel floor are what I can only assume are sixty to seventy tables, adorned with a ketchup and mustard bottle, and a salt shaker—no pepper though. Fifty something of them are occupied by people in sets or groups. A few are sitting alone. The tables seem to have a class system, the closer you are to the bar, the more food is on your plate, and the more wine is in your glass. There is no left wall, only a partially opened giant window. The right side is mostly taken up by a wine-brewing area, and grab-and-go spirit shop.
My dad walks toward one of the tables on the left that is occupied only by one man with short hair, and thick eyebrows. He doesn’t have any food on the table. No wine either. I frown. This whole trip makes no sense.
Then I see it.
A gun pokes out of the man’s dark brown jacket. I eye it, and look at my dad. He shakes his head, and tells me to sit down. I listen, still not saying a word, even though I’m reluctant. The man reaches out to shake my hand.
“Eve, right?” he asks, wearing a friendly smile. I shake his hand for as short a time as possible, and nod.
“Well,” my dad starts, standing up again. “I think Eve and I both need to use the bathroom, right Eve?” I don’t know how to respectfully tell him I don’t without talking, so I nod again.
“I think I do too.” The man stands up, and gives my dad a conspiratorial look. We all walk across the floor, passing by people who are laughing, chatting, and arguing. Sometimes all three at the same time.
When we reach the bathrooms, the man pulls me into the mens’ without skipping a beat. My dad shuts the door quickly, and locks it. It’s not a stall bathroom like I thought, but a single toilet, a sink, and a silver bar so the elderly can steady themselves. The floor is made of light, grey-blue tiles, and the walls are a similar color.
At this point, I can’t stop myself. I need to know what’s going on.
“What is happening exactly?” I ask, not sure if it came out too harsh or not.
“We’ll explain soon,” The man says. “But for now, we need you to stay silent.” I don’t like being told that after being pulled into a bathroom that I’m technically not allowed in by a man with a gun, but I also don’t know what I would even say at this point. I nod, and stare at my shoes. I have every right to know what is happening, but if the man isn’t lying—which he very well may be doing—I guess I can wait. My dad steps toward the toilet hesitantly, and reaches for the silver bar stuck into the wall next to it. The man follows, and they wave for me to do the same. I cautiously go over, and find myself standing in between them, grasping the bar. My dad nods, and they both tug the bar toward themselves. I figure I should too, so I gingerly pull.
I feel the bar coming loose. I want to tell them that this is vandalism, punishable by death, but then I see it’s not the bar that’s coming loose.
It’s a piece of the wall.
A giant square of the wall is being tugged out of its place. We stop pulling. The man wriggles it out, revealing a downward tunnel with no valid light source that I can see. A medal ladder leads down as far as the eye can see. My dad steps in, waving for me to follow. I slowly crawl through the hole in the wall, and the man follows close behind me, pulling the piece of building back in it’s place after him.
All I know, as I travel down a dark tunnel into some unknown place and am followed by an armed man is that we did not come here to buy wine.
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