A Malevolent Manner (Patrick Pierce #1)

by William Scott

  *

  Pierce awoke with a start, only to discover he was still in the giant four-poster bed. Grudgingly he accepted that he had not been dreaming and was still living in a reality he couldn’t comprehend. The only positive thing to be found was that it was still night. When he first arrived in his bedroom he had tried to peer out the window, to get an idea of the surroundings. However the darkness of the night was impenetrable through the windows. The idea then came to him to make a break for the large door in the main hall. However a brief moment of relaxation on the bed had quickly turned into a nap. But there seemed to be no harm done, as the sun had yet to begin its slow rise.

  Sitting up, he started to grope for his clothes. He didn’t remember taking them off, but here he was, missing his pants, shirt, and jacket. What had happened to them? Looking around for something to wear, he saw a robe hung on one of the bedposts. Throwing it around himself, he made his way to the dressing room. There he found some pants, a shirt, and some soft soled shoes.

  Quietly Pierce stole out of his room, looking back and forth down the hall for any other late night ramblers. Slowly he made his way towards the main door, doubling back when he made wrong turns.

  Finally he came to one of the large staircases. In the dark, the hall looked like an enormous cave. Subconsciously he kept looking upwards for bats on the ceiling. At the bottom he moved swiftly towards the front door, not sure that he’d even be able to open it.

  A quick inspection of the door didn’t produce a mechanism to be unlocked. Pierce couldn’t believe it. Surely the main door would be locked. With a shrug he grabbed the handle, turning it slowly. Setting himself, he started to move the door.

  Instead of it being an exercise in hopelessness, the door moved freely. In fact it glided open without a sound and with the least amount of effort. Not waiting to be discovered, Pierce quickly bounded out the door. He made his way down some stairs and a dozen yards along a gravel drive way before he stopped. Looking out over the horizon, the sun was beginning to rise. Rays of orange, red, and purple started to shoot upwards, but it wasn’t the beautiful sunrise that stopped him.

  Looking forward, then side-to-side, Pierce’s heart sank. There was no city here, Ottawa’s footprint was nowhere to be seen. In fact there were no buildings to be seen at all. All around him were rolling green hills, sharply rising mountains, and what appeared to be the beginning of a very dark lake. All he could think about was the impossibility of it all. So stunned was he by this revelation that he didn’t hear the crunching footsteps behind him. He just stood there staring into this otherwise beautiful scene.

  “Sir?” said the voice behind him after a few minutes of silence. “Sir, it’s rather cold, I think you should come inside.”

  “Cold… Ya… I uh…”

  Taking him by the arm, the newcomer turned a dazed Patrick Pierce around and led him back towards the Manor. Back inside the confines of the building, Pierce began to regain his awareness. He blinked rapidly and shook his head, clearing it of the fog from the outdoor scene he had just witnessed.

  “Who are you and how did you know I was outside?” Pierce finally asked glancing at the man helping him up the stairs. He was roughly the same age, though somewhat shorter and with lighter hair. He was dressed in a dark suit jacket, white shirt and tie, with grey pinstriped pants.

  “My name is Melrose sir. I am your valet.”

  “But how did you know I was outside? I thought no one followed me.”

  “It is my duty sir, to look after you.”

  Mulling over this new information, Pierce continued with his valet up to his rooms. Within minutes they were back where he had started and Melrose was pouring him a drink.

  “Take this sir, it will steady you.”

  “You should have one as well,” replied Pierce accepting the glass and sitting down on one of the chairs facing the hearth. The fire jumped and crackled exuberantly with its rebirth.

  “I couldn’t possibly sir.”

  “Well I don’t want to drink alone,” Pierce countered, seeing the flicker of uncertainty on the valet’s angular face.

  Nodding in assent, Melrose poured himself a small drink and moved over to the fireplace standing upright. When Pierce motioned for him to sit, he acceded, though slowly in protest.

  “I want you to know that I feel somewhat uncomfortable with this situation. It’s nothing personal, but I’ve never been in a position that requires a servant. What am I supposed to do?” bowing his head into his hand he uttered. “This is turning into some sort of messed up Victorian melodrama.”

  “If I may sir, everyone has a style for dealing with difficulties. You will find yours.”

  “Right. Well if I start acting like an imbecile, I trust you will be good enough to ignore it and do whatever I say.”

  Melrose reacted somewhat more quickly than his training would presume, raising an eyebrow in disbelief, before he could return to a neutral expression.

  “Good,” chuckled Pierce, “I see you can pick out irony.”

  “Irony sir?” he replied dryly, “I can’t say I’ve ever experienced it.”

  “Sarcasm as well, we’ll get along alright.”

  Melrose allowed himself a smile, and then finished his drink. He started to get out of his chair, but Pierce waved him back down. Grabbing the bottle, he poured another set of drinks.

  “I need to know what I’ve gotten myself into,” said Pierce staring directly at his valet, “and you’re going to tell me.”

  Melrose didn’t initially react, but then drained his drink and held out the empty glass.

  “This could to take some time.”