by Ben Hammott
"He sounds like a man who didn't make friends easily."
"He wasn't, though in the early days of his success he was different. He had friends then and even met a woman willing to put up with his stern outlook on life and business. As his wealth increased so did his despise of those around him. That's why he moved to this god forsaken place where he could be alone and built the castle. When his wife's love turned to hatred he had Drooge Manor built and she lived there until she died, alone and unloved. My father moved in when he returned from university and was groomed to take over the business."
"But why did Jacobus hide his wealth, why not pass it on to his son, your father?"
"Because it was his and his alone, even in death Jacobus couldn't bear for even his own flesh and blood to have it."
"Then why did Jacobus commission the two paintings that held clues to its location?"
Ebenezer shrugged. "That I am afraid is a question I have often asked myself without arriving at any satisfactory answer. Perhaps he wanted his son to experience in part his own struggle for wealth, or perhaps he thought if he was handed such a huge fortune he would shun the business empire he had taken so long to create and use the wealth to squander on a good and happy life. However, if that was the reason, it failed drastically; because my father spent a large part of his life obsessed with cracking the painting clues and ignored his father's businesses. Slowly but surely, Jacobus's empire began to crumble until only a small portion remained profitable, which are now owned by Sebastian after he tricked me into taking those of no worth or heavily in debt."
"That explains the rivalry between you."
"It was already firmly established long before that. It was the reason my father left each of us a painting, in the hope we would reconcile, put the past behind us and become friends again and together attempt to solve the clues, which as you now know, failed miserably."
After a few moments silence, they rounded a turn and Ebenezer pointed at a dark opening in the night shrouded rock face. "That is the goldmine."
Furtive stared at the ominous patch of darker black. "Diablo's lair!" He cocked Grave Filler and led his companions toward it.
Though Sebastian had given the order for his men to fire a few shots at the house, he soon regretted the action when flames appeared in one of the upstairs rooms. If the paintings were inside, as he feared, they would be lost and with it his only hope of finding his grandfather's wealth. He had issued the order to cease fire and waited for his brother and his accomplices to rush from the house, hopefully with the two paintings in their possession, which he would promptly relieve them of.
He had been waiting by the front door for a long time now and still they had not appeared.
Flint walked over to join him. "I just checked with the men positioned around the house, Sir, and no one has come out yet."
Sebastian glanced at the upstairs windows as glass shattered from the heat of the flames now ravaging the top part of the house. "Break down the door. If they are still inside I want them and my paintings found and brought to me."
"Yes, Sir."
Flint ordered two men to help him and together they slammed their shoulders against the stout mahogany door, but it steadfastly refused to be forced open.
Rubbing a bruised shoulder, Flint approached Sebastian and made his report. "Sorry, Sir, the door is too strong. What we need is a battering ram to get through that."
Sebastian glanced at each of the men around him and beckoned one over with a wag of his finger.
The man, obviously a good eater if his plump form was any evidence, nervously stepped forward.
"What's your name?" Sebastian asked the man casually.
"Horace Arbuckle, Sir."
"Well, Horace, I want you to help me. We are going to show these men how to open this door."
Horace glanced at the solid door doubtfully. "Okay, Sir. What shall I do?"
"First give your weapon to Flint. Don't worry, you'll get it back in a minute."
Flint took the weapon.
Sebastian moved to stand a short distance from the door and beckoned Horace to stand beside him. Sebastian looked at the door and then at Horace. "Let's move back one step."
They stepped back.
"Are you ready, Horace?"
Horace, believing they were going to rush the door and throw their weight against it, said he was.
"Good man, Horace. I will count down to three and then we start."
Horace nodded.
"Three."
Before two was spoken, Horace was fully aware of his employer's plan. He felt arms lift him off the ground and air rushing past from his flight toward the solid wooden barrier. The thump of his soft but weighty body striking the door was accompanied by his painful scream and the splintering of wood. He rolled across the hall floor until he came to a halt with a crack of his head against the bottom step of the staircase. Slightly dazed he looked back at the busted door hanging on its hinges and the smiling face of his employer peering through.
"Well done, Horace," praised Sebastian.
"Thank you, Sir."
Sebastian turned to Flint. "Take your men in and don't come out unless you have the paintings."
"And if we can't find them, Sir?"
"Refer to my previous command for your answer."
Flint rallied his men and led them into the burning building.
Once inside they glanced around the hall and the flames creeping down the staircase. Ceilings upstairs crashed to the floor.
"Forget about upstairs, split up and search down here, but hurry, we don't have long."
The men spread out to search the ground floor.
Flint walked over to Horace and handed him back his weapon. "Are you okay?"
"I am, surprisingly. A few bruises and a sore head, but other than that I'm good."
"Stay in the hall and shout for everyone to get out if the flames start taking hold down here." Flint crossed the hall and entered the dining room. A search through the cupboards revealed nothing of interest. He glanced through the open door when a loud crash reverberated through the house and saw a shower of sparks fly past the doorway.
Horace appeared with a fear in his eyes. "The ceilings and upstairs floors are collapsing. I think the house is about to cave in."
"Get the men out." Horace disappeared and his shouts for everyone to evacuate the building filled the house.
A crackling sound caused Flint to look up; the ceiling was awash with curling flames. He crossed toward the door and happened to glance at the fireplace. He stopped and peered at something. He moved to the fireplace, knelt and stared at the shriveled, burnt canvass. All except a small corner hanging over the edge of the grate turned to ash at his touch. He picked up the only piece to have survived from the hearth and examined its details. Though Sebastian had briefly explained the features of his painting, it was difficult to tell if this was part of it. He stood, slipped the fragment in his pocket and turned toward the door. He halted when part of the ceiling collapsed and crashed to the floor. Forced back by the hot, acrid smoke and searing flames, Flint watched the smoldering lengths of timber that followed fall across the door to block his escape.
Flint rushed to the widow, yanked it open and cursed when he saw the metal bars set into the frame. He turned, grabbed the end of the dining table that was not yet on fire and dragged it over to the window. He pushed it tight against the wall, climbed on top, laid on his back and kicked at the bars. They refused to budge. He pulled out his pistol, aimed at the wooden frame where the metal bar slotted into the wood and fired. Splinters sprayed out. Two more shots left a deep gouge in the frame. After he had repeated the process at the top of the bar, he lay on his back and kicked. The third attempt sent the bar flying. The ceiling above him fell; Flint dived through the narrow gap and landed in the bush outside the window. Smoke, flames, sparks and pieces of burning timber followed in his wake.
Flint let out a sigh of relief, climbed to his feet and pushed through the
undergrowth onto clear ground. He stared back at the house as internal walls and ceilings collapsed. He brushed the ash from his clothes, smoothed his hair back into place and headed toward the front entrance, but halted after two steps. He looked down at his feet and the painting one of them had ripped a big hole in.
Butler climbed out of the tunnel and looked back at the manor. The roof collapsed, shooting smoke, flames and sparks high into the night sky. Though the house had been old, damp, neglected and cold, he mourned its loss.
Arthur joined him. "There's no saving it now. It will only stop when there is nothing more to consume."
Butler turned away and ran toward the quarry with Arthur close behind. When they reached the road, Butler pointed toward the bridge. "If you head that way until you reach the bridge and follow the railway line, it will take you to the nearest town. In the morning you can catch a train and I suggest you never return here."
"You need have no fear of that. This is the worst acting part ever to come my way, and believe me, some have been terrible." He held out a hand. "I know we were on different sides in this affair, but if I had known the players before I accepted the part, I would have chosen your side. Thank you for saving my life, Mr. Butler."
"If I said it was a pleasure, I'd be lying, but good luck, Arthur." Butler shook the man's hand and watched him walk away.
Arthur turned and called out. "Let me know when you get a new address and I'll send some free tickets for my next play."
Butler raised an arm in thanks. The man would not be receiving his new address, of that he was never more certain. He moved over to the metal elevator and saw it below. He hoisted it up, climbed aboard and descended.
Flint slipped the painting off his foot and held it in the glow of the burning building. The details seemed to be some of those Sebastian had described from his painting. He smiled as he rolled it up. He hoped his employer would also when he handed him his painting back. Maybe he would get his bonus after all. Whistling a merry tune he went to find his employer.
Sebastian, who stood near the road watching Drooge Manor burn, tried to ignore the annoying coughing and choking caused by the smoke seared lungs of the men around him. With the non-appearance of his brother and his companions, he assumed they had escaped through an exit not known to him; probably a secret tunnel of some description. The collapsing roof sent out a whoosh of sparks, burning timber and a thick cloud of smoke that rolled across the neglected garden. A form appeared in the smoke; a man. Sebastian watched the figure emerge and walk toward him. Beneath the layer of ash and smoke blackened skin, he recognized Flint's features. A man he had thought perished in the burning house. He noticed Flint concealed something behind his back and waited to find out what it could be.
"Hello, Sir."
Sebastian nodded. "Flint, you survived I see."
"Only just, Sir, but not all of my pain and suffering was in vain and I believe, when you discover what I have found, you will be so pleased you will insist on thrusting a large bonus upon me."
"The only thing I will be thrusting in your direction if you don't get to the point is my dagger."
"Of course, Sir, I have some good news and some not so good news."
Sebastian glared.
"The not so good news is that I have found Ebenezer's painting."
Sebastian allowed the puzzled look of surprise to replace his impatient glare. "How can that possibly not be good news?"
"That, Sir, is, I fear, something you are about to discover." Flint pulled the burnt edged painting fragment from his pocket and handed it to his employer.
Sebastian took it. "Ah! Now I see what you mean, nothing good is currently occupying my thoughts at this moment. I suppose the fire got to it before you could save it?"
"No, Sir, I believe it had already been burnt before we arrived as I found it in Ebenezer's fireplace. That piece you hold was all that survived."
"Why would Ebenezer burn it?"
"I have no idea, Sir."
Sebastian looked at Flint. "I was thinking aloud."
"Sorry, Sir."
"What is the good news you have for me?"
"The good news, Sir, and my reason for mentioning my bonus a moment ago, is that I have found your painting and now have the honour of returning it to you." Flint revealed the rolled up painting previously concealed behind his back. Though it was hard to tell and it could be his wishful thinking, he thought he saw the hint of a smile on his employer's lips.
Sebastian took the painting, unrolled it and held it up. If there had been a smile on his lips, it wasn't there now. Light from the burning building shone through the many bullet holes distributed about the canvass and through the large central T-shaped slit running almost the full width of the painting. The bottom flap of the rip flopped down to reveal Flint's smiling face.
Flint reached out a hand, gripped the drooping flap of canvas and held it back into position. "As you can see, Sir, with a minimum amount of restoration it will be as good as new."
"A minimum amount of restoration! It's more hole than canvas!"
"A slight exaggeration I think, Sir."
Sebastian threw the painting to the ground. "Even if it could be restored to its former glory, which it absolutely without a doubt cannot, what good is it when this is all I have of Ebenezer's?" He thrust the small scrap into Flint's face as emphasis. "Or are you going to tell me this can be restored as good as new also?"
"I think, Sir, that my expertise in art restoration has been ridiculed enough for one night, so I will decline to offer my opinion on the matter."
"Hallelujah. The man stops talking."
Sebastian noticed Flint stare off into the distance.
"Do we have any men over by the quarry, Sir?"
Sebastian spun around. "No, why?"
"It's just I thought I saw someone."
Sebastian peered toward the quarry entrance to the right of his castle, but saw no one. "Who did you see?"
Flint shrugged. "I'm not sure, Sir, but it looked like that man of your brother's, the one who dresses like a waiter."
"Butler!" Sebastian smiled and turned to look at the smoke stained man. "Well, Flint, it seems maybe not all is lost and we might yet still salvage something from this disaster." He let the scrap of painting flutter from his hand.
"In this scenario, Sir, would my bonus also undergo a salvaging?"
"Let's not be too hasty, Flint. Round up the men and bring them to the quarry." Sebastian strode off with a long absent spring in his step.
Flint roused the men and led them toward the quarry.
One man peeled off from the rear of the throng and ran back to pick up Sebastian's discarded painting. With a smile upon his lips he added it to his collection. The wife will be pleased. Their house will look right posh like when he hung them both up. The neighbors are going to be so jealous. He let out a satisfied sigh and ran to catch up with the others. Christmas couldn't get any better than this.
However, as the man would soon find out, it could get a lot better.
LOST INHERITANCE
With the four barreled weapon held ready to dish out its deadly ammunition of buckshot, Furtive cautiously climbed the small track that sloped up to the old mine entrance.
Lurch and his grumbling passenger followed a few steps behind.
They paused outside the dark opening while Furtive peeked around the edge of the rock to check if Diablo was at home. All he saw was the dark mineshaft leading into the rock. He stepped inside, increased the length of the flame in his head lantern and directed the brighter light around the tunnel. Stout timber supports and roof beams set at intervals lined the hand hewn tunnel. A large collection of animal bones, mostly sheep's leg bones, Furtive thought, lay scattered on the ground. The burglar beckoned for Lurch and Ebenezer to come inside and whispered, "There is no sign of Diablo yet so he may be deeper inside or not at home."
Ebenezer shot a glance behind. "If it's in the quarry it could sneak up on us. Put me down, Lurch. I'll
walk in between you two."
Lurch lifted his master to the ground.
"As quiet as you can, follow me." Furtive aimed the weapon along the tunnel and led them forward.
Diablo was very much at home. After its unappetizing meal of mutton, it had returned to its lair to rest its aching bones. It had soon fallen asleep and was currently having a very nice dream involving young, plump, succulent lambs, a leafy glade in a forest beside a gently babbling brook, and a very pretty female wolf called Blaze, so named because of the white streak of hair on her head, which he currently nuzzled. His nose twitched and much to his dismay, Blaze, the succulent lambs and the tranquil setting disappeared.
Diablo opened his eyes and raised his head to let his nose catch the sent that had woken him. He smelt something similar to mutton and something foul. It checked its paws but they were clean. He looked toward the sound of approaching footsteps, moved into a crouch and hoping his back wouldn't fail him this time, prepared to spring as soon as the intruders were within range.
It was Furtive who spied Diablo first, not surprising really as he was in the lead and the only one of the three with a light. Though he had never set eyes upon the beast, he took it for granted the evil red eyes and wide open mouth lined with teeth flying through the air toward him, did in fact belong to the satanic wolf. He raised Grave Filler and pulled the trigger. He felt himself knocked aside as the loud explosion filled the tunnel and heard the buckshot pepper the rock. He also heard Lurch's voice.
"Sorry, Mr. Furtive."
Furtive, wondering why the big man was sorry, bounced off the wall and slipped to the floor. He raised his head lantern toward the sound of vicious snarling and saw Butler with his arms outstretched. Gripped in the man's large hands was the neck of the wolf.
Lurch, apparently unperturbed by the snarling snapping jaws a few inches from his face, smiled at the devilish creature. He felt the wolf's warm breath; luckily a lot fresher smelling than Mr. Furtive's, wash over him. "Now, now, Wolfy," he said in a clam, soothing voice. "I know you are angry. I would be too if someone invaded my home, but we are not here to hurt you. We just want to pass by to go look for some treasure."