The rotating door swung closed behind them. They were now standing in a long corridor made of the same large gray stones as the rest of the castle. From this side, there was likewise no indication of how to turn a solid wall back into a doorway.
“Am I going to need to borrow one of those bonnets in order to leave the castle?”
“Bothersome, isn’t it,” droned a voice behind her.
She spun, axes at the ready, to discover an older man with white hair, thick jowls, and impeccable, if simple, dark blue attire. He raised his eyebrows at her stance and sighed heavily, as if she were the least alarming disturbance in a long succession of vexing inconveniences.
Mr. Lenox handed the disgruntled man her wet headpiece. “McCarthy, I need you to dry Miss Wynchester’s bonnet, if you would, please.”
“You’re the butler?” Elizabeth guessed.
McCarthy glared at Mr. Lenox. “See? Our guests would not sufferthis unnecessary confusion if you allowed me to assume my proper station at the front door.”
“We’ve not admitted any guests until now,” Mr. Lenox reminded him. “The entryway is designed to repel them.”
Elizabeth nodded in approval. “By killing them, sight unseen.”
“A disgraceful practice.” McCarthy held his nose in the air and Elizabeth’s dripping bonnet pinched between two outstretched fingers. He spun on his heels and stalked off down the corridor, muttering all the while. “Unseemly lack of manners. The indignity!”
“I’m not the earl,” Mr. Lenox called after him. “Reclusive curmudgeons don’t need manners.”
Elizabeth agreed wholeheartedly.
A loud sniff was the butler’s only response before McCarthy disappeared from sight.
“Where were we?” asked Mr. Lenox.
“Forget the tea,” said Elizabeth. “Just pour me a glass of brandy.”
Mr. Lenox tucked his helmet under his arm. “That’ll be over this way.”
Soon they were ensconced in what might have been an ordinary study, were it not for five hundred years of nicks and scars in the tall stone walls, and the inexplicable network of bits and bobs strung about from floor to ceiling.
“Is this another murder room designed to kill me?” she inquired.
“Strongly deter,” he corrected firmly. “I hope never to kill anyone.”
“Then whatisall this?” She pointed at the walls and ceiling.
He glanced around, as though he had forgotten they’d walked into a human-size crow’s nest. “It’s for adding milk to one’s tea.”
Of course it was.
He stoked a small fire, then dropped into an armchair and motioned for her to do the same. “I apologize for activating the entryway’s defense mechanisms.”
She perched on the edge of her seat with interest. “It’s not always a murder room? Then how did you know to deploy the weapons?”
He arched a brow. “Have you heard of a telescope?”
“Ah.” She leaned back in her chair with satisfaction. “You saw me knock upon your door. Energetically. With a pair of battle-axes.”
“You also invoked the word ‘berserker,’ which I’ve calculated to have a 0.9879 probability of imminent trouble.”
“Are any other doors guarded in such a manner?”
“There are no other doors.”
“Then how doyouleave?”
