The wind dances through the open window as Charles sits alone. At his desk with his legs trapped beneath, he rests his slumping head on his hands as he looks outside in wonder. Two Watchers march past his window and down the gravel path between the villas and their farms. Every morning at eight-thirty-two, the Watcher patrol assigned to the Linguistic Department march in front of Charles' Thought Incubator window. With nothing to do – no phone, no television, no books, no pens and no paper – he has become familiar with these small details between eight and ten in the morning. The streets will be empty until Students have to leave for four hours of required exercise. At that time, Students of all ages can be seen playing football in the open patches of grass and gravel dividing the villas, while others go on routine jogs around the fences separating the different Departments. If they are lucky and time their jogs right, they can sneak in conversations with Students from other Departments. But, Watcher's, who rarely leave the borders out of their sights, usually disrupt these meetings before anything more than simple greetings can be passed. Occasionally a daring soul jumps the fence and plays with the other Departments, but this only happens with the younger Students who haven't been corrected yet.
But before Students can exercise, they are all kept in their Thought Incubators, as Charles is now. Each villa has one. It's a five-metre by five-metre room with only a desk, a chair, and a window. No one apart from the Student can enter the room, meaning that Students have no access to servants, food, or drinks in that room. All they have are a place to sit, a place to watch, and themselves for conversation.
Being in the Linguistic Department, Charles' Teachers ask him to focus on language. At the age of eighteen, the Coming of Age ceremony draws near, with only a few days left. Eight years of thinking about linguistics naturally bring up a lot of answers and more questions. Today he's pondering a question sent to the Linguistic Students a few months ago by the King: Do languages promote or restrict freedom? When the question was first sent out, Charles imagined it was a mistake. Clearly, it was meant for the Literatura Students; this was a matter of words – Linguistic Students focused on sounds. A week went by with Teachers sending complaints to the Council (those responsible for reviewing complaints to the King). Still, a letter was sent out by the King himself, declaring that no mistake was made, and that Students were expected to think for themselves. A letter directly from the King was unexpected, with the Council writing almost all the letters sent. The King only sent letters if he felt the words of the Council were not suitable. Most framed letters from the King and hung them on walls, as his word is considered sacred. The only way to receive letters from the King is to answer one of his questions to a high enough degree. The Council decide the top ten percent of answers (with every Student required to provide an answer by the end of the year). After that, the top ten percent are sent to the King, who can decide which deserves a Letter of Intrigue. These letters indicate who he believes should be voted as the next King, so whoever has the most letters when the King dies is the favourite to take the throne.
So, Charles sat at his desk today intending to finally answer the King's question, knowing that once he comes of age, he would never have another chance. With zero in his collection, his chances of becoming King would be zero if he fails this time.
'What is freedom?' Charles thinks to himself. He had spent so long thinking on the first half of the question, he realised he didn't understand the final word, freedom. Well, to be free is to live without restriction, but his Teachers taught him: 'That's not freedom, that's anarchy.' The King would never want Students even thinking about anarchy, so Charles removed that idea from his thoughts. With that idea useless, Charles thought to himself whether the question meant absolute freedom or not.
'It said "promote or restrict". So, freedom is a thing? Is it a constant thing? Does it have an opposite? And what does any of that have to do with linguistics?!'
Looking back out the window, Charles spots his neighbour's servant with a basket of groceries holding a carton of milk in her other hand. Her skin looks weak. Obviously, she isn't; she's responsible for half the labour of that villa – besides, it's a crime to ridicule another citizen. The sight of a servant reminds him of his own: a man with curly hair and a muscular build named Caleb, and a woman whose hair is straight with bangs hanging above her narrow cat eyes named Felisa. As Caleb was mostly occupied with Charles' Teacher's orders, Felisa became a favourite of Charles. Despite having four hours a day where relationships and bonds between Students are encouraged, Charles only grew close to Felisa whose tasks revolved around caring for Charles in his early years as a Student. She would read him Council sanctioned stories about the original Philosopher King before sleep and she tended to be the only other company in the house as the Teachers would be working, the cooks, would be cooking, and Caleb would be shopping. When Charles was assigned to his villa at the age of ten, Felisa was twenty one, so, though it was forbidden, Charles could not help but feel a familial relationship with her – even if it was only one way. If Felisa ever had to leave the villa, she asked the Teachers if it could be when either they or Caleb was home. They agreed so she left every day at twelve to complete her chores and returned at two. Remembering that servants had routines as well, the sight of the neighbour's servant now signalled to him that the time was now seven past nine. Time appearing to fasten its pace, Charles' thoughts also hastened, leading to tangling streams of thoughts.
'What if freedom is the restriction of voices that louden when they are promoted to a higher power?'
His thoughts ebbing and flowing into each other, they come out pointless. With each attempt, he works backwards and achieves nothing. Progressive thoughts leading to declining results, Charles slouches over, laying his chest over the desk. The wind twirls over his back with relaxing coldness. His thoughts, over-worked, come together in a numbing stream, trickling between the caverns between his brain. All this calmness brings frustration. Still no answer. Maybe he wasn't born to be King. Being King can't be achieved by everyone. Only one – sometimes over two generations – is chosen. Wishing to be King is foolish, but to be King they need to wish. Students are taught to wish from their times in the School as that's how they're assigned once they become Students, deciding their life plan.
The clicking of doors in unison marks ten o'clock. Felisa opens the door, mop in hand, with a rosy smile.
'It's ten o'clock Charles.'
'Thank you, Felisa.'
'Remember to stick to the fences.'
'Of course, Felisa.'
'We don't want you getting lost as well.'
'Yes, Felisa. I understand.' Charles struggles to hold in a laugh as he gets up from his desk.
With that, Charles leaves for his routine jog. His jog takes him to the Department's Church of Grace at the centre, which he circles and then leaves to the east, which borders the Literatura Department. Despite being different Departments, their architecture stays identical. Every villa is compact with white walls and reddish-brown tiling for roofs; every villa's entrance leads to a small garden and the main house to the right, with the servant's housing to the left and the cook's housing at the back. The Council promotes the soul over the body. The Council promotes body positivity but believes a healthy body leads to a healthy mind, so they stress exercise's importance.
Reaching the far fence, he turns left and traces around the border. Due to the fences being popular jogging spots, a natural lane formed between the fence and the fields over time. These fields housed farms further towards the fences, growing all the food in the village, which is harvested in August. Apples, cucumbers, barley, beetroot, radish, carrots, cauliflower, wheat, parsley, lettuce, asparagus, oats, and potatoes: grow on these farms, with Charles preferring the sweets from apples and other fruits like tomatoes. The sugars livened his thoughts. While he had no problem with the bitterness of the vegetables, they didn't excite him. They were suppressants to him, disrupting his thoughts and numbing him to sleep. With his desires for sweetness, plants enticed him with their polite sugary aromas, Jasmine's especially, which he grows in a pot beside his bed. For a reason unknown to him, ever since he started growing Jasmine's beside his bed, his dreams have blossomed. He feels more alive in his dreams than awake. Over the past month, he has sustained a dream floating across an endless sea where he meets clouds swimming below waves of see-through grass that smell like juiced apples; water snakes around in the sky, humming an old lullaby told to children at the School – but he can't remember the words, just the melody; he's floating with a girl who looks like Felisa: same eyes, same hair, same lips, but the voice is distorted, likely because of Charles sleeping with one ear pressed to the pillow. In other dreams, he has ridden on men's shoulders with arms longer than their entire body, with heads for hands and four legs forming a pyramid base. In another, he sang to a bird with no wings, which suddenly transformed into a fish and jumped into the river home. Charles had never seen a fish, asides from an illustration in one of the stories read to him, so the fish that swam away was paper white and had overly exaggerated eyes and fins. Birds can always be seen flying over the Walls, but he didn't know the names of any as they were all referred to as birds in stories.
Now past the Literatura Department, he can see the Theologike Department. Located at the centre of the land within the Walls, the Cathedral of Grace stands. Its two towers with clocks on all their sides, the Eyes of Grace, watch over everything. Unless you live in the Theologike Department, the rest of the Cathedral is a mystery to students until their coming of age. All students who had turned eighteen within the previous three months must meet there for the ceremony. Charles once admired the Eyes, but time dulls all things. He even fears the day that the Jasmine's scent grows dull and numbing, and the fragrance of potato thrills him.
For the ceremony – Charles has been warned – he will need to choose a partner. Jogging alone, he thinks of no one. Perhaps he should go by the name. If he were to meet someone named Jasmine, he would surely choose them over everyone else, but would they choose him? There was no guarantee, yet he had to choose. The means of correction for not choosing hasn't been told, but no one in any of the Departments don't have a partner, so to Charles, the correction both relieved and terrified him.
Passing the Eyes – the time: twelve-thirty – Charles hastens his jog, the scenery unchanging. It's always the same plants in the same places, the same Watchers at the same posts, the same Students playing the same sports; nothing changed except for the faces, which Charles paid little attention to anyway – the mind is more important than the body. Everyone wears the same uniform: a stained white robe with a red sash from their shoulder to their hip and wooden sandals. Teachers wear a crown of leaves; Watchers wear masks mimicking night birds with large circular eyes and short beaks; servants wear cotton gloves, and cooks wear red aprons instead of a sash: no originality, no inspiration – but a sudden spark shot through Charles.
'What if my dreams are outside the walls?'
This idea has no evidence, quite simple wishing, but that's what's wanted from him, isn't it? To be King he must wish, and this is his wish.
Excitement quickens his jog, his time thrown out of order. He reaches the border with the Mathematike Department without any clue for time. He hurries past it with no reason or goal; then he reaches the south and spots the Wall. While the Wall can always be seen, regardless of where you are, its height doesn't pronounce itself until you jog alongside it. Blocking clouds trying to pass by, the Wall kept everything out and everything in; its construction is the original Philosopher King's first order. When he rescued humanity from the Darkness, the Wall was built to keep it out and to trap the light. Watchers guard the Wall from when the sun rises till the moon sets. So, the absence of Watchers shivers Charles' spine. In eight years, never have the Watchers left the Wall. Even in stories, they only left once.
Halting, Charles' eyes search around him for a Watcher, anywhere, ahead, behind, to the right, to the left – Watchers are nowhere. Bitter sprouts begin growing in his stomach. His legs turn into loose roots, light as air with water's stability. Noticing his legs shaking, heavy breaths, weighing their way back to his lungs, choking him. The tapping of feet brings his breath into a rhythm, easing his nerves, but someone seizes his arm and walks with him. Whoever's clinging to his arm is short, their arms lightened by reaching up to him. Their breath, warm but weak, tickles the exposed hairs on his arm.
'Take me to your house, now,' the soft voice whispers.
Enticed by its sweet tone, Charles complies.
'Just jog alongside me.'
Beside each other, they jog alongside the Wall. His nerves calmed by her sweet voice, his brain begins to clear out waste and streamline his thoughts.
Routing back to the Church, Charles spots Felisa at the food collection point, pulling his company behind one of the buildings (a clothes recovery point) and catches a glimpse of their face. Straight hair falls as bangs above feline narrow eyes; Charles filled the gaps with Felisa's face. She gazes off to the ground, pulling her hair to cover her face and nudging Charles to keep moving. He peeks around the corner of the building and spots Felisa talking to another servant. Taking the opportunity, he signals to the girl. They resume their jog to the villa, passing between fields and keeping their eyes away from the other Students, who continue with their exercise.
Under the arch and into the garden, they arrive. Charles turns to ask the girl what she wants, but she insists on him hiding her.
'What for?'
'No questions. I need to hide now.'
'Wait. You're not why the Watchers are off their posts are you?'
The girl goes quiet. She begins to beg. Falling to her knees, she pleads for him to hide her, tears washing her cheeks. Charles thinks for a moment, then offers a hand to the girl and agrees to hide her if she gives him her name.
'Joan.'
'Okay Joan, come with me.'
Charles takes her hand and brings her to the right block of rooms. He takes her past the dining room, past the bath, past the bedrooms, all the way to the far right of the house, where he opens the door and lets her into the Thought Incubator.
'No one can come in here apart from me, you'll be safe as long as you don't make any noise.'
'Thank you. Thank you so much.'
Charles closes the door and returns outside to continue his jog. Heading opposite to the Church, he returns to the west border with the Mathematike Department and heads north to the Theologike Department, then east to the Literatura Department before heading back to the Church to head home. Seeing Felisa absent from the Centre, the time must be around one-fifty, so Charles darts back to the villa for lunch. Upon returning, Felisa is waiting at the entrance. A watch dangling on a chain in one hand, Felisa points to it – two-twenty-seven. A grave concern masks her face.
'Where have you been?!'
'Sorry, I must have gotten lost.'
'Lost! You want me to believe that? You've been jogging along the same track for the past eight years – you couldn't have gotten lost!'
'I got distracted.'
'By what?'
'By a bird.'
'A bird? Do you think I'm stupid?'
'Of course not, I would never think such a thing.'
'This is pointless. You're just lucky you got back before your Teachers did. Now get inside and eat!'
Charles rushes to the dining room, where the villa's two cooks wait, disgruntled. A sigh of relief leaves them both as Charles enters the room and they take their leave. On the plate are chopped red peppers, a pineapple ring, chunks of tofu, placed on top of rice noodles, dressed in sliced green spring onions and wasabi peas. He grabs the fork and shovels it into his mouth, wiping his mouth with a napkin after each bite until only a few crumbs remain, which he wipes into his napkin. Taking the empty plate outside into the garden and then into the cook's quarters to clean, Charles notices his Teachers returning.
Back in his Thought Incubator waiting for his Teachers rest after work and start today's lesson, Charles sees Joan kneeling underneath the desk.
'What are you doing under there?' he whispers.
She nods her head towards the open window.
'Can you tell me why you're hiding now? No one is nearby and they won't be for another hour so you can whisper.'
She shakes her head.
'Look, I can't help you if I don't understand you.'
Her eyes widen and wet.
'Fine. I'll have to ask you to leave then.'
Her body quivers, tucking her arms and legs closer together, hiding her head, muffling her sobbing. She tries so hard to suppress her sobbing she tenses in pain. While the thought of helping the girl seemed so heroic, Charles begins to regret his decision – she's a nuisance – and thinks of how to rid her.
'I thought she might have been a breath of fresh air, a sudden sweetness between the bitter, but no, she's just another source of stress and with the deadline on my potential nearing I can't be dealing with her. Normally I would just report her to the Watchers but I've already attempted to hide her so that would just cause more problems for me. I couldn't report her to my Teachers because they'd just report it to the Watchers, and it will be the same result. Felisa, while usually trustworthy, I've already put her in a bad mood, and I don't even think she could overlook me committing a crime. Also, ideally, I should remove her without giving her to the Watchers. While I want to get rid of her, I don't want her to come under harm. That's not a good look. But that could be seen as a just deed. If I act how the Council want me to, my chance of becoming King rise drastically. But how do I do that without getting corrected myself? Ahh! I should have just left her. She had no control over the situation. She was the one getting chased and I was just a captive. I can't believe I let her use me like that! I've got two days to get rid of her without the Watcher's suspecting me of being an accomplice. If I don't the Jasmine's won't help my dreams feel any more real.'
'Charles! It's time for your lesson!' a strong voice bellows from a few rooms away.
Charles rushes out the door, and his footsteps become quieter as he paces down the hallway.
Joan, alone, peeks over her arms to see the room empty. She creeps her legs out in front of her and stretches her arms. Searching in her sash, she pulls out a pair of gloves and a pair of fur socks, putting them on and slipping open the door and sliding through the crack. She takes out a handful of miniscule cameras and places them in the hallway's corners, peeking around corners. Then she heads into the next room (the Teachers' bedroom), and she places cameras in the corners. As she's setting up one of the cameras by the room's door, she stumbles and hits the Wall with her hand to catch herself. The sound of footsteps draws nearer. With each step, her hand edges closer to her sash, but when the door opens (which she is hiding behind), no one enters. They call out, but when no one responds they close the door and leave. Thinking her safe, Joan resumes setting up the cameras before returning to the desk, taking off the socks and placing them back in her sash. Out of the sash, she takes a phone. Looking at the phone, the screens of each camera's visions can be seen.
'With that idiot letting me in here, I should be safe for now. He can't report me without getting arrested himself, so I can trust that he hasn't thought of a way to get rid of me yet. With the cameras set up I just need to wait for the two adult Guardians to fall asleep, then I can take their crowns and get out of here. This robe's so uncomfortable, why do people like this have such cheap trash for clothing. I wonder if Jasmine's okay. I'll go and check on her before I leave. Oh! I can't wait! I'm finally getting out of this hell. Take the crown, back through the Wall, down the stairs along the plateau's side, and then it's a simple walk through the gates and out to the open world. You hear that world? I'm coming! I'm finally going to be free and when I am there's not going to be one grain of land I don't explore. I'll take it all with me and make a home out of it, a home somewhere else, somewhere freer than here. And then, once I've explored it all and made my home, I'll come back and show it all to Jasmine.'
The door swings open, and Charles returns to the room. Her gloves still on with her phone in her hand, she curls into a ball and pretends to sob.
'You're still crying? I only came back to check on you. Feel free to get some food after seven. If you're quick enough you might get some scraps.'
With Joan not responding, Charles leaves again, rolling his eyes as he closes the door.
Heart about to implode, Joan scampers to hide the phone and the gloves. Out of breath and tired from stress, she lies to rest, trying to fall asleep underneath the desk, but the panic is yet to leave. Peeking over the desk, the night darkens as the moon rises overhead. The clouds hide in the darkness, and the chirping of birds deadens. The room nearly pitch black; the dark comforts Joan enough to sleep. Taking off her sash, she wraps it into a pouch and places it beside her, putting her head on top of her hand pillows on the wooden floorboards, drifting to sleep.