This story I am about to relate to you, is, in fact, my own story, of when I was a young girl… We have all been young once, well this is about “my “young once.”
Many stories you may have heard about me and my adventures are in fact true.
I give you, my word. My word is my bond…
I AM the third born.
In the township of Évora, it was well known that a young woman was given three stations in life. The first was to marry rich, breed offspring, preferably girls, and bring everlasting honour and power to your family. The second was to be given to the Church of the Great Aether Circle for a princely sum, to help the mother who was without a man to provide for her. Where the unfortunate second born would be locked behind the gates of Sister Rose’s Convent and serve the world on a more holy mission—whatever that mission may be.
The third, of course, was to visit The Doll Maker down Rua Dos Mercadores. The big white house, as it was known… Where evil spilt out of every broken, eyeless, creepy window, as the story had been related time and time again in dark corners by the elders, to “cheer” up a crowd of reluctant sleepless children at an outing or after a church visit.
Stories to worry small children into going to sleep, or eating their greens? Maybe? We all have our peccadillos, don’t we? Then we must pay for them in some way or another.
And unfortunately for Beatriz Almada, this was to be her path. Her future, her unfortunate fate!
“It is the responsibility of the youngest children,” her mother said, sipping tea in the drawing room, her cream lace dress as clean and pure as always. Once—and only once—she had seen that dress soiled. The servant who had spilt tea on it had been forced to scrub it clean until the skin on her fingers had been rubbed raw. Then she had been kicked out onto the street for the thieves and degenerates to do as they pleased.
“If you have been born second, why you would have taken your vows and Willa would be visiting The Doll Maker in your place.”
“We’re identical twins, Mother,” Beatriz said. “We are the same age.”
She knew this small, quiet outburst would earn her mother’s wrath. But the injustice of it all was more than she could bear. She missed her sister dearly.
Mother stood up, her teacup in one hand and her saucer in the other. Her cold grey eyes pierced Beatriz to the core, and she wished she hadn’t spoken. She had lived her whole life not being heard…why should she take issue with it now?
“That is not true, Beatriz,” Mother said. “You were born thirty seconds after her. That makes you the third child and, in this family, the third girl always visits The Doll Maker.”
Beatriz said nothing. If she did, it would go unheard and earn her a sharp meaningful slap across the face. There was no convincing her mother. There never had been, and there never would be.
“You are to go there this afternoon,” Mother continued, “and you will do so pleasantly and with honour. If you were to ask me, I would say you have the most esteemed duty of anyone in the household.”
“I didn’t ask you,” Beatriz said, shocked that the words had come from her mouth. Shocked even more at the look on her mother’s face.
For most of her life, her mother had lived in the gilded drawing room with its creamy pink walls, and its sickening sweet perfumes. It was a room that had always made her and her sisters uncomfortable, but their mother was always Queen in it. But now, for the first time in her life, Beatriz seemed to have jarred her…struck a blow to her mother in her safe space.
And for that, she had tea thrown in her face.
“It doesn’t matter what you think,” Mother said. Her upper lip was curled back into a bestial snarl that was out of place in the saccharin-sweet room. “I refuse to let you let our family fall into obscurity. I refuse. You will do as this family has done for over five hundred years. And if not, I will have the GNR take you there instead.”
Beatriz’s heart pounded in her chest like a drum. The thought of having the masked giants of the GNR take her through the streets in their metal cages…their cold hands touching her…
“No, Mother,” she said. “I will do as you ask.”
Mother’s snarl held for a moment and then slipped back into her pleasant smile. Her face changing almost like slipping on a carnival mask!
“Good. Now go clean yourself off and get a move on. You don’t want to be late. And
don’t forget the oath.”
“No, Mother,” Beatriz said. She curtsied, rubbing her thumb along the embroidered teddy bears on the olive-green plaid skirt of her dress. The feeling of those bears beneath her fingers had gotten her through many heart-breaking moments with her mother, and she thanked them again for their service.
She cleaned her face with a wet cloth, hoping to convince herself that she was not crying. After that, she put a pretty, large bow in her long brown hair —wavy hair that cascaded down her shoulders like a waterfall of silk— and then made her way down the stairs. As she reached the door, a gloved hand touched her gently on the shoulder.
“You can’t be too hard on her, my dear,” Oona said, “After all, it is a family tradition started by her great, great, great—”
“Great, great, great Grandmother,” Beatriz finished. “Yes, Oona, I know.”
Oona had been her mother’s sister but didn’t look a day over twenty. She wore a black and white cotton dress with a slender bow across the chest and a mermaid blue wig with a sharp cut fringe, giving her not only a youthful appearance but a childlike quality. Though she was a blood relative, Mother had always told them it was better to think of her as simply ‘the help’.
Oona put her other gloved hand on Beatriz’s shoulder and squeezed gently. “It’s funny,” she said. “After a while, you tend to forget what it was like…visiting The Doll Maker. You learn so much about the family and your mother that after a time, why is there is just no room for anything else? It’s a blessing, really. Did you know your grandmother lived to be eighty-five?”
Beatriz squeezed the hard hands beneath the gloves and turned to give Oona a kiss on the cheek. But when she did, she saw a single tear dancing in Oona’s right eye…an eye filled with the knowledge of a far darker…far more disturbing truth. Oona’s lips were trembling. Her hands gripped hard on Beatriz’s.
But her kind, loving smile remained.
“Now that she’s gone…I don’t know what to do with myself.”
Beatriz knew what happened to those who had visited the Doll Maker after their mothers had died. Many wandered the streets looking for them. There were some who ended up sitting by the gates of the town, slumped in a pile as if waiting to be played with once again. Dolls should be played with; they were meant to be played with! The curse of NOT being loved was a nightmare rolling on until they all withered or mercifully found a new home outside the walls.
The thought sent a shiver down her spine, like a wet fish slithering from top to bottom!
“You don’t want to be late, my love,” Oona said. “To be late to The Doll Maker is to dishonour your family.”
“Oona?” Beatriz asked, seeing how badly Oona wanted to cry. How badly she wanted to scream. “Oona…what’s—”
“Oh, my,” Mother said from the drawing-room door, “Is Oona getting all sentimental? Reminiscing about her Visit? No time for that now. Say goodbye, Oona.”
“Good…bye…my love,” Oona said as the tear finally fell.
Dread sank into Beatriz’s stomach. She kissed Oona on the cheek, hiding the tear from her mother, and then walked out the door.
You could run away, the voice in Beatriz’s head whispered. Walk through Giraldo square towards The Doll Maker but then cut left at the—
But as the thought was passing through her head, a GNR turned the corner and began walking down her street. The ground vibrated with each step he took, and as he got closer, his large, shrouded shoulders blocked out the sun. He stopped right beside her and looked down.
“Lovely Day. isn’t. It.” The voice behind the mask said. The mask, standard issue of the GNR, looked very much to Beatriz like the face of an infant, cracked and peeled with age. And the voice coming from the seven-foot brute was not deep and heavy. It was almost childlike, taking its time with each word and a laugh behind each syllable.
“Yes,” Beatriz said. “Yes, it is.”
“Your Mother. Asked. Us. To. Keep. An. Eye. On—”
“On me as I go to The Doll Maker’s?” She finished for him. In her mind, she cursed her mother but was glad that the brute hadn’t been asked to put her in the cage on his back. She willed herself to smile at the GNR and nodded.
“It would be my pleasure.” She said.
“And many congratulations on your Visit.” The Constable said, standing back up at full height and offering her an arm. As she took it, she noticed the large ring of keys on his belt. There was easily a key for every house in the Évora as well as the gates to the Convent and the main gates of the town.
The voice in her head began to go off like an alarm.
Keys. He has keys. You could steal them and—
And die. If she were stupid enough to try to take the keys from a GNR, she would deserve to be ripped apart the way the other girl had been three weeks ago. She hadn’t tried to escape or anything like that. No, she had been caught outside during curfew trying to sneak into the Convent. As the Constable led her down the street, she was sure he actually slowed down to make sure she could still see the remnants of the stain that had been that girl.”
But if you got the keys…just one…you could hide! You could…
Beatriz’s eyes caught the sigil over the gates of the Convent. She had seen it many times, but for some reason, she had never really remembered it until now. It was a circle with four lines running down it, two long ones in the middle and a short one on either side. The voice in her head demanded that she looks at the keys again. And when she did, she saw a silver one with the same sigil.
Take it! Take it! Her inner voice screamed manically at her”
The GNR would know! They would know!
No. It’s at the very end of his loop…he won’t know. Beatriz, you have to do it! You must!
It was the fact that her inner voice used her name. She had never remembered having her inner voice use her name before. Something about that told her that this was more than just her desire to run…it was a matter of life and death.
MORE next time…. Julie xx
Julan62 