Mr. Carrow said knowledge was a weapon, and now Jack knew his enemy better than anyone, including Mr. Carrow or the chancellor himself. He knew the lengths he would go to achieve his goals, the crimes he committed to collect a long line of bullshit trophies and crowns.
A disgusting manifesto of an insane megalomaniac. The song of a twisted, narcissistic giant. And it was going to be what destroyed him in the end.
Jack grabbed another pillowcase and shoved the manuscript inside, adding clothes and?—
The grandfather clock chimed again, and Jack froze.
Supper.
A low, wet gurgle rose from the corner. The Pavlovian response of a fat beast, even a bludgeoning, couldn’t break.
Jack watched in horror as the chancellor’s fat fingers twitched. Another gurgled moan.
Setting down the sack, he crept closer, sweeping the blood-smeared golden goose off the floor by its long neck.
The giant continued to stir. The solid brass slipped slowly in Jack’s hand, his grip tightening around the brass neck so the base of the gaudy statue hung lower at his side. He crept closer.
A moan.
Blood matted his skull where a gash formed a seeping, red mouth beneath his thinning hair. Jack’s knuckles popped, bleaching of color as he gripped the slick golden goose and stared unblinking as a lifetime of nightmares lay at his feet.
Do it.
He couldn’t look away.
DO IT.
The world silenced. His heart slowed.
DO IT!!!
A raw, animalistic roar tore from Jack’s chest as the goose came down with a sickening crunch, brass connecting with bone.
He drew back, flesh sticking with a revolting slurp, and the chancellor made an inhuman wheeze.
“Fuck you!” He swung again. And again. And again. Each impact sent shockwaves up his arms as blood spattered his face and chest.
When he staggered backwards, the white walls of his golden prison dripped with red.
Jack dropped the golden goose, staring in horror as he stumbled toward the door.
His jaw trembled. Jack tripped over his feet, slipping on the pillowcase of clothes. He crashed into the nightstand. The room spun. His hands wore liquid gloves of red, making everything slick.
Aurin wasn’t moving. No sign of breathing.
I killed him.
Jack snatched the pillowcase with the manuscript off the floor and shoved the golden goose inside. There wasn’t time to think. He needed to move.
Bolting out of the room, he ran for the servants’ stairs, retrieved the other pillowcase bulging with money, and rushed for the nearest door, only to stop and backtrack when staff members passed at the end of the hall.
Think!
The kitchen entrance would be busy this close to supper. The front door was impossible. But the garage…
Jack pressed himself into an alcove, holding his breath, two pillowcases clutched at his side. They didn’t look his way. Didn’t see the bloody footprints on the floor.
As soon as they passed, he raced down the hall. Past the door to the wine cellar. Down the passage that connected the main house to the garage.
