Chapter 7
I watched longingly as the police car sped away. When it was out of sight, I realized: Stephen King had decided he couldn’t handle it alone and had called his friends, the Brothers Grimm. Now they would all get their act together and begin writing the next chapter of my life in the authentic style of “Hammer of the Witches.” I wondered how they would test me for heresy. Maybe we could come to an agreement?
Okay, stop! Pull yourself together, you weakling! I need a plan, and it’s as simple as a crowbar: we need to get out of here as fast as possible! There’s still dinner tonight, so I’ll find out where the kitchen is, then before lights out, if possible, I’ll scout out the shelter’s grounds and figure out an escape route. Then it’s simple: I’ll sneak into the kitchen at night, grab as much food as I can carry, and disappear into the night as stealthily as I can. If the kitchen’s locked, I’ll run empty; it’ll be easier to climb the fence. The main thing is to get to London, and then there are the slums and the street kids…
I was distracted from my panicked thoughts about surviving in the London slums by a burst of laughter behind me, which turned into a full-blown roar. I slowly turned around, and the sight I saw made me freeze with my mouth open. The “evil inquisitor” was neighing like a gray gelding, hands on his knees, and Lady stood next to him, smiling like a cat who’d just gotten a mouse drowned in a jar of sour cream. And right along with the sour cream. The laughter was cheerful and infectious; even I couldn’t help but smile.
– Consecrated. Ha-Ha. Fax. Ha-Ha. Well done! – Father Benedict said through laughter: – I’ll go. Ha-Ha. Transformer. Ha-Ha. With holy water. Ha-Ha-Yyyyyy.
“Ben, please calm down, you’re scaring the child,” Lady Sellon said reproachfully to the still-laughing man, then smiled warmly and turned to me. “Forgive us for this performance, but we haven’t yet come up with any other way to scare off those scoundrels from the ministry.”
Bang! A light bulb went off in my head like a supernova. I had a revelation! So, this performance was supposed to scare the crap out of that idiot from the child protection department, so she’d run home as quickly as possible! And tomorrow, she’ll tell everyone at the office that the Holy Inquisition fanatics work here, and that anyone who comes to inspect will, at best, be excommunicated, and at worst, declared a minion of Satan and burned at the stake. “Excellent plan, Walter! Reliable as a Swiss watch!” This is brilliant! But why didn’t they warn me?! I’ve already managed to think of all sorts of things… I couldn’t help but admire this woman.
After laughing, the man limped toward me and knelt down on one knee. He leaned down so his face was level with mine, but I instinctively took a half-step back, to which the pastor sighed sadly and asked:
– What is your name, child?
“Rigel,” I answered quietly, looking at my shoes. “This guy is both inspiring and frightening.”
“Little star, then,” he chuckled, “please look at me.”
I raised my head and met Father Benedict’s gaze, seeing no hint of malice or hostility in his brown eyes, only strength, confidence, and a hint of concern. Satisfied that I was listening, he spoke.
– Remember, while you’re here, no one will dare to harm you. You’re completely safe here.
“Do you promise?” I asked.
“I give you my word!” the abbot smiled at me. I smiled back. He believes what he says.
And I also understood why adults shudder at my smile, and an unprepared person would shit himself or become a stutterer at the pastor’s grin.
“Rigel,” “Queen Victoria” approached us, “You may address me as Lady Priscilla or simply Lady, and you may call this gentleman Father Ben or simply Abbot. May we call you Riya? Will that not offend you?”
“No, not at all.” I shook my head in response.
“Very well. Come on, I’ll show you to your room and give you a little tour along the way. Don’t worry about your things; Father Benedict will carry everything safely.” She turned and slowly walked toward the three-story building.
“The abbot, I, and the shelter staff live in this house.” She gestured toward the mansion. “The doors are always open. If anything happens or you just want to talk, come by, don’t be shy.”
“And this is the main building of the orphanage,” the Lady nodded toward the large three-story building we were leisurely walking toward. “The children’s and teachers’ rooms are on the second and third floors. The first floor houses the library, playroom, lecture hall, and workshops for the boys and girls. The dining room and kitchen are in the right wing, the gym and laundry in the left. Behind the main building is a large stadium, where the boys often play football. We also have three large greenhouses and a vegetable garden; everyone loves fresh vegetables.”
We approached the tall wooden door, and Father Benedict opened it and, with a courteous gesture, invited us inside. The spacious hallway was bright and cozy, with a soft gray carpet on the floor, mahogany-paneled walls, and a large, beautiful chandelier on the ceiling. Three enormous life-size portraits hung on the wall to the left, while the wall to the right was covered with photographs, almost exclusively black and white.
“This is the founder of Her Majesty’s English Legion of Lawful, Supernatural, and Immortal Guards, or the Royal Order of Protestant Knights, Baron Abraham Van Hellsing. In 1899, he founded our orphanage.” Lady Priscilla proudly pointed to the first portrait.
It depicted a tall, powerful, blue-eyed, blond man of some age, with a piercing gaze from beneath a wide-brimmed hat. A black leather cloak covered his chainmail, and leather pants were tucked into high black boots. In his hands, the baron held a massive crossbow loaded with a metal bolt. He looked like a monster hunter from some fantasy story.
“And this is his son and a hero of the Great War,” the Lady pointed to the next portrait. “Sir Arthur Hellsing, Father Benedict fought under his command. It’s a shame Arthur didn’t live to see our time,” she added sadly.
The second painting depicted a dashing young soldier. He was also tall and broad-shouldered, blond, with laughing blue eyes and a perfect Hollywood smile. This one was depicted wearing a green military uniform and black combat boots. On his left chest was a shield divided into four sections: the upper left and lower right sections were black, the remaining two were red, presumably the unit’s emblem. His right chest was covered with various awards, among which I was surprised to recognize the Hero of the Soviet Union Star. In his hands, this super-soldier held a huge pistol, more like an anti-tank rifle.
“And this stern girl is Arthur’s daughter and is now the head of the Order, Lady Integra Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing.” I was led to the last painting.
A tall, slender platinum blonde stared down at us from the portrait, as if studying us. Her long hair was loose and seemed to flow behind her. Her stern, dark, aristocratic face had sharp, predatory contours, and round-framed glasses glittered on her neat, straight nose. She was simply a beauty. Integra was depicted wearing a black business suit, a white shirt, and a red tie with a Catholic cross clip. In her right hand, she held a broadsword adorned with incomprehensible symbols, blade down. Her left hand was resting on her hip, as if in a fighting stance. I couldn’t help but admire the portrait of this strong woman; she seemed to radiate strength and confidence. Incidentally, she looked no more than thirty.
“And this,” Father Benedict began, making me turn around and look at the photographs. “Our pride! Graduates of our orphanage, who gave their lives defending our Motherland. They are all Heroes! We sacredly preserve their memory.”
I walked closer: young men and women stared back at me from each photograph. All were in military uniform, and almost everyone had a black and red shield chevron on the right side of their chest. Under each photo was a name and the dates of their lives. The cards were small, ten by fifteen, but there were many, many of them. I started counting: fifty, seventy, even more than a hundred. More than a hundred very young people who died in the crucible of war. And these photographs were all that remained of them. I swallowed, took a step back, and my back rested against Father Ben, who gently placed his hand on my shoulder. I shuddered involuntarily, and the rector removed his hand and said sadly:
– It’s very sad, so young… We will always remember them.
“Rigel, come on. I’ll show you your room.” Lady’s voice brought me out of my melancholy. “Each of our pupils has a separate room. The boys live on the second floor, and the girls on the third. We respect morality, so boys are strictly forbidden from visiting the girls, and young ladies have no business being on the floor of future gentlemen. This rule also applies to the staff, except in emergency situations. But in the nearly hundred-year history of the orphanage, praise be to God, such a situation has never occurred.”
The walls of the staircase leading to the upper floors were covered with numerous children’s drawings and paintings. Mostly they had biblical themes, but there were some very strange ones. For example, soldiers in green uniforms (with a red and black shield on their chests) hang people in black uniforms (with a swastika on their sleeves) against a backdrop of a mountain of corpses, while the Lord looks down on all this splendor with a smile. The drawing was very old, the paper had yellowed, but it was not removed.
As I walked up the stairs to the second floor, I heard boyish laughter and the sound of footsteps. Waiting for us on the third-floor landing was a short, petite, brown-haired woman wearing a black, knee-length dress with a white collar and cuffs, black low-heeled shoes, white knee socks, and a strange headdress resembling a white headband with a black scarf attached. She smiled warmly at me:
– And here is the new pupil, we were waiting for you.
“Sister Lisa, meet Rigel Evans, our new sister. Rigel is Sister Lisa, she’s the teacher of the younger girls’ group.” Lady Priscilla introduced us and turned to her husband. “Ben, put your things down, we’ll take care of the rest.”
The rector handed my bags to Liza and, despite his limp, quickly ran downstairs. We then walked to my room. The hallway floor was parquet, the lower walls were paneled, and the upper walls were painted a pale pink. White lampshades hung frequently from the white ceiling, providing good lighting. From the end of the hallway, the muttering of a television and children’s voices could be heard. My room turned out to be number 13, symbolically.
Opening a white wooden door without a lock, I found myself in a small vestibule, about a meter by a meter, from which a door to the right led to a combined shower and toilet, and straight ahead to a small, bright room. Opposite the entrance was a curtained window, and to the right stood an iron bed with a wooden nightstand next to it, its headboard facing the window. On the other side of the window was a linen closet, and at the foot of the bed stood a desk with a chair and a table lamp. The walls were painted a pale blue, and a wooden crucifix hung above the bed. The furniture was clearly not new, but it looked sturdy and well-maintained. I like it here.
“Riya, if you have ANY questions, my office is always open. Make yourself comfortable, young lady, but I have to go, unfortunately.” The abbess said goodbye and left my room with a graceful gait. “Damn, I want that too!”
“You unpack your things and look around, I’ll be back in about fifteen minutes, let’s go get our uniforms and underwear.” Lisa smiled at me and ran off in the direction of the children’s voices.
I walked to the window, which opened onto a large football field with bleachers and an asphalt running track. To the left of the field were various horizontal bars, parallel bars, wall bars, and other sports equipment. To the right were swings, benches, and even a sandbox. In the distance, a huge potato field and large greenhouses were visible. Clearly, the orphanage provides its own vegetables, and judging by the stadium, physical training is a big priority here. The portraits below clearly indicate that the orphanage is under the care of the Ministry of Defense. It’s all strange, though. Okay, boys go straight to the army after the orphanage, but what about girls? Or is there no gender segregation in the army in this world? It seems this world is more different from the movie version than I thought.
The teacher returned twenty minutes later and said we needed to hurry if we didn’t want to miss lunch. We went to the storage room at the other end of the hall. There, I was given two black dresses with white collars and cuffs, like Sister Lisa’s, two black tracksuits with a black and red shield chevron on the right chest, seven sets of underwear and white knee-high socks, comfortable black shoes, and sneakers. I also got a beautiful purple dress with blue patterns—for going into town and to Sunday church services, and the school uniform would be issued closer to September. Regular clothes and toys are brought by Lady Integra, our main benefactor, who comes twice a year, at Christmas and in the summer after the end of the school year. All the items had white tags sewn onto them, and Sister asked if I could write. When I nodded, I was given a marker and asked to write my last name on the tags. She also handed me about thirty of these tags and said that my first assignment for sewing class would be to sew them onto all the clothes I’d brought. There was a shared laundry room here, and no one needed any arguments over dividing up underwear and T-shirts. While I was signing the items, she asked:
– How are you enjoying your stay with us? Any questions?
