Locked

Chapter Nine

The carriage raced down the streets, not bothering with precaution, there was simply too much at stake. News travels fast, especially under dire circumstances. The little group of informants knew which information would be richly compensated – and so they had adjusted their speed accordingly. Passing the information along, it had taken roughly a half of an hour for it to reach the boss. And now, said boss found himself racing the clock.

The carriage arrived at his predestined location. Before the mode of transportation had come to a complete stop, a young man jumped out and began sprinting between the rows of warehouses, looking for something. Or someone.

If anyone had been paying attention, they would have described the carriage as small, and black. Only one horse was required to pull the tiny wooden frame. Black curtains fell into place, and

yet it retained an air of aristocracy. Some would call it ghost in the night. And that is indeed what its owner, and maker, called it – a stealth carriage.

And said owner was now currently running from alley to alley, trying desperately to find the spot his informants had described to him. Too bad alleys don't have names. Makes things much

easier. Followed by his trusty driver/butler/confidant/friend, the young man saw something in the dark, something that shone in the moonlight.

He swore.

"Sir..." The breathless form of his butler arrived.

"Mr. Mulberry, your assistance please." The man was already attempting to lift the ragged form of a girl up from the ground.

"Of course your Gra..."

The young man shot him a look that most would interpret as, don't.

The older man, although seemingly more experienced, obeyed his younger master, and helped carry the girl back to the carriage. Once safely inside, the driver climbed back into position, and whipped the horse into a gallop. Time was of the essence, who knows how long the girl had been lying there before his informants had come across her.

The stealth carriage pulled up to a large manor. Nearly all the lights were out. This didn't matter, as the closest neighbour was over one hundred and fifty leagues away and separated by a thick copse of trees the initial owner of the mansion had planted for just that reason – privacy.

The young man, once again, carried the broken figure up to the manor. A plump woman waited just inside the door. She wore a nightgown underneath a robe that fluttered behind as she followed the young man up the stairs. The driver followed. The party of four was the only movement inside the grand house. They made their way along the panelled oak hallways, their footsteps muffled by the plush carpet at their feet. Finally, the party arrived at a bedroom. The young man carefully deposited the figure on the plush bed. The moonlight shone past open curtains, revealing a young woman clad in tattered clothes. Someone gasped.

"Mrs. Mason, fetch the medical supplies please." The young man addressed the only other woman in the room.

The woman nodded as she fled from the room, robe flying.

The driver, or butler, as he appeared to be, lit the room with a series of oil lamps.

"Mr. Mulberry, your assistance please." The butler moved to help the young man. Together, they carefully put the young woman under the sheets. They removed her muddied boots and

tattered coat. Mrs. Mason – the housekeeper – returned. The young man stepped back to let the woman pass by the bed.

As the housekeeper began prepping bandages, the young man sunk into an old armchair. With the adrenaline of the night fading, he found it hard to keep his eyes open. The butler noticed.