Circular Cruises/Perdrix

Perdrix

29 June 1998

I am the Duchess' special envoy - a position of some status - and although immodesty is unbecoming, I'm young yet and may be forgiven a slight strut of pride. Of course, the day before yesterday I was only the Duchess' personal servant, but indeed it was my very status as confidant - listening to her secrets as I laid out her clothing and combed out her hair - that earned me this mission at all. And the Wood King need not know that.

The Wood King is beautiful. He looks exactly like the elves I've always heard stories about, with silver hair, delicate ears, and arch brows which always make his eyes amused, even when he's angry. Thinking of that latter makes me tremble a little, as I watch him break open the various seals and read the letter I've handed him. He is said to be capricious; I have no way of knowing how he'll react to this message, and since my presence here is unknown to any, if he decides to run me through or worse right now, there will be no one to object.

But no, he has finished and does not seem to be enraged. In fact, he might even be amused - he seems to be smiling to himself, a private smile, as he places a lap desk upon his knees, dips his pen in the well, and begins to write. He tosses fine sand onto the ink to dry it, folds the crackling paper, and seals it with red wax and his ring. He then disappears into the anteroom. Should I follow him? He did not bid me so. I stand and wait.

He reemerges bearing some objects in his hands - I cannot see one before he drops it into another, the latter being a dark blue velvet bag. He likewise inserts the letter into the bag. Then he draws the top of the bag shut and slips the top through a plain gold ring, like one would use a napkin ring. To my great surprise, he next uses a needle and a spool of red thread, stitching around and around the ring. He does smile then, and hands me the bag.

It has been stuffed with something; it is soft and full. I understand that the stitching is to prevent my interfering with the contents - he has no way of knowing that I am more trustworthy than a common envoy - but the filling puzzles me. By then I have already descended the steps from his dais, and proceeded away from his outdoor throne, placed so that he can see out into the woods surrounding his castle as he sits and feels the cool breeze on his face.

As I hurry down the trail through the woods, I realize that the bag is stuffed in order to keep me from feeling the shape of the other object in it. It is an object of some significance, I am sure, proof that the letter is genuine. The Wood King does not know this, but his precautions are redundant: I already know what the letter must say. It says that my mistress, the Duchess, did not lie abed with the Wood King during the months she spent here in hiding, while the Duke was under siege.

As I hurry I realize that I am repeating a word over and over. The word is "perdrix." It's French. It is supposed to mean a female partridge, but in cooking, it means an old partridge - the young tender ones get the male word, "perdreau," and the old ones are referred to as females. I have no idea why I'm repeating this. Is it a code word I'm supposed to give the Duchess? Indeed, she is something of an old partridge - her pregnancy was rather a shock to the court physicians, although they say she should have no trouble with the delivery, as she is quite robust. Or is it simply because the bag I'm carrying reminds me of a plucked bird ready for cooking?

The trees are disappearing.

I look around and I am in a huge, very dark room. It is an enormous ballroom, unlit and empty. In the center of the ballroom are two square, open staircases leading who-knows-where up into the darkness. Far away, in the direction I've come from, are several broad alcoves in the wall, raised perhaps two or three steps above the ballroom floor proper. I look for the Wood King's throne in the leftmost alcove, but it is too dark to tell.

I suddenly need urgently to find out what time it is. I've gotten absorbed in my little game again, and I need to be out before the cleaning crew comes in to open up and sweep, in the very early hours. There is a clock on the east wall of the ballroom - the wall opposite the alcoves - and I am almost to the east wall now, having crossed the huge expanse of floor, imagining it to be woodland. But although I can dimly perceive the clock, high on the wall, I cannot see the hands.

I proceed through one of several dark archways in the east wall. It leads into a smaller, darker series of antechambers, but apparently I know my way. I stumble a bit on my cloak - it's actually a quilt which I've pinned around my shoulders with a safety pin. I'm carrying a small pillow, held protectively like an infant. Under the quilt I'm wearing flannel pajamas.

Through the antechambers into another large room. I stop dead. The room is half-lit, like it's glowing. Off ahead of me walk three elephants, and three men in orange overalls. They walk and walk and walk, but don't get anywhere. I realize I am looking at a film loop, and it suddenly all makes sense. On the far wall - I'm proceeding east, so it's the east wall - there are three flat bare areas which are sometimes used as film screens. About ten feet up in the middle of the west wall is a small square opening which implies a projection booth. For some reason, someone has left this silent film loop running, of an elephant in a parade and a man sweeping after it with a big rectangular push broom. The image is split somehow, so that it appears on all three surfaces at the same time, three elephants perpetually in step.

The imaginary "Duchess" awaits in the yet-unseen room to the east. I must cross this other large room - though not as large as the grand ballroom - and pass through one of the doorways between the screens, into another dark place. I'm enjoying my game immensely. Wandering around barefoot in the dark, in a place I'm obviously not supposed to be, is thrilling and the fantasy is fun. I wish I knew what time it was, though.

As I near the projections of elephants, moving slowly - why is walking up near a movie screen so oddly intimidating? Because the image is so big? - I hear the whoosh, whoosh, sound of the regular sweeps of the push brooms. But I'm pretty sure the film is silent. Then I stop. The sweeping noise is from behind me, and not from the projection booth either. (I hope there's no one in the booth watching me.)

I can see back through the series of antechambers. The grand ballroom is now lit! All the lights are on. But from here, I don't see anyone in it. Is it the cleaning crew? Is it that late? I creep back through the still-unlit antechambers and peer into the ballroom, carefully, around the edge of the archway. There is a real elephant in the ballroom! There's an elephant in there, with a man walking behind it keeping everything sanitary. The ballroom is festooned with red, white, and blue balloons. There are small groups of people in clusters - dark suits and evening dresses - talking and holding drinks. I panic.

I move back into the room with the screens. I know that there is no door Out save in the south wall of the grand ballroom. I'll try to get through the connecting rooms on the south side of the projection booth instead. They're closer to the door Out - I hope to be able to make a run for it.

I'm thinking and not looking. At the same time that I am running into the lower set of connecting rooms, at the same time my legs are trying to stop me in their tracks, I realize that I am proceeding at full speed right into a room filled with partygoers, quilt flowing out behind me. I don't know if this is where they've set up the bar or what, but this little room is packed with people, and some very noisy conversations are taking place.

I am in deep trouble. But then it occurs to me: no one has paid me the least attention. Despite my pajamas, pillow, and quilt. I focus. They are all too busy having some sort of heated discussion or argument. Only a few people are actually arguing - yes, it's definitely an argument, and a nasty one - and everyone else in the room is watching this.

I decide to try to cross the room anyway. If I can cross it, I can run when I hit the ballroom and make it to the door Out. I almost cross the room. The problem is, at the doorway which leads to the ballroom, a lot more people are flooding into this room. Apparently word has spread about the argument and people are flocking to it. To listen? To break it up? I have no idea. But sooner or later, all this extra attention means that someone will see me - and the crowd is too thick to push through. I can't cross. I turn around and head back.

I suppose my idea now is to go into the Duchess' room, where I haven't been yet, and hide - hope that the party or political rally or whatever it is doesn't spread to that room. Sit it out in the dark. But as I am almost out of the crowded room, one of the arguers tries to punch one of the other arguers. All eyes turn to focus on this. I am standing less than a foot from this person at the time.

Heart literally pounding, throat dry, I wake up. My arms are under my pillow, clutching it protectively to my head.

Copyright © June 1998. All rights reserved.