On The Wicked and Fallen

Ch1: part 2

    ***

June 7th-

"Here, young man," the middle aged fellow asked as Droyn drew the meatwagon to a halt, "tell me, is that Atlas University?" he continued, gesturing to the massive building crowning the hill.

"Aye, one in the same, heading up there?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I am,"

"Hop on, the hill's a long climb." Offered Droyn as he patted the seat next to him.

"Very well, thank you," the stranger accepted, hoisting himself up beside Droyn, "You've a name?"

"Droyn, I work for the butcher's shop in town."

"Ahh, I'm Mark. Tell me, have you seen many strange happenings here at Atlas University?"

"Nope, I don't come here often, we deliver meat once a week an occasionally the job falls to me, these folks at this university mostly just keep to themselves. What'er you a reporter?"

"No, just your humble detective, I've received some reports of strange things happening here,"

"Eh? Like what?"

"Just minor thievery and what not." Droyn knew he was lying the moment he gave that explanation, he had an uncanny ability to see right through most lies, but he decided to ignore the professional dishonesty and not interfere with a detective's business.

They idled themselves with small talk as they approached the towering stone building with its antediluvian walls and leaning old-world towers, pulling to a stop outside the side door that lead to the kitchens.

The horses nickered nervously as a murder of crows cawed and cackled, flying up from the rubbish heap. Droyn leapt down and threw open the back of the wagon, toting the first of many crates to the oak door.

"Oi! Open up, meat delivery," Droyn called out in the eerie silence, but no one came to the door, "huh, odd, I'm on time, they should be here,"

Droyn braced his crate against the wall and fumbled with the door handle which opened with a creak, "Oi, where are you?" he called again, stepping thru the open door and into the dim window-lit kitchens,

"Looks like this has been out since this morning," commented Mark, wrinkling his nose at a fly riddled half cut up steak on the counter, "oh, what's this?"

"What's what?" inquired Droyn as he set down the crate and walked over to where Mark stood over a pool of blood, "hmm, sloppy kitchen work. Looks like a stuck pig was dragged out and down the hallway."

Mark walked to the electric light button and pressed it a few times but they remained off. Removing a lantern from the wall, Mark lit it and started down the hall, following the trail of blood in the gathering darkness. Droyn followed him uneasily. The trail thinned and became patchy as they left the kitchen and entered the grand but empty archaic hallways,

"Oi! Anyo..."

"Shh!" Mark cautioned as he drew his revolver from his coat, "quiet, I've a feeling not all is safe here. Now I need you to go back outside and ride back to town as quick as possible, bring back a squad of constables at once! Understood?"

"Aye," nodded Droyn before sprinting down the corridors and outside as a growing sense of panic seized him. Unhitching one of the horses, he swung onto it and slapped its flanks with a "haw!" Galloping down the hillside, Droyn urged the horse onward until he reached the police station.

Sliding from his horses saddleless back, Droyn ran up to the door and pounded on it, thinking what he would say before the mustached officer threw open the door,