The First Time He Heard Her

A fish out of water. That's how I probably looked as I gingerly reached out to touch the mirror, trying to confirm what I could already see. "Why are you staring like you've never seen yourself before?" 19 asked, standing beside me. Her expression was puzzled even through the blurry reflection. 'Why? Because I've never really seen this girl, that's why,' I wanted to retort. But of course I didn't. She must have already thought me odd as I was. She would think me full-blown crazy if I attempted to tell her my real identity. So instead I took one deep, calming breath and shook my head.

"Well, whatever you're bothered about, set that aside for now," she stated sagely, pulling me alongside her again. She grabbed the coffee mug on the table and handed it to me. "You can continue drinking it along the way. We're already late," she added, grimacing.

'For what?' I hastily wrote.

"For work! What, did you think you came to the palace as a guest?" she added sarcastically. "You need to get your head out of the clouds." She marched across the room and reached the door in a few strides, and I followed her lead.

Being a concubine – at least the second kind, as 19 had very helpfully pointed out – and working as a servant is like landing a job offer as an executive assistant and making photocopies all day. Both were glorified positions only in the title; the reality was far from it. But 19 was right – I really needed to get my act together. I had to find my way back to Seoul, but I can't do that if I got myself killed. I had to be as inconspicuous as possible, and do everything I could to adjust to my new environment.

As I followed 19 through long hallways flanked by large, gold-framed paintings on one side and glass windows on the other, I thoughtfully pondered on the notion that staying low-key would probably be the easiest thing to do here. The palace was fast taking on the scale of a forest, and I started feeling myself slot into my new proverbial status: an insect.

The grand hallways gradually gave way to narrow corridors with well-worn footpaths, and the delicious smell of food wafted into the air. "We're almost there," 19 announced, motioning several meters ahead. True enough, we soon reached the entrance of the massive kitchen, and I stood there gawking at the hodgepodge of pots on wooden stoves, fruit and vegetable crates being unloaded, and about a dozen people buzzing about.

"Why are you late?" a woman demanded. She looked to be middle-aged, with her greying hair neatly in a cap and her apron pressed down and spotless white, despite being in a messy kitchen.

"Apologies, Madame Leone," 19 automatically bowed. "We were just –"

"That wasn't a question," she interjected. "You should know better than to be late."

"I'm sorry, Madame," 19 said, keeping her head down. I did the same, wondering how long we had to beg for forgiveness for the capital crime of getting coffee in the morning.

"Make sure it doesn't happen again," she sternly added. "You may go now, 19. You know where your first station is for the day."

"Thank you, Madame," 19 replied, flashing me a quick grin before heading out.

The woman turned to me next. "Please follow me." I had a brief déjà vu of Monsieur Di Almarati – I had to quickly get used to addressing people with their proper honorifics here – leading me to his office last night. I inwardly smiled and gave myself a silent high five when I saw that she was, indeed, leading me to her office as well. This one was brightly lit with airy windows, and a cluttered desk that was half buried with high stacks of paper. "Sit down," she said, already taking the seat behind the desk.

I did so, and she looked at me directly. "My name is Aurora Leone. You may call me Madame Leone, just like everyone does." I nodded my understanding, and she continued, "I'm the head housekeeper of the palace." She paused for a moment, and then asked, "Do you know where we are?"

I quickly shook my head. I had already heard the word 'palace' more times than I cared to count, but I had no idea where this place was. "We're at the imperial palace of Luxentfort Empire, and the reigning monarch is Emperor Alessandro Luca de Rossi." I looked at her like she was speaking a foreign language which, technically, she was. This wasn't making a lick of sense to me at all. It was as though she was giving a geographic overview of an entirely fictional grand empire. But then again, I was transported to a war field in a stranger's body. How realistic did I want to get?

Catching my blank expression, Madame Leone let out an exasperated sigh. "You just need to at least remember the name of the empire you now live in. I take it you are Concubine Number 20, correct?" I nodded, but we both knew she wasn't really asking. "About the matter concerning the ranking of the concubines," she went on.

Finally, something that would help me understand my place in this fantasy world. I leaned forward and gave her my undivided attention. "The emperor currently has 20 concubines, and their number determines their status," she dutifully explained. "The first 10 are princesses or noble ladies, and they reside in the concubine palace. They're the emperor's bed partners," she said, echoing what 19 already told me earlier. "And they're also vying for the role of the empress."

"The next 5," she continued, "come from families of merchants and other influential backgrounds. They work as ladies-in-waiting." She directed her full gaze at me. "And the last 5 are commoners who serve as palace maids or scullery maids."

'Am I going to be a scullery maid?' I wrote, even though I felt I already knew the answer to that.

"Yes," Madame Leone immediately nodded her assent. "I'm sorry that you lost your home," she said, looking at me with sympathetic eyes for the first time. "But there's no going back. You need to learn to move on."

Moving on, I soon realized, meant being down on my knees polishing one of the palace's lengthy hallway floors in the west wing. At least 19 was with me, on the other side of the hallway several hundred meters apart. After our conversation, Madame Leone took me to a relatively quiet pantry adjoining the kitchen, and gave me a bowl of gruel and a piece of bread. "Have some breakfast and get to work," she said. "You have a long day ahead."

About three hours into it, I pulled myself to my feet and scanned my assigned area. The floor was gleaming, a testimony of my hard work. And I felt like my back was killing me. I walked over to 19. 'Can we take a break?' "Yes," she nodded, also standing up. "We're done here."

'What's next?'

"Laundry after morning snacks and coffee."

'We're going to do laundry? But I'm almost dead right now!' I silently wailed. 19 laughed and linked her arm with mine companionably. "Don't worry, you'll survive."

That's how I found myself pushing a cart of dirty sheets, on the way to the laundry area. The load was exceptionally heavy, and my arms protested as I plodded along the narrow cobblestone path. The only upside to this task was that I get to do it outside. The weather was unbelievably gorgeous, and I breathed in the air fragrant with flowers from the palace garden, devoid of fine dust that always marred the air in Seoul.

I was still moving at a snail's pace with my cart when something red caught my eye from a distance. I temporarily ditched my cargo and walked over to the grassy patch a few meters away, bending down to inspect the item. 'What's this? A bloody handkerchief?' I wondered.

"20, what are you doing?" 19 called. I looked up and saw her already much further down the path. I waved and hurried back to my cart, putting the handkerchief in my apron pocket. I had no time to mind a stained handkerchief now.

*****

Emperor Alessandro was in his bed, in his own quarters. He sustained a major chest injury during the war, and was still unconscious a few days after getting back to the emperor's palace. His bandage had just been changed, and by his bedside were the imperial doctor and his personal butler, Rocco Frigerio.

"The crucial treatment is done," the doctor solemnly announced. "But he's far from recovered."

"What can we do to help him gain consciousness?" Rocco anxiously asked. He looked at the emperor, his skin almost as pale as the bandage wrapped around his chest. He was breathing evenly now, but he hadn't shown any other sign of movement.

"Unfortunately, nothing more than what we're already doing," the doctor replied. "It's all up to him now."

'What's this? A bloody handkerchief?' It was a woman's voice, and it came to him soft and fleeting. Alessandro mustered all his strength to pry his eyes open, curious to find out where the voice was coming from. After a few moments, when he didn't hear any more, he closed his eyes again in exhaustion.