Chapter Nineteen
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Ily
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I STUMBLED OVER THE KITCHEN’s threshold, unable to believe my eyes.
I’d thought Rachel was taking us to the jewel quarters.
A part of me longed to return to all those rows of neat beds where everyone supported one another. Where no one judged and all shared a safe space to air their fears, worries, and pain.
I wanted to share so many things.
I wanted to apologise to Peter and make sure he was okay.
I wanted to talk to each jewel and prepare them for an uprising.
But Rachel guided me away from that wing and toward the back of the citadel instead.
She kept her fingers locked tight around mine, tugging me farther and farther from Henri. Down long, drafty corridors and around ominous bends. Tapestries gave way to stone blocks, and fancy sconces became bare lightbulbs by the time we popped into the working heart of this trafficker’s palace.
I felt as if I’d fallen through time as I blinked at the controlled chaos.
At least ten people bustled about in a huge kitchen.
The ceilings were curved and low, soot-stained and weathered like similar manors I’d explored in England.
Huge ovens and stovetops, massive chopping blocks with knife marks and rusty spots of blood.
Big windows spilled sunlight onto racks of gleaming knives while the coppery glow of polished pots and pans hung from large hooks.
Unlike in the ancient eras, where whole hogs were spit-roasted in open fireplaces and pheasants were plucked in buckets by the back door, Victor’s kitchen blended modern with old.
Stainless steel tables cut the kitchen in half, some covered in flour while staff kneaded dough and layered huge trays full of intricate fruit pastries ready to go into the oven.
Someone stirred a giant cauldron, giving off steamy tendrils laced with tarragon and garlic. Another poured melted butter over a roasting pan full of chicken breasts.
A grey-headed man with a hair-net on and crow’s feet pinching weary brown eyes waved us away with a wooden spoon dripping with red sauce.
“They’re all out back. Hurry now. Oh, and take these with you.
You’re gonna need it.” Snapping his fingers at a stout elderly woman beside him, she nodded and grabbed a basket covered in a blue-and-white chequered tea-towel.
Darting around the mayhem in the kitchen and bringing with her a whiff of delicious chocolate, she passed me the basket. “Ensure every jewel has one. It will give you energy for the long day ahead.” Cupping Rachel’s chin, she sighed sadly. “Did that tonic help ease any of your pains, my dear?”
Rachel patted her hand and nodded. “It did. Thanks, May. Who knew dandelion roots and nettle could ease such things.”
“My grandmama taught me.” May gave her another unhappy look, her mousy hair lank from the kitchen’s humidity. “I can try to make you a concoction to help you lose the child...” She shrugged. “I can’t promise it will work, but...”
Rachel winced and cupped her belly. “Pretty sure I’ll lose it after how many times that bastard kicked my stomach this morning.
” She flicked me a look. “If I survive today, then yes, I’ll take you up on the offer.
Dr Belford also said she’ll help induce my losing it—as long as Victor doesn’t insist he wants it now.
Fuck.” She shuddered. “The thought of having a baby in here, to him?” Fierce tears filmed her vibrant blue eyes. “I can’t. I literally can’t.”
“But if you raised them right...they might inherit it all and let us go.”
Rachel laughed under her breath. “You’re basing your freedom on a fantasy that wouldn’t come true for at least twenty years...if at all.” She shot me another look and dove her hand beneath the tea-towel of the basket I held.
Pulling out a thick muesli slice full of oats, fruits, treacle, and nuts, she nibbled on the end.
“Besides, this is his kid we’re talking about.
It’ll be raised to be even worse than its father.
So no.” She swallowed hard. “Victor will destroy it. He’ll turn it into a creature not fit for this earth.
” Her shoulders braced. “I’d rather die with innocence in my belly than give birth to evil. ”
May rolled her shoulders and nodded. “Well, we’re here if you need anything.” Arching her chin at the open doorway leading outside, she added, “Keep an eye on Peter, will you, dear? He’s not doing too well.”
“Crap, is he still high?” Rachel lowered her voice, glancing at the cameras blinking red in the corner of the curved ceiling.
I stiffened. “C-Can they hear us?”
May gave me half a smile. “They say they can, but after years of working down here, I can tell you they don’t hear shit of what we talk about. I think the extraction fans, constant boiling, and other ambient noise acts like a shield.”
Interesting...
“And yes, he is.” May answered Rachel. “I know Dr Belford trusts you guys not to overindulge, and usually he’s so careful not to incapacitate himself, knowing the consequences of not obeying, but...” She dabbed at a sudden tear in the corner of her eye. “I’m scared he doesn’t really care anymore.”
Rachel glanced at me, her dark hair making her skin milky with horror. “Of all the days for him to snap.” Grabbing my wrist above my cuff, she squeezed me. “We stick together, okay? No matter what happens out there, we don’t let each other out of our sights.”
I cupped her elbow and nodded, sharing in her quaking. “I promise. I won’t leave your side.”
She gave me a small smile. “I have no idea what Victor is planning, but...he’s in a bad mood, new girl. And when he gets in a bad mood...well, our numbers always seem to go down.”
May drew a cross over her ample bosom and lifted her eyes heavenward. “Please, Jesus, keep these dear ones safe. They’ve suffered enough. Let freedom come soon. Amen.”
Rachel sniffed. “Prayers don’t work, May. But I appreciate it.”
“Prayers do work...if enough people do them at once,” May said. “It’s all about faith.”
“Faith that if we repent and are punished enough, we’ll be allowed out of hell?” Rachel asked with a snide tone.
“You know I mean well—”
“Yes, I know.” Rachel shook her head. “I’m sorry. I’m just—”
“May,” the chef by the huge pot barked. “Get back to work. Let them get on now. If they’re not finished by the time the gong goes, there’ll be even worse hell to pay.”
“Yes, yes, you’re quite right.” May pressed a dry kiss on Rachel’s cheek and then on mine. “Get one of those muesli bars into your tummies. And look after each other. We’ll be here when you need us.”
Unwinding her fingers from my wrist, Rachel went to move, but she stumbled.
Moaning, she cupped her middle as she snapped in half. “Ahhh.”
“What is it?” I hugged her close, trying to take some of her weight. “Cramps?”
Biting her bottom lip, she nodded. “Fucking bastard...owww...”
Sweat broke out over her forehead.
True terror filled me.
I had no idea what this game entailed, but she could barely stand up, let alone do anything else. Glancing at the camera, I whisper-hissed, “May...”
The older woman looked at us from her position stirring the big pot. “Yeah?”
“Is there a cellar down here? Could you hide Peter and Rachel? Just until tonight?”
She wrinkled her nose with sorrow. “Victor will do a head count. He always does. There’s no getting out of it. Just...eat up. And...good luck.”
“Come on.” Rachel wiped at the sweat on her temples and stood upright. “I’m okay. It’s passed.” With her chin tipped like a queen, she guided me through the bustle and out the back door.
Just like a typical working castle, this forgery fortress was no different.
Cobblestones led left and right toward outbuildings, no doubt housing potatoes, mushrooms, and other produce requiring dark, cool places. A red brick larder with a huge slab of beef hung in the shadows, and bushels of leafy greens waited by the wall to be washed and prepared for dinner.
“Come on.” Rachel guided me down the little laneways until we popped out into a small field where a hen house sat with its blue shingled roof and a busy flock of hens going about their morning.
Around another bend and my feet slammed to a stop.
A few sheds dotted about. Handyman sheds complete with tools, ladders leaning against dusty bricks, and a wheelbarrow full of gardening implements.
Amongst the litter of life—the everyday drudgery by those unseen who kept the flowers pruned and gutters clean—hovered every jewel in this godforsaken place.
They seemed out of place.
Terribly vulnerable.
I didn’t know what I was expecting but...this?
I blinked at the long row of identically painted slaves.
What on earth—
Rachel blanched. “Well...this isn’t good.”
Swallowing hard, I went to agree, but Peter looked up from where he slouched against the wall of a muddy handyman shed. Wearing a pair of tanned boxer-briefs and nothing else, he threw up his arms and limp-ran toward us. “Rachie! Ily! Where have you two been? I’ve missed you so, so much!”
Rachel and I both stumbled as he crashed into us.
His skin felt damp and feverish, his pulse pounding visibly in his neck.
For a second, I couldn’t see much wrong with him.
For a heartbeat, I hoped whatever Victor had done for three days wasn’t that bad after all.
But then, I noticed.
And almost threw up on the grass.
“Oh God...Peter. No...”
He giggled and held up his palms.
His burned and awfully charred palms.
No bandages, no creams, nothing to protect his raw, red-black, oozing flesh.
“Oh, these? Nah, it’s fine, jaanu. Don’t feel it.
In fact, the smell reminds me of barbecue.
See? Smell it. Makes me hungry.” He shoved his hand under my nose, smearing my upper lip with whatever fluid his body produced, doing its best to heal.
“Peter, you need to snap out of it. Okay?” Rachel yanked his hand away and marched him back to the others. “Where are your slippers? Citra gave you a pair of her handmade slippers this morning, remember? You need to wear them.”