The next time Doncia saw Maynard she was mopping again. After two days all the novelty had worn off, and it was just hard work. He came blustering down the corridor, right across her wet floor, looking like he might run right into her. She jumped back out of the way, dragging her bucket with the mop, and slopping water.
‘My pardon,’ he said, and stopped.
She just looked at him dumbly, and then became angry at herself for not having something witty to say. He wore a laboratory coat over a beige suit, and his mop of mousey hair was tufting out everywhere.
‘Actually,’ he said, ‘I was wanting to ask you something, Doncia. About your father. Professor Javer.’
Doncia shook her head. ‘I can’t tell you much; I was just a toddler when he....’ She couldn’t keep her emotions from her face, and felt it tighten up. Everything behind Maynard turned yellow.
‘Oh,’ he said, then opened his mouth again but nothing came out.
‘It’s all right,’ Doncia said, but it wasn’t—she just wanted him to go away.
‘If it helps,’ he said, ‘my father has disappeared too. He’s gone to sea. He’s a pirate, you know.’
It sounded like Maynard was showing off, and she didn’t think his father had gone mad.
‘But he might come back.’ Her father wouldn’t.
‘Maybe,’ Maynard said, ‘but your father created the robots, and mine only wants to sail. I just wanted to know if Professor Javer had left you any notes or drawings.’
‘No,’ Doncia shook her head. ‘Nothing.’ A vague recollection came to her—of soldiers searching all their belongings.
‘Oh,’ he said. ‘Just a thought.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘No, no,’ he said, ‘I’m sorry I’ve made you sad. I’ll make it up to you if I can.’
She tried to smile, and he left, continuing down the hallway.
She thought about his questions, and remembered Isolde had told her to be careful, Maynard was a spy. He wasn’t a very good one. If he was spying on her, did he think she was important? She gripped the pocketwatch inside her pocket and banished the crazy yellow.
🔸⏱️🔸
She was late again to the servants' dining room, and Piri was already there beside Moni, sipping soup. Doncia ladled herself a bowlful of chicken broth and grabbed a slice of crusty bread, then sat opposite.
She sipped self-consciously, and wondered if it was polite to dip the bread. At home she slurped, and Mother was always telling her to be dainty. She wiped her chin, catching the drip that was about to fall, and thought Maynard must have been taught to sip soup properly, without dribbling.
She looked around. Moni and the other girls were dipping their bread, so she did too.
She told Piri that Maynard had been asking questions about her father. Moni was listening. She had a spoonful raised to her lips, and looked over it.
‘Don’t worry about him,’ Moni said. ‘He’s just a spoilt boy. He doesn’t think about your feelings.’ She blew on the soup. Doncia tried to not notice her birthmark.
‘Anyway,’ Piri said, ‘he probably already knows more about your father than you do.’
That made Doncia think; she should’ve asked him questions about her father, but she knew so little, she wouldn’t have known what to ask. Mother rarely spoke of him. What was he like? Was he a good man? Did he smile much? Was he friendly? Why had he left her? She couldn’t ask things like that.
‘Maynard was too young to really know your father,’ Moni said. ‘I remember him though. I’d been here a year or so before he went away. He was always polite, and didn’t ask us to do trivial things. I liked Professor Javer. He always smiled at us, but he was often fighting with the graf.’
Isolde came in then. Moni gave Doncia a serious look, and they stopped talking about both her father and Maynard.
🔸⏱️🔸
That afternoon Isolde set her to work taking down the tall curtains in the Audience Hall. She dropped them down the chute to the laundry, and hung fresh ones. Afterwards she headed back to find Isolde, through the reception hall with its huge twinkling chandeliers, and down the green corridor past the dragonfly room, where this time she didn’t want to dawdle. Her hand clasped the pocketwatch inside her pocket.
She was supposed to wait in the muster room, and did till she became very bored. She grabbed a glass of water in the kitchen, but no one was there or in the dining room either, and she was too scared to bother Ma’am in her office, so she decided to go look for Isolde.
She retraced her steps from the first day, continuing down the green corridor, turning right into the main western wing, and counting the irregularly spaced halls and doorways. She found the same tower staircase and went down past four doors like before, and again headed to the left, all the time seeing no one. It was darker than she remembered, but there were just enough working lamps to find her way. When she got to what she was sure was the same doorway it was locked.
Ignoring the tiny voice in her head that said she’d made a wrong turn or something, Doncia pressed her pocketwatch between her hands. The echoes told her it was just an empty corridor, up and down with all the doors closed.
She retraced her steps back toward the staircase, but before she reached it there was a corner to the right. There’d been no corner on the way. The voice, not so tiny now, was screaming lost, lost, lost! The walls started to take on a yellowish tint.
She sat down with her back in the corner to think, and to calm herself until the yellow flaked off the walls and vanished. The passage led in two directions. She must have gone too far. She convinced herself she wasn’t making a panicked decision, and got to her feet.
Then she saw something strange, far down the way she’d decided not to go. It was like a balloon, a spiky balloon, floating in the air. If she’d not known it was crazy to do so, she’d have believed it had big dark eyes that blinked sadly. She knew better than to believe in something so bizarre and squeezed the pocketwatch until it disappeared.
She went her chosen way, checking every door on the left, the side the spiral staircase had to be on. All were locked. The door hadn’t been closed before, it had been jammed open with a wedge, but perhaps someone had closed it.
She returned to the door she was sure she’d tried first, and there was still no sign of the staircase.
Which way now? Doncia knew about being lost; sometimes it was better to wait until someone came to find you. Yet it seemed so empty and quiet. What if no one ever came this way?
Doncia had been so sure she’d not lost track of her way, but now realised she’d obviously made some mistake. She’d checked all the left-hand side doors, but what if she’d got turned around? Then it would be further ahead, and on the right. She continued, but started to doubt herself enough to check the doors on both sides as she went, and the walls were getting yellow again.
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