Young Writers Society

Please read the first chapter first!

Maids

Zaila’s guest room sat so close to Morissa’s and yet, not close enough. She followed the Princess’s directions, speeding through the hallway on frozen toes. Why Rotundra? Why not some place warm? Zaila would take Death Valley over this place any day.

Rubbing her arms, she came to a door. Not as big as the others, or as important. “Probably mine,” she concluded. Just to be sure she thumbed her knuckles on the wood. A few seconds passed and nobody answered.

She knocked a little louder.

The door swung open and a dozen women stood on the other side. Some looked disappointed. Others gaped on in awe.

Zaila gave a wry grin. She pranced on her toes as she struggled to stay warm.

“Oh dear! You poor thing. Get inside,” the oldest of the women demanded, waving Zaila inside.

Zaila obeyed.

“Tabitha, get her some warm clothes. Jolie, get a fire started,” the older woman barked. “The rest of you, get out of the way.”

The women rushed about mumbling and grumbling under their breath, disappearing in groups through the servants’ door. The others did as they were told, Tabitha slipping outside to find clothes and Jolie sparking wood in the fireplace on the wall.

“Come here, Time Keeper,” the old woman said.

Zaila looked up. She strode to the woman, rubbing her legs together.

“Sit down. The fire will be blazing by the time Tabitha is back,” the woman said, pushing Zaila to the cool tiled floor in front of the little flame.

Zaila yawned rubbing her elbows. She looked up at the wooden mantel sitting on the wall over her head. The room smelled like a musty forest. Her bed beckoned behind her, asking her to lay down. Zaila wished she could lay in the growing flames.

The old woman settled a heavy fur blanket over Zaila’s shoulders. Zaila gave the servant a weary grin.

“I’m Daisy,” she said, whisking a strand of grey hair behind her ear and placing her hands on her round hips.

“You can call me Zaila,” she smiled.

Daisy chuckled. “I know who you are darling. Not many things escape the servants of the royal castle,” she said. A knock came on the door and Tabitha waltzed in, arms overflowing with clothes.

“That’s too much,” Jolie murmured by the fireplace mantel. The fire made her eyes dance with disapproval.

Tabitha laughed swaggering across the room and taking the clothes into the bathroom. “There is never such a thing as too many clothes,” she winked.

Even though Zaila stood with Jolie on the matter, she couldn’t help but want every last bit of clothing. She slowly got to her feet, holding the fur blanket around her like a taco.

“Here,” Tabitha handed her some soft pants. “Put those on.”

“Thank you,” Zaila grinned and disappeared into the bathroom. The cold tiled floors sent chills through the soles of her feet. Her teeth clacked as she changed her pants in the dark. They fit like yoga pants. Shoulders shaking, she came back into the room.

“So, when did you get here?” Tabitha asked, leaning against the night stand. The warm glow of the fire cast shadows across everyone’s faces.

“An hour or two ago,” Zaila yawned, crawling onto the bed.

Daisy laid a fluffy blanket over her. “Come on. Let the poor dear sleep,” she said, pinching Tabitha’s shoulder.

The two left, leaving Jolie to pick at the fire. She sat on the floor solemnly poking the crackling wood with a long iron rod. Her dark tangled hair lay over her shoulders like a waterfall.

“You can go,” Zaila said, grinning. Her eyes flickered to stay open.

Jolie glanced at the flames. “Alright. We’ll be back in the morning,” she whispered, bowed, and scampered through the servants’ door.

Zaila lay awake for a while. She may have been exhausted but that didn’t mean a thing when she lay somewhere other than her own bed. She had just seen a dead body. It had been her third and still it was three too many. She could only think of who would tell the woman’s family. If they even would.

Her toes curled up as she rolled into a ball. Her blankets tucked up to her chin. She had to sleep. She needed to be alive tomorrow. She needed to investigate. Investigate that ball.

Uncle Charlie knew Zaila was gone when a small breeze ruffled his grey hair as he lay in his bed. He still couldn’t resist the urge to go check. He rubbed his eyes and yawned. The moonlight filtered in through his drapes as he sat up. He wiggled his toes into his slippers and stood with a groan. His knees wobbled with age. The battle scar burnt like fire as he stretched his arms up. He could vividly remember the feeling of being shot in the ribs.

With fuzzy eyes, Charlie began his shuffle out of his room. He hated wearing the slippers that wouldn’t stay on his feet but the floor practically froze in the winter nights. He rubbed his arms feeling the wrinkly skin and cringing at the base of the stairs.

He let out a loud sigh and began his ascent to the top of the stairs. His bones creaked louder than the old stairs. He placed his hand on the banister but couldn’t grip it so early in the morning. What time was it, anyway?

The top of the stairs and take a right. The young Time Keeper’s room was straight down the little hallway. Charlie shuffled down the hallway, dragging his slippers along with his feet. He stopped at the door and took a deep breath. He knocked his knuckles against the wood and waited for a response.

His eyes drooped as he came to terms that she was gone. Only four days from Christmas too. Charlie turned the cool brass doorknob and swung the door open noiselessly. He gulped and poked his head into the room.

“Zaila?” he whispered.

As he suspected, her sheets were in a wreck but Zaila wasn’t there. Charlie let his head droop as he walked to her bed. With a long low sigh he sat down on the edge of her bed. “Like Grandfather like Granddaughter,” he mumbled. The original Time Keeper would’ve been proud to see Zaila missing. It always meant that she was working. Making another world a better place. It made Charlie a nervous wreck.

Charlie groaned as he rolled to lay in her bed. “I’m up here; may as well sleep up here,” he told himself. With a flick of his ankles, his slippers were gone and he was curled under the blankets that smelled so much like his not biological niece. Why did she always have to leave? Her Grandfather always left and now Zaila. Charlie yawned and fluttered his eyes closed.

Lord, please bring Zaila home safe, he prayed. And help me beat that old geezer, James, at Bingo tomorrow. Amen.