25. Welcome

“Grant, why don't you tell me where we've arrived?”

“Welcome to Asanor Manor, Siri.”

“What? The house of the Minister of Defence?” I even tripped on the stairs. “Great, just from one cage to another...”

He heard me, laughed at my displeasure.

“Compared to the president's residence that you called a cage, this castle is a safe where no one can get us,” Circul Jr. gestured to the three metre high wall that ran around the perimeter of the ministry properties. “If there's one place in the universe where you can hide from the world, it's here.”

I shivered as I stared up at the spires of the building, the endless steps leading up to it, cutting through the pretty front lawn. There was no point in wrapping myself in Grant's thin windbreaker he'd kindly given me; the chill of the spring evening had already seeped into my bones, and only hot cocoa could drive it out.

As the night before had been sleepless and we had been travelling by car all day, stopping occasionally at roadside hotels for a meal, we wanted nothing more than a warm, soft mattress. We even decided to ignore the shower and fell under the covers as soon as we saw the bed.

And even though Grant had said that the minister's house was the most secure building in the country, there were three guards standing outside our bedroom door, and the thought of them made my skin crawl. I'd never been a fan of total control, and the grim atmosphere of Asanor's castle only made me more annoyed.

In the president's suburban residence, Circul Junior and I were practically alone, apart from Midi, we were free to wander about the rooms and attics, but in this mansion we occasionally met secretaries and servants, people bowed in greeting and went about their business, observing the silence and solemn incongruity.

The morning came with a cloudy sky and heavy rain. I stretched and was about to get out of bed, but I was pulled back, pressed against the sheet.

“You're strangling me,” Grant hissed in my ear.

I turned to meet Grant's angry gaze as he struggled with the chain, trying to get it off his neck and arms. No matter how hard I tried to keep a straight face, I laughed as I watched the sleep-deprived, shaggy-haired Circul.

“Don't move. How did this get wrapped up in the first place?” the guy grumbled, trying in vain to untangle the chain.

Yeah, we'd tossed and turned so much that we'd almost suffocated in our embrace. I'd give anything to see the president's face when he walked into our room and saw us all blue from lack of air.

When I imagined this picture, I felt really bad, it was not the ‘beautiful’ death I had dreamed of. I didn't want to die side by side with Circul Junior. If we went to the afterlife at the same time, we'd have to queue for hell next to each other? I didn't agree to that.

“Unhook it from the collar first, otherwise we'll never get untied.”

Grant frowned at me but obeyed, then unwound our arms and legs and, with a relieved exhale, put me back on the chain.

“Perhaps we could take the leash off at night?” I suggested quietly.

“Right, we'll take it off and then you'll suddenly want to go for a walk in your sleep and half the country will be gone, won't it?”

“I'm not a sleepwalker!” I protested angrily.

“What if I am?”

“Are you sleepwalking?”

“No. But nobody knows when it might start.”

I clenched my jaw and held back the anger that had come out of nowhere this morning. “Okay, I get it. You'd rather be strangled by me.”

“Yes, Siri. I'd rather die at your hands than from a magic bomb. It wouldn't be such a shame,” he grinned, slapped me on the nose and ran into the bathroom.

“Hey!” I yelled after him in indignation. I thought we'd agreed not to touch each other. My nose itched where the guy's index finger had hit it.

While the shower was running, I had a quick look around the room, rummaging through the cupboards and bedside tables. Nothing special, just a few towels, tissues and two water pistols. Who had put them in the shoebox was a mystery to me.

I filled the pistols with water from the carafe, and while I waited for Grant I shot at the flowers on the wallpaper, but I soon got bored. Circul Junior's singing almost blew my ears off. He had an ineffable musical voice, and I wanted to howl in time with him, like a dog on a moonlit night.

But when it was my turn to shower, I gave him a sweet opera. I remembered all the songs I had heard from my trucker neighbour, and – what a tragedy – while I was enjoying myself, my T-shirt slipped off the shower door and fell onto the soapy tiles. I couldn't go to breakfast wet, could I?

Wrapped in a spare towel, I jumped out of the bathroom with a small towel on my head and two water pistols in my hands.

“Clothes for me!”

Grant turned, gave me a mocking look and adjusted the bow on his shirt collar. I pressed my elbows against my ribs, trying to hold on to the towel that was slipping away.

“Mmm-hmm, I guess I'll have to buy it for you after all. Put it on for now,” he handed me the white terrycloth dressing gown he'd been wearing when he'd come out of the bathroom half an hour ago.

I've never been squeamish about other people's clothes, but this was too much.

“And how do you see it? You're all dressed up, shirt, trousers and bow tie, and I'm in a dressing gown?”

“And what do you suggest?” he asked reluctantly.

“How about I wear the suit and you wear the dressing gown?”

He silently turned me towards the bathroom and pulled a gown over my shoulders.

I was alone again with the tiles and the dripping shower. On the one hand, my pride ate at me because I couldn't afford to appear in public like this, but on the other hand, I looked at myself in the mirror, a girl who had no passion and no desire to live, who had been a pessimist since she was ten years old, a worthless, good-for-nothing, frustrated member of the younger generation. I shrugged and pulled the towel from my head, my hair falling in wet strands across my collarbones.

“Do you really give a shit?” I smiled at my reflection.

“We'll be out in three minutes,” he said from the bedroom.

“Uh-huh,” I muttered, throwing off the dressing gown and examining my legs. It had been a while since I'd been to the beauty parlour for a pre-death polish. I looked around for a razor.

Shaving cream was right there on the sink.

“I hope you won't use that razor again, Grant,” I mumbled to myself, applying the cream generously to my ankles.

Ten minutes later I swam out of the bathroom. My legs were shiny and smooth, my damp hair tangled and in my eyes, so I pulled up the hood and put the pistols in the pockets of my dressing gown. Now I was ready for breakfast with the president's family.

Circul Junior didn't say anything, just tried not to stare at me too much to keep from laughing. We walked down the corridor to the ground floor, and that's where the fun began.