The Mad Monk and the Christmas Pie by Mark Lesney

Author:Mark Lesney
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: LGBTQIA+, performance arts, humor, mystery, cleric, con artist, medium, murder
Publisher: NineStar Press, LLC
Published: 2021-10-21T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

I wasted what seemed like endless moments wandering the thick-carpeted halls of the family portion of the residence. Somehow I had gotten turned around in my quest for the turret room. Time surely was running out. And what if I bumped into someone? How would I explain? And where was Wilfred? What would happen if I couldn’t find him?

But finally, I found the small stairway I remembered from the mansion’s floor plan. It was almost hidden in the back corner of the fourth floor. I made my way up as quickly as I could on the too-narrow steps, having to go tiptoe on my rather large feet, trying to prevent them from thudding on the wood.

At the top of the stairs was a short, carpeted landing fronting a large, closed door made of sculpted wood almost black with age—like something from a medieval castle rather than a dwelling in New York. And perhaps, given the wealth and power of the owner of the house, the door had been stolen from just such a castle on a collector’s whim.

Raised carvings of hunting scenes graced the darkened surface of the door with views of nature’s carnage, wolves tearing down a stag, a leaping hawk rising to the skies with a struggling rabbit clasped within its talons, and a pair of boars in mortal combat, skewering each other with their giant tusks, twisted in a way no actual forest beast would have been able to attain.

This had to be it—the door to the master’s chambers and the mansion’s inner sanctum. I pressed my ear against the door and listened, but it was far too thick for sound to pass through from inside the room. I carefully tested the knob, which was carved like a small squirrel curled up in a ball. It turned soundlessly, and I eased the door open the slightest crack, trying to look in. I could see nothing but the corner of a massive wooden four-poster bed and a large, mirrored bureau of dark stained wood, similar color to the door, standing beside a set of thick green curtains.

The bedposts and the bureau were also carved with woodland leaves and satyrs’ faces, more ornamental in presentation than narrative like the door. The curtains were parted slightly and gently stirring as if from the breeze from an open window behind them.

Then I heard a noise—a mixture of moan and curse—from the part of the room beyond my view through the crack in the ornate door.

I didn’t know what to do. I dare not call out in case a member of the household should hear me. And if I opened the door farther and anyone other than Wilfred was inside the room, they would surely discover me, and all would be lost.

Then I saw movement reflected in the corner of the bureau mirror. A figure I hadn’t noticed was barely visible behind the rest of the bed beyond my sight—the dark-haired head of a small man at floor height on the opposite side of the room.

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