Page 18 of Carousel

“Do not concern yourself with it.”

It hits me. “You don’t like the dark.”

His leg jerks from mine. In a somewhat cold tone, he says, “Thank you for phrasing it that way. I was just thinking how much I wanted to be reminded how childish it sounds.”

I sit straighter. “I didn’t mean to offend you.” Softer, I ask, “Why be scared of it? It’s just the dark.”

“The dark is not the same for me as it is for you. I…”

The white light threatens to blind me. I squint to send it away.

“You, what?”

“I spent a lot of time in the dark, once.”

The distant way he says it makes me realise whatever that means, it must be something highly personal to him.

“I’m sorry,” I say, quietly. “I shouldn’t have pushed you to talk about it.” To lighten the atmosphere – calm him, because I can feel he’s still trembling – I add, “If it’s any consolation, my brother is afraid of much worse than that. Watchers, soldiers, spiders, crane flies. Suspicious-looking cutlery...”

He snorts. “Anyone would be wary of that."

I grin, leaning into him a little. “So you do have a sense of humour. I was starting to think you were a machine.”

“Obviously I have a sense of humour. You just hadn’t said anything funny until now.”

“Hey!”

A moment passes between us. A moment where all I can hear is the faint sound of water trickling down from somewhere in the ceiling.

And his breaths. I like listening to them. They’re regular, and a perfect speed. Not too fast. Not too slow.

I hope he can’t read minds, because I’m very aware what a ridiculous thought that was.

To force myself to think about something else, I ask, “What do you think they’re going to do with us?”

His answer is quick. “Keep us alive. For now.”

“Are you always an optimist?”

“Only when the facts allow it.”

“Right,” I say. “And what facts are you currently going by?”

“The fact we are still breathing is a good one.”

“That’s because they will want our executions to be public,” I point out.

“No. They have something else planned. They are waiting for someone.”

I think back to what I heard before I fell unconscious.

“They are. Someone called Dezeeves. You know – same name as the last Hevallan king. That’s why I remembered it.”

“They are waiting for Dezeeves? You are sure that is what they said?”

“Yes.”

I want to ask him why. What he knows of this person.