Clank. Clank. Clank. Clank.
How long have we been walking? Down steps and up steps, turning left and right. Maybe they’re just leading me in circles so that I’m disoriented and won’t ever be able to find my way out.
Clank. Clank. Clank. Clank.
Find my way out of where? I don’t know where I am. I don’t even know what country I’m in, or what day it is, or why I’m in handcuffs. I’m hungry, and cold, and scared.
Clank. Clank. Clank. Clank.
I try to tilt my head to get a glimpse at the skinny guard’s watch, but the short one must have seen me; he’s pulling the blindfold lower.
“It’s for your own protection, miss.” As if I believe that for a second. That’s what they told me back when they took me from my parents. That’s what they told me when they took me out of their ‘special academy’ and gave me a tutor instead. And now I’m blindfolded and handcuffed between two guards, walking down a very long staircase to who knows where.
Clank.
“Open up!” The skinny one knocks a few times on what I guess is a door. It’s too quiet, though, and soon the short one begins pounding on it. It’s wooden, and I think I can hear the hinges or maybe the wood creaking. I wonder if that’s good or bad. Old doors might mean…I guess I have no idea what they might mean. Is this some extralegal dungeon? Is it a safe house? An…underground safe house?
The door hinges scream, and a musty smell floods into my nostrils.
“Yes? Ah, you’re the from the United States. You’re late; the rest of your delegation told us you would arrive an hour ago.”
“Didn’t think it’d be such a long walk.” The short one’s voice wavers a little, and I feel the skinny one shift. What do they have to be nervous about? They’re not the ones who’ve been spirited away from their government ‘residence’ in the middle of the night and put on a plane.
“Well, you’re here now. Come, remove the young lady’s manacles and blindfold and let’s be on our way.”
The coarse cloth loosens and falls away from my face. It’s so dark down here that my eyes adjust instantly and I can tell why my guards are frightened. I’m face to face with Dracula. Or at least, someone who looks like the old Dracula movies. This old man isn’t tall or creepy or anything, but there’s an intensity in his emerald eyes that gives me goosebumps. “Welcome, young lady, to Aachen Cathedral. I hope you enjoy your stay. Come, follow me.”
The handcuffs fall from my wrists and the short one pockets them, then gives me a look. “Well? You heard him, we’re late. Get a move on, kid.”
The old man’s face changes ever so slightly at that and he looks at the short one for a full second, but he says nothing and takes my hand. “Come.” He pulls gently and we walk forward, down a narrow hall. Torch light flickers and reveals a low ceiling, so low that the old man has to duck down. The walls are cobblestone and the floor is wooden planks. Spiderwebs cling to the ceiling here and there, but somehow the old man manages to avoid them without moving much at all.
We’re walking about as fast as I can without running. Well. I’m walking, he’s gliding. The guards’ boots tromp loudly on the planks and my sneakers drag and catch on the uneven planks, but the old man’s footfalls are almost silent.
We come to a door like the one we just came through and stop. The old man takes my hands in his and crouches a bit so that we’re almost eye to eye. I hadn’t noticed before, but his hands are cold. “Now, whatever happens in there,” and here he pauses and looks at the door, “you must remain calm. Your life, and perhaps much more than that, depends on it.”
“What? My life?”
“There’s no time to explain.” He straightens up and adjusts his bizarre outfit. “Now, let’s begin.” He strides - he doesn’t walk or glide, he strides - to the door, stands with his heels together, and abruptly pulls open the door.
There’s a lot of light, and I’m blinded for a few seconds. I stumble forward, almost tripping over myself and blinking like crazy. I think I can hear the old man groan. Mutters and whispers float around the room, and I think I catch some foreign languages. French for sure, maybe German. My rapid-fire blinking pays off, and a room full of old people comes into view. Most are in suits, and look like very angry businessmen, but a few are dressed like the old man, in outlandish, outdated costumes. But all of them are wearing badges or pins with elaborate designs. Are those…coats of arms?
Then someone starts hammering a gavel. “Order! Ordnung muss seen! We will have order!” The room goes silent, and I see that behind the crowd a few podiums have been set up. An old man dressed like the other old man is standing behind one and glaring out at the crowd.
“Child! Come closer!”
I do, and the crowd parts to make way for me.
“There. There! That’s close enough. Stop.” He clears his throat and frowns at me, and I can’t help but feel guilty for whatever I did. “Now then, young lady. Roll your right sleeve up, so that your shoulder is bare for all to see.”
My right shoulder is where my mark is. I remember the last time I showed anyone my right shoulder. It was in fourth grade. My parents had warned me not to ever show anyone, but I had a crush on a boy at school and wanted to impress him. Everyone else I knew had numbers, but mine was a shape.
He wasn’t impressed when I showed him, just confused. But I got over him, and a few months passed before he learned about infinity on the playground - you know how kids are, “Well my guy has a hundred guns” “Well mine has a hundred hundred guns” and then one of their guys has infinity guns, and that’s how kids learn the concept of infinity. He and his friends asked me to show them one day, and I did, and a week later I was taken from my parents, never to see them again.
So I wasn’t too sure about showing off my shoulder for all of these very angry-looking, very powerful and wealthy-looking old people.
“Your shoulder, girl. NOW. It is in your very best interests to comply immediately.” Ebenezer Scrooge’s voice, high and thin and reedy as it was, demanded compliance, and so I rolled up my sleeve.
“Please turn in a circle slowly.”
They were all looking at me, at my face, rather than my shoulder. One or two sets of eyes, I think, actually looked at it for a few moments. But it seemed like no one was surprised at all.
“Good. Stop. STOP. Now, my lords and ladies, you have seen for yourself the mark and its bearer in the flesh. The word of the house of Habsburg-Lorraine is proven and its honor upheld.”
“What’s left of it, anyways.”
Golf clapping and polite laughs rippled through the crowd, and the man’s face went crimson.
“ORDER! I WILL HAVE ORDER! If any of you lowborn upstarts want to insult my imperial pedigree, do so on your own time! We have business to conduct!” He waited for silence, then turned back to me and continued. “Now, little girl, what is your name?”
“E-Elissa-”
“SPEAK UP, GIRL!”
Some heads nodded in agreement, and more and more people were looking annoyed or angry at me. As if any of this was my fault. I tried to find my voice and make myself heard. “I SAID, I’m Elissa Wi-”
“No you are NOT. That is a false name given to you by false parents. Your parents, before they died, named you Gisela. It’s a family name.”
“Are you…Is it…our family name?”
Thunderous laughter erupted, and even the old man himself wheezed in amusement. “Ha! God forbid it. No, no, no.” But his face became angry again, and the crowd stared intently at me while he began to speak. “No, you are the last of your bloodline. If the investigations were not enough proof, the countless tests and endless research that your government helped us conduct, that mark on your shoulder is quite enough evidence, child, that you are the last Karling.”