Chapter 6 The Room
Chapter Six
The Room
“What do you think, Jackie? Is the room to your liking?”
Jackie stood in the doorway, small hands curled stiffly at his sides, and stared at the newly appointed bedroom that Chancellor Aurin called a gift.
The ceiling soared overhead, painted with clouds and fat little cherubs that reminded him of the ones he’d seen in churches depicting gods. But there was no god here.
A room for a prince. No rats. No leaky stains where the rain dribbled through the walls. No escape. A golden cage. A prison dressed in glitter meant to distract from the hideous truth.
“I asked you a question, Jackie.” Chancellor Aurin’s hand landed heavily on his shoulder, not aggressively, but enough to make Jackie flinch.
He needed to answer, but couldn’t find the words. A terrifying gift. A sentence. One he didn’t know how to escape.
“Cost more than most people’s houses. More than your whole building or entire block, for that matter.”
The bed frame coiled in gold twisting vines that climbed toward a canopy of velvet so red it looked like wine had bled on it.
The dresser had gold handles shaped as lion heads with rings through their mouths.
The mirror stood in a gold frame carved with more angels, more vines, more hideous wealth that only reminded Jackie of how little power he had by comparison.
“I’ve given you everything a boy your age could want.”
Jackie forced his eyes away from the massive bed and looked up at the man who owned him in ways he would never fully understand.
Barely contained by the fabric of his navy blue suit, the stretched buttons about to pop in an avalanche of ruddy flesh, the chancellor adjusted his red tie with fat fingers.
His ring, engraved with the initials RA, glinted in the sunlight as the sweet stench of rotting decay hung in the air, mingling with the ever-present odor of sweaty flesh cologne couldn’t hide.
Jackie’s gaze followed the back of his bruised hand, knowing the exact weight of its touch. “It’s nice, Chancellor.”
“Nice?” Bad breath flowed in the wake of his every word. “Nice, he says! I give the boy a palace, and he says nice. You’re killing me, Jackie. Absolutely killing me.”
Jackie rushed aside before getting trampled. Floorboards creaked as the chancellor stormed further into the room, the world groaning under his weight in ways all too familiar to Jackie.
“Look at this.” He swept a meaty hand toward the shelves lining the wall.
“Toys. Every toy you could imagine. Puzzles, books, video games, and every play system there is. I’ve even hired you a tutor.
A Cambridge man.” He leaned close, his breath washing over Jackie’s face like a breeze over sewage.
“He’s been working on my autobiography, The Art of the Crown.
You know, Jackie, you never would’ve gotten an education without my help. ”
His stomach sank under the weight of more debt. “Thank you, Chancellor.”
“There. That’s better.” The chancellor patted his head, those fat fingers lingering a moment too long. “You’re a good boy. Your mum was right about that.”
Jackie held perfectly still because resistance only made matters worse, so still he almost stopped existing inside his own body.
“How…” His voice cracked under the weight of building dread. “How long will I be staying, sir?”
The room implied ownership and permanence. The vulgar excess of toys suggested he wouldn’t go home until a sacrifice was made. Captivity.
Jackie had nothing to offer. But the chancellor had a way of extracting other things, things he didn’t like to think about.
The chancellor’s meaty hand squeezed his shoulder. Not hard enough to bruise. Just hard enough to remind Jackie who was in control. “A few weeks. Better for everyone. Less back and forth. Your mum agrees.”
Jackie’s stomach dropped through the floor, sinking into whatever hell existed beneath this gilded cage hidden so far away it might as well be in the clouds.
“Your mother’s getting worse, you know.” The chancellor said, staring out the window at the undisturbed horizon. “I’ve arranged for more medicine. But medicine’s expensive, Jackie. Very, very expensive.”
His acts of kindness tightened like a noose around Jackie’s neck, making it hard to swallow.
“We don’t want Mummy to get sicker, now, do we?” His tilted posture blocked the sunlight. “Without her medicine, she could die. Then where would you be, Jackie? An orphan. A nothing. No one to take care of you.” He turned and smiled. “You want me to help her, don’t you?”
“Yes, Chancellor.”
“Good boy.” He checked his gold watch, then pointed a sausage finger at the piles of toys. “You settle into your new room. Your tutor will be by this afternoon. I’ll see you at dinner.”
“Yes, sir.” He backed away to avoid any further contact as the chancellor left the room. Only when he was gone did Jackie draw in a full, shaky breath.
He looked at the bed. Looked at the toys. Looked at the naked cherubs with their privates exposed. He was going to die in this room. Not a single death, but countless ones.
Moving to the farthest corner from the door, Jackie slid down the wall until his knees were against his chest and wrapped his arms around himself.
Hours later, the tutor found him there.
“I almost didn’t see you there,” the tall, thin man said, staring over the rims of his glasses as they slid down his narrow nose. He set a pile of books on the table by the window. “I’m Mr. Carrow.”
Jackie shrank from the stranger.
“You don’t have to be nervous. We’re going to have fun.” Mr. Carrow moved closer and then paused. He had sharp cheekbones and pale eyes that moved constantly. He wore a proper brown suit that complemented his wheat-colored hair and hung loosely on his slender frame. “Do you like stories?”
Unlike the chancellor, when he moved, he made no sound. When he set his leather satchel on the floor, more books bulged from the opening. His voice was soft and cultured, nothing like the booming scratch of the chancellor’s.
Jackie stretched his neck to better see what was on the covers of the books. Mr. Carrow followed his gaze and showed him a cover with a ship and a whale on the front.
“I can’t read.”
“That’s why I’m here—to teach you what you don’t know.”
There was a lot Jackie didn’t know. “I can read some words.” He knew how to tell what cans had beans.
“Good. We’re also going to study numbers, history, and philosophy. Do you know what philosophy is?”
Jackie shook his head.
“It’s the study of living and thinking. Philosophy is what teaches us how to be a good person.” He smiled. “It’s my favorite subject. It’s what the great thinkers in history studied. You look like a boy who has lots of thoughts.”
Jackie nodded.
“I thought so. I could tell, because you’re quiet, like me. We quiet types tend to have more thoughts than most.” He pulled another book from the stack on the table. “Ah, this one’s my favorite. It’s about a pirate and a group of lost boys fighting to protect their friends. Shall we read it?”
Jackie nodded.
“There are illustrations, so you should probably move closer if you want to see.” He sat down and adjusted his glasses before opening the book. “Peter and Wendy, by JM Barrie.” The page turned with a stiff, satisfying swish. “All children, except one, grow up…”
As Mr. Carrow read, Jackie inched forward, little by little, until he found himself sitting in a chair, leaning closer to see the pictures of fairies and children flying through the air.
The sun shifted as Mr. Carrow read for so long, Jackie forgot he was reading at all. His distracting thoughts left his body, leaving only visions of Mr. Carrow’s words until he eventually closed the book and said, “I’m afraid we have to stop there.”
Disappointment flooded Jackie. It was the first time, while in the chancellor’s home, that he forgot where he was and forgot to worry about what would happen next. “Will you come back tomorrow?”
The tutor smiled. “Of course. How else will we find out what happens to Wendy?”
Jackie smiled back, trusting him to keep his promise. And he did.
The days that followed took on a predictable rhythm. Mornings were for lessons. Midway through their first lesson, he and Mr. Carrow shared a meal, delivered by the silent servants who never met Jackie’s eyes.
“Are they always so quiet?” Mr. Carrow asked, his question giving Jackie a giggle for some reason.
He nodded. “They only talk when the chancellor asks them something.”
He raised his brows but made no comment as he bit into his sandwich.
Jackie enjoyed their conversations. Mr. Carrow always seemed to know something about everything.
After lunch, they would read for a while, then finish the morning lesson before moving on to look at maps and other things.
Sometimes, they played with numbers, but Jackie’s favorite part of the day was when they read.
Mr. Carrow’s books smelled of dust and age. In Jackie’s mind, that meant they were full of secrets. And he wanted to know every single one.
As the seasons changed, Mr. Carrow added more subjects to their day.
He taught Jackie about poetry, philosophy, the myths of ancient Greece, and told him stories about kingdoms that rose and fell under the rule of tyrants who mistook themselves as insurmountable gods.
Every day was an adventure that distracted from the nightmares that haunted Jackie’s nights.
“You see, Jack, not all warriors fight with metal and swords. For some, the greatest weapon is wisdom.” Mr. Carrow tapped his temple just above the rim of his glasses.
“One day I’ll be big.” Jackie sat up a little straighter.
“Yes, big and smart.”