The Disappearance of the Heiress: Part Three

     The first movement Helene made was to flatten herself against the wall and try to look like a tapestry. She had read that it was easy to blend into the background if one remained stock still, which was her first thought in her moment of panic. She had high doubts of its success, since she looked very little like a tapestry, but amazingly a second later when Zoltan appeared at the head of the corridor, he headed past without noticing her.

     Helene held her breath. Then she realised that when he had come out from around the corner he had emerged directly beneath a light, so that from his point of view the rest of the corridor was immersed in shadow. Now, without the light behind him, if he turned around he would almost certainly see her.

     It was all or nothing. She began to run.

     Helene’s pounding footsteps took the Red Lupe by surprise. He spun around just in time to catch a glimpse of the disappearing Faerie Draik as she charged through the first door she saw.

     “YMER!” she heard Zoltan roar. “THE GIRL! SHE’S GETTIN’ AWAY!”

     The door had led her onto a wide mezzanine, with a set of stairs leading to a lower floor. Helene had no idea of the geography of her prison, so her only plan was to hope with her all her might that she would find a door leading to the outside world. She could not see easily where she was going, for it was still in the middle of the night and the building was in shadows. Thundering down the stairs, she scanned the lower floor for some kind of exit, but there was only a long hallway with a fork at the end.

     “YMER!” Zoltan bellowed. “SHE’S GOING TOWARDS THE EXIT! HURRY UP!”

     As Helene sprinted down the hallway, she turned briefly for a second to measure the distance between her and her kidnapper. It was difficult in the dark, but she reasoned that as Zoltan was large and heavyweight, he was not likely to catch her. She was concerned. however, that she would run into Ymer at some point. She took a left at the end of the corridor, and was delighted to see a door in front of her.

     Please, Helene begged, let luck be on my side.

     She turned the knob hastily, flinging the door open to reveal a pitch black broom cupboard.

     If the Faerie Draik had been anywhere else, it might have been almost humourous, but Helene could have cried out with frustration. She panicked as she heard footsteps thundering down from somewhere. The building was spacious and inclined to echo, so there was no telling how close they were. She hastened into the broom cupboard and pulled the door shut. She could not see her own hand in front of her face.

     As soon as the door had locked with a small click, Helene wondered if it was not quite possibly the second most stupid mistake she had ever made. She was now trapped. If someone were to open the cupboard, she would have no escape. “Why can’t I do anything right?” she whispered.

     Almost in tears, she banged her head against the back wall of the cupboard. She had slept little the past few days, and it was now taking its toll. Her muscles were weary and sore, and her head hurt.

     No, she thought sternly. Come on, Helene. All that lazing around by the pool has put you into bad shape. You’re puffed after only a few minutes of being chased by a crazy red Lupe, and having done a little window-breaking before that.

     She rested her tired body against the wall, trying to think out the best plan of action, and nearly jumped out of her skin when she felt the wall give.

     What is it? she wondered. Is it a wall, or only a thin partition?

     She pushed harder, and it moved again. A thin crack of dim moonlight illuminated the room.

     Helene heaved again, knowing she didn’t have much energy left, but that was all it took. She didn’t have to push it at all, because it wasn’t a wall – it seemed to be some kind of peculiar door, leading to another room.

     It swung open on a hinge, and the Faerie Draik was so taken aback when she saw what was on the other side that she wondered if she was hallucinating.

     “What is this?” she murmured wearily. “Some kind of trick house? Who has mirrors for windows, and walls that open onto the outside?”

     She didn’t bother to find out. She took a step forward onto the grass, which smelt intoxicatingly clean and fresh, and closed the wall, which was actually a door, behind her.

     “What to do next,” she murmured as she began to walk. “Maybe I’ll go to Hubert’s Hot Dogs first, then spend the rest of the day in the bookshop. It looks like the weather will be nice today, so perhaps a day trip to Mystery Island instead? Oh, wait – I can’t, we don’t have any sunscreen. Or did we get some the other day?” She couldn’t remember.

     It seemed ridiculous how much the course of her life had changed over the last few days. Here she was, escaping from a prison, with no clue where she was or where to go, just because her father hadn’t paid...

     A cold shiver ran down her spine. She had been too afraid at the time to mull it over, but it came back to her now, in Ymer’s voice, outside her cell at night. She trembled at the thought. Her father, apparently, had refused to pay her ransom. He had left it to her to get herself out of there.

     “A good life skill,” Helene said aloud, “getting out of jail. Isn’t that one of the life skills parents are supposed to teach their children?”

     A small voice in her head contradicted loudly to this question. It’s obvious why he didn’t try and get you back, said the small voice. Money means a lot more to him than you do.

     “No,” said Helene, though her voice was as weak as she felt. “It can’t mean that.”

     It’s like Zoltan said, the small voice jeered. You were stupid enough to go and get yourself kidnapped. He let you sort your own self out.

     “No,” Helene repeated, louder. “No.”

     She blocked out the nasty voice in her head, and squinted into the distance. She could see, very far away, the blurry outline of houses.

     “All right,” she said aloud. “Here’s what I’ll do. I will walk to that village, and get help, and then I’ll find Myra, and she can tell me why he didn’t want to see me again, and then – and then – I will never go and get myself kidnapped again, all right?”

     The small voice tried to argue, but Helene began humming her favourite tune again loudly – loud enough to block out all other sound.

     ***

     Summertime in Brightvale was always oppressive. The air was hot and humid during the day, and icy cold at night. Loren woke early each morning, shivering, willing the sun to come out, but by ten o’clock she was coaxing it to leave again.

     Sighing, she made the bed and swept the floor, ready for another sweltering day inside the shop. She creaked and groaned downstairs – her knees weren’t what they used to be. Opening up the windows to let air in, and fixing the shutters in place, she turned around again to see the Faerie Draik she had found last night stumble down the stairs.

     “Hello!” Loren said kindly. The Draik was dirty and dishevelled, a bewildered expression on her face.

     “What?”

     “You were in a right state,” said Loren, wiping the shop counter. “Lying there on my bushes like an infant, fast asleep. I had the shock of my life, seeing you there! I prodded you and shook you, but you carried on sleeping, and I didn’t like to just leave you there. Brightvale’s safe enough, but then they said Neopia Central was too, and just the other day that poor little heiress disappeared. When I first saw you, I thought it was her, but then I realised it couldn’t be, because how on earth would she get from Tyrannia to here? And coming to that, what brings you to Brightvale, hon? I’ve not seen you before – do you belong to that band of traveling gypsies?”

     The Draik stared at the green Acara who had delivered this long speech for a moment, and shook her head weakly. “I’m sorry,” she croaked. “I don’t understand. Where am I? Who are you?”

     “Oh!” Loren said apologetically. “I’m being very rude. I’m a bit of a talker, you see – comes with the job – and I have a tendency to overwhelm people with all my chatting! I’m Loren, and I own Fruits of Brightvale. What’s your name, love? Can you remember?”

     “I’m – Zara,” the Draik said.

     “Zara,” Loren repeated. “Now Zara, love, tell me – how did you end up in my front bushes? Are you staying here on holiday? Did you get lost?”

     “N-no,” Zara said. She was beginning to look a little more alert. “Did you say something about an heiress? Tyrannia?”

     “You haven’t heard about it? Front-page of the Neopian Times, it was: a young Draik disappeared from Neopia Central, daughter of one of them Neo-Millionaires. I think she was staying in the AstroVilla, that’s where all the big shots get together, isn’t it? The Chia Police are trying to trace her, but they haven’t got very far – they think she might have been taken over to Tyrannia, but Tyrannia’s a huge place, and it would be easy to hide there. I always wanted to visit it, actually. Anyway, I only mentioned it because she was a Faerie Draik, like you, and so when I saw you out my window I thought it was her. But of course she’s all the way in Tyrannia, and her name was something like Heidi, or Hera, not Zara.”

     “I think I remember hearing about her,” Zara said slowly. “She had a governess, didn’t she?”

     “Oh, so you do know it then. Oh, this wretched memory, completely escapes me at times – I forget what happened. I cut the article out of the Neopian Times a couple of days ago for my scrapbook – a little hobby of mine, just bits and pieces that interest me, so I can show you later if you want – but I think the governess was probably fired, and good riddance too. She was paid a bundle to look after that young Draik, and goes and loses her. I tell you, Zara, I’d trade the shop to look after an heiress any day – oh, look, first customer for the day!”

     An elderly brown Ixi had entered Fruits of Brightvale, and was studying Loren’s stock.

     “Here’s a regular,” Loren murmured to the Faerie Draik. “He likes to take his time, so we can carry on talking. I’ve certainly done enough of it, so why don’t you tell me where you come from, Zara?”

     ***

     Helene wasn’t sure what was more difficult: remembering that she was now called Zara, or inventing a new personal history. Zara was the name of a character in one of her favourite novels, but she didn’t think it would be wise to copy her whole life off Zara’s. She had no wish to be identified as the missing heiress until she had found a way to contact Myra, but the kind talkative Acara who owned Fruits of Brightvale was waiting patiently for her answer.

     “Loren,” Helene began, “do you ever have too much work on your hands? I mean, is the shop ever too busy?”

     “It does get that way sometimes,” Loren said, “but I rarely hire a helper. They’re never happy with the salary I give them, and eventually start needling me for more. Is that what you’re after?”

     “Yes,” Helene said quickly. “I’ve arrived in Brightvale and I was wondering if – if I could work here, in exchange for you letting me stay.”

     “Excuse me?”

     The brown Ixi was holding up a Tangella. “I’d like this, please.”

     “That’s 1,337 Neopoints,” Loren said. “Give the money to Zara here and she’ll give you your change.”

     The Ixi handed over the Neopoints and Helene stared uncertainly at it. She had never handled money herself before. Whenever she wanted anything, Myra had been the one who purchased it for her. “How do I operate the till, Loren?”

     Loren showed her how to open and close the till, and Helene handed the elderly Ixi his change. “Have a nice day!” she said cheerfully, just as she had seen shop owners do in Neopia Central.

     Loren looked uncertain. “Are you sure you want this job, Zara? It won’t be very interesting, and I can’t afford to pay you much. And I’m not such a good cook –”

     Helene smiled at her. “None of those things matter,” she said happily. “I’m not that rich heiress, you know. I’m used to worse conditions.”

To be continued...