John’s voice cut through my brooding. “Let’s go back to the house.”
I looked up. “We can’t, John,” I said without thinking. “The house is not there anymore.”
John rolled his eyes. “Yeah, right. The house is gone, and we’re on the moon.”
“Yes. No. I mean . . . what I mean is that we’re no longer in California.”
“Come on,Andrea. You’re not funny,” John said, getting up. But as he turned, his body froze. Eyes wide open, he stared at the imposing walls surrounding the cove. What could he think, I wondered, of the huge yellow moon of my world hanging over the cliffs?
“What’s going on?” John cried. “The sky, the beach. Why is everything different?”
“I told you. We are not in California anymore.”
“Give me a break, Andrea. Where are we, then? In a planetarium?”
Grateful, I grabbed the rope he was throwing to me. “Exactly.”
“Right. And how on earth did we get here?”
“I’m sorry, John, but I promised not to tell.”
“Really?” He paused, waiting for me to explain. When I did not say anything, he continued, “Okay, fine. If you wanted to fool me, you win. I totally admit it. So now let’s go back.”
“But we can’t. I mean, not yet.”
“And what do you propose that we do, then?”
“We can go to my parents’ place.”
“Your parents? I thought they were in Spain.”
“I . . . they . . . vacation. They’re here on vacation. They have a summerhouse. I don’t get along with them that well, so I don’t visit them often.”
“All right, Andrea. Have it your way. I’m wet and tired. I’ll play along since it seems that’s the only way I’m gonna get some dry clothes. But you’d better have a good explanation later.”
An explanation I had. That he would accept it, I very much doubted. I grunted under my breath in a noncommittal way, and turning from him, started walking along the cove toward the steps carved into the wall.
“Is it a big-screen projection, like a hologram?” John asked as we climbed the cliffs. Again I didn’t know what to say, so I pretended to be busy finding my footing. By the time we reached the top of the cliffs, he had stopped talking. In silence, we started down the winding path that led to my parents’ castle.
What John was thinking, I couldn’t imagine. Neither could I think of what to tell him. Except for the truth, that is. But even if I dared to tell him the truth, would he believe me? Probably not, I thought, as I remembered his awkward attempts to find a logical explanation for all this. Although maybe it was better for him to believe we were in some fantastic high-tech park. At least for the moment.
And yet when the path turned inland and my father’s castle came into view, burning softly in the copper light of Lua, I realized the time for explanations had come, and my legs started shaking so badly that I couldn’t walk any further. Luckily John didn’t notice. He had stopped, too, and with a look of wonder in his light-brown eyes, he was staring at the castle. “Jeez, Andrea,” he said, letting out a loud whistle. “It’s so cool! I can’t believe I’ve never heard of this place.”
I almost fainted with relief. He still believed he was in his world. Happily I jumped into the game. “My father likes his privacy,” I told him. “The area is closed to outsiders.”
“What a total waste. People would go nuts over a place like this!” he said.
He was probably right, I thought, as I remembered the mission I had visited with my uncle so long ago in my first week in California. I pushed back the memory and ran after John, who was already walking toward the castle.
“Wait, John. We must stay away from the gatehouse, I mean the door.”
“Why?”
“Because . . . it’s . . . closed. We have to climb over the walls.”
John frowned. “Climb the walls? Are you out of your mind?”
I grabbed his arm. “You must do as I say, John. The door is electrified. If I turn the alarm off, I’ll get in trouble.” What I really meant was that we couldn’t show up at the gatehouse dressed as we were in jeans and sweaters and sneakers. They hang people in my world for lesser crimes than wearing such bizarre clothes.
John considered my explanation for a moment. “Okay,” he said, “let’s play thieves.” And without further argument he followed me.
My nights on the ramparts paid off. I knew exactly where the blind spot for the guard was, the place where the ivy had made its home. Without being noticed, we reached the courtyard, and keeping to the shadows, we hurried to the northern tower of the keep. There our luck ran out; the door was locked.
“Now what?” John said.
I stared at the walls. The vertical gaps that provided light and air to the spiral staircase were too narrow for us to crawl through. Besides, the big granite stones, although crudely carved, would provide no purchase for our fingers. We could walk around the keep and climb a tree to one of the windows of the lower floors. But the windows would be locked as well. Frustrated, I rammed the door with my shoulder. The heavy wooden planks didn’t move. We needed the key. It was the only way to open the latch. Suddenly I remembered the golden arrow that, as always, held my hair. I grabbed it from my braid and tackled the narrow point into the keyhole. After only two tries I had it unlocked. Again I pushed at the door, and this time it swung open with a loud creak. Motioning John to follow, I rushed inside and up the stairs.
Behind me, John was quiet. When I glanced over my shoulder, I saw he was staring around with apprehension. As if I were seeing them for the first time, I noticed how dark and gloomy the walls were, how strong and pungent was the smell of smoke and burned fat that came from the torches hanging on brackets above our heads. And for a moment, the place I had always called home struck me as foreign. The feeling was so disturbing, I felt dizzy.
Finally we reached my quarters. I was closing the door carefully so it wouldn’t slam, when John grabbed my arm. “Andrea!” he said, his voice a pressing whisper, “someone’s in the room.”
I looked back into my room. Compared to my white cozy dorm in Davis, the room now seemed strangely big and bare. And yet it was as it had always been: A tapestry covered the stone wall behind my canopy bed, the cedar trunk lay at its foot, and—a shadow was crawling on the floor. It was the shadow of a woman, standing by the doorway opening into my dueña’s room.
Letting out a cry of joy, I ran to her. “Ama Bernarda! ¡Soy yo! It’s me, Andrea.”
Ama didn’t move. “Mi princesa, is it really you?”
“Of course it’s me.”
Slowly Ama reached for my face with her wrinkled hands, while tears ran down her weathered face.
“Andrea,” John’s voice reached me through Ama’s tight embrace. “What’s going on? I don’t understand a word you’re saying.”
I looked up. “I’m sorry, John. But Ama doesn’t speak English.”
“Give me a break!”
“It’s true, John. Ama is from Spain.”
“Oh, I see.” John smiled his dashing smile and, his right hand extended in front of him, came toward Ama. “Nice to meet you.”
Ama moved back. Her arms straight out in front of her as if to ward him off, she looked at John with unconcealed fear.
I stepped between them and faced my dueña. “Ama Bernarda, this is Jo—Don Juan. He is one of Tío Ramiro’s knights. He will be staying with us for a moon period.”
Ama hesitated. I guessed our sudden appearance and bizarre clothes didn’t make my case any stronger. But finally Ama Bernarda calmed down and agreed to take John to a guest room.
As soon as they left, I climbed under the blue canopy of my bed and closed my eyes. When I opened them again, the soft light of morning was pouring through the cracks of the wooden shutters. Bending over me, Ama Bernarda was shaking my shoulders. “Princess, you must wake up. Don Andrés has asked to see you at once.”