Seffargo

Chapter 11

The stone hallway was far from empty. It was alive with the rhythmic gait of guards, their armour clanking with each step. Barcley led the charge. He had chosen to wear a more formal attire for the situation, including a decorative sword sheathed at his waist. It was his fathers and had belonged to his father before him. It only seemed right to bring a family heirloom to the occasion.

Georgie strode beside him, her breath coming quick as adrenaline coursed through her system. Barcley knew she was still doubtful; but the reports he had shown her had convinced her enough to at least follow the lead. If it led to a dead-end, then so be it. But, if it didn't ...

'Calm down, Georgie,' Barcley said as the older woman stormed ahead. 'There's no rush.'

She slowed down, rejoining the prince's side. 'You keep saying that—but there most certainly is. If your hunch is wrong, then we need to continue the search. And even if your right ... They may not have brought any antidotes!'

What she said was true, but Barcley was doubtful. When dealing with poisons, safety for oneself should always be paramount. And, for that reason alone, he suspected that the culprit who poisoned his father would carry at least one antidote.

'And what if they've already left?' Georgie continued. The group turned left at an intersection. They were nearing the east wing of the castle—nearing the staff chambers.

'Why would they leave?' Barcley asked. 'They have no reason to run.'

'What if they caught word that you were on to them?'

'And, pray tell, how would they have come to know that?'

'I don't know,' she said. 'Maybe they thought you were acting strange, or perhaps they grew worried. Maybe their work is done, so they fled. I don't know! Let's just catch them before they leave.' Georgie sped forward, putting several meters between her and the main group. Barcley let her go. She was worried, stressed, confused and conflicted; she needed to be alone.

Initially, Barcley was hesitant to bring her along. Georgie—though trusted—was not trained to fight. There was no telling what would happen, and the last thing he needed was for her to be harmed during the arrest. But Georgie had insisted on coming ... She had to talk to the culprit—she had to know why.

When Barcley and the guards caught up to Georgie, she was standing by a door leading to one of the suites. Gently, Barcley pushed her aside and signaled for her to wait. He took a deep breath and cooled his features, then rapped his knuckles on the wooden door.

There was no response.

He knocked louder this time. His heart hammered in his chest. The silence grew longer, and as it did, his patience grew thinner. What if Georgie had been right?

'Your Highness, shall we use our key?' one of the guards asked.

'In a minute,' Barcley said—but he wasn't sure why. If there was no response ... Could they be out? He turned to Georgie and whispered, 'Is there any chance they could be somewhere else in the castle? An errand to run. Chores to do. Anything?'

Georgie shook her head, not trusting her voice.

He had tried. Despite the evidence, he had tried to give them the benefit of the doubt—even at the last moment.

'Unlock the door,' he said. A guard stepped forward and slid a thick key into the lock, working quickly and quietly to twist until they heard the faint click. 'Go,' Barcley said. 'But we need her alive.'

The guards filed into the room, drawing their swords as they entered. Barcley entered after them, and Georgie stayed close behind. The room was large and furnished with fine couches, large rugs, and numerous animal pelts. There were plenty of knick-knacks, ranging from photos, to clocks, to paintings, to small sculptures. A large fireplace sat in the wall off to the side—though there was no fire burning within. Photographs lined the mantle.

Barcley approached the fireplace, moving slowly as his guards dispersed silently into the rooms beyond. His hand felt at the frame of one of the photos on the mantle. There were four young girls, perhaps in their mid-teens. They were all happy. Smiling. Undoubtedly having the time of their lives ... enjoying their youth; as they should. The girls sat on a chequered blanket lined with sandwiches and sweets, a wicker basket in its center ...

'Your Highness,' a guard said.

Barcley looked up from the photograph and fought back the tears. 'What is it?'

'The rooms are empty.'

/ END /

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