*
“Nothing?”
“Nothing sir, no trace whatsoever.”
“This is not good Melrose. We need to find her.”
Pierce was sitting in his study, having just finished reading on old manual on flintlock pistol operations. It was midday and he had hoped Melrose would have been able to find some information on Jane. He hadn’t stopped thinking about the potential danger she might be in since his return from the village the day before
“I suppose the rest of the staff still believe the original stories?” inquired Pierce.
“Yes sir, without arousing suspicion I was able to conclude that everyone at the Manor believes Jane is still employed at the pub and that Lord Lodge remains an invalid within his rooms here. Should we try and force a situation to expose these falsehoods?”
“I don’t think so,” Pierce responded thoughtfully. “Forcing the issue will not help our cause at this point. We need to find them first, deal with those responsible second.”
“As you say sir.”
“We’ll keep our eyes open, but we’ll try and be sneaky about it,” Pierce decided lamely. “It’s not a great plan, but what else can we do? Other than that we carry on business as usual. So what’s the rest of my day look like?”
“There is an excursion planned for this evening. Those taking part are to meet in the Hunt Room at 7 sharp.”
“Well if there’s nothing else planned for the afternoon I think I’ll wander the Manor. I’ve never been to that room, so I think I should track it down before I’m expected. Has the Pack been informed of this excursion?”
“Yes sir. They will be preparing the required equipment.”
“Good, then I might stop by and see them as well.”
Nodding, Melrose retreated from the study and returned to his duties. This left Pierce to don his jacket in preparation for his exploration of the mazelike expanse of the Manor. He picked up the book he had been reading and vainly tried to correctly replace it in the imposing bookcase.
The size of the Manor was registered by Pierce after walking within it for a quarter hour. Despite knowing that there were numerous people living and working in the Manor, he had only passed a handful in the halls. Although these had mostly been servants, he had expected to see even more of them going about their routine functions. The rooms he passed were all picture perfect, the fires well stoked, and the hallways were immaculate. Surely there would have to be a large staff to accomplish this?
Despite the size, he felt as though he was starting to understand the layout better. He was able to use waypoints to recognize his location; certain statues, specific plants, even elaborate suits of armour. It was at one of these pieces, a statue of Apollo, that Pierce discovered a corridor he had not yet travelled. It was a couple steps lower than the foyer he presently occupied, wide and dark, though not menacing.
Pierce looked around, trying to take a mental photograph of the location for his internal map. He was suddenly aware of a maid passing behind him, appearing as though out of thin air.
“Excuse me?”
“Yes my Lord?”
“Where did you just come from,” he asked kindly. “I was sure I was alone here a second ago.”
“From the passage door, sir. Behind the curtain on the other side of the statue,” she responded, pointing to a spot mere feet from where they were standing.
Pierce walked over and discovered that there was indeed a door behind the curtain, perfectly concealed in the wall.
“Holy shit,” he approved softly. “Are there more of these doors throughout the Manor?”
“Yes sir. They open to stairwells that lead to the servants’ spaces below.”
“Cool, almost like a secret passage. Well, carry on I guess.”
With a quick bow of her head she turned to leave, only to stop from Pierce’s raised hand before she had the chance.
“Wait a second, where does this corridor lead to?”
“To the laboratory sir.”
“Of course, just what an old manor needs, a laboratory.”
Seeing the questioning look on the maid’s face he motioned her to ignore him. She once again bowed and left.
The corridor was dark and wide, and lined with a chequered floor that would have seemed at home in an institution. After walking a short distance Pierce could see an illuminated doorway ahead to the left. Before he reached the opening he heard the distinct clang of metal landing on stainless steel. He was momentarily unsure if he should proceed, but the maid had not warned him off.
He quietly walked up to the doorway and then slowly peaked around the corner like a Saturday morning cartoon. But rather than a wild looking man working on a cadaver, he was looking at beautiful middle aged woman, seemingly radiating in contrast to her dark surroundings. Her hair, skin, and lab coat shared a glowing white hue that was almost angelic.
“Yes?”
Realizing that this was addressed to him, Pierce tried to nonchalantly emerge from around the corner. However he felt decidedly like a child caught out of bed by his parents.
“Sorry, I don’t mean to interu…” His apology was abruptly cut short when he knocked into a metal tray, dumping its contents on the floor. “Sorry again, I’ll get these.”
“No need, that’s what assistants are for,” she said raising a graceful hand.
Hearing her speak a full sentence, Pierce was struck by her accent. Although by no means a linguist, he concluded this was the Russian scientist Melrose had spoken of previously.
“What can I help you with?” she asked coldly, but without malice.
“Oh, well, nothing specifically I guess…” replied Pierce awkwardly.
“Well then what are you doing here?”
“Here? Well I was just exploring the Manor and ended up here.”
“I see. Take a seat if you wish,” she instructed motioning to a stool near her. “I have just finished for the day.”
Pierce sat down by her, noticing that she appeared more clinical and less angelic with proximity.
“I’ve just arrived at the Manor and am trying to find my bearings…”
“I assure you they’re not here,” she answered literally. Then taking some instruments from a nearby tray she moved towards him questioningly. “Do you mind if I…?”
Unsure what was happening, Pierce simply nodded in assent. She grabbed a large calliper and began measuring his head.
“I meant that I was exploring the building,” replied Pierce uneasily as she moved around him measuring. “I’m the new Member of the Hunt.”
“Really?” She said momentarily stopping her work. “So you are Commandant Pierce. Did you run a Gulag?” Seeing no comprehension she elaborated, “a prison, a jail, a work farm?”
“No, I just worked for the government,” Pierce answered somewhat abashed. “I hear you’re a scientist.” He immediately felt foolish asking this question as she was clearly wearing a lab coat in a lab. However she did not seem fazed by the obvious statement.
“Da, I am Dr. Elena Sirinova.” She continued her measuring, and then had Pierce hold out his hands as she prodded him with new tools.
“As a scientist would you be able to explain how we came to be here? At the Manor that is. Did we travel through time, space, or both? How do those doors in the North Tower work?”
“I am not that kind of scientist,” she replied succinctly. “I study biology, the human body. Although I doubt if physics could even answer your questions. Sometimes I think there is more witchcraft than science at work here.”
Pierce wanted to smile and point out the apparent contradiction as she sat back down and started writing notes. But thinking better of it he stood up and started to wander the lab, looking at the strange gadgets that lined the immaculate walls and tables.
“Be so good as to bring that clear bottle over,” ordered Sirinova, pointing to a bottle by a sink.
While he grabbed it, she gathered a pair of clean beakers from a wash stand. She too
k the bottle from Pierce and poured two drinks into it.
“You’ve been so good to allow my little intrusions, let us have a drink together.”
She seemed to be warming her cool appearance, so Pierce nodded and took the offered beaker. He looked at it closely but refrained from sniffing it, not wishing to insult his host.
“I know vodka is supposed to be taken cold,” she explained pleasantly. “But you have to make do.”
“I’m sure it will be fine,” answered Patrick, starting to feel more comfortable. His comfort level increased as they clinked glass and drank from the beakers.
“It is passable,” agreed Elena. “How do you find it?”
“Ith’s velly goo…” mumbled Pierce. Suddenly startled, he tried to move his mouth as it was beginning to feel numb, making him unable to speak properly. Wondering how strong the vodka was he looked up at Elena to see how she was fairing. However her warm look had once again turned cold and clinical. She raised a small flashlight and began looking into his eyes. Pierce tried to blink, but he could not move his eyelids. In fact he couldn’t move anything!
A Malevolent Manner (Patrick Pierce #1) Page 38
