The judge led Chris toward the left side staircase as he continued to speak.
“My ancestor became quite a talented archaeologist over time,” the judge said as they began to climb the stairs. “When we have a spare moment, I'll show you some of the finds he brought back with him, if you're interested.”
“I'd like that,” Chris answered. “I've always liked old buildings and stories of explorers finding lost ruins and stuff.”
“Good. I'll be happy to share some of my ancestor's work with you, Christopher, when we have a chance.”
They reached the top of the staircase and Chris noticed several corridors heading off from the central chamber. There was also a man standing off to the side, dressed in the same dark suit that Chris had already seen on the others downstairs. Must be their standard uniform or something, he thought.
The judge called the man over. “Martin, this is Christopher Wright. A guest. Christopher, this is Martin. He's the head of my in-house security team. And my second in command.” Chris nodded at the man who smiled and nodded back. The judge glanced at his watch then looked at Chris. “Now, unfortunately we've arrived too late for dinner but I'm sure you're hungry after the events of the last two days.”
Chris suddenly realized that he hadn't eaten anything since yesterday and had only drunk a little water. His stomach seemed to wake up at the thought and rumbled loudly. Judge Hawkes smiled.
“Just as I thought. Martin, would you take our guest to the kitchen, please. I'm sure Chef will be happy to whip something up for him.” The judge pulled out his pad and tapped on it a few times. “And I think we'll assign him to the Lancelot room for now. It should suit him nicely.” The judge put his pad away and looked at Chris. “Martin will be your guide for now. Ask him anything you like. He will also explain the house rules, our schedule and all that.” He shook Chris' hand firmly. “I'm glad you're safe and sound, Christopher. And I'm pleased to have you as a guest. Have a good night and I will talk to you tomorrow.”
“Good night, judge. And thanks for everything,” Chris replied.
The judge nodded and walked off briskly. As he left, Chris saw him pull out his electronic pad again and start tapping away.
“This way, Mr. Wright,” Martin said and led the way down the hall. “So, what do you think of our little home so far?”
“It's amazing,” Chris replied. “I've never been in such a huge house before.”
Martin chuckled. “Yes, it is a bit overwhelming at first. I think I got lost three times on my first day.”
The two of them were passing many doors, all closed. They turned left and walked down yet another hallway.
“How long have you been here, sir?” Chris asked the man curiously.
“It's been about five years now. The judge is an easy man to work for. Once he hires someone, they tend to stay for a long time.” He waved his hand to indicate the house around them. “And living in this place is a fascinating experience as well.”
They turned down yet another corridor. “Now,” Martin continued, “the house rules are fairly simple. No one not on official business is allowed to be wandering the halls after eleven in the evening. All residents are expected to appear for breakfast no later than seven-thirty in the morning. And if you want to wander the grounds, please let whomever is manning the front desk know before you go out.” He glanced at Chris. “Clear so far?”
Chris nodded. “Good,” Martin continued. “All other regs are posted in each room. If you end up staying with us for some time, you will be given a schedule.”
They continued to walk the corridors and finally approached a large arch leading to a stairwell. They were almost through the arch when they heard someone call out behind them.
“Oh, evening Chloe,” Martin said as he turned to look over his shoulder.
“Good evening, Martin,” a blond, middle-aged woman answered. She was glancing down at a clipboard and had a rather harried look on her face. “I hate to bother you,” she continued, “but we've just received word that Father O'Day is feeling ill and can't take his shift tonight.” She looked at Martin expectantly and he nodded.
“Right. Give me a moment to work this out.” Martin turned to Chris. “Sorry, but I have to re-juggle our schedule on the fly here. Why don't you head down to the kitchen and have Chef whip you up something?” He waved at the stairs. “Just go down to the bottom, turn left and the kitchen is right at the end. I'll be along in a few minutes.”
“No problem, sir,” Chris said and he headed for the stairs. As he began to descend, he heard the woman say “Sister Roberta is in tonight but with her gout...well, I don't know.”
Chris followed the directions given by Martin and soon found himself standing outside of the kitchen. He peeked inside and saw a large room that looked big enough to service a restaurant. Pots and pans were hanging from hooks all over the walls; they were spotlessly clean and shiny. In fact, the entire room was gleaming.
As Chris stood in the hall and peered through the doorway, a very large man dressed in white and wearing an apron walked into the kitchen from what Chris guessed was the pantry. He was puffing loudly as he balanced several vegetable crates in his arms and slowly made his way across the room to set them down on a counter.
As the man approached the counter, the boxes began to tip forward and he let out a yelp. Chris darted forward and, reaching up as high as he could, pushed back against the pile.
“I think I've got them!” he said loudly and stood there holding the boxes as the man tried to re-balance the pile.
“Good boy!” the man, who Chris decided must be the cook, exclaimed. “Hang on and we'll sidle over to the counter.” They walked slowly across the floor in unison and slid the crates on to the counter. The cook stepped back and wiped off his forehead with the back of his hand.
“Whew! That was a close one.” He looked down at Chris with a broad grin. “Nicely done. You saved a week's worth of tomatoes there.”
Chris smiled back. “My pleasure, sir.”
The man gave the stack of boxes a final check and then wiped his hands on his apron and looked down at Chris. “And now, my friend, let us be introduced.” He held out his hand and shook Chris' firmly. “I am Mario Denofrio; but most of the residents just call me Chef. And you are...?”
“Chris Wright, sir. Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise, Chris Wright, especially after your timely save. And what can I do for you tonight?”
As he asked the question, Chef turned and waved Chris toward a chair next to the counter that ran the length of the room. Chris sat down gratefully. He was starting to feel very tired.
“Well, Martin was bringing me down but had to stop for a minute, so he sent me ahead. I just arrived and, well, I haven't eaten for a while and...”
“Say no more!” Chef said loudly and held up both hands dramatically. “A young man needs constant feeding, how well I know! And a hungry young man even more so. Let me just whip something up.”
Chef immediately began to bustle around the kitchen. Chris watched in fascination. For a large man, the cook was very quick and agile, and bounced between the stove, refrigerator, cupboards and counter with such speed that Chris had a hard time figuring out what he was doing.
In the midst of his preparations, Chef visited the fridge and then put a tall glass of juice in front of Chris. “Start with that, young Christopher. Get some vitamin C into you,” he said and carried on with his cooking.
Chris took a long swallow of the juice. It was grape, his favorite; ice cold and delicious.
In a surprisingly short time, Chef had set a plate in front of Chris. It was piled high with pasta smothered in a thick meat sauce and sprinkled with Parmesan cheese. Chris' stomach rumbled loudly at the amazing smell and Chef chuckled as he handed Chris a knife and fork.
“Get that into you, my young friend, while I see about dessert.” Then he patted Chris lightly on the shoulder, took his glass and headed off toward the fridge.
The
food was amazing. However, Chris had only taken a few bites when he caught a movement from the corner of his eye. He turned quickly toward the doorway to find Martin leaning against the frame, arms folded and smiling. He waved toward Chris' plate.
“Carry one, Mr. Wright. Chef's food is much too good to let it get cold.”
Chris' mouth was too full to answer but he nodded an enthusiastic agreement and went back to his dinner.
Chef walked back from the fridge with Chris' refilled glass and put an enormous piece of apple pie smothered with whipped cream next to his plate. He smiled at Chris again and then walked over to Martin.
“So, we have a new resident, Martin?” he asked.
“I think so, Chef. That's for the judge to decide, of course. For now, we'll call him a guest.”
Chris continued to eat but was listening closely to the conversation.
“Well, I certainly hope we keep him,” Chef said. “He just helped save my whole shipment of tomatoes without being asked. Something some of our...less helpful youngsters wouldn't have done.”
Chris listened even more intently. So, there were other young people living here, he thought. Interesting.
“Now, be nice, Chef.” Martin sounded amused. “They're good at heart, you know that, or they wouldn't be here.”
The cook sighed. “Yes, yes, I know. His honor trusts them and we all know he's infallible. But still, just because they're passed the test...”
“Chef!” Martin no longer sounded amused and Chris glanced at the two men. Martin was staring sternly at the cook. “We aren't supposed to forewarn candidates. You know that.”
The other man didn't seem to be bothered by Martin's attitude and smiled as he caught Chris watching them.
“I don't see why not. It can't affect the outcome, you know that. Besides, I've decided I like our young Christopher here,” and he waved at Chris. “I think we should keep him.”
Chris returned the man's smile and then went back to his dinner.
“That's up to the judge, Chef,” Martin replied. Then he hesitated and said “But I will pass on your opinion to his honor.”
Was it Chris' imagination or did Martin sound a bit impressed?
“Yes, you do that, Martin,” Chef said and then both men remained silent.
In a very short time, Chris finished his meal and heaped praise on the cook.
“It was amazing, sir. Totally amazing. The pie was just, just...” He couldn't think of a big enough compliment. “Amazing,” he repeated again, a bit lamely. But Chef was beaming at him.
“Ah, it was nothing, Christopher. Wait until pizza night. I pride myself on my pizzas.”
Even though he was full, the thought of what Chef could do with a pizza almost made Chris hungry again.
“I can't wait, sir,” Chris said eagerly.
Martin interrupted. “Okay, okay, gentlemen. Mr. Wright has had a very long day and it's time I showed him to his room.” He glanced at the cook. “Thanks for doing this on such short notice, Chef.”
The large man waved away the comment. “Not at all. Thank you for bringing Christopher here in time to save my tomatoes. Sleep well, young man. We'll talk again soon.” Then he waved at them both and left the kitchen through a side door.
Chris followed Martin back toward the stairs. With his hunger sated, his legs were starting to feel as though they were made of lead and he had to push himself to keep up with Martin. The man seemed to sense this and he slowed his pace as they began to ascend the stairs.
“So, what did you think of Chef, Mr. Wright?” Martin asked as they walked.
“Oh, I liked him. A lot. And his food is awesome.”
Martin laughed lightly. “It is indeed. The judge would pay any price if Chef ever threatened to leave, but he seems to like it here.” The man's tone changed slightly as he continued. “And he seems to like you as well.”
They reached the top of the stairs and began walking down the corridor. Chris glanced at the man's face but it was blank of expression.
“Well, I did help him a bit with those crates,” Chris said with a shrug. Martin shook his head.
“Chef's opinion is valued by the judge. By all of the staff, really.” He glanced down at Chris for a moment. “It isn't my place to discuss his background, but Chef wasn't always a cook. And if he says he likes you, you can take it as a huge compliment.”
The man stopped talking and continued to lead Chris through the house, while Chris wondered about Chef and why his opinion seemed to matter so much.
Finally, just when Chris felt that he couldn't walk another step, they stopped in front of a door, which Martin unlocked with a key from his pocket. He then turned to Chris and handed it to him.
“This is the Lancelot room. While you stay in it, it is considered yours. Housekeeping has a key, of course, but they will never enter the room while you are using it. It is your home and only those whom you invite in are permitted to enter. Do you understand?”
Martin's tone was oddly formal and Chris, though his mind was fogged with fatigue, wondered why.
“Um, sure, I understand,” he said, pocketing the key.
“Good,” Martin said, He opened the door, reached in and turned on a wall switch. “You'll find toiletries in the bathroom. All residents are expected to be clean and well dressed at all times. There will be clothes in the bureau and closet. Someone will give you a wake up call before seven.” He smiled. “Enjoy your well earned rest, Mr. Wright and, again, welcome to the Hawkes Nest. Pleasant dreams.” Then he nodded to Chris and walked away.
Chapter 5
Chris walked into his new room, closed the door and then just stood there and looked around curiously.
He was standing in a living area. On one wall was a long, black leather sofa with tables at both ends. The lamps on the tables were glowing softly, apparently turned on by the wall switch. A coffee table stood in front of the sofa and several ornate rugs were scattered around the room.
On the opposite wall was a long, heavy book shelf stuffed with books of all sizes and colors. The smell of the leather and paper was soothing. They reminded Chris of a library; one of his favorite places. There was an archway across from the door that led to a second room.
Behind the sofa was a huge painting that took up almost the entire wall. Intrigued, Chris walked closer to the picture and took in the details.
It was a painting of a battlefield. The largest figure was of a man wearing gleaming armor riding a horse. The horse was rearing and its mouth gaped open in what looked like a scream of rage. The man was swinging a massive silvery sword that dripped with blood and his expression matched the fury of his horse.
Bodies were scattered around the field and in the distance, Chris could see other mounted, armored figures as well. But it was the man's opponent that caught and held Chris' attention.
A huge, winged shaped was attacking the knight. Chris assumed that it was a demon of some sort, because the wings were webbed like bat-wings and its gore-covered body was covered with scales of red and black. Horns spiraled out of its forehead and the demon's lips were drawn back in a scream of rage to equal that of the knight.
But Chris was confused. The figure looked demonic except for the face. It was beautiful. There was no other way to describe it. The eyes were large and blue, the skin smooth and youthful and, except for the expression, Chris thought that the demon's face could have been found in an ad in some men's magazine. It somehow made the whole battle scene even more horrific and Chris finally turned away from the picture, feeling disturbed.
He made his way through the archway and found a bedroom. A wall switch turned on more lamps that flanked a large bed covered with a cheery patchwork quilt. The room smelled lightly of citrus. There was a full bathroom off of the bedroom and Chris found a leather bag on the sink with a new toothbrush, toothpaste and everything else he would need.
Chris got cleaned up and slowly walked back into the bedroom, undressed and got into bed. He barely had the strength
to reach out and turn off the lamps before his eyes closed and he sank into an exhausted sleep.
A loud buzzing jerked Chris awake and he stared around blearily. Sunlight was streaming in through the partly-opened curtains and he realized that he had slept all night in a strange bed without waking up once. He felt like he had just fallen asleep.
The irritating buzzing was coming from a cellphone sitting in a charger on the bed-side table that he hadn't noticed the night before. He reached out and fumbled clumsily for it, finally grabbing it and clicking the correct button.
“Hello?” he mumbled.
“Good morning, Mr. Wright,” a cheerful female voice answered him. “This is Cynthia, down at the front desk. This is your six forty-five wake up call. How are you this morning?”
“Um, fine,” Chris said, still feeling groggy. Six forty-five? Ouch, it was early. “I'm fine, thank you.” He hesitated a moment, then said “How are you?”
“I'm quite well, thank you,” she replied briskly. “Now, since you are new, allow me to explain the routine here . Residents are expected to be cleaned up, dressed and in the dining hall for breakfast no later that seven-thirty each morning except Sundays, when a brunch is served. You will find clothes to fit you in your room. To reach the dining hall, turn left when you leave your room, take the first right you come to, continue until you reach the stairs, turn left from the bottom of the stairs, and the dining hall will be halfway down that corridor. Okay so far?”
Chris stared blankly into space, trying to get his foggy brain to repeat the directions back in his head. “Um...” he said.
The woman sounded amused. “Let me go through that again, Mr. Wright.”
She repeated the directions a bit more slowly and this time Chris was sure that he had them memorized. “Excellent, Mr. Wright,” Cynthia said when he had told her that he knew the way. “Now, it is almost six fifty-five. You have thirty-five minutes to get washed, dressed and down to the dining hall, so I won't keep you any longer. Oh, just one more thing. Please take the cellphone you are using with you whenever you leave your room; it is yours for the duration of your stay. If you have any questions, or need directions, feel free to ring the front desk at any time, day or night. The number here is one eleven. Any questions?”
Confronting the Fallen Page 4