He went the way Peter and the others had gone, half-aware that Cloudtree was behind him and without the faintest idea what lay ahead.
Chapter 22
Peterlookedaroundthehouse as they snuck through it.He was surprised that no servant had come for them after Miel had screamed over his broken knee, but that was beginning to make sense.
Everything here had an abandoned look to it, from the curtains that hung limply to barely cover clouded windows, to the carpets with their patterns that should have been bright but were now dull and dusty.The floorboards too had lost their polished shine, and it smelled—worse than the rotting onions in the entrance hall.
Carl-Conrad didn’t seem to mind the smell.He was leading them forward through a sitting room hung with landscapes, then through a dining room and library.They took a few stairs down and came to what should have been the servants’ area of a manor house, but it was abandoned just like the first floor.
Just off the stairs, there was a wooden kitchen table, dusty and with a few chipped dishes on it.It would have been where servants ate their meals.Gertrude made a face while Laurette peered around a large, arching doorway ahead of them.
Behind it, there was the kitchen.It was, much like the rest of the house, filthy with neglect.Also like the rest of the house, it had the bones of a well-functioning household—copper pots, a large sink, many work surfaces, a range to prepare feasts.Close to the hearth that held only ashes, Peter spotted a recessed bed with a straw mattress, and it had been made not that long ago.Looked like it had been in use until very recently.
“I think they made Cloudtree sleep here,” Laurette whispered.“Must’ve been a pain with those long legs.He really wouldn’t have fit.”He went to the bed and pulled a small book from under a thin pillow.“Huh.Customs from the Human Realme.With an extra ‘e’.How fancy.”
“Must’ve been where he learned about being neighborly,” Gertrude said.
Laurette grinned at the book.It was a slightly malicious expression.“I’m taking this.I bet it’s hilarious.”
He stuffed the thin volume into a large pocket of his riding pants.Carl-Conrad looked at them, then stomped his front paw, eyes going to a door in the wall off to the right.
Laurette looked up.“What, in the scullery?”
Peter raised his sword.“No.I think that’s the basement.”
Laurette very nearly hopped with excitement.“I love a basement!Onward.”
“You’re the one picking up trash, my lord,” Gertrude said.
Laurette made a thoughtful face.“True, true.But I’m all geared up for the basement now.I think you’re being too judgy about me today, Gertrude, really.”He turned to Peter.“Do you like basements?”
“They are practical.”And hopefully you’re never going into mine.
Laurette raised his Elven sword, a cross between a scimitar and a wakizashi, by Peter’s best guess.
“Aren’t they just?But the thing with basements?You never know what you’ll find in them, never know what people hide there.Be ready for anything.”
Laurette’s voice had dropped to a whisper.There was a glint in his eyes.Peter had seen that expression on those trained to kill, archers or assassins, when they knew they’d soon find a target they could hit.
“Always am,” Peter said.
Getrude shook her head in exasperation and made it to the basement door first, giving Peter and Laurette just enough time to get into position behind her.Carl-Conrad looked more than ready on the other side of the doorway.Gertrude turned the knob and pulled the door open.
Stairs led down, and Carl-Conrad went first, his paws near silent on the stone.Peter could have sped, but Faerie leeched a vampire’s strength.He followed Laurette at what would have been a brisk human pace, and Gertude followed him.
The basement was like those in older castles, stone-finished and cool.It consisted of several large rooms, and very close to the stairs, wooden shelves held preserves.
Or they should have.They were near empty, and a sour, mildewy scent hung in the air, as if one of the jars had broken and never been cleaned up.It was almost enough to cover the scent of blood.
Peter took a deep breath when he smelled it to make sure, but also because it worried him.Corvin and Michael deserved good things and happiness.
“Blood,” he whispered.
Laurette nodded once, and Carl-Conrad bared his teeth.If he had smelled it, so had the werewolf.
The basement’s floor was partially cobbled, leaving bare ground in other places.There was a central hallway, but rooms split off of it to the right.They went into the first, and it connected to another room—a maze that was bound to confuse them quickly.
Following Carl-Conrad’s lead, they went toward that connecting room, which was a wine cellar, as it turned out, that split into yet more rooms.The damp air was thick with the scent of aging barrels and opened bottles, and while the place was large, just what Peter would have expected from a rich estate, the amount of wine visible was not.It looked as if someone had robbed the place, going more or less from highest shelf to lowest.Occasionally, there were shards of glass on the floor and stains on the walls where a bottle had been sampled, found wanting, and immediately punished for the poor taste of whoever had picked it.
