“Michael Darling?” she repeated, stunned. “That can’t be. You’re a story. A fictional character. Plays and books and movies. You don’t really exist.”
Tears streamed down his eyes. “Please, I was kidnapped, you need to understand.”
“I don’t,” said Bridgette, shoving him away. “I don’t appreciate people lying to me. I don’t know who you are.”
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Mine?” she said. “Bridgette Mittison.”
“Let me tell you a story, Bridgette Mittison,” said the farmboy, suddenly losing his stutter now that he came clean. “There was once a girl, lonely and sad at home. She traveled through a computer game to a world of magic and adventure. There were handsome princes, witty gnomes, an evil sorceress ruling an unhappy land. She bound together with her love, and overthrew the Scarlet Tempest. Her love took the throne, she married him and became Queen. And they lived happily ever after. That’s where the book ends. Because, you see, she never goes home. You can read about her in books, and motion pictures show her adventure.”
“Then how did you get here?” she snapped. “Why aren’t you in-”
“Wonderland, Oz, Narnia, Shard,” he interrupted her. “What difference is there? The rules, the names and the faces, they’re all the same place. When I was in Nev- when I was where I was for long enough and couldn’t take it anymore, they offered me a role in Shard. The lowest role. A walk-on part. A bit player. A simple farmboy to say hello to the latest star, to give her strawberries, and never be seen again. As she goes out for her minute in the spotlight, until she goes home- or gets trapped, like they all hope, and in a hundred years, she’ll be a poor waif in someone else’s story, to hand a flower to some new hero.”
“Who are they?” asked Bridgette.
Michael clenched a fist, which shook in impotent rage. “I don’t know. I don’t even think they know. They’re not Earthlings. They love acting. They play games with our lives. He was definitely one of them.”
“Is it who I think? Did they make you take his name when they made you a farmboy?”
“They thought it was funny,” he agreed.
Bridgette sighed. She felt more stuck than ever, as her problems got compounded with someone else’s. “I don’t know what you expect for me to do for you, Michael,” she said. “I can’t escape myself. And unless you can help me fly out of that skylight, I don’t know how I can help you. Can you help me fly?”
“It doesn’t even work for me most of the time,” said Michael. He looked up, forlorn, at the skylight. “I hoped you could help me return to London. Maybe I was wrong.”
“Can you carry me?”
He held out his arms, rugged from laboring in the fields. Gracefully, she slid into his arms. He lifted her easily off the ground. “You’re light as a feather!” he commented.
“If you only knew,” she said, blushing. “Now fly!”
He closed his eyes and strained, but his feet remained firmly anchored to the ground. “I can’t,” he said. “I’ve had nothing but misery for years.”
Bridgette sighed. “Then think about when I find a way to get you out of here. London still stands, even after all this time. I’ll go with you there, you and me together. You can see the Thames, and London Bridge, Big Ben and St. Paul’s cathedral. The people will welcome you like you never left. You probably even have a family, nieces and nephews. The books say your sister had children and grandchildren. Imagine how happy they will be to jump into the arms of their beloved uncle.”
As she painted the rosy image with her words, the floor pulled away. Slowly, Michael lifted her through the air, carrying her through the small hole in the ceiling, and lowered her gently onto the roof. His own feet hit the surface with a heavy thump.
“I haven’t flown so well in years,” he said.
“Thank you Michael,” she said, and kissed his cheek. It was rough and bitter, and not nearly as sweet as the affections she shared with Alain. Still, he smiled.
“Where do we go now?” she asked.
He just shrugged. “I really don’t know,” he said. “You left one prison for another. The whole world is a prison.”
She headed to the side of the prison building, slowly realizing that in the prison uniform, she could be seen a mile away. “There’s a ship I heard at night,” she said. “I don’t know where it goes, but I’d like to get away from this city, as far away as I can.”
“Do you have friends?” Michael asked.
“Some,” she said. “Or I thought they were friends. What if they are just them like the ones you mentioned?”
Michael walked to the edge of the roof with her. “Your story isn’t over,” he mentioned. “They may be play-acting, but they are acting as your friends, and they play their role to the hilt. It’s not easy to get to the end on your own.”
Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
“How do I know getting to the end of the story will send me home?”
“You don’t,” he said. “Sometimes the Earthling goes back, sometimes they don’t. But usually the end is their best chance.”
She walked around the roof of the prison, trying to find one spot where she could jump or scramble down without being seen. She spied a large tree with wide branches that seemed the perfect answer. One limb stretched near to the roof, and another shed its leaves on the other side of the prison fence. Without a thought, she gracefully leapt onto the nearby branch, and crawled her way to the trunk, and off the other side. She had never climbed trees in the real world, but her limber body in Shard still had the agility that she lacked, and she moved with the grace of a ballet dancer. Soon, she landed lightly on her feet on the other side. Michael caught up with her, though his climb was not quite as pretty.
“Where now?” Michael whispered.
“You don’t know where to go?” she asked.
Michael shook his head. “No idea.”
Perhaps it made sense. She followed everyone else’s lead in Shard. Wherever Bickle or Alain brought her, that’s where she went. If what Michael said was true, and he was originally from Earth himself (whatever he was now) he may have no more sense of direction than she did.
It was up to her to lead. And she snatched the chance.
“Keep up, but keep quiet,” she said.
Crouching behind the tree, she realized that she had to get out of the prison uniform as quickly as possible. Even if it was the dead of night, anyone could tell at a glance that she was an escapee. She slowly walked the perimeter of the prison, afraid to venture further into the city streets, when she saw one of the prison guards approaching from the other direction.
She spied him first and crouched behind a bush. Michael soon knuckled down to the ground beside her. As the guard marched toward their direction, she silently cursed her own modesty. She had a thought earlier to strip the prison uniform and walk naked, but made the modest choice until she could find a suitable replacement. Now she would pay the price. Unless she found some way to hide herself from the guard, she’d be in trouble.
Hide herself from the guard-
The crescent moon in the sky lit her surroundings in a dull silver, but the guard had a torch which flickered away the shadows. She knew light- or had light. But what if her magic could work in reverse?
It’s worth a shot, she thought. She pressed her hands together and focused. This time, she tried the opposite of Sir Tristam’s instructions. Instead of focusing on joy and energy, she reached inside herself to find an expression of darkness, loneliness, and pain. Tears dripped from her eyelids as she recalled humiliation and embarrassment, thinking of how her classmates laughed when Ashley called her a fat cow. And all that pain, she directed into her shoulders, down her arms, and into her hands, molding it into a little globe of expression. And she slowly pulled her hands apart.
A globe of darkness soaked up the light around her. The silver moonlight no longer illuminated her skin. The prison guard marched by her, and his torch did not light the globe of darkness or those who hid behind it. He continued on his patrol, passing them by.
Bridgette dissolved the globe of darkness and hurried ahead. Soon, she found what might be the best she could hope for: a giant bin of garbage where the prison staff tossed their waste from the kitchen. Rotten bits of turnips and potatoes, and discarded boxes and bags that were used in transport.
“What do you hope to find here?” I asked Michael.
“My new wardrobe,” said Bridgette, as she searched through the mess. Finally she pulled out a couple of burlap potato sacks. She tossed her prison hat to the side, and discarded the striped shirt and pants.
Michael covered his eyes and looked away. “Miss Bridgette, what are you doing?”
“Finding a less conspicuous outfit,” she said. She pulled one potato sack over her head, and ripped open holes for her arms and head. The other she pulled up her legs, as a makeshift skirt. She ripped a third sack, and tied it around the skirt, as a rough belt to keep it from sliding off with every step.
“So how do I look?” she asked her companion.
Michael looked her over, puzzled. “You look like a homeless beggar,” he said.
“Perfect,” answered Bridgette. “That’s just the look I was hoping for.” With that, she fled the prison grounds to the city streets.
The streets were empty and dark, but a cold wind told her where to find the wharf. She shied away from people, but when anyone came too close, she twisted her mouth in pain and grief, and held out a hand, as though begging for a coin. Many scurried away, uncomfortable at her impoverished appearance.
The wharf was easy to find. Wooden boards led to wooden ships, anchored in the bay. Most were idle, waiting for the light of dawn. But one had lights of its own. Two rough men hurried to carry in crates while a third shouted at them. “Faster, mates! We leave in ten, and I won’t fail to make the rounds, I won’t!”
Bridgette approached, the little wooden ship growing in size as she ran towards it. A man high above in a mast waved about a lantern, and briefly she could read the name of the ship emblazoned on its side: “The Wren,” she was called, beneath an emblem of a little bird in flight.
“That’s the last,” said the captain- or so she assumed- as she made her way towards her. He waved to the man with the lantern, who sounded a heavy bell. CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! It went.
Bridgette felt that she had to be on that ship.
She rushed towards the captain. He saw her at once. “Who’re you?” he said, with distaste.
Of course, thought Bridgette. He thinks I’m a beggar.
“Please sir,” she said, grasping Michael’s hand. “My brother and I are orphans. We need to-”
The Captain shook his head. “Sorry lass, and sorry to your brother too,” he said. “I’ve no work for the two of you. Crew is accounted for. We head to Siram Port, and back again, same as every night.”
“We have a great aunt who lives in Siram Port,” said Bridgette. Michael, still panting from the run, gave her a quizzical look. “Forgive my brother,” continued Bridgette. “He- he doesn’t speak, and hasn’t since he saw our father die.”
The Captain sighed. “More passengers,” he said. “We ship cargo, not people. But if you can pay, I’ll let you slip in with the others.”
Bridgette looked to Michael, hoping he’d understand that she had no money. Michael spread his empty hands and shook his head.
“You’re a kind man,” said Bridgette carefully. “I can see. I, I do have friends who will pay once I see them. Bickle Wa of Llewes. Have you heard of him?”
Running a finger across his mustaches, the captain considered. “Bickle Wa, eh?” he said. “Come along, you and your brother.”
They followed him aboard the ship. He led them down below decks, towards the cargo holds. “What’s down here?” Bridgette asked, but he gave them no answer.
Finally, far below among the cargo holds, a door opened. “Gentlemen,” he said. “I found a friend of yours. But I’ll expect twice the pay.”
In the dark, dimly lit by two candles between heavy crates, Bridgette saw Bickle and Alain.