suddenly and something like a sob shook him. ‘I’m scared,’ he said, even more quietly.
I had not thought he could press closer but he plastered himself against me. I could feel his heart race and heard his breath quicken as he peopled the darkness around us with every bogey-tale creature that his young imagination could summon. I wondered what night terrors inhabited the dark corners of a Speck’s mind. I could recall, only too well, how I had been able to bring myself to the shaking edge of terror simply by staring up into the darkness of my room and letting my imagination run wild.
When I was very small, I would let the terror progress to the point at which I would shriek from the nursery for my mother or nurse to come running to rescue me from my self-induced panic. The terror was almost worth the coddling and the warmed mug of milk.
By the time my father took over my upbringing I was too big to shriek from my nursery. I would on occasion flee my bed to seek out the nanny I shared with my sisters. But I only did that once after my father had declared himself in charge of me. I was tapping anxiously at the nanny’s bedchamber door when my father caught me. To this day, I do not know what alerted him. He was still dressed in his smoking jacket and trousers. In one hand, he carried a book, his finger trapped to mark his place. He looked down at me severely and demanded, ‘What are you doing out of your bed?’
‘I thought I saw something. In the curtains by my window.’
‘You did, did you? Well, what was it?’ His tone was brisk and severe.
I stood up a little straighter in my nightshirt, my bare feet cold on the floor. ‘I don’t know, sir.’
‘And why is that, Nevare?’
‘I was afraid to look, sir.’ I looked down at my bare feet, shamed. I doubted that my father had ever been afraid of anything.
‘I see. Well, it is what you will go and do now.’
I glanced hopefully up at him. ‘Will you come with me?’
‘No. Of course not. You are to be a soldier, Nevare. A soldier does not retreat from what he imagines might be an enemy. In an uncertain situation, a soldier gathers information and, if the information is sufficiently important, he reports it to command. Imagine what would happen if a sentry came back to his commander and said, “I left my post because I thought I saw something. Would you come back with me and see what it was?” What would happen, Nevare?’
‘I don’t know, sir.’
‘Well, but think. What would you do, were you the commander? Would you leave your post to go see what had frightened your sentry?’
I answered truthfully with a sinking heart. ‘No, sir. I would tell my sentry to go back and find out what it was. Because that is his task. My task is to command.’
‘Exactly. Go back to your room, Nevare. Face your fear. If there is something in your room that requires action from me, come to me and I will help you.’
‘But—’
‘Go, son. Face your fear like a real soldier.’
He stood there while I turned and walked away from him. Only a few months ago, my room had been close to the nursery and to my sisters’ nanny. My new room seemed very far from those safe and familiar places. The hall that led to my bedchamber seemed long and very dim. The wick in the lamp on the wall bracket had been turned low for the night. My heart hammered when I reached my own door. I had slammed it shut behind me when I fled so that whatever monster was lurking there could not follow me. I slowly turned the knob. The door swung into the darkness.
I stood in the hall, peering into my room. It was dark. I could see the rumpled white sheet on my bed. As my eyes adjusted, I saw more detail. The bedclothes hung to the floor, and anything could be concealed behind them and under my bed. The only other pieces of furniture in my room were a desk and chair. It was possible something lurked in the chair alcove under the desk. As I watched, the long curtains stirred. The window was opened, as it was every night, that I might enjoy the benefits of healthful fresh air. It might be only the wind. But it might not.
I wished I had a weapon of some sort. But my wooden practice sword and stave were both inside the wardrobe and that was on the other side of the room. I’d have to face my fears unarmed.
To an adult, the situation might have seemed laughable, but I was a victim of my own imagination. I had no idea what might be lurking in those slowly stirring curtains. Even if it was the wind, could the being previously hiding behind them now be concealed under my bed? My heart was thundering in my ears at the thought; I’d have to get down on my hands and knees to look under the bed. Once I’d lifted the bedclothes, anything that was under there would most likely spring for my face. It would scratch out my eyes. I was certain of it.
I didn’t want to look. I thought of racing across the room and jumping up on my bed and simply forcing myself to stay there. Perhaps there was nothing at all under my bed. Perhaps I was being foolish. I could stay awake all night. If anything did emerge to attack me, I could shout for help then. I didn’t have to confront it now.
Except that I did. My father had ordered me to do so. It was what a soldier would do. And I was a second son, born to be a soldier. I could be nothing else. And I could do no less than my duty.
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