*
“So you’re telling me, that this castle…”
“Manor.”
“Right, manor, is stuck in time?”
“Or out of time.”
“In time, out of time… What does that mean?”
“I have no idea. You should ask the Russian, she’s a scientist.”
“The Russian?”
“Nevermind. The point is that the Manor is in some sort of li…(hick)…imbo.”
“What?”
“Limbo.”
“But what does that mean? Everything stays the same? Or is the Manor trying to slowly move underneath an ever lowering bar to Caribbean music?” Pierce then began laughing as the description took shape in his mind. Melrose joined him almost immediately.
Both were still sitting in Pierce’s lounge, the fire slowly dying, its embers barely lighting the space. Between the two chairs was a pair of empty glasses and the corresponding bottle, equally empty.
“All I know is that I have been here for many years but I don’t know how many. I can truthfully say that I have witnessed at least fifty winters.”
“What?”
“Hand to heart sir. By my estimate I should be close to eighty, but here I sit a young man of thirty.”
“So the seasons still pass by; winter, spring, summer, fall…”
“But no one living in the Manor ages. Even those living on the island age slowly, however they eventually do become old. Funerals for the elderly are very uncommon, but do happen. It’s as if the island were keeping people alive.”
“That’s impossible.”
“More inconceivable rather than impossible I should think,” corrected Melrose, slightly slurring his words.
“You mean it’s possible, but that I can’t understand it?”
“None of us can.” Then adding soberly, “everyone simply accepts this phenomena as fact and continues on. I won’t presume to tell you what to do, but I wouldn’t delve too deeply into this sir.”
Pierce accepted this advice uneasily. He wanted to know, to understand what was happening. Normally he wasn’t an inquisitive type, but these were exceptional circumstances.
“All right I’ll follow your advice, for now.”
Pierce began to try and form his thoughts with this new insight into his situation. So deep was he in thought that his eyes began to close, almost shutting completely. Thinking that his master was falling asleep, Melrose began once more to rise from his chair.
“How did I get here?” whispered Pierce behind closed eyes. “One moment I was in a room above a butcher shop in Ottawa. Then I was in some old section of the Manor.” Opening his eyes he stared at Melrose, stopping him in place.
“The North Tower.”
“The North Tower?”
“That’s where you entered the Manor. It’s forbidden for anyone other than members of the Hunt to enter.”
“Why is that? What goes on in there?”
“It’s supposed to be secret, but I like to stay informed,” Melrose replied, gently touching his nose knowingly. “From what I’ve discovered, the Hunt uses the portals within the North Tower to travel to different hunting grounds.”
The answer seemed too simple to Pierce, but he’d been though too much to think things through properly. He decided to curb his curiosity and surrender to his need for sleep.
“Well it’s a starting place I suppose.” With a yawn and stretch he continued, “You can leave now Melrose. I’m half drunk, all the way tired, and heading to bed.”
“Very good sir.”
A Malevolent Manner (Patrick Pierce #1) Page 10