Chapter 7: The Hidden People
Author’s note: This is Chapter 7 of my second novel, The Hidden People, a fantasy story with a romance element. The previous chapters can be found here:
It’s been difficult to choose consistent and approachable spellings, particularly given that the spelling differs. I had a choice with Méabh’s name: Old Irish Medb or Middle Irish Medhbh, Modern Irish Méabh, or Anglicised Maeve. I’ve done my best—I know I haven’t been entirely consistent between ancient, medieval, modern or Anglicised spellings—and hope that any Gaelic speakers don’t wince too much.
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The bath was indeed glorious, and there was a proper (albeit strange) toilet in the bathroom, although there was no flush that Jo could find.
Jo floated in the large marble bath. She’d given up on this being a dream, but she liked this part of her adventure. She had also liked the supposedly ‘masculine’ bath oils and put them all in the bath. Her love for luscious baths was a legacy of living in squats, when they had to have cold showers from a tin filled with water, or very small baths in a plastic tub, with water heated over a fire. She had never been in a bath so big that she could float at full length before; she had not realised such a thing was possible. She had felt bad that Annurin had had to wheel in buckets full of warm water, in a strange little contraption like a giant wheeled bucket, but he had waved this away.
She looked at the roof and stared at the strange glowing bluish lights on the ceiling; they did not fully light the room. Did they deliberately make everything dim here, all the time? Her eyes were gradually adjusting; she wondered if she’d be able to see better in the dark when she got home.
The roof was curved, carven with a simple geometric pattern. She was glad it was not like other rooms she had seen, covered in decoration. This place—the White King’s realm?—seemed to have a yen for over-the-top rococo decoration. Then she shuddered. The King’s lack of ornamentation seemed ominous.
Jo sat up with alarm when someone came in without announcement. She covered her breasts with her arms and crossed her legs.
To her surprise, it was neither Concor nor Annurin. Instead, a small elderly woman with short grey hair peered at her, smiling. “Oooo, what have we here, a shy little one?” She wore a long black draping dress.
The woman’s accent was rural and strong, but to Jo’s relief, it was easier to understand her than Annurin, even if the accent did seem to veer randomly over the British Isles. Annurin’s accent was bizarre, and his use of ancient words was confusing.
Jo looked at her sidelong. “Er, hello? I am actually having a bath in here.”
The woman wrinkled her nose. “So I see and smell. It smells like a man’s perfume shop. What have you done, my love?”
“I like oils,” Jo confessed. “When I was young, we didn’t get hot baths much. And certainly not nice smelling ones. Annurin said I could use them?”
“The Lord says your name is Jojoanna?” The woman sat on the edge of the bath and looked in curiously. “Ooo, yes, you are a girl too. He was right! How exciting! And my, that’s a nasty wound you have above your right breast! How did you get it?”
Jo curled up. “I’m Jo. Annurin made a mistake with my name.”
“And my name is Méabh, at your service.” The woman beamed and her face crinkled. “You don’t need to worry, my love. This isn’t even the strangest job I’ve had. Old Mab’s been around a long time.”
“How long?”
Méabh looked coy. “A woman doesn’t need to be specific once she’s over one thousand.”
Jo laughed at the joke. “You don’t look that old!”
“We’re going to get on right fine, my love. Now let me help you get out of the bath. His Lordship says he thinks you don’t eat enough, and I’m inclined to agree, looking at that skinny frame.”
Jo got out—it was true that the water was starting to get a little cold—and let Méabh pat her with a towel. Méabh was very careful with the arrow wound.
Then, to Jo’s alarm, she began to layer Jo in clothing. First was a long pair of old-fashioned bloomers in a silken material, and a strange top which fastened at the back—it seemed to be something between a bra and a singlet. Then she put white socks on Jo, tsking at her toenails—“I’ll scrub them next bath.” Next was Jo’s nightmare—a long, constricting velvety dark blue dress which buttoned up at the back. Jo protested, but there was something inexorable about Méabh and her protests were in vain. Finally, she was clad in a silver overdress and a pair of blue slippers that were slightly too large.
“We took these from the Princess Marilla’s chambers—it’s not like she’ll be needing them,” said Méabh, when Jo asked where the clothing was from.
Jo flinched. “I’m wearing a dead person’s clothes?”
Méabh looked shocked. “Oh, no, no, no, my love. The Princess of Hearts disappeared. Ran away.” She leaned forward conspiratorially. “She didn’t want to marry the Prince of Skulls, see? And can’t say I blame her, even despite the trouble it caused, can you? Concor told me you’re … acquainted … with him.”
Jo shuddered, thinking of the Prince’s cruel gold eyes, his assertion that he claimed her, and the way he’d ripped her earring out with a red claw. “No. No, I can’t blame her.”
“You’re just lucky you had another choice, thanks to the Lord Annurin.” Méabh looked thoughtful.
Jo squeaked. “Lord whosie-what-now? Annurin is a Lord?”
Méabh began to laugh. “Oh my. You are funny! Can’t you tell from the long hair and the jewellery?”
Jo touched her hair. “What does short hair mean?”
Méabh shrugged and touched her own hair. “Means you’re a servant who’s sworn an oath to a liege, doesn’t it?”
“Not in my world.” Jo wondered if the rude comments she was sure some of the Lords and guards had made to Annurin reflected the fact that she looked like a servant. Of course—she was a waitress at the café, back in her own world—and as the incident with the rude man and the coffee showed, sometimes people considered her to be their servant.
Méabh looked curious. “What’s short hair mean where you come from, then?”
“Absolutely nothing, except that men have short hair more often than women.” Jo shrugged and adjusted the wretched overdress. She was glad Simon was not here to see her—he would laugh fit to die to see her in this get up.
“Ah well, I’ll get you a hair growth potion, they’re said to be sovereign—many’s a maid turned to a Lady who used them—and we’ll have you looking like a proper Lady before you can blink.” Méabh pursed her lips. “For now, let’s see what we can do with the little you have.”
She stood on tiptoe and to Jo’s surprise, started to ruffle her hair and stick things in it. She brushed some powder over Jo’s face and eyelids. Then she drew Jo over to the copper mirror standing in one corner of the bathroom. “Have a look there.”
Jo stared at the person looking out at her. It was not her. It was a much older looking woman with flowers and leaves sticking out of her hair. She gaped. “That is just astounding, Méabh.”
The old woman beamed. “Why, thank you, thank you! Aren’t you a friendly, generous little thing? I am glad the Prince didn’t claim you.” She bent down and picked up Jo’s pyjamas, Miss Pickles’ slippers and Jo’s underpants. “I’ll burn these.”
“Wait, wait!” Jo scrabbled around in the pyjama jacket pocket, extracted the ring, and hid it in her sleeve, turning the cuff over and over to secure it. “Now you can take it.”
Méabh opened the door and tucked Jo’s arm in hers, leading her to a room holding a long table made of the same dark wood as the front door. The walls were hung with tapestries depicting strange animals, and with bones, teeth, feathers and beads woven into them. The method of weaving reminded Jo of Annurin’s hair decorations.
The long table was set for two people, one at each end, with placemats and cutlery. Concor, whom she’d met earlier, stood looking attentive. He gaped at her, bowed deeply, and said something. Méabh translated: “My Lady. The Lord has gone to the common baths. He bids you have patience until he returns. A meal shall be served shortly.”
Concor pulled out a chair and waited expectantly. Jo sat on the chair gingerly: it was made of the same black wood as the table and the front door. The skirts were slippery and bulky and got in the way.
After a very uncomfortable silence, she shifted on the chair, and tried not to slip off entirely. “Is it possible—could I make myself a cup of tea?”
Méabh shook her head. “Oh, bless you, girly, but that’s not for you to do any more. I’ll do that for you. Milk, or no milk?”
“Milk,” said Jo faintly. Méabh went off, while Concor stood in the corner, eyeing Jo—Jo suspected he was as unsure of her as she was of him. She avoided his scrutiny by inspecting the heavy silver cutlery on the table. She was dismayed to note that there were far more implements than she’d ever seen before; she was not sure how to use them. She wondered if Annurin would throw her out of his apartment if she used the wrong fork. She still didn’t understand the rules of this place.
Méabh brought her tea in a paper-thin white china cup and Jo sipped it slowly: it was good.
Suddenly she felt a strange, foreign uncertainty and put the half-finished tea down carefully. Her stomach lurched. The dining room door opened—Méabh held it open—and Annurin came in.
Jo stood up and then they gaped at one another. Annurin had changed out of his hunting clothes, and braided his hair back. He was wearing a long decorated black coat, in a similar cut to those the men in the throne room had been wearing. But while it had looked stupid on the other men, Jo was startled to realise it looked attractive on Annurin, perhaps because his coat was not covered in gaudy jewels.
A flush went across Annurin’s face, as if he could see on her face what she was thinking, and he cleared his throat. “Hello.” Then he made a strangled noise, while Méabh laughed and Concor poked Méabh in the side.
“Hello?” said Jo. “Is this a formal meal? Or are we going to a Masquerade Ball?”
Eventually, Annurin said, “It is a meal,” and sat down, so Jo sat down too.
Méabh was still trying to stifle giggles and Concor was staring at Méabh disapprovingly. Jo wondered what was funny. She hoped that it wasn’t her, and that she wasn’t breaking one hundred rules of etiquette with her every move. Should she have stood up like that? It had been unconscious.
Eventually, because Annurin didn’t seem to want to start a conversation, Jo spoke. “What are we having? It’s not roasted snake-panther, is it?”
Annurin looked at her sidelong. “I know not what snake-panther is. So, no, ‘tis not that.”
“You haven’t seen the snake-panther beast? How strange! I saw it when I first came here. It roared and I really didn’t like it,” Jo explained. “It had horrible yellow eyes and strange scaled fur?”
Annurin choked. “You saw the Nithogg?”
Méabh translated for Concor, who squeaked in apparent terror.
“I guess so? I hope it didn’t eat my brother, Henny.” Jo looked at the elaborate embroidered placemat. “As I told you, he came here, just before me. I’m here to rescue him. Something happened when he was born. He doesn’t always think or talk very well, although he’s very kind. He has to go to a special school. Do you think you could help me find him now, like you promised?”
“We shall discuss thy brother later, although I have not forgotten my promise. But let us eat and then—I will explain. I think this is best done on a full stomach.”
“That sounds ominous?” The feeling of intense anxiety intruded on her mind again.
“It could be worse.” It was Annurin’s turn to stare glumly at his cutlery.
They sat silently as Concor and Méabh brought out a soup, in plain white china bowls. To Jo’s dismay, the soup was an alarming purple colour.
Jo sniffed the soup. It did not smell as alarming as it looked. She watched Annurin pick up an implement and picked up the same one and watched him.
“Dost thou not know how to eat?” Annurin blinked several times.
“Not with all these things. I’m watching you to see how to do it, so you don’t throw me back into the forest.”
Annurin’s mouth unwillingly quirked up in a smile. He slowly spooned soup out of the back of the bowl and so Jo followed suit. Then he sipped from the spoon, so she did too, taking a tiny sip to begin with.
“Mmm. Nice. Like carrot soup?” She slowly finished the bowl. Then she put the spoon down. “Thank you for a good meal. So, what’s going on?”
“That is the first course only. But thou’rt correct. I must needs explain myself.” Annurin rose. “Excuse me, my Lady. I will return shortly, after I ask for the next course to be delayed. Concor and Méabh shall leave so we may speak privately—”
Jo waited until he was back, feeling increasingly worried. “So, what’s going on? What did you do to me, back in that throne room? What was the cutting and shaking hands about?”
Annurin wouldn’t look at her. Eventually he said, “I married thee.”
Jo pushed back her chair and stood up. “YOU FUCKING WHAT? YOU WHAT? You married me? You’re joking, aren’t you? But don’t I have to say yes?”
Annurin was still looking at his hands. “No, I do not jest and thou didst say yes. Thou didst repeat the oath.”
Jo slammed her hands down on the table and winced: the cut on her right hand stung a little, but worse, the stitches in her shoulder pulled and the wound burned anew. “It’s not yes if I don’t know that I’m saying yes! Fuck this! I am only twenty one years old, and I am not fucking well getting married. I don’t want a relationship with anyone, do you hear me? I’m keeping out of all that shit!” Then something occurred to her. “Wait. How old are you? Thirty-five or something? You look old.”
Annurin drew a deep breath. “Six-hundred-and-thirty-seven years old, in my time.”
Jo stared at him. “Stop bullshitting me.” Strange distress was vibrating through her body.
Annurin was shaking too. “Whom wouldst thou rather marry? Me or the Prince of Skulls?”
“If it’s a choice between you and the gold-eyed arsehole, I would definitely choose you, one hundred times out of one hundred,” Jo growled. “But I prefer neither of you.”
Annurin scowled. “Alas, that is not how the fates spun our destiny. There were only two options, once the Prince had claimed thee in front of the court, not that he would have wed thee in any case.” He put his head on the side. “Three, really. The Bone King could have claimed thee, the only other to outrank the Prince. Wouldst thou have him claim thee?”
“I would rather jump off a cliff.”
“Quite. It—thou must believe me!—‘twas all I could think to do to protect thee. I could not explain it to thee. It had to be done immediately, before the Prince found a way around it—I know his ways. I invoked marriage by capture, to trump him, and to keep thee from him.” Annurin glanced up at her. “It is not usually done, these days.”
“Right.” Jo sat down with a thump in her seat. “So—here’s a question. How do I divorce you? Because—let’s get divorced, as soon as we can.”
Annurin’s mouth was a straight line. “Divorce? Difficult if one has sworn an oath of this particular kind, with beaga venom and blood. ‘Twas part of my extremely hasty and ill-thought-out plan. Thou’rt now bound to me, and the King must act if the Prince attempts to take thee from me. He could not ignore an attempt to break a Blood Oath, even were it the Prince who tried it. ‘Tis conduct most disreputable: it would undermine the oaths that bind us to lieges.”
Jo banged her spoon on the table. “Let me get this straight. You’ve married me without telling me and now I can’t even fucking divorce you?”
“Essentially … aye?” Annurin looked up briefly, his eyes swimming with misery. “‘Tis why I apologised, Jojoanna.” He looked down again. “In the circumstances, of course, I will not claim my conjugal rights.”
“What the fuck are conjugal rights? Can’t you speak bloody normal English for once?” Jo was incensed. “This is a fucking nightmare!”
Annurin blushed deeply. “Conjugal rights—‘tis my right to … er?” He formed a ring with his forefinger and thumb, and put his other forefinger into it.
Jo was filled with horror. “No! No! Don’t touch me!” She put up her hands to ward him off.
“I undertake to thee that I will not.” Annurin looked amazingly calm, but intense, black misery was bubbling up in Jo like tar. “I will not touch thee intimately. Never. Unless—?”
“Unless what?”
“I must do so to save thy life, or …”
Jo folded her arms. “Spit it out. I may as well know the worst.”
Annurin shrugged and looked carefully at the placemat. “Thou’rt young and tempestuous; I know not how thy mind might change—?”
“For God’s sake!” Jo threw up her arms. “I have every right to be tempestuous. I have been married to a stranger in a strange land—I don’t even know you or like you and I don’t speak your language. No way I’m letting you touch me.”
Annurin made a strange wiggle of his head. “I could return thee to thy world. This may break the Blood Oath? Divorce, in your parlance?”
“How will we know if it works?” Jo brightened.
“I will not be able to sense thee and thou wilt not be able to sense me.” Annurin spread his long, pale fingers, and then put one hand to his heart. “I will be honest. I did not think the oath would take as it has. I did not anticipate that in any way. I can only say how sorry I am—”
Jo narrowed her eyes. “Wa-a-a-a-ait. What? You can feel what I’m feeling? And—I can feel your feelings?”
“Thou’rt very angry and underneath that, very scared,” confirmed Annurin.
“And you … you were insanely nervous and upset … and now you are …” Jo screwed up her face. “Incredibly miserable? That’s you?”
“An admirable summary.” Annurin folded his pale hands. “So, I apologise deeply. I did not think it would take thus, between one of our people and a person from the Other Place.”
Jo pushed away the soup bowl and put her forehead down on the placemat for a second. “Fuck! What are you saying? That you’re not … human? I’ve married an alien and I can’t get away from him? Fucking hell! My brother will laugh at me, if I ever see him again!” She mimicked her own voice in at a higher pitch. “‘Hi Simon, meet your new brother-in-law. He’s a random three-hundred-year-old alien I accidentally married in order to escape a gold-eyed psychopath after I went down that stupid well.”
“We have a common ancestor; ‘tis more like a different breed of animal, than a different animal altogether?” Annurin looked coy. “The way I reason runs thusly: one of your people and one of my people can have viable offspring, and have done so in the past. So, it follows that we are not entirely different kinds of people.”
“Well, let’s hope going home breaks the oath, once I’ve found Henny. Although—what happens if I leave this place and the oath isn’t broken?” Jo sensed a problem with Annurin’s plan.
“Thou wilt feel my emotions betimes, if they are strong. It might lessen over time, and with great distance? Unless—” Annurin drew a deep breath, and his expression became resolute. “I could kill myself, to free thee? I undertake to do so, when thou returnest home?”
Jo scowled. “Absolutely not! That’s ridiculous. And hang on, isn’t it actually necessary to have you around, to defend me from the gold-eyed psycho and the Bone Dude?”
“Only if thou remainest here. ‘Tis another reason to find a way to return thee to thy world.”
Jo pointed at Annurin. She wasn’t going to have anyone’s death on her hands, not even a silly million-year-old alien. “If I leave and the oath isn’t broken—I forbid you—I totally, utterly forbid you—from killing yourself. I’ll come back and kill you a second time if you try it.” She paused. “Also, I am fucking sick of the thees and thys, did I tell you that? It’s giving me the shits.”
Annurin sighed. “But I might dishonour thee—uh, you?—if I call thee ‘you’. Because—you are my wife and even if we do not—are not intimate—I will not dishonour thee—you?—in public by using the non-intimate pronoun. People might think I am ashamed of thee.”
Jo crossed her eyes and put her fingers to her temples. “Run that past me again?”
Annurin looked incredulous. “I teach thee—you—your own language? Thee, thou, thy—the intimate or informal pronouns. You—the formal pronoun.”
Jo wrinkled her nose. “So, wait. If you call me ‘thee’—it’s intimate or informal? And if I call you ‘you’, it’s somehow formal?”
“It’s not ‘somehow formal’. It is formal. It suggests there are problems with our marriage and that thou’rt uncomfortable with me. Therefore, I shall use thou when speaking thy tongue, because I would not want it to be thought that thou wert not—that you were not—under my protection.” Annurin shrugged and smiled charmingly. “I will do the same in my own tongue. There is not a thing thou canst do to stop me.”
Jo resisted smiling back; she wasn’t going to be sweet-talked. “But—you called me the thou thing from the beginning? And we weren’t married then … well, not as far as I know?”
Annurin fiddled with his braid and developed an intense interest in a silver bead threaded into the plait. “I presumed thou wert a boy child and my inferior in rank, because thou’rt slightly built, with only one set of earrings, and thou hast short hair. The gold was a puzzle?”
Jo put her hand to her head, dislodging a leaf, which floated down to the floor. “Everything about this is hurting my head. If you use thou, then it can either mean closeness or—not respecting me?”
Annurin nodded. “It depends upon context.”
“So. That yellow-eyed psychopath called you ‘thou’.”
Annurin nodded approvingly. “Aye! Just so! He is superior to me in rank and status! And he was showing disdain and deriding me! Thou dost understand?”
“Not really, but I’ll try.”
After a thoughtful silence—Jo thought Annurin was feeling a little better, whereas she was just confused and overwhelmed—Annurin rose and opened the door. Méabh and Concor were standing just behind it and stumbled into the room. Annurin burst out laughing and said something. The two servants looked sheepish and rushed off.
“They were listening?” Jo was horrified. “I swore like a trooper. They’ll think I am awful! I hope they don’t tell anyone?”
“I am sure they have heard worse?” Annurin put his head on the side. “Thy cursing is not like anything I had heard before. What does fuck and fucking mean?”
Jo grimaced. “‘Fuck’ means—” She made the same gesture with her right forefinger and thumb in a ring, and inserted her left forefinger, as Annurin had before, and then felt deeply uncomfortable.
“Ah. If thou wilt excuse me for speaking thus, swyve and swyving are the words I learned!” Annurin looked curious. “Why did it shift to a new word?”
“No idea.” Jo folded her arms.
The rest of the meal consisted of an elaborate arrangement of meat and vegetables and sauce on a plate, some wine, and then some biscuits. Nothing was too strange, although Jo had decided not to ask what anything was. She kept watching Annurin to see what utensils to use and sipped her wine glass in the way he did. She was not used to wine, so she drank very slowly.
Annurin looked sidelong at her. “‘Tis not the best wine. I have not the resources of some.”
Jo rolled her eyes. “I grew up with just me, Simon, Henny, Mama and whatever people Mama was shacked up with at the time. We didn’t live in proper houses, and we spent the whole time hiding. I have never had anything like this in my life. The rest of this day has been a load of shit, but this meal? It’s beyond wonderful. I’ll remember it forever.”
“I am glad,” Annurin said haltingly. Then he stood. “I need to report to my clan and speak to my men. I will also ask if anyone has seen thy brother—thou’rt sorely worried—I now feel ‘t. I undertook to help thee find him and I will honour that. But—how wilt thou fare?”
“Well enough.” Jo shrugged. “Go on. Do what you have to do. And remember, Henny is about your height, and with my colouring. He doesn’t talk much. Real name: Henry Sidebottom”
Annurin bowed. “Fare thee well, Jojoanna.”