In a Weary World

Chapter III: In Dreams

The past, present, and future, were all equally in gloom. -- Jane Austen, Northanger Abbey

Princess Rigmor, in her nineteen years of life, had never left the palace without at least one guard. She halted at at the door set aside for the servants' use and gazed at it, half-frightened, half-excited, as a young child might be when about to enter a room forbidden to them. She reached out and rested her hand on the door handle. It was cold to the touch. She took a deep breath, steeled her nerve, and pressed down on the handle.

The door slid open smoothly, and she looked out on a part of the city she had never seen before. Bakers, chimney-sweeps, and servants hurried to and fro, paying no attention to anything but wherever they were going. None of them spared the palace walls a glance, and the tall, thin girl clad in an ill-fitting, hastily-donned servant girl's dress might have been invisible for all the notice they took of her. Rigmor found her anonymity surprisingly comforting.

She straightened her dress, "borrowed" from a maid's wardrobe, and stepped out of the doorway.

~~~~

It had been mere days since Hjalmar last stayed at an inn and slept in a bed, but so much had happened since then that it felt more like years. Determined to get a good night's sleep despite all his worries for the next days and weeks, he collapsed fully-clothed into his bed and was asleep almost before his head hit the pillow.

Since his father died Hjalmar had often dreamt of the years before his death. He had dreamt of things that did happen -- blackberrying with his siblings, helping his father make dinner on his mother's birthday -- and things he wished had happened -- his father recovering from his illness. This was the first time he dreamt of something that had neither happened nor had he wished had happened.

He stood in the doorway of his father's study as it had been when he was a child: mahogany walls, purple curtains, books everywhere, a globe in one corner, and his father behind the desk in front of the window. Through the window he could see strange constellations whirling around the sky at speeds real stars could never match, and curious ribbons of red, green and purple weaved through and around the constellations. He had heard of these ribbons -- the norþlys [1] they were called, or the "northern lights" -- but had never seen them. Vardiholm was too far south for them to appear over it regularly.

Gudmund Dalsgaard looked up from the letter he was writing and smiled. "Ah, there you are, Hjalmar! Sit down, sit down."

Hjalmar stepped into the room. His bare feet sank into the red-brown carpet as he crossed to the armchair his father indicated.

"Now," said Gudmund, "I'd like to have a word with you. You've done well enough so far, and I suppose you could do worse in your choice of travelling companion," a wry note crept into his voice.

As this was a dream, it never occurred to Hjalmar to wonder how his father knew about Solvej. "I had very little choice in the matter, Father."

"True enough, true enough." Gudmund chuckled as if he found Solvej's antics hilarious. "That isn't why I had you called here, though. You'll need to get a job when you reach the city." This was so obvious that Hjalmar couldn't understand why his father, even this dream version of his father, felt the need to mention it. "I hear there's a bookshop looking for another store assistant; that would do nicely."

"Yes, Father," said Hjalmar, puzzled. Why would he dream about his father giving him advice on what job to take?

"Good!" Gudmund beamed. "Oh, and a word of advice: big cities are terribly dirty and the air is unhealthy. I'd go for a good long walk every day if I were you."