We live in a world as though nothing outside the castle walls exist. Regardless of if there is a world outside, everything is provided for us within these stone walls. Food is served three times a day. The maids and kitchen staff work and cook nonstop from sun up to sun down, taking shifts and bickering amongst themselves between breaks.
The food is good. Sometimes they serve food I do not particularly like, but aside from that I have no complaints.
There are over a hundred people that live in the castle, aside from the king and his family. There are the occasional ambassadors from different kingdoms, depending on the time of the year and what needs to be discussed. There are maids, kitchen staff, guardsmen, craftsmen, stable hands, dog handlers, the gardeners, the doctor and the of course the orchestra folk. There are thirty-six musicians all in all. Twenty of these people make up the Court Orchestra.
Each of the orchestra members usually takes on an apprentice. Currently there are fourteen apprentices, including myself. There are seven violinists who play in the Court Orchestra, but only one soloist. Mortimer was the last soloist before he handed the position to his son. Though, the position should have been given to me, his apprentice. It shocked everyone when he brought me into the castle, claimed me as apprentice, trained me, but appointed his son to play. Before this no one heard him practice. The other orchestra members were furious, until they heard him play.
They placed him in a room with his father on the outside. They grilled him with questions then they made him play. And his audience was captivated. He plays just like his father. Incredible!
Mortimer claimed to retire to focus solely on composing new pieces. On occasion he would pick up a baton and conduct, but most of the time conducting was left to the main conductor, Barthlew Madson.
It’s breakfast time. I woke up slightly later than I do. I perform my morning routine as fast as I am able then head to breakfast. I walk down from my quarters in the second floor of east wing, where all the musicians live, and head to the other end of the castle to the dining hall on the ground floor of the west wing.
I open the large doors and to my relief nobody is there yet. The flood of food is already splayed out over the tables. I usually come before the kitchen staff manage to put a single bowl down. I sit down in my usual spot, help myself to some porridge and begin to chow down. Then the door opens and I regret walking up late.
“Well, well, if it isn’t Heston.” Mikail sits next with his group of friends. A flock of girls giggle as they enter the room and sit around him. “Look, boys. He sits all alone! I figure you could do with some company.”
I quickly wolf down the rest of my porridge and stand up to leave. I don’t want an incident. Although, one inevitably finds me. On the way to the kitchen to return my bowl, I am tripped. I crash down. Luckily I manage to keep hold of the bowl. I’ve broken enough bowls in the past, and it isn’t the first time I have been tripped. I don’t know who it is. And honestly I don’t even care. They were all the same. If this one didn’t trip me someone else would. I look down, trying to get my emotions in check. I see that a bit of porridge splashed on the cold grey stone floor. I hear giggling. Standing around me now are the girls, come to look. Mostly maids. I recognise a few, like the nursery maid. They giggle and talk in loud whispers, telling each other to help me stand up.
Before they could say anything I quickly stand. I notice a feeling, a small flame in my elbow. My elbow hurts. I turn to glare at Mikail. I can’t afford to be hurt. No musician can. He should know to stop his friends. I have to practice.
I notice Mikail looking at me, looking oddly more concern than devious. Then his friends burst out laughing and he chuckles along. I turn and walk away, leaving their laughter behind.
After returning my bowl, I head to the doctor. He should be awake by now. There are no clocks in the castle. The late king hated the noise of mechanical contraptions. The only noise he liked was music, he used to exclaim. The late king also used to avoid the workshops and when he went outside he never ventured to the east side of the castle, where the clock tower lay.
The clock on it had a black face with white hands. There were two entrances, one outside, at the bottom of the tower and one at the top, on the third floor. Except, now you cannot enter from the third floor because the corridor where the entrance is located is bricked up. But before that even, I heard that the key to that door disappeared. Our new king ordered the corridor boarded up. No one entered that section of the castle. Whenever anyone asked why he wanted to board the place up he gave the same answer and offered nothing else. “To bury ghosts”. It was widely known that once as a young boy the king saw a ghost in the clock tower and was scared to go near the area. The only thing there were old workshops that no one was working in anymore anyway. The last person to have a room up in the workshop was Mortimer, and he has not been in the room since his wife died.
Every day at midday the tower’s bell would ring out. Most people in the tower don’t notice the bell anymore. Some people went around the castle with pocket watches. However, now that the king was gone, maybe the clocks would come back. But for now those who needed to check the time would have to carry pocket watches. One person who lived by his watch was the doctor.
The doctor resides in his room on the second floor, in the workshop area in castle’s east wing. I knock on the door and enter. I do not wait to hear a “come in”. He never responds to a door knock. He usually has a nose in a book, research paper, or was busy with an experiment for some new treatment. Sometimes all three at once.
Today he is crouched down over a paper, reading it intently. I sit down on the stool reserved for patients next to him and wait for him to notice me. “Ah, Heston,” he says when he finishes. “I’m sorry, just noticed you. This new researcher up in the Marshlands, Ava Longheart, has revolutionised the way we think about magic! And to think she is just sixteen. Spark in the magical community, this one! She’s got this theory that magic is fuelled by willpower energy, she’s called it. Just like the way you move your arms and feet!” He moves his hands and feet to make his point. “So much knowledge. Marvellous! I can hardly remember the stupid things I did when I was sixteen,” he smiles and looks out the window as if remembering something funny, then remembers I am there again and quickly turns to face me. “Come for a visit, or is something the matter?”
When I was younger I visited Dr Haycott Yumil regularly for sweets. As I grew older I came to him for conversations. The doctor is tall with a rather large nose but friendly soft brown eyes. His hair is a mix of brown and grey and he always wears a smile on his face.
I grunt and show him my elbow. It is already beginning to swell.
The doctor tuts. “You know a musician should always take care of his greatest instruments, his hands.” I nod sadly. I want to say it is not my fault. But it’s not like it would help anybody.
“How did this happen?” he asks, a frown appearing on his kindly face.
“I fell,” I respond.
“Don’t you give me that, Heston. You should know better. Tell me now, how did this happen?” he presses gently.
“I… tripped… and fell.” I say. It’s not like I am protecting them or anything. It is more stubbornness on my part. I really am protecting myself. The doctor suspects more but says nothing. I know that if I told him about everything he would ask why I wasn’t standing up for myself, why was I not confronting them. But I just didn’t care. As long as I could play music, I really did not care. I don’t want to disappoint him.
“I don’t think you can play.”
“What?” I say startled. “Not with your elbow like that, you should know. Look at how much its swelling. When did this happen? And please don’t lie about that.” “Just… maybe about half an hour ago,” I reply not looking him in the eye.
He gently holds my arm up and turns it. It is definitely red and swelling now. “Heston, my boy, you could do some serious damage if you keep using it in this state. And that would not be marvellous at all. You know, this probably would not be as bad if you did some regular exercise like I’ve been telling you to. You never leave the castle. A walk every now and then around town would do you wonders. I would transcribe two or three days of rest, but I don’t think you’re going to listen to me.”
“I have to get to practice soon,” I say.
“No. Not right now you don’t,” he says looking at his watch on his table. He slowly pulls himself off his chair and walks over to a cupboard. “Where did I put that thing,” he mumbles.
Then he waves his hand and mumbles some words and instantly a bag lunges from the cupboard and into his outstretched hand. “There you are Mr Compress,” he says. He then walks to his sink at the far end of his room. He runs the compress under cold water and walks back to me. He presses it to my elbow. “The pain won’t go away anytime soon. I know I cannot stop you, so when you are not practicing do not, under any circumstance, use your arm. If, that is you don’t want to make it worse.”
I nod, and hold the compress in place. “Alright.”
“Keep this on until you have to go to practice, which I know, is not anytime soon, and then come back and apply it again before you go to bed, and come back again tomorrow and the next day. Hopefully with rest it will be fine. When you return I will give you a compress for you to put over your elbow for when you sleep.” I nod, “thank you.”
“Heston,” he begins and then sighs. “You’ll speak to me won’t you? If anything is the matter?” I nod again. Unable to say anything else.
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