Below the castle, deep in the basement chambers, were a series of secret tunnels and exits. Mercy, adverse to planning, stumbled into these by some stubborn accident. After slipping in behind a few guards, she quietly took a lamp off the wall and wandered through the dim corridors.
After some hours of walking in zigzags and circles, she took a much needed break to look at the ring, retrieving it from her pocket. She raised her blue, peacock mask to get a better look. Sitting on a slim, silver band was a purple diamond twice the size of her knuckle, shaped into six petals. Even in the murky light of the chambers, from the diamond came a burst of purple rays like an exploding supernova.
She was tempted to find the boy from earlier and brag that she'd gotten the diamond first. Of course, in the end, she decided against it and hid the diamond once more.
"Guardroom is in the top East Wing..." Mercy heard a thin, male voice say from around the corner.
She slipped on her mask and clung to a wall to avoid being seen.
"East Wing, East Wing..." Keys jingled as the man spoke and, for a moment, it was like he was singing a song. "Good heavens, which way is East again?"
Mercy snickered to herself, she couldn't help it, but the man turned the corner and now she was stuck staring right at him. He was a few years older than her, six at most, and as she gathered from his coat and badge, worked as a castle guard.
Now, you may be wondering, and rightfully, 'What guard doesn't know his way around the castle he's supposed to be guarding?'
To that, the answer is Private Jack. He was the castle's newest edition. Through fate's benevolence, he was given just enough smarts to get by in life. But that's it. And what he lacked in wit, he made up for in cruel and unusual nicknames, the other guards made sure of it.
For the sake of the story, he'll strictly be referred to by his nicest one, Private Jack.
Now, Private Jack saw Mercy and asked,
"Do you know where the East Wing is? Or perhaps a case of stairs?"
"Unfortunately, I'm just as lost as you are."
Though, she wished it wasn't the truth. If she knew anything about this castle she would have been out of it by now, or at least able to avoid a conversation with this guard.
"You're lost down here as well? We can help each other! I'm looking for the guardroom in the top East Wing."
"Well, I'm looking for an exit. Do you happen to remember how you came in?"
Jack turned around, met with the dark, brick corridor and its endless forks and turns.
"Um, let's see. Obviously, you start by going straight down. Then you take the third right...No, the second. Then a left, or was it two more right's and then a left-"
"Never mind. I'll figure it out."
Mercy stepped to the side, but Jack darted in front of her again. With every sudden movement, she felt the ring tear at her pocket.
"No, no! I'm a proud guard for the King's castle," the boy tugged his badge proudly. "It'd be against my moral code to let you wander down here alone."
The red-head held out his hand, "I'm Private Jack. And you are...?"
"Leaving."
Mercy shoved past him, roughly. She only got a few steps when--
CLINK!
There was silence. Dead. Heavy. It clung to the air and captured her in cold shackles. Then, came the sound of two wet boots marching towards her. Her heart raged anxious war against her ribs. Mercy grabbed the diamond, drove her fist into her pocket, and ran.
She was fast, but not enough. At the end of the hall, Private Jack snatched her arm and dragged her in the opposite direction, kicking and all. Unfortunately for Mercy, Private Jack suddenly regained his sense of direction and found a small cell in the castle basement.
He threw her in and locked it with one of the trillion keys on his waistband.
"Stealing is wrong. Now hand over the diamond."
"What diamond?" Mercy turned her head, preferring the moldy cell wall to Jack's sweaty and freckle covered face. She was 19. She didn't need to be chastised.
"You're young," Jack sighed, "A cell is not where you want to waste the next, or possibly the rest, of your years."
All Mercy heard was 'Blub, blap, blah, blah, blah...' as she squished ants under her finger.
"Just hand over the diamond now and I can let you out. I won't say a word to anyone," Private Jack offered his assurance in a sickly sweet, as if coaxing an animal.
It took a moment, but Mercy stood, breaking from the shadows of the cell. Puddles of sewer water sloshed around her shoes with each hesitant step.
"You don't mean that."
Jack grinned, a uniquely naive, gap-toothed grin.
"I give you my word or I give you my left eye," and he followed this by holding up his right hand in an honest swear.
In a way, his sincerity had charm.
Mercy arrived as close as she could to the bars, then slipped her hand into her pocket. Jack released a much needed sigh, putting one of his hands through.
She placed her fist in Jack's palm. The ring felt...crunchy?
Mercy spit right in his hand. 'I'll take your left eye any day.'
Instead of a ring, Jack had received a crushed cockroach. He flung his hand around, shrieking. Laughter bounced around the walls of the cell and he looked to see Mercy, doubled over.
"For the love of--! That's it. You can't say I didn't try. You're laughing now. You can laugh your way to the gallows!" His grumbling voice echoed as he marched away.
When Private Jack's heavy footsteps were completely inaudible, Mercy pulled a key she'd swiped from his waistband. She jiggled it in the lock.
Nothing.
*******************************************
James' luck was no better. In fact, early on, he'd stumbled upon a prison of his own.
A conversation.
His captor was incredibly lively, but incredibly old, scaly skin slipping off his bones. His back arched underneath an invisible weight, despite the light lankiness of his figure, and a depressing auburn mustache sat on his upper lip, indistinguishable from a rotten caterpillar carcass. The paper thin man introduced himself as Mr. Dulve, a renowned craftsman, in voice that held disgusting rasp, as if he was in a perpetual battle with an ugly cough.
"...And when the King found out, he granted me 45 acres of land just for my skill alone," the man said with a swirl of his wine glass. He leaned against the marble railing, glancing down at the people mingling on the dance floor. "We're quite close, he and I."
Noting James' lack of reaction, Dulve cleared his throat to try again.
"The King and I are very close."
"Hm? Oh. Fascinating."
James found the ballroom clock and did the math in his head. He'd been standing there with Mr. Dulve for almost an hour now and still hadn't built up the courage to leave. At least it wasn't too bad. The gray-haired kook carried all the conversation, leaving James to survey the castle and all of its exits.
"Have you found what you're looking for?" Dulve stepped towards James as he asked his question, adding a disgruntled wiggle of his nose that bumped up his mask.
James kept his eyes locked on the crowd.
"I'm not sure what you mean, sir."
"You've barely blinked, and you've spoken even less," the eldest man huffed, "I'm starting to think you're not even listening."
James frowned, reluctantly pulling his attention away to spare the old man's ego. He cast a scowl on the ground, accompanied by a yank of the sleeves on his suffocating bronze suit, then returned to the conversation with a tight smile.
"I'm overwhelmed. Unlike you, this is my first ball."
There's a brief pause as James is given an intense examination.
"Your attire supports that," Mr. Dulve tsked, stepping forward again.
"Excuse me?" James matched the man's advances.
"None of this you'd find in Lenoria. We take too much pride in our craftsmanship. Your suit is frayed and colorless. Plus, it's too tight. Even the worst tailor could fix this mess in their sleep, there's no excuse to be wearing it. And this," he flicked his mask, "Mhm. It's lifeless, amateur. Where are your parents? Are they not embarrassed?"
James took a deep breath, resting his back on the railing now, fighting his urge to chuck the man over it.
"The suit isn't much to my taste, either. I'll give you that. I outgrew it a few years ago. As for the mask, it is, by definition, an amateur. I made it." James proudly undid his mask and handed it to Dulve. "It's simple, but I like it. That's my style."
Dulve's chalk fingers pinched the edge of the mask, both quietly impressed and peeved that someone so young held so much confidence. After short inspection, running his fingertips over the smooth curve of the deer face and the delicate vine reliefs that ran up the horns, he tossed his shoulders.
"It's technical."
"I know." James rubbed his calluses as he kept a close eye on his mask. Proper technique was the backbone of every great project.
"Your skill comes through, though you could slow down when shaping. But, it seems skill is all that you have."
"What else do you need?"
Dulve shook his head.
"How sad," the mask was plopped right back into James' hands. "How about some advice to start. I'll give you your first: simplicity is not style."
"Edward Dulve!" cried a honey sweet voice. "I've been looking for you everywhere!"
To James' surprise, the Queen came strutting over, her arms high as she offered up an embrace. As Dulve accepted it, James watched her hands closely. There were dozens of rings on each of her fingers, but the Lalique wasn't one.
Excited, the queen circled James quicker than a whirlpool, "And who is this lovely young man?"
"My new apprentice!" Dulve announced, as if that was something they'd agreed upon.
With a clap of her hands, the Queen smiled at the craftsman. "Edward, you really are such a sweetheart. Sharing your indispensable gift..."
"Thank you, your majesty. I-"
"Despite your horribly old age."
For the first time in a long time, James managed a laugh. That received a cutting glare from Mr. Dulve, not that the boy cared. Though, the exchange secretly tickled the Queen.
"Your majesty, it's an honor to meet you." He took her hands, openly admiring the rings on her fingers.
"Thank you. I--Oh," the song in her voice dropped, counting her rings, "Oh no, it seems I'm--"
She broke away when she heard a guard barreling up the winding stairs, puffing heavily. James bit his cheek in frustration, his body itching with the thought that he could've snagged the ring.
If she hadn't gotten to it first.
"Your majesty! YOUR MAJESTY! There's...thief...basement...ring." Once at the top, the odd looking guard went limb on the banister, his strawberry curls glued to his forehead with sweat.
"Jack!" The Queen hoisted up her skirt so she could quickly stomp over and reprimand him. "What on Earth has possessed you? This a ball!"
At the snap of her fingers, a few waiters came to give Jack water. He regained his breath, gradually making out full sentences.
"There's, huff...a little girl...huff, who has...your Lalique ring. She tried...huff, to escape...through the underground tunnels."
"Where is she now, then?" The Queen sighed. She seemed more exhausted than angry.
As their conversation continued, James knew he needed to act before they did. Getting the ring would be much easier that way.
Dulve, who had disappeared to James in the commotion, scooped him under his wing. "Congratulations, dear apprentice. You begin tomorrow, so let's discuss the details, shall we?"
James put his mask on, shoving Dulve away as he headed for the stairs.
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