Raven's Heir | ONC 2021 honourable mention

3 - Light in the cottage

I spent the afternoon speeding to the flat to pick up essentials, glad Celine wasn't home to nag me with questions. As it was, I left her a scribbled note on the kitchen table.

Taking the job and will live on site for ten days.
I'll call, San.

She'd burn from curiosity, but that served her right for pushing me to apply. I might call her in the evening, or perhaps the next day. The bit of gloating gave me the energy boost to fill my backpack and a gym bag with an assortment of summer clothes, a pair of sneakers, flip-flops, my toothbrush, and other necessities. As an afterthought, I remembered to add my phone charger and slipped on the necklace with grandma Elise's pendant. Somehow, it seemed appropriate to wear the heirloom of my gifted ancestor for this mission.

Two hours later, I was back on the highway, enjoying the wind rushing around me, conjuring the impression of coolness.
Back at the castle, I brought my bike inside the courtyard and parked it in one of the former stables transformed into a garage besides a lime-green Citroën 2CV. The car was a beauty, restored with love and a keen eye for details. I wondered if it belonged to Lou and decided it fit his hippie style. The fact he took good care of this vintage car made me like him a fraction better.

I shouldered my bags, picked up my room key from the blonde, mousy student tending the reception, and went in search of number 47.

After stumbling up several flights of stairs, cool stone at first and creaking wood, later, I reached the former attic under the enormous jerkinhead roof. To my surprise, my room was small but cosy, its white walls contrasting with the age-blackened wooden roof beams. Aside from a tiny bathroom, it contained a bunk bed, a colourful woven rug, a polished maple-wood desk and two upholstered period chairs. Only the stifling heat was a drawback. To admit fresh air, I opened the single window. It offered an impressive view over the broad Sarine valley, which should be filled by the now-missing lake. Instead, the sore sight of bare shores confirmed Lou's tale.

The sound of distant laughter let me lean out. Four stories below me stretched the castle's backyard and garden. A few tenacious sunbathers lounged on lawn chairs, and a mixed group of young tourists played volleyball on a sandy patch. The blond ponytails of two tanned beauties shook in laughter while a guy brushed sand out of his brown hair. For a moment, I wondered if I had seen him before but couldn't place him.

My phone told me dinner was still more than half an hour away. Determined to use the remaining time to explore, I scampered down the stairs and almost collided with an elder gentleman in a yellow shirt, climbing upstairs while scrolling through pictures on his camera. He fumbled to prevent dropping his device, his glare threatening to impale me. My muttered apology didn't prevent a verbal outburst about the ruthlessness of youth in accented English.

Loath to engage with the grumbling foreigner, I crossed the lobby, collected a sympathetic glance from the desk keeper, and followed the signs pointing me to the garden area. Aside from the backyard and the walled lawn I'd observed from my window, I found a traditional flower and herb garden on the western terrace. My respect for Louis grew. He seemed to pride himself in keeping the premises in top shape.

Instead of strolling along the neat pathways of the deserted gardens in the glaring heat, I was about to return into the shaded courtyard when two ladies joined me.

"Hello, my dear. Do you mind if we share the solitude of this beautiful corner?" The speaker must have been in her sixties and reminded me of my former English teacher with her British accent and rimless glasses, the salt-and pepper-hair drawn back in a tight, timeless bun.

I smiled. "Not at all. I was just exploring."

"Oh, there is a lot to discover. Did you know the history of the castle reaches back into the twelfth century?"