Page 131 of Carousel

It’s a thought so awful it makes me laugh.

I stop myself. What am I doing? Why am I acting this way?

It’s the osimidite.

Fight it, I will myself.

“Will Cosmer be all right?” I ask, folding my arms on the table. My voice sounds so strange. High-pitched and far away. Like it’s not even coming from me, but someone else.

“We’re not talking about Cosmer,” Dezeeves stresses, while unfurling a large scroll that had been on the table and smoothing it out. “Now, this is a village in Rhavna. Does it look anything like the kind of childhood you had?”

I examine the sketch.

No. He’s mistaken.

The artist has sketched the ground cracked and dry, with a smattering of spiky bushes and stunted, scraggy trees. A couple of small, shabby wooden houses huddle in the distance.

“This is Hevalla,” I state.

Something passes over Dezeeves’ face. I imagine it would be the look a spider would give a fly, once its web has been set up, and it’s proud of it.

“This is Rhavna,” he insists.

He lets the word settle.

I’m silent. It’s so ridiculous, I could laugh again.

“Let me show you another sketch,” he says. “Is this more reflective of your childhood?”

The next scroll is from a different artist. This one is much more detailed – a beautifully drawn replica of the Palace gardens. I can see the maze, the rose garden, the greenhouses. In the distance is the spire of the main building. The artist even captures a slight shimmer in the backdrop of the scene, which must be the dome.

“Yes,” I say. “That’s it.” And then I take a closer look, because there’s something familiar about the workmanship. “Did Rike draw this?”

Dezeeves says, thoughtfully, “Rike was one of our first prisoners. You can imagine we were surprised, when we learned that this,” he gestures to Rike’s scroll, “Is what the Rhavna inside the dome looks like.”

Swiftly, Dezeeves pulls the scrolls away from me before I can get another look at them. Starts rolling them up.

I want to feel confused. I want to feel angry.

The osimidite is dulling everything.

I barely feel more than vaguely interested.

And giddy, still. Like I could leave this room and never think twice about anything that happened here. Sleep well. Live my life free of thoughts of where the next meal is going to come from – for myself, and those I love – or when we might be bombed.

Or how I’ll ever repay my debt to Cosmer.

Cosmer, who doesn’t think he’s worthy of me.

Cosmer, who isn’t here.

Dezeeves is speaking. It takes huge effort to hear anything he’s saying.

“While the country is left to wither away, the Queen and her court live in splendour, their magic bouncing through the dome built by the Queen’s father, and boosting the microclimate they live in more. The Rhavna you believe exists looks more and more like Hevalla does now, every day.” He pauses. “You have been lied to. As has the rest of your country. In these corrective instruction sessions, you will learn to see things for what they are, and not for what you hope them to be. It is a powerful skill to have – one that you may even find lends itself well to your own endeavours.”

Officers rise up, their chairs scraping softly across the wood.

“Can you take me to Cosmer now?” I ask.