A March of Kings - By Morgan Rice Page 0,65
the door, and after a wait, he heard footsteps. Finally, the door opened. A long, solemn face stared back blankly.
“Yes?” asked the older man, clearly a lifelong servant.
Godfrey turned to Gwen, and she nodded back.
“Is this the waste room?” he asked.
“Yes,” the man answered. “And also the prep room for the kitchen. What business have you here?”
Before Godfrey could respond, the man narrowed his eyes, looking at them with sudden recognition.
“Wait a moment,” he added. “Are you the king’s children?” His eyes lit up in deference. “You are,” he answered himself. “What are you doing down here?”
“Please,” Gwen said softly, stepping forward and placing a hand on his wrist. “Let us in.”
The man stepped back and opened the door wide, and they hurried inside.
Godfrey was surprised by this room he had never been in, although it was in the structure he had lived in all his life. They were all in the bowels of the castle, in a vast room, dark, lit by sporadic torches, filled with burning fire pits, with wood prep tables, and huge bubbling cauldrons hanging over pits. Clearly this room was mean to hold dozens of servants. But other than this man, it was empty.
“You’ve come at an odd time of day,” the man said. “We have not yet begun the breakfast preparations. The others will arrive shortly.”
“That’s OK,” Godfrey answered. “We are here for another reason.”
“Where is the waste pit?” Gwen asked, wasting no time.
The man stared back, baffled.
“The waste pit?” he echoed. “But why would you want to know this?”
“Please, just show it to us,” Godfrey said.
The servant stared back, with his long face and sunken cheeks, then finally turned and led them across the room.
They all stopped before a large, stone pit, inside of which was an immense cauldron, one so large it needed to be hoisted by at least two people, and which looked as if it could contain the waste of the entire castle. It sat beneath a chute, which must have led high above. Godfrey could smell it from here, and he recoiled.
Godfrey stepped forward with Gwen and carefully examined the wall surrounding it. But despite their best efforts, they could see no stains, and nothing out of place.
They looked down into the cauldron, but it was empty.
“You’ll find nothing in there,” the servant said. “It’s emptied every hour. On the hour.”
Godfrey wondered if this was all a waste of time. He sighed, and he and Gwen exchanged a disappointed look.
“Is this about my master?” the attendant finally asked, breaking the silence.
“Your master?” Gwen asked.
“The one who is missing?”
“Missing?” Godfrey asked.
The servant nodded.
“He disappeared one night and never came back to work. There are rumors of a murder.”
Godfrey and Gwen exchanged a look.
“Tell us more,” Gwen prodded.
Before he could respond, a rear door opened, on the far side of the chamber, and in walked a man whose appearance stunned Godfrey. He was short, and wide, and most strikingly, his back was deformed, twisted and hunched over. He walked with a limp, and it was an effort for him to lift his head. He ambled over, their way.
The man finally stood before them, looking back and forth between Godfrey and the servant.
“It is a privilege that you should grace us with your presence, my lords,” the hunchback said with a bow.
“Steffen would know far more about the matter than I,” the other servant added, accusingly. Clearly this servant did not like Steffen.
With that, the servant turned and hurried off, crossing the room and disappearing through a back door. Steffen watched him go.
Godfrey and Gwen exchanged a look.
“Steffen, may we speak with you?” Gwen asked, softly, trying to set him at ease.
Steffen stared back at them with twisting hands, looking very nervous.
“I don’t know what he told you, but that one is full of lies. And gossip,” Steffen said, already defensive. “I have done nothing.”
“We never said you did,” Godfrey said, also trying to reassure him. It was clear that Steffen had something to hide, and he wanted to know what it was. He felt that it had something to do with his father’s death.
“We want to ask you about our father, the king,” Gwen said. “About the night he died. Do you recall anything unusual that night? A weapon falling down the waste chute?”
Steffen squirmed, looking at the floor, not meeting their eyes.
“I know nothing of any dagger,” he said.
“Who said anything of a dagger?” Godfrey prodded.
Steffen looked back up guiltily, and Godfrey knew they had caught him in a lie.