Tilted_Axis
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Side Chapter 2: A Day in the Life of Constance the Unsinkable
🕑 Added 2020-12-13 03:56:44 +0000 UTCAs always thank you guys for the support! Every supporter is one step closer to my dream of building the world of this novel into something truly special. I hope you enjoy this chapter and everything else that has been released thus far. More exciting things to come in the future! Thanks again.
--Pov 13-year-old Constance--
I dash through the halls of an orphanage that, in truth, is a convent at which I am kept captive. Holding the hem of my dress, I dip and dive through the rickety, worn rooms as I am in the process of putting my most recent escape attempt into motion. The boards creak, and my dress rips as I leap through a window seal onto the stone roof. I trip, my elbow strikes the hard stone.
Rubbing my elbow, I stand, tie my dress into a knot, and remove my shoes, tossing them back through the window—the wooden shingles of the stone roof are warm from having been in the morning sun. With naught but wool stockings covering my feet, I wiggle my toes and prepare to climb.
‘They should call me Constance the Swift instead.’
“Constance! Cease this nonsense!” the wicked nun shouts in her usual French accent.
‘Nay!’
The sound of hard footsteps against the wooden floor of the inside of the convent reverberates as the nun approaches. I move to the edge of the building and look down; a twelve-foot drop is all that separates me from freedom.
“Constance! Thou monstrous child. Get back here!”
“Nay!” I shout, lowering myself, and throwing my legs over the edge of the roof.
The nun scoffs and leaves the window. I can hear her speeding toward the first floor.
Dropping to my stomach, I dangle my right foot from the roof. I tap my foot against the edge of the building, searching for the narrow foothold I discovered on previous occasions.
‘Hurry. I must not dally.’
A boy and girl poke their head from the convent window. “Oh. It’s just Constance trying to run away again,” the girl announces.
More children gather around the window as well. “She shan’t make it,” a boy's voice states.
‘Nay, this time, I shall make it!’
My small foot barely slides into the shallow crevice in the wall. With my path of egress [1] secured, I throw one of my hands toward a jutting stone. Catching the stone, I hug the cobblestone wall and start climbing downward. The front door of the convent bursts open, and a fuming nun exits. Seeing this, I release early.
A small squeak slips past my lips as my stockings hit what may be the only muddy ground nearby with a wet thump. I roll to my feet and rush toward the familiar streets of London. If I can make it, I know nary anyone alive would be able to catch me there. Yet, a wicked hand seizes my scarf, causing me to gag and fall backward.
“Thou art not as sly as thou wouldst like to believe,” the nun says in her usual French accent.
“Aye…” I reach toward a cord knot at the front of my scarf and yank. “I am better than even I believed!” I say with a giggle.
The scarfs split in the middle as I roll away and to my feet. This is a trick I learned after many harsh lessons—if one must wear clothing that may be readily seized, one must have a quick way out of it.
The nun seethes when she realizes I have escaped her clutches. “Stop now!”
Needless to say, I do not stop but approach the edge of the wooden fences. There a statue around six-feet in height stands. The figure is carved as if covered in cloth to obscure its image. Of course, this is the God in Light; it is forbidden to know his appearance or even his name for that matter. It is said that uttering his name out loud would cause one’s tongue to shrivel up and fall from one’s mouth, and looking upon his image will turn one’s eyes into burning coals. Yet, I do not care for such things; I simply wish for freedom. Thus, I ram the statue’s side. The statue wobbles, nearly falling on top of me, but a second push sends it falling into a wooden bench that snaps in half. Its head rolls from its shoulders, and the children watching from the window gasp. Where once the statue stood, an absent board is revealed.
“B-blasphemous!” As I squeeze through, one of my stockings gets caught, allowing time for the nun to grab my heel. She digs her nails into my skin. “This has gone beyond mere imprudence!”
“Just let me go!” I shout back.
Raising my free foot, I kick. A muddy footprint is placed in the center of the nun’s face. She releases my heel, dropping my scarf in the process. I grab my scarf and force myself through the opening, tearing a hole into my stuck stocking.
‘Freedom!’ I throw my arms up, running toward my designated escape point. The sounds of the screaming nun and cheering children resound, but I do not care. It is all in the past.
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That afternoon, I move past the edge of the city and am soon at my destination—a dilapidated cobblestone church that sits in the middle of an apple orchard. It is a simple church with a large room that was once capable of supporting a congregation of around seventy people. Its sloped roof has lost around half of the light-red shingles that once covered it. The most unique aspect of this building is that it has a distinctive tower; more unusual is one side has been boarded up.
As I stare, stretching my arms and popping my joints, the wind blows. The few leaves that still cling to the apple trees rustle, and a few birds swoop by, landing on the roof. I fiddle with my scarf, ensuring the twine is tied adequately as I walk toward the old church. Its forgotten boards creak under the wind's influence. As I walk, I pick up twigs and sticks with a smile stuck to my face.
‘Finally, I made it out of there.’
“Mowh.”
I spin around. “Sir Mouser!”
A black mouser with one green eye and a cropped ear comes running toward me.
The past few years have been rough on both Sir Mouser and me. Sir Mouser has lost one of his eyes to a sparrowhawk and a piece of his ear to a mutt that tried to attack me. In the end, I knocked the sparrowhawk into the afterlife with a stick, and the mutt that bit me sealed its own fate when it exposed itself to the haze. The mutt shriveled up, and I rushed Sir Mouser to an orchard employee whom I had made acquaintances with. When they later found the shriveled up mutt, it led to… circumstances, and I was made to live in the convent that was also an orphanage. None of the children there were normal. All of them have their own issues, although few to my extent. I merely wish to be left alone and fly free. Alas, it seems someone always wishes to clip my wings.
“Meow.”
“Give me just a moment, Sir Mouser; I am gathering kindling.”
He waits patiently, purring, and rolling around in the grass. When I have gathered enough, we walk together to the entrance of the old church. As I open the door, several tiny meows come from deeper within. Several black kittens come running out but freeze when they see me.
“They have grown so big!” I shout.
With those words, a tabby cat comes rushing out and rubs against my stockings. I believe they have learned when it is safe to come near me based on my smell, so I do not stop Lady Mouser. She runs to one of the kittens, grabs it by the scruff of its neck, and then runs back, dropping it in front of me.
Readjusting the kindling in my hands, I lean over with my gloved hand and pet the tiny mouser beneath its chin. It tries to run away, but Lady Mouser stops him, and before long, he accepts his fate.
“It is fine, little one. Thou may not remember me, but I was there when thou were born. I wiped thy body clean; it was a good day.”
With the little mouser satisfied, I take the kindling and approach an old fireplace. Some half-burned timbers still lie within, and a few other logs lie around as well. ‘A lucky break. Now I do not need to acquire any for the night.’
My eyes scan the room, hoping there might be a neglected firesteel [2] somewhere. I move through the pews and toss some of the broken ones out of the way. Finding some old Church in Light scriptures, I put them to the side in case I need them for more kindling. A while later, I see a half-broken piece of firesteel under some broken glass.
“I have found a firesteel. Now before we go to our secret spot, let me fix my stocking.”
““Meow!”” Sir Mouser and Lady Mouser reply.
Removing my scarf, I bite a loose thread and rip it from the scarf. I examine the floor, spotting a splintering board from which I pluck some thin wooden pieces. Tying the line around the splinters, I work it through my stocking and replace my makeshift needle whenever necessary. When it is over, I am left with a roughly sawn patch, but it will function well enough.
Seeing a portion of my stocking stained red with blood from the nun’s nails, I pull it down and clean the wound before standing with a clap of my hands. “Aye! Now to our secret spot.”
Sir Mouser and Lady Mouser rush toward me, and together we go to the very back of the church, where an inconspicuous notch in the ceiling sits above us. I get down on my knees and pull up a loose board from the floor, revealing a rod with a hook on one end. Pulling the rod from the floor, I lift it and push it into the notch and then turn it to lock it in place. When I pull downwards, a ladder slides out, which makes a woody thunk against the floorboards.
“Bring the little ones to me! Let us spend time in the clock tower.”
Sir Mouser and Lady Mouser runoff, bringing the kitten to me. I go up and down the ladder bringing up each one, and then do the same for Sir Mouser and Lady Mouser. When they are all up, I go back and grab the logs, tossing them into the tower as well.
“Constance, it’s the Inquisitor; art thou here?” Hearing a familiar gentleman's voice speaking in London Parlance, I gasp, covering my mouth. “The nuns at the convent said thou hast fled, and I know this is where the cats thou fancy frequent.”
Setting down the log, I grab the rod and rush up the ladder. ‘Without the rod, he cannot follow.’
I yank up the ladder and shut the hatch just as the Inquisitor is about to discover me. “Constance, I am certain I heard thou flee into the clock tower. Cometh down, so we mayst speaketh,” his London Parlance cracks, revealing the Queen’s English of an outsider.
Ignoring him, I do not reply and tiptoe to my abode, leaving him to question whether I was really there at all. ‘People will doubt they heard anything at all if enough time passes with little noise.’
The tower consists of two rooms. A small room with the hatch, an empty bookshelf, a second fireplace, and then the tower’s main section, which is the reason I adore this place.
When I open the door to the main section, the inside of the clock tower is revealed. A high cobblestone room with wooden rafters and rusty wheels, gears, and frayed rope set to the side as if it was meant to be used. According to one of the orchard employees, there was a construction error, and the space requirements for the clock were insufficient, and thus it was never finished. The church ran for a time, yet eventually, the land was sold and made into an orchard.
Still, the reason I love this place so much is the stained glass clock face that encompasses one of the walls. My gaze moves to the clock’s face. In the center, a thick bronze plate where the clock needles would have been mounted, but emanating from there, reds, yellows, blues, whites, and other colors run away from the bronze plate-like rays of light.
In front of this stained glass face, a dusty heap of blankets that I left here from previous stays sits with neglect. I lie in this heap and stare at the kittens that bounce around playing with one another.
“I cannot depart without thou, Constance,” I hear the inquisitor state. “Mayhaps, if we conversed, we may arrive at some sort of agreement.”
I do not respond but turn over and stare into one of the blue pieces of glass. As I do so, Sir Mouser and Lady Mouser choose their own spots, which happens to be my face. For a moment, I thought they might suffocate me.
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Four days have passed. The Inquisitor was not fooled, and keeping with his word, he has not left without me. I could not keep the mousers restricted up here, so yesterday, I dropped half of the blankets down, followed by the mousers onto the blankets. The inquisitor simply watched as I did this, tossing a piece of meat to the mousers.
Presently, I can hear the inquisitor through the floorboards stoking the fireplace and cooking something that smells delicious. Worse yet, he will not stop reading the scriptures.
“When humanity was at its most fragile, depending solely on fallible men to defend itself from the savage, bloodthirsty demons of the Earth, the God in Light unbarred the gates to the Realm of Light. For God so loved man, He uplifted us, to be beyond the demons, delivering humanity dominion over the Earth,” he speaks in a soft yet steady voice. Closing the scriptures, he asks, “Hast thou ever been curious whom those fallible men may have been? Although they are stated to have been fallible, they still shielded man from the demons before the God in Light took humanity into His radiance.”
I roll my eyes, staring at a bird’s nest in the rafters of the clock tower. Standing, I rub my belly and move to the rusty gears. I climb onto the stack of gears and jump, grasping the lowest rafter.
As I climb, the inquisitor keeps speaking, “These men and, perhaps, even women must have had some kind of strength to challenge the demons.”
Pulling myself up, I jump once more.
“I am curious what these strengths may have been and how they handled it then.”
Again I pull myself up, only one more rafter before I reach the nest.
“What would people think if one of these people were born today?”
I leap once more. My fingers grasp the rafter, but not as firm as I might have hoped.
“Would they instead be the monsters?”
My fingers slip.
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Next I awake, the familiar ceiling of the convent greets me.
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[1]. Egress: the action of going out of or leaving a place.
[2]. Firesteel: A piece of high-carbon steel used for striking a spark, usually kept in a tinderbox with flint and tinder.
Mouser: an animal that catches mice, especially a cat.
