Edmund - The Lost Chess Piece
He huffed in frustration. It’d been three days and he still hadn’t found his missing chessman. From the highest tower to the lowest cellar and not one sign. Now, he was looking in closets. Perhaps he should have started there. After all, isn’t it often the last place you look that you find what you’ve sought?
It seemed like he always lost something and ended up on one of these impromptu treasure hunts whenever his brother and sisters were away. If he didn’t know them so well, he might have accused them of hiding things just for a laugh. No, if Lucy hid something, she’d leave some sort of treasure map behind. Susan would likely leave a riddle puzzle or a list of obscure hints. Peter…well, Peter would either hide whatever it was in the most obvious place imaginable or he’d leave some sort of trail—boot scuffs, pocket lint, arrows drawn in charcoal. Pete wasn’t always the most subtle. No, none of them had hidden his chessman before going off. They just weren’t here now to help him look.
He rummaged through the linens in the last closet on this floor. Still nothing. Before seeking a new place to search, he smoothed the wrinkles he’d made. There was still a good chance someone would be cross with him for causing disorder, but it never lasted long. Especially if he offered to help fold the newly washed items. Then there would be blushes and odd looks but no more recriminations. He supposed it would be odd for some that a king would make such an offer, but, really, he and his siblings had been kings and queens for nearing three years now. They were all a little odd sometimes. There was nothing wrong with being odd.
Finished, he turned to the southern steps hoping that the seventh floor would be a bit luckier. There were several closets, cabinets, and cupboards that might have any number of small items stowed within. He’d just have to check them all. It was a good thing he’d finished all the paperwork ages ago otherwise Susan would be upset with him for procrastinating—if she heard of his delaying when she got back. She might still be a smidge upset as he’d meant to read and review a few old scrolls. But, to be fair, one of the scholars from the east wasn’t here yet, Lucy’d gone as part of the escort, and it would be wrong to start without him. Or at least impolite. Edmund would never wish to cause undue political intrigues by being impolite to a scholar they’d invited specifically for the reviewing of said scrolls.
Getting a strange feeling as he approached one of the smaller cupboards near the center of this particular stretch of hallway, Edmund felt that his search might finally be over. Cautiously, he swung the rather innocuous door open and saw, to his dismay, a head of black hair tumble towards the floor. Through his quick trained reflexes, he wound up crouched before the cupboard with an armful of unconscious boy.
“Who, in Aslan’s name, would stuff someone in a cupboard?” he cried. He quickly swept the boy’s fringe aside noting his glasses, unique scar, and a fair fearsome fever. “Healer! We need a healer here!” he shouted, knowing that someone would hear and send word along.
Looking more closely at the boy, he saw a split lip and mottled bruises on his face and arms. His clothes were not Narnian (nor Archenlandish, Calormene, Galmian, etc.) and fit none too well. He was so gaunt, in fact, that Edmund rather doubted the youth would even fill little Lucy’s clothes, though his face was surely older. He wondered, briefly, how no one had noticed him trapped in a cupboard for such a long time. Then in a flash, he realized the other boy had fallen through from somewhere—just as the four Pevensies had. They’d never heard of it happening to others, but it stood to reason that it was possible. Of course, they also never often recalled the time before, the time in “Spare Oom” as their people called it. Suddenly getting a whiff of infection and rust combined with the damp ooze that he felt on his hand at the youth’s back, he hoped the boy wouldn’t recall too much of the pain of before either—from Spare Oom or from other where, wherever it was.
Finally, he heard the clipped footsteps of one of Cair Paravel’s healers. He carefully lowered the youth, trying to jar him as little as possible, and turned to Fennus. Seeing White Holly too by the satyr’s side was not surprising—after all, as a dryad, her footsteps were nigh silent even when not walking the smooth hallways of the cair. Drawing back to let them to their work, he said, “I found him in the cupboard there. No sign of anyone else around, not what shouldn’t be leastways. I know, too, that Susan had all the cupboards on this side of the cair recently inventoried—perhaps as little as two days before her departure. Someone should have noticed…”
He trailed off when he realized he was speaking more to himself than to them and that his words might well be distracting. They’d already noted the fever and the bruises. His breathing, too, was mentioned as being harsh and cloudy causing Edmund to wince. Just last autumn, he’d ended up with some broken ribs in a sortie against a few Fell Beasts—remnants of her followers. Their healer had been concussed so by the time he had someone who wasn’t seeing double to see to him, his breathing had been described in rather similar terms. He wasn’t sure he’d wish that gaspy feeling on even the worst of his enemies.
In his own memories, he missed some of what they said but heard the frustrated gasp from White Holly and the angry tutting of Fennus. “What is it? What’s wrong?” he queried.
“We’ll need to find a place to properly see to him, your majesty. The…his shirt is stuck to the wounds on his back and we could hurt him worse if we don’t have all the supplies we need. The rest will have to wait anyway, until we’ve done what we can with the clear sign of infection.” White Holly gently stroked the pale, hollow cheek. “We can likely mend him.”
“Of course. Perhaps, a guest suite nearest the royal apartments would be best. I can help keep an eye that way, and Lucy will want to see him when she returns at week’s end, by Aslan’s will. The ones facing the west gardens are secluded without being too out of the way. I would like to see justice done for him. If it’s possible. Just let me know what you require.”
“For now, we could use apprentice Newl or Gaffden to help with the running and lifting,” Fennus said. “We’ll take him on to the royal wing and start.”
“Are you sure you don’t want my help carrying him first?”
“No, no. You go on. We’ll get him there gently.” Fennus lifted the youth at the shoulders, but paused when he glanced back towards the cupboard. “Is that from his pockets?”
Finally looking inside the cupboard, Edmund held back a gasp. For there, near the rusty patches that would likely leave some stains, lay his little marble playing piece—the black bishop he’d been seeking. “No, that’s mine…” Half dazed, he lifted it to his eyes. Then he turned and saluted the two healers before running off to collect one or both of the apprentice healers.
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Edmund, staying out of the healers’ way, informed Phillip, Felix, and Orieus that he would likely be sitting with the strange arrival for a time and would, therefore, be missing their usual training sessions. At least until the boy woke and they could get some information from him.
He returned bearing a few books—law, history, and epic tales—and the rest of the chess set. The healers were gone and two trainees from the household guard stood outside. Edmund acknowledged their presence and entered quietly.
These rooms were some of his favorite of the guest apartments in the Cair. He always loved west facing windows—whether due to the beauty of the sunset or due to the fact that his particular domain lay in the west was a matter of near never ending debate between his sisters. It was also very open. A short entryway led directly to a sitting room that held a marble fireplace, an upholstered sofa carved to abstractly resemble a dragon in sea green and rich walnut, two comfortable armchairs with blue grey cushions, and a finely woven, sea-colored rug. A large archway led to the bedchamber with thick, velvety curtains to separate the rooms as needed. The bed was a curtained four-poster that matched the armchairs in the sitting room as well as the night table and dresser that sat on either side. At the foot was a sturdy, if well worn, trunk. Another wide, arched doorway led to the balcony that overlooked the west gardens. This was covered with the same heavy curtains as well as pearl grey sheers that would glimmer like dew-jewelled cobwebs when the moon was out. Directly crosswise, a smaller arch led to the bathing area. While most rooms had a pitcher and basin on the dresser or a table, this had a full, sunken bath. There were some days Edmund still couldn’t believe how clever the dwarfs of Moonwater Basin had been to outfit the whole of Cair Paravel with running water (hot as well as cold).
He quietly moved one of the armchairs through to the bedroom. First sign of stirring and the healers wanted informed. Placing the chess set and stack of books near the glasses folded on the nightstand, Edmund sat in the chair and pulled one of the books from his pile onto his lap.
“You’ll like this I think. I find it terribly fascinating, and if you’re not from around here, you might find it useful.” He cleared his throat and settled in to reading the first part of the history of King Frank I as written by the grandson of his best friend and loyal scribe.