Page 97 of Long Live the King
Ahead of me was a cluster of low buildings with thatched roofs. It seemed almost medieval — was I in St Augustine? Or what about north, was I in Savannah? How long had I been out?
My eyes swept the courtyard and then saw a young woman in a long skirt, looking Amish or something, oh damn, was this a cult? I pressed closer to the wall, trying to hide in a shadow, averting my head. If I didn’t look at her, maybe she wouldn’t see me.Was there an east coast cult of some kind, had I been kidnapped into it?
I wasn’t hiding very well, because the woman saw me and rushed up, speaking very loud and very fast. The issue was…
I couldn’t understand a word.
“Carson a tha thu an seo!” She repeated it again, “Carson a tha thu an seo!” Her voice sounded far away, everything was dark around the edges, the sound of my breathing crowded out everything else.
I was terrified.
She wasn’t menacing though, she seemed to be trying to take care of me.Just like a cult.
She spoke in rapid-fire gibberish with guttural noises, pulling my blanket around my shoulders, tugging me away from the wall, hugging around my shoulders, she led me toward the buildings.
Her voice grew soothing and low. She did seem to want me to be okay, but it was hard to think— I was going to pee on myself. I couldn’t think of escape or running, or... “Bathroom? I need to use the bathroom, I need a toilet.” She looked at me blankly, shaking her head, leading me toward a low building with a thatched roof.
This had to be some weird dream, but it felt so real, the pain in my bladder really hurt, badly.
I reached up to touch the thatching as I ducked to go through the short door.Lochie wouldn’t fit in here.The room was cold, she rushed to the fireplace and began shoving sticks and kindling in it. I heard a flint strike as she tried to build a fire.
This was the room I escaped from.It was very dark around the edges, as if there was a smoke filter on everything. There was the bed, a tapestry hanging on the wall, a rug on the floor, a table and a couple of chairs. A wooden chest at the end of the bed.
I said again, “Ireallyneed a bathroom.”
She looked at me blankly.
I acted out, my hands waving down in front of my skirt. She nodded, stood, rushed to my side, grasped my elbow, and pulled me to a bowl in the corner.
My eyes went wide. “Here? Here in this bowl?”
She nodded her head, speaking fast and using her hands to mimic raising skirts and crouching. Then she rushed back to the hearth.
I pulled up my skirt, pulled down my underwear, and held it out of the way as I crouched over the bowl. I peed, feeling a great deal of relief, and then a rush of consciousness now that the pressing urge was gone —where the hell was I?
The door opened, another young woman entered with a tray of food she placed on a table near the fireplace. She set a place.Whose meal was it, mine?
I pooped. In front of the two women who were holding me hostage. I was usually not very regular, but here I was pooping at the worst possible time.
No freaking toilet paper.
I said, “I need something to wipe with.”
They both looked at me, looks of confusion, then one rushed over, it seemed to be the way she moved, rushing around. She picked up a bit of moss from the nearby corner, and held it in front of me, speaking fast. She was muffled. My vision was effed up, it was like I was wearing sunglasses indoors. I wondered if I had been drugged.
I put out my hand. She dropped the moss into it. I wiped my bottom with moss and tossed it into the bowl.
One of the women gestured me over to a bowl to wash my hands. The water was scented pleasantly, and I was handed a piece of linen to dry them.
Then they both bowed and gestured toward the wooden plate with what looked like stringy meat and a hunk of bread. There was a pewter mug beside it, no utensils.
When I didn’t go toward the table, one of the women gestured again. The other smiled pleasantly, and waved both her hands toward the table. I went closer, but when I didn’t sit down to eat the first woman used her hands to gesture eating.
I sank into the chair. Behind them the door was ajar, I could just pull it open, walk out and leave, but I didn’t know where the outer door was.
I said, “Can you tell me what’s going on?”
Both the women shook their heads, not as if they couldn’t tell me, but because they clearly didn’t understand me. They both bowed.
