Chapter 6 - FIRE IN THE EAST WING
Victor's boots crossed the tack-room floor with slow precision. Ethan crouched behind the hanging blankets, close enough to see the man's shadow stretch over the blue chest where the hidden evidence had just been found.
Mr. Cole pressed one finger against Ethan's sleeve, telling him to remain still. In the darkness, the butler's bruised cheek seemed almost gray. His other hand closed around the handle of an empty lantern.
Victor touched the helmet lying beside the chest. “A little boy finds secrets,” he murmured. “He doesn't understand them, but he knows how to make trouble.” His eyes moved toward the blankets concealing them.
Ethan's lungs begged for air. He tried to breathe through his nose, remembering the way his mother had taught him to stay calm before school performances. Count the notes. Find the next one. Keep going.
The radio clipped to Victor's belt crackled. Conrad's voice burst through. “The east wing is burning. If they went back inside, they'll have to come out. Leave the tack room and guard the stable yard.”
Victor swore softly. He took two steps toward the door, then noticed a small bead of rainwater sliding from Mr. Cole's shoe onto the floor. His head turned sharply, and Ethan knew their hiding place had vanished.
“There you are.” Victor seized the hanging blankets and yanked them aside. Mr. Cole stepped forward at once, placing himself between the intruder and Ethan, the empty lantern raised only to block his reach.
“Get away from the boy,” the butler said. Victor reached for Ethan anyway. Mr. Cole intercepted his arm with the lantern, sending a loud metallic clang echoing around the narrow room.
Victor shoved him into the saddle rack. Hooks rattled and empty leather straps struck the floor. Ethan cried out, but Mr. Cole stayed upright long enough to point toward the small hatch above the feed box.
“Up, Ethan!” the butler ordered. Ethan scrambled onto the box, pulled the hatch open, and wriggled into the loft passage. His shoe slipped once, and he caught the edge before hauling himself through.
Below, Victor caught Mr. Cole by the collar. The butler twisted free and swung the lantern against the doorframe, making Victor recoil from the sudden noise. No one had time for another blow.
Mr. Cole climbed after Ethan, slower than the boy but driven by urgency. As he squeezed through the hatch, Victor lunged and caught his coat. The fabric tore at the seam, leaving the intruder holding black wool.
Ethan crawled along the overhead walkway, trying not to look through the gaps in the boards. Beneath him lay an old carriage workshop, now converted into a locked storage room with one chair beneath a bare bulb.
Adrian Vale sat in that chair, his wrists secured with plastic restraints and his white shirt stained by grime. His face was drawn with exhaustion, but when he raised his head Ethan recognized every beloved line.
“Daddy!” The word escaped before Ethan could stop it. Adrian looked up, disbelief flickering across his features. Then terror replaced it. “Ethan, stay back. Whatever they tell you, don't come down here.”
Mr. Cole reached the walkway beside the boy. “Adrian, we've found the records. Mrs. Finch is going for the sheriff.” His voice trembled for the first time, and Ethan understood how frightened he had been for his employer.
A hard slam shook the hatch behind them. Victor was forcing his way up from the tack room. Mr. Cole crawled toward the far end of the loft, where a narrow stair descended beside the workshop's locked door.
From outside came a distant siren. Ethan's heart leaped until Mr. Cole shook his head. “It's the estate's old smoke warning, not a police car.” Through a high window, orange light shimmered beyond the rain.
The eastern corridor of the mansion was burning. Smoke rolled beneath the covered walkway connecting the buildings, and sparks floated above the wet rooftops before the wind carried them into the darkness.
Ethan stared at the home where his mother had sung him to sleep. The thought of it burning frightened him almost as much as Victor, but his father was below and the loft was no longer safe.
Adrian strained against his restraints. “Cole, the lock on the workshop door has been changed. They kept the key with the security papers.” He swallowed painfully. “Conrad has men outside. Don't bring Ethan through the yard.”
Mr. Cole examined the stair. Its wooden steps were old but sound, and a narrow railing shielded them from the room below. He pushed Ethan ahead, maintaining one hand near the boy's back.
Victor's face appeared at the loft hatch. “End of the road,” he called. Mr. Cole turned just long enough to push a loose storage crate into the aisle, delaying the intruder without trying to injure him.
The crate slid across the boards and scattered empty horse brushes. Victor stopped to kick it aside. Ethan and Mr. Cole reached the bottom of the stair before the intruder could clear his path.
They found themselves behind a second barred partition overlooking Adrian's room. Beyond it lay the workshop door. The bars were fixed, but a narrow gap at their base allowed Ethan to see his father's shoes.
“I can reach him,” Ethan whispered. Mr. Cole tested the partition and shook his head. “Not safely. We need a key, and we need Victor out of this building before we try the workshop.”
Then Ethan remembered the worn helmet. Grace's clue had led them beneath the floor, but the six-pointed star scratched in the lining looked exactly like the brass symbol on the east greenhouse door.
He opened the notebook. Beside the last star, Grace had drawn a small square with a diagonal line. Ethan recognized the shape from the workshop: an old emergency key cabinet behind a dusty glass pane.
“Over there,” he said, pointing across the partition. Mr. Cole followed his finger and saw the cabinet mounted just inside the workshop's outer door. Its seal looked decades old, untouched by Conrad's men.
But reaching that cabinet meant leaving their sheltered stairwell. Victor's footsteps hammered overhead, and the smell of smoke was strengthening even inside the carriage house. Mr. Cole looked toward Ethan with painful uncertainty.
“I cannot ask you to run toward him,” the butler said. Ethan gripped his sleeve. “Then tell me how to help from here.” His voice shook, yet there was something fiercely practical in the question.
Mr. Cole noticed a dusty brass bell mounted beside the partition, connected to the workshop's exterior fire alarm. The pull cord ran down the wall behind the stair, just within Ethan's reach.
“When I say so, pull it,” he instructed. “The bell may draw anyone outside toward this entrance. I will go through the service door and retrieve the key while they're looking the other way.”
Ethan nodded. Mr. Cole slipped into the adjacent corridor, leaving the boy shielded by the bars and the stair. A moment later, Victor's footsteps sounded above, approaching the top of the wooden steps.
“Now,” Mr. Cole called from outside. Ethan pulled the cord hard. The carriage-house bell exploded into sound, its deep metallic clang rolling over the gardens and echoing against the stable walls.
Victor stopped. Someone outside shouted about the fire. Over the alarm, Ethan heard Mr. Cole force open the old cabinet, followed by the bright clatter of keys tumbling onto stone.
Then the bell rope jerked violently from Ethan's hand. Victor stood at the bottom of the stair, filling the passage. His black jacket was torn, and his eyes were fixed on the boy alone.
“You've been a nuisance all night,” he said, reaching past the bars. Ethan backed against the wall, trapped between the partition and the stair. Beyond the workshop door, Adrian began shouting his son's name.
May you like
A key turned in the outer lock. For one breath, Victor and Ethan both looked toward the sound. The workshop door swung open, and Mr. Cole stepped inside with the emergency key in his shaking hand.
Victor lunged toward him. Ethan saw his father's chair scrape across the floor as Adrian struggled to stand. Outside, the estate bell kept ringing, demanding that someone finally hear what was happening inside.
