Old Tin Sorrows

9

At home I usually control my internal clock. Go to sleep when I want, wake up when I want, give or take ten minutes. I didn't leave the clock behind. I woke right on time.

And was aware of a presence before I opened my eyes. I don't know how. Some sound so soft I didn't catch it consciously. Some subtle scent. Maybe just a sixth sense. Whatever, I knew somebody was there.

I was on my left side, facing the wall opposite the door, sunk so deep in eiderdown, I couldn't move fast if you branded me. I tried sneaky, faking a slow rollover in my sleep.

I didn't fool, anybody. All I saw was the tail end of the blonde sliding out the bedroom door. "Hey! Hang on. I want to talk to you." She bolted.

I climbed up out of that bed, tangled myself in the covers, fell on my face, said colorful things. That's Garrett. Light on his feet. A real gymnast. Has moves like a cat. When I hit the sitting room she was gone and there wasn't a sign she'd been there. The door was locked.

I lighted a few lamps and surveyed the big room. I hadn't heard the door. I hadn't heard a key in the lock. I didn't like that.

Damned spooky old house was the kind that might come equipped with secret passages and hidden panels and all that stuff, maybe with secret dungeons below the root cellar and bones buried behind false foundations. I was going to have a nice time here, I was, I was. All I needed to make it a real vacation were ghosts and monsters. I went to the window. The sky was clear. A nail paring of moon was headed west.

"Come on. You're not trying. We need some rain and lightning. Or at least some fog on the moor and something howling in the night."

Back for a circuit of the room. I didn't find any secret entrances.

I'd deal with that later, when there was time to measure walls and whatnot. Right now I had to prowl, while at least some of the denizens of the place weren't keeping track.

I dragged my tinsuit friend out of the closet, into the bedroom. I detached him from the support that held him upright, put him in bed. Better than using pillows to make it look like somebody was home. Looked perfect once I pulled a sheet over his helmet. "Rest easy, buddy."

I didn't like the way things were going. Somebody here might be less than friendly. I collected my favorite head-knocker, an oak nightstick with a pound of lead in the business end, then slipped into the hall. I was alone out there. One lamp burned. Presumably Dellwood had been around to snuff the others to save oil. He was the only guy I'd seen working, other than Cook.

I'd have to find out what everybody did. Should've asked Peters while I had him.

I went to the east end of the hall where a small window looked out on the grounds. Nothing out there but darkness and stars. The werewolves and vampires were taking the night off. I retreated to the first door on the left.

I seemed to be the only inhabitant of that floor in the wing so I didn't try for quiet. I picked the lock and marched in, lamp in front in my left hand, head-knocker in my right. I needn't have bothered. The room was a warehouse for cobwebs. Nobody had been in there in a decade.

I did a cursory inspection, went to the room across the hall. Same story. Every suite on the floor was the same, except the last, which showed signs that someone had visited recently. In that room I noted circles on the mantel where the dust was thinner. Like something had been removed. Candlesticks or small doodads. I tried to get something from the marks left by the visitor's feet. There's always hope you'll find something unique, like maybe feet the size of pumpernickels or only two toes if they run barefoot. It didn't pay off this time. The intruder had shuffled, probably not intentionally. Not the sort of thing your average thief thinks of.

The search was taking longer than I'd expected. I decided to take a quick tour and leave detail work for later. At least I'd know my way around.

There was a partial floor above mine, reached via an enclosed stair. I went up. That floor was one vast dark room over the great hall. It was stuffed with junk, mostly as dusty as the rooms below. But there was a path beaten from the stairhead across to a stair down to the fourth floor of the west wing. A shortcut. The alternative was to descend to the second floor and cut across on a narrow balcony above the back door, placed there so somebody could address a crowd. Might as well go across, work my way down the west wing, come back on the ground floor and work my way up.

The west wing was inhabited. I didn't enter any rooms. Maybe tomorrow night. Maybe while I was in town I could have a locksmith check my key to see if he could create a skeleton key for its type of lock.

Fourth-floor hall and a stroll on the balcony there. Nothing. Likewise the third floor and its balcony. The design differed from my wing. The halls were shorter, ending at the doors of the suites of the masters of the estate. Two doors on the third floor showed light underneath. Either somebody was up late or somebody was scared of the dark.

Second floor had only five large suites, probably for honored guests like dukes and counts, firelords and stormwardens, and others a ranking commander might entertain.

The ground floor boasted rooms meant for other purposes. The west wing was where, in times past, the businesses of the estate and its masters had been conducted. The doors to several rooms were open. I invited myself in. I didn't find anything.

From the west wing I walked across to the east, where I knew I'd be into the kitchen, pantries, dining hall, and whatnot. I'd been through some of that but hadn't had a chance to pry.

As I passed the brave champion still stubbornly skewering his dragon, I got that creepy sensation. I looked around, saw no one. My blonde admirer? I was beginning to think she was a spook.

Not literally. The place was creepy at high noon. It had fallen from a ghost story, but I didn't entertain the notion that it was haunted. The world is filled with the strange, the magical, the supernatural, but I didn't figure I'd need haunts to explain anything here. Any schemes here had been set in motion by the root of all evil amongst the living.

A closer examination of the dining room proved it to be what I'd figured, big, with decorations fitting the theme of the house. I wondered how many battles the Stantnors had fought.

The room had a high ceiling, which suggested that part of the second floor east didn't exist. True. I found out when I explored the pantry.

A door there opened on stairs. One set went up, another down. It was as dark as a vampire's heart in there. I went up. The way led to storerooms filled with housekeeping goodies, some of which looked like they'd been laid in before the turn of the century. Some dead Stantnor had saved by buying wholesale.

Nobody swept or dusted but the place was orderly. It was inhabited by moths who found my lamp irresistible.

Why so much room for storage?

I came on stacks of four-inch-thick oak things, bound in iron, each with a number chalked onto the black iron. Curious, I looked closer.

They were covers for the windows, to seal them if the house was besieged. They had to be as old as the house itself. Had they ever been used? Not in the past century, I was sure.

I found a strong room in the southeast corner The door was latched but not locked. It was an armory. Inside were weapons enough for a company—as though there weren't enough around the house already. Everything steel was covered with grease, everything wood coated with paraffin. Might be interesting to find out what the climate was like when the house was built. Troubled times, apparently.

I spent too much time there. When I descended it was too late. Cook was banging around in the kitchen. I slipped out before she tripped over me.

As I hit the fourth floor I caught a glimpse of white across the way. My lovely mystery lady. I blew her a kiss.