Friday, September 9, 2011

Day Thirty: Demon baby

Not someone else... multiple someone elses... doesn’t anybody in this stupid castle understand the concept of diaries? That only one person is supposed to write in them?! Gods help me.

Well, whoever you are that wrote in this - you’re not the queen and you’re not the prince - I guess you were right. Yesterday did not go well. Today didn’t either. The last thirty-something hours have been horrible.

Why? Oh, where to start, where to start.

It didn’t start out badly. Not badly at all. I took Eve into the bailey in her little apple basket, and as usual she was good about it. Didn’t complain, didn’t fuss, just sat and watched the workers doing their thing. I even took Eve to see her mom for a while, though we had to hide behind the smith’s forge. Wouldn't do to let Eve watch her mama pummel me. That's a bad example for a baby.

It was behind the forge that it all went wrong, ‘cause the smith started working on a sword. As soon as Eve realized what he was making, she burst out of her apple basket and crawled towards the anvil, cooing as though she’d just found a delightful new toy.

I tried to pick her up. She flipped me on my back and kept going. Yeah, that confused me as much as it probably confuses you, diary.

Once I managed to pull myself out of a heap of barrels I realized that she’d grabbed the smith’s still red-hot sword and scurried off with it, the hilt between her teeth. I didn’t even know Eve could crawl. Or scurry. She’s, what, five days old? Six? Good gods, diary. I tried to catch her, but she climbed one of the walls and slipped away.

Recall, if you will, the time I was ordered to find Prince Logan when he went missing. Then multiply my worry THEN by a billion times. That’s what it was like losing my daughter. I thought my heart was going to cave in, explode, implode and, eventually, get smashed to pieces by Libby's raging fists. She doesn’t like Eve that much, but I think she feels responsible for our daughter.

So I searched. I searched everywhere, for ages and ages, trying to track her down. And it’s not like people hadn’t seen her: on the contrary, I kept finding bewildered crowds of people talking about a baby they’d just watched crawl across the ramparts, or swing into a window from a rope, or even attack livestock. And she left a blood trail everywhere she went. Horrifying.

I found Eve near the treasury, about three hours ago. She’d fallen asleep in front of the jail cells, and she was covered in blood. All of the prisoners were crammed into the opposite ends of the cells, and they looked so scared. Of a baby!

I took Eve to the communal baths, got her washed up and took her home. Then I asked the smithy to make her a special bassinet with lockable, steel restraints. He says he’ll have it done by Monday.

Ugh. So much blood. So much carnage. She's only a few days old...

My baby isn’t actually a monster, is she, diary?

Beaming is for happy people,

Dragomir the Guard

No comments:

Post a Comment