Many children would have railed at their confinement, would have gone looking for clever ways to pull the bars from the windows or break the latch on the door. Many children had been raised to believe that they were allowed to rail against unnecessary rules, that getting out of bed to use the bathroom or get a glass of water was not only allowed but encouraged, since taking care of their needs was more important than an eight-hour stretch spent perfectly in bed. Not Jack and Jill. They had been raised to obey, to behave, and so they stayed where they were.
(It is, perhaps, important to note that while blindly following rules can be a dangerous habit, it can also mean salvation. The ground below the tower window was white with old bones from children who had tried to make clever ropes out of braided sheets, only to find them too short and fall to their deaths. Some rules exist to preserve life.)
“We can’t stay here,” whispered Jack.
“We have to stay somewhere,” whispered Jill. “If we have to wait for a door, why not wait here? It’s nice here. I like it.”
“That man wants us to call him ‘master.’”
“The other man wants us to call him ‘doctor.’ How is that different?”
Jack didn’t know how to explain that those things were different; she just knew that they were, that one was a title that said something about the person who used it, while the other said how much that person knew, how much they understood about the world. One was a threat and the other was a reassurance.
“It just is,” she said finally. “I want to go with Dr. Bleak. If we have to go with somebody, I want it to be him.”
“Well, I want to stay here,” said Jill. She scowled at her sister across the gap between their beds. “I don’t see why we always have to do what you want to do.”
There had never in their lives been a time when Jack was allowed to decide their actions. Their parents had always set the course for them, even down to their school days, where they had played out the roles set for them with the fervency of actors who knew the show would be cancelled if they made a single mistake. Jack was silent, stung, wondering how her sister could have read the world so very wrong.
Finally, in a soft voice, she said, “We don’t have to stay together.”
Jill had been enjoying spending time with her sister. It was … nice. It was nice to feel like they were together, like they were united, like they actually agreed on something. But she liked it there, in the big, fancy castle with the silver plates and the smiling man in the long black cloak. She liked feeling like she was safe behind thick walls, where that big red moon couldn’t get her. She would have been happy to share being there with Jack, but she wasn’t going to give it up because her sister liked some smelly, dirty doctor better.
“No, we don’t,” she said, and rolled over, and pretended to go to sleep.
Jack rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling, and didn’t pretend anything at all.
They were both tired, confused children with full stomachs, tucked into warm beds. Eventually, they both fell asleep, dreaming tangled dreams until the sound of the door being unbolted woke them. They sat up, still in the same dirty, increasingly tattered clothing they’d been wearing since their adventure began, and watched as the door swung open. Mary held it for the two men who had served them dinner the night before. Each carried a tray, setting them down next to the girls before whisking the lids away to reveal scrambled eggs, buttered toast, and slices of thick, greasy ham.
“The Master expects you to eat quickly,” said Mary, as the men retreated to stand behind her. “He understands that you are in no position to clean yourselves up, and will forgive you for your untidiness. I’ll wait in the hall until you’re done and ready to see him.”
“Wait,” said Jack, feeling suddenly grimy and uncomfortable. She had almost forgotten how filthy she was. “Can we have a bath?”
“Not yet,” said Mary, stepping out of the room. Again, the two men followed her; the last one out shut the door behind himself.
“Why can’t we have a bath?” asked Jack plaintively.
“I don’t need a bath,” said Jill, who very much did. She grabbed her knife and fork, beginning to cut her ham into small squares.
Jack, who had never in her life been allowed to stay dirty for more than a few minutes, shuddered. She looked at her food, and saw only butter, grease, and other things that would add to the mess she was already wearing. She slid out of the bed, leaving the food where it was.
Jill frowned. “Aren’t you going to eat?”
“I’m not hungry.”
“I’m going to eat.”
“That’s okay. I can wait.”
“Well, you shouldn’t.” Jill pointed to the door. “Tell Mary you’re done, and maybe she’ll let you get a bath. Or she’ll let you talk to your new doctor friend. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
“I’d like the bath more,” said Jack. “You’re sure you don’t mind?”
“I’m going to steal all your toast,” said Jill serenely, and Jack realized two very important things: first, that her sister still thought this was an adventure, something that would only last until she was tired of it and would then go mercifully away, and second, that she needed to leave as soon as possible. The Master—how she hated that she was starting to think of him that way!—struck her as the sort of person who wanted little girls to be decorative and pretty, toys lined up on a shelf. He hadn’t talked about keeping them together because sisters needed to be together; he’d talked about keeping them together so he’d have a matching set.
If she couldn’t get Jill out of there, she couldn’t stay, because if she stayed, she would be better at being decorative. She would show Jill up. They wouldn’t match, no matter how much they tried. And the Master …
She didn’t know how she knew, but she knew that he wouldn’t like that. He would be displeased. She didn’t think either she or Jill would enjoy his displeasure.
Her dress was stiff and her tights stuck to her legs like bandages as she stepped out into the hall. Mary was waiting there, as she had promised, along with the two serving men.
“All done?” she asked.
Jack nodded. “Jill’s still eating,” she said. “I can wait here with you until she’s done.”
“No need,” said Mary. “The Master doesn’t care for dawdling. If you want him to choose you, you’d be well served by heading down now.”
“What if I don’t want him to choose me?”
Mary paused. She looked at the two dead-eyed men, assessing. Then she looked around the hall as a whole, seeming to search every crack and corner. Finally, when she was sure that they were alone, she returned her attention to Jack.
“If you don’t want to be chosen, you run, girl. You go down to that throne room—”
“Throne room?” squeaked Jack.
“—and you tell Dr. Bleak you want to go with him, and you run. The Master likes your sister’s appetite, but he likes the way you hold yourself. He likes the way you sit. He’ll toy with her until the three days are up, and then he’ll choose you and break her heart. He’ll say that Dr. Bleak could leave you both here, but he knows Dr. Bleak would never do that. When he can save a foundling, he does. I wish to God that he’d saved me.” There was fire in Mary’s eyes, bright and burning like a candle. “Your sister will be safer if you’re gone. He’ll have to make her into a lady before he can make her into a daughter, and who knows? You may find your door before that happens.”