Categories > Original > Historical > The Sky Has No East
Chapter Two: Don't Fall, Jump
0 reviewsIn which we are introduced to our hero, and he to himself.
0Unrated
Some fifty miles away in a much larger house with a much richer, colder father and a half dozen distant brothers, young Artus de Valériane was sneaking away from his father's New Year's party to play on the grounds.
The pond had been frozen solid for the past few days, but the nurses and tutors had informed him that under no circumstances would he be allowed within twenty feet of it, no sir, not on their watch. Well, he'd given them the slip, hadn't he? Wasn't on their watch, was he? And that meant freedom to skate where he wanted! He'd spent most of the winter months the year before learning how to skate, and as soon as he had mastered it the ice had melted and he wasn't allowed to anymore. Well, now the pond was frozen and he was simply dying to test his skills!
Artus clutched his skates, one in each hand, swinging them at his sides as he gleefully skipped down towards the pond. It wasn't as if he was going to freeze. He could get his coat and gloves and hat on by himself. And skating alone meant he could go wherever he wanted as fast as he wanted! And no brothers to push him into a snowbank or off the ice! Artus grinned. This was a capital idea.
At the edge of the pond, the young lord plunked himself down onto a stone to buckle his skates on over his shoes. It was a clumsy job, but he was confident they'd stay on. He could always tighten them if they felt loose. Bubbling with laughter, he wobbled to his feet and stepped onto the ice.
His first few steps were clumsy as he tried to remember the peculiar balance one had to master in order to skate. But once the memories came back, he was zooming over the ice, gliding around in figure eights and scratching shapes in the ice with his skate blades.
After a few minutes of exuberant sport, Artus felt himself tiring. The novelty of playing alone was beginning to wear off, and he was tired. He would come back to play tomorrow.
He dug one skate into the ice, meaning to shoot off quickly, jump into the snow, take off his skates and run back inside. He pushed off. One strap of the skate snapped. The blade caught on the ice. The other skate flew out from under him, and he pitched forward, wishing he was anywhere else, throwing his hands out to catch the painful fall--
--onto his bed, where he crashed nose first.
Artus sat up and looked around. Definitely his bedroom. The warmth flooded his chilly face, and he tugged his gloves off to warm them against his neck. He kicked off his shoes (and skates, with the single broken strap), shed his scarf, hat and coat, hopped down off the bed, darted out into the hallway, and pounded on the door across from his.
"Madame Fournier, Madame Fournier!" he shouted down the hallway. "I did magic!"
The door swung open. Artus's generously-sized nurse frowned at him. "Where have you been, you little mioche? You look like you've moved to Russia!" She patted his cheek. "You haven't been outside, have you?"
"Yes I have!" he said eagerly. "I was on the ice--"
"The ice?"
"Yes, and I was skating and I fell--"
"This is why you cannot skate alone, little Monsieur Valériane!"
"But I didn't fall onto the ice, I fell onto my bed! That's the magic I did!"
Madame Fournier sighed. "You're exhausted. You must have forgotten walking up here you were so tired."
"No, I really--"
"Come on, little master. Bedtime."
"No! I'm not tired! I want to tell Papa!"
Madame Fournier scooped him up in both arms and hauled him into his bedroom. "I'll be certain to tell your papa you ran out of his party to go skating alone, alright. What has that maid been doing? She's supposed to watch you! Silly, empty-headed girl cares for nothing but flirting with the cook!"
Artus knew better than to flail about when Madame Fournier was in one of her rants. He sulked, but allowed her to dress him for bed and lay him down.
"Bonsoir, Monsieur Valériane," she whispered, and shut the door.
As soon as he heard the latch click, Artus opened his eyes, grinned, and wished more than anything he could watch his father telling off the maid.
A second later, the sheets of his bed drifted down to the mattress, settling in the space that moments ago had been occupied by a trouble-making young boy.
The pond had been frozen solid for the past few days, but the nurses and tutors had informed him that under no circumstances would he be allowed within twenty feet of it, no sir, not on their watch. Well, he'd given them the slip, hadn't he? Wasn't on their watch, was he? And that meant freedom to skate where he wanted! He'd spent most of the winter months the year before learning how to skate, and as soon as he had mastered it the ice had melted and he wasn't allowed to anymore. Well, now the pond was frozen and he was simply dying to test his skills!
Artus clutched his skates, one in each hand, swinging them at his sides as he gleefully skipped down towards the pond. It wasn't as if he was going to freeze. He could get his coat and gloves and hat on by himself. And skating alone meant he could go wherever he wanted as fast as he wanted! And no brothers to push him into a snowbank or off the ice! Artus grinned. This was a capital idea.
At the edge of the pond, the young lord plunked himself down onto a stone to buckle his skates on over his shoes. It was a clumsy job, but he was confident they'd stay on. He could always tighten them if they felt loose. Bubbling with laughter, he wobbled to his feet and stepped onto the ice.
His first few steps were clumsy as he tried to remember the peculiar balance one had to master in order to skate. But once the memories came back, he was zooming over the ice, gliding around in figure eights and scratching shapes in the ice with his skate blades.
After a few minutes of exuberant sport, Artus felt himself tiring. The novelty of playing alone was beginning to wear off, and he was tired. He would come back to play tomorrow.
He dug one skate into the ice, meaning to shoot off quickly, jump into the snow, take off his skates and run back inside. He pushed off. One strap of the skate snapped. The blade caught on the ice. The other skate flew out from under him, and he pitched forward, wishing he was anywhere else, throwing his hands out to catch the painful fall--
--onto his bed, where he crashed nose first.
Artus sat up and looked around. Definitely his bedroom. The warmth flooded his chilly face, and he tugged his gloves off to warm them against his neck. He kicked off his shoes (and skates, with the single broken strap), shed his scarf, hat and coat, hopped down off the bed, darted out into the hallway, and pounded on the door across from his.
"Madame Fournier, Madame Fournier!" he shouted down the hallway. "I did magic!"
The door swung open. Artus's generously-sized nurse frowned at him. "Where have you been, you little mioche? You look like you've moved to Russia!" She patted his cheek. "You haven't been outside, have you?"
"Yes I have!" he said eagerly. "I was on the ice--"
"The ice?"
"Yes, and I was skating and I fell--"
"This is why you cannot skate alone, little Monsieur Valériane!"
"But I didn't fall onto the ice, I fell onto my bed! That's the magic I did!"
Madame Fournier sighed. "You're exhausted. You must have forgotten walking up here you were so tired."
"No, I really--"
"Come on, little master. Bedtime."
"No! I'm not tired! I want to tell Papa!"
Madame Fournier scooped him up in both arms and hauled him into his bedroom. "I'll be certain to tell your papa you ran out of his party to go skating alone, alright. What has that maid been doing? She's supposed to watch you! Silly, empty-headed girl cares for nothing but flirting with the cook!"
Artus knew better than to flail about when Madame Fournier was in one of her rants. He sulked, but allowed her to dress him for bed and lay him down.
"Bonsoir, Monsieur Valériane," she whispered, and shut the door.
As soon as he heard the latch click, Artus opened his eyes, grinned, and wished more than anything he could watch his father telling off the maid.
A second later, the sheets of his bed drifted down to the mattress, settling in the space that moments ago had been occupied by a trouble-making young boy.
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