“You’re going to ask to have breakfast sent up to your room, so we can share, instead of me trying to survive on the one measly stick of gum I have in my backpack,” Lynne said. “And then I’m going to sneak out and find the nearest pay phone.”
I was impressed. Just three minutes awake from a miserable night’s sleep and Lynne already had her day planned. She’d have us rescued in no time.
“Now, turn that water off,” Lynne said. “They’re going to think you’re drowning yourself.”
I showered and was in the middle of getting dressed when someone knocked on the door. I finished putting on my T-shirt and waited until Lynne slipped back under the bed before I called out, “Yes?”
Aunt Memory thrust open the door. She had a huge swath of fabric draped over her arm—orange and yellow and green, brilliant colors, practically shining in the sunlight streaming in through my window.
“Your ceremonial dress,” she announced. “For this morning’s speech.”
She shifted her grasp to the top of the piled fabric and lifted it up, and I saw that it was really a dress. It wasn’t constructed like any I’d ever seen before. I tried to think of words to describe it—“kimono”? “sari”? “dirndl”?—and rejected them all. This dress had layers of skirts flowing out from the waist and just as many layers of sleeves flowing from the bodice.
“You said—,” I started. “You said my jeans and sweatshirts were fine.”
“Well, for the trip, certainly. But this is an important speech you’ll be making. You’ll want to look your best. And people will expect … this.”
She gave the dress a little shake and it shimmied before my eyes.
“Oh,” I said. I swallowed hard. “So now it’s a speech I’m making? Before it was just an appeal. A statement.”
“It’s all the same,” Aunt Memory assured me. “Appeal, statement, speech—why does it matter what we call it?”
“Okay, okay. Whatever,” I said. My stomach chose that moment to growl, and I remembered Lynne’s idea. “Um, I’m kind of nervous about that speech. Do you suppose I could just have some breakfast sent up to my room beforehand?”
“Of course!” Aunt Memory said. “What a good idea. I’ll eat here with you.”
Oops. That hadn’t been what I had in mind.
But Aunt Memory was already stepping over to the door and conferring with one of the guards.
“Sausage and eggs sound good?” Aunt Memory asked over her shoulder.
I was calculating how I could slip something under the bed. Sausage and eggs wouldn’t work.
“Um, and fruit,” I said quickly. “Apples and oranges. Lots of them. And maybe some toast.”
Ten awkward minutes later Aunt Memory and I were sitting at a table brought in just for us, over huge platters of everything we’d asked for. I kept wishing Aunt Memory would take her eyes off me for just a second, so I could slip an apple and an orange into my pocket for Lynne. Then when I took off my sweatshirt, I could slide it under the bed…. My mind was going a million miles a minute.
Aunt Memory kept watching me. Silently.
“Um, this is very good,” I said, though I was too nervous to actually taste anything.
“Taste is very closely linked to memory,” Aunt Memory said. “In fact, we use that in some of our very first memory sessions, when we are training children. What do you remember when you are tasting that?” She pointed to the piece of sausage on the fork I was bringing to my mouth.
I bit and chewed and swallowed.
“Saturday mornings at my friend Lynne’s house,” I said. “The seasoning is different, but that’s the only place I ever eat sausage.”
For some reason, tears stung in my eyes.
“See how powerful memory is?” Aunt Memory murmured.
Angrily, I rubbed the tears away. I’d been thinking about Lynne under the bed now, in danger now, not safely at her house like all those Saturdays in the past.
“Why does memory matter so much in Crythe?” I asked. “What’s so wrong about forgetting something every now and then?”
Aunt Memory looked aghast.
“Oh, my dear,” she said. “How can you even ask that? But, of course, you were not raised properly …. We have a saying in Crythe: Mogha laha dahr sa. I believe it would translate as, ‘Why live if you don’t remember?’ No, no—that’s too trite. It’s more like, ‘Life is best lived many times’ If you remember, you can experience every moment of your life many times. So it’s like having many lives.”
“What about bad memories?” I challenged. “What if you only want to experience something once?”
Finally, finally, Aunt Memory glanced away from me. But it wasn’t long enough. I didn’t even have time to reach for an apple before her gaze was back on my face.
“Even that which is not enjoyable must be relived,” she said sternly. “You will still learn from it.”
I squirmed. I wished Lynne were out with me, asking the questions. I didn’t care about all this memory stuff. There was too much else I needed to understand.
“Could you—I mean, would you explain more, like what you were telling me last night?” I asked. “I still don’t know how I can get the kidnappers to release Mom.”
“Oh, but that’s all taken care of. I have your speech right here,” Aunt Memory said, patting her pocket. “I’ll give it to you after breakfast.”
This bothered me, that Aunt Memory expected me to say whatever she told me to say. Like a puppet. I didn’t know how to complain, though. Another problem occurred to me too.
“Will there be a translator?” I asked.
“Oh, no. All Crythians have learned English.”
I thought of the pilot I’d assumed could not understand me. Maybe I should have appealed to him. Or asked him questions. Maybe it would have done some good.
But I was so ignorant, I didn’t even know the questions to ask. Unlike Lynne, I had no faith in being able to tell when people were lying. I was totally the wrong person to be here in this strange place, trying to decipher this strange woman’s cryptic comments.
I was beginning to feel panicky. I pushed my plate of food away.
“Full already?” Aunt Memory said. Of course she’d noticed how little I’d eaten.
“I’m getting nervous about the speech,” I said, which was true, if not the entire truth. “But I might be hungry later. Could I keep this bowl of fruit in my room?”
Inspired, I thought. Lynne should be proud.
I’d already picked up the bowl of fruit and was carrying it over to the nightstand beside the bed before Aunt Memory answered.
“Oh, you won’t be spending much time in your room today,” she said. “I assure you, you can eat anytime you want. Leaving food in your room is so—so messy’
Strategically, I tripped on the rug and dropped the bowl. At least two apples and an orange rolled under the bed. I only pretended to retrieve them.
I hoped Lynne appreciated what I’d gone through to get her breakfast.
Nineteen
AUNT MEMORY DIDN’T LEAVE MY ROOM EVEN TO LET ME CHANGE into the ceremonial dress. She slipped it over my head for me and began murmuring, “And don’t you look lovely,” even before it had completely settled on my shoulders. The dress fit okay but I didn’t feel right with it on. I felt like a woman from the past. This dress was not nearly as confining as, say a hoopskirt and corsets, but every step set off a wave of ripples in all the layers of fabric. It would have been impossible to walk quickly in this dress.
“That’s it! Time to go!” Aunt Memory said as I took my first few experimental steps around the room.
“But—my speech—,” I protested. “I haven’t even looked at it.”
“Oh, you can read it on the spot” Aunt Memory said. “Here it is. Come on!”
She thrust pages into my hand and hurried me out the door. I tried to look at the speech, but the carpet was uneven and I almost tripped. The guards or sentries or whatever they were saluted as I went pa
st.
“Come, come,” Aunt Memory urged me on. “The people are waiting.”
And then we burst out the front door, back to the street we’d driven on the night before. But now the street was completely blocked by a throng of people. The women did indeed wear kerchiefs and full peasant skirts. The men were in rough woven pants and billowy shirts. I saw no children. I stood hesitantly in the doorway blinking in the sunlight. Aunt Memory stepped to the side, exposing me to the entire crowd. Immediately a hush fell over them. They stared at me. And then they began cheering.
“The child has returned!” someone yelled.
“Kira Landanova is back,” someone else hollered. And then the whole crowd began chanting along: “She is back! Kira Landanova is back!”
I felt my cheeks turning red, then redder still. The people before me kept chanting.
Who was I, to be greeted like this? Bewildered and overwhelmed, I looked down at the papers in my hand, hoping they’d give some clue.
Greetings. I am Kira Landanova, daughter of Alexei and Victoriana, the first page began. I stopped on my mother’s name. Victoriana … No wonder I’d thought the term “Victorian houses” sounded familiar all those years ago. My real mother. The crowd still cheered, but somehow I could barely hear them. My mind was in a whirl. Alexei and Victoriana. They were the ones I belonged to. Not Mom. But my mind was a traitor: Suddenly all I could think about was how Mom had taken care of me for the last thirteen years. She’d cleaned up my vomit when I’d gotten sick. She’d cut up my meat for me when I was too little to handle knives. She’d held my hand crossing streets on my first day of school….
I remembered that I was here to rescue Mom, not to be cheered and praised. I glanced down at the rest of the speech. Phrases jumped out at me: We must return to our old traditions … My parents would have wanted you to obey your leaders … What my parents stood for was Crythe at its finest … It was a political speech. How was this supposed to help Mom?
Aunt Memory nudged me with her elbow.
“You must begin,” she said, but I could barely hear her over the crowd and the ringing in my ears.
“Greetings” I began. I was certain it was hopeless trying to make myself heard. But by the time I got to “Kira Landanova,” the entire crowd was silent, waiting for my next word. It was eerie, the attention they all gave me. Every eye bored straight into mine. Even if I hadn’t known a thing about Crythe, I still would have felt like every syllable I uttered was being instantly memorized and treasured. Not even a bird sang to interrupt me.
I stumbled over the next words, “… daughter of Alexei and—and Victoriana—”
And then I stopped. The next sentence on Aunt Memory’s paper said, In the name of my parents, I ask you to turn your back on the rash decisions of the past thirteen years. But I didn’t know what those decisions were. I didn’t know what my parents would have wanted me to say. I didn’t even know what Mom would want me to say. All I had to go on was Aunt Memory’s explanations.
I thought about what Lynne had said the night before, about figuring out if anything Aunt Memory said was true. I wished I had Lynne here with me now, to tell me what to do. I’d say just about anything to help Mom. But the way the people were watching me, the way Aunt Memory was watching me—none of this was about Mom.
It had been a long time now since I’d said my last word. If a speaker was silent this long at a school assembly back home in Willistown, everyone would be whispering now, muttering, What an idiot! and Who wanted to hear her, anyway? But this crowd in Crythe stayed quiet, kept waiting. A slight breeze blew down the street, ruffling kerchiefs, lifting locks of hair. But the people kept still, like statues who expected me to bring them back to life.
I dropped Aunt Memory’s speech.
“I—I am Kira Landon,” I repeated, only barely conscious that I’d truncated the name Aunt Memory had assigned me and turned it back into the name I’d used for as long as I could remember. “I’m told that my parents were Alexei and Victoriana. I want to believe that, because I am eager to find out about my past. I had not even heard of Crythe until yesterday. I don’t know your customs or your history or—or your struggles right now. All I know is that the woman who raised me disappeared yesterday. I believe she was kidnapped and brought here. And, whoever took her, please set her free. She is very—I mean … I love her. I miss her.’
I had nothing else to say. I stepped back. The pages of Aunt Memory’s speech lay scattered at my feet. They rustled in the breeze.
I dared to turn toward Aunt Memory. She looked as though I’d slapped her. Fury shone in her eyes. I peered back out at the crowd, expecting—I don’t know. Questions, maybe. But they still weren’t speaking or moving. Then I saw that they were—they were moving only their eyes and, ever so slightly their heads. They were exchanging furtive, fearful glances.
I could not understand these people. I didn’t know what they wanted from me.
Aunt Memory stepped in front of me. With one hand, she reached back and clutched my right wrist, her fingers tight as a vise. I would have felt less trapped in handcuffs.
“All honor to Kira Landanova, daughter of Alexei and Victoriana!” she proclaimed, raising her fist. The crowd obediently repeated her words. Then Aunt Memory let out a stream of Crythian words. She did not sound angry. She sounded proud, excited, triumphant. Maybe she was giving the speech she’d written for me. But every time her voice crescendoed, she squeezed my wrist tighter.
Had I made a mistake, angering Aunt Memory? Would it have mattered if I’d spoken the words she’d wanted to put in my mouth? Had I endangered Mom?
Suddenly, without warning, Aunt Memory finished her speech. She pulled me up beside her and raised my arm for me. I’m sure that, from the audience, it looked like I was willingly joining in the victorious gesture. We stood there for a long time, being admired. Maybe I could have broken away, run out into the crowd, assured them that, whatever Aunt Memory had said, she wasn’t speaking for me. But I was too dazed. And I didn’t expect what came next.
Just when my arm was beginning to ache from being held in the air for so long, Aunt Memory brought both of our arms down. Without relaxing her iron grip on my wrist, she bowed deeply, then stepped backward. She yanked me back into the castle with her. Instantly a guard swung the door shut behind me.
“What was that all about?” Aunt Memory hissed angrily at me.
“I just—I just said what I knew was right. The way they were looking at me—like they trusted what I said—I couldn’t say anything I wasn’t sure of. And Crythian politics—I don’t know anything about that. All I have to go on is what you told me.” I realized how that must have sounded. “No offense,” I added lamely.
Aunt Memory looked like she’d taken plenty of offense.
“You might have just killed Sophia” she said.
I went numb. Aunt Memory shoved me up the stairs and practically hurled me into my room. She stalked out, slamming the door behind her.
Sobbing, I crumbled to the floor in a heap of green and orange and yellow skirts.
Twenty
I DIDN’T THINK FOR A LONG TIME. IT WAS EASIER JUST TO SOB AND sob and sob. But finally, I raised my head and whispered, “Lynne?”
No answer.
Shakily, I got to my feet and stumbled over to the bed. I peeked underneath. Two apple cores lay atop a neat pile of orange rinds. But there was no other evidence that Lynne had ever been here.
I looked in the bathtub, too, just in case, but it was empty.
I should have been delighted that she got out, that she was going for help right now. But I felt bereft. I wanted her there to tell me I’d done the right thing. To tell me I shouldn’t feel like I’d just killed the person who mattered most to me in all the world.
Funny, how I was thinking of Mom differently now.
Maybe they’d caught Lynne, too, when she was sneaking out, and she wasn’t getting help right now, she was being tortured. Maybe even killed. And that would also
be my fault.
I sank onto the floor of the bathroom and cried some more. I was so scared.
“This is not my life,” I whimpered. “This is not where I belong. This is not me.”
If I hadn’t had tears streaming down my face, I would have bounced up right then and gone in search of Aunt Memory. I wanted to tell her she had the wrong person. I was Kira Landon, from dinky old Willistown. My mother was a librarian, for Pete’s sake. The biggest problem in my life was supposed to be that it was dull.
Lynne would have said I was seriously in denial.
But Lynne had also said that Aunt Memory lied.
I pulled a towel down from the rack beside me and wiped my eyes on it. I stood up and peered at my tear-splotched face in the mirror.
“Aunt Memory is not going to know what hit her,” I muttered to my reflected image. “I’m going to find out the truth.”
Five minutes later I was out of the confining ceremonial dress and back into my jeans and sweatshirt. That alone made me feel more like myself. I washed my face and combed my hair back into a neat ponytail. I pulled my tennis shoes back on and tied the laces with unusually precise loops. I felt like a soldier preparing for battle.
I opened the door. Once again, there were two men in uniforms standing there. They sprang to attention. I stepped out over the threshold.
“Oh, no, miss,” one said.
“Stanahla” the other said. “Honorable young lady—”
I drew back. I remembered Lynne’s questions the night before about the guards: Who or what are they protecting you from? Or are they imprisoning you? Well, I was about to find out. I forced myself to step forward again. The guards flailed their arms and rushed toward me.
“Miss, miss, no,” the first one said. “Not safe.”
“What’s not safe?” I challenged.
“You come—coming—out,” the guard said. He put his arm out, firm against my waist, holding me back.