The freezing rain fell in unrelenting sheets, turning the courtyard of Thornfield Manor into a treacherous, muddy arena. The heavy iron Executioner's Cleaver hovered in the air, a deadly pendulum suspended by the trembling, alcohol-soaked strength of Bartholomew "Barto" Thorne. Kneeling in the mud beneath that blade was Arthur Pendelton, the Chief Magistrate of Oakendell, his eyes locked onto his would-be executioner with a calm, unyielding defiance that made the tyrant's blood run cold.
"Hold your hand, Master Thorne!" Elias, the elderly gatekeeper, had screamed, throwing himself into the flickering, sputtering light of the pitch torches. His chest heaved with exhaustion, his woolen cloak heavy with rain. "Deputy Lawrence is at the gates! He demands an audience!"
The words struck Barto like a physical blow. The murderous haze in his piggish eyes fractured, replaced by a sudden, paralyzing terror. He lowered the heavy cleaver, the iron tip sinking into the thick mud with a dull thud. He looked at Colin "The Rat", whose own rodent-like face had gone dangerously pale.
"Kill him now, Master," Colin hissed, stepping forward, the rain plastering his thin hair to his skull. "We can bury the body while you speak to the Deputy. Leave no loose ends!"
"Are you insane, Colin?" Elias snapped, his loyalty to the Thorne family's survival overriding his fear of the cruel advisor. He stepped between Barto and Arthur. "Master Bartholomew, think! If you butcher a Crown official in your courtyard, there will be blood on your boots, blood on the stones, and the hounds will go mad with the scent! If Deputy Lawrence forces his way inside and finds you reeking of a fresh kill, you will hang before the week is out! Lock the Magistrate in the cellar. Go wash your hands, put on a dry coat, and meet the Deputy in the parlor like a civilized host. It is the only way to save your own neck!"
Barto stood frozen, a massive, violent man paralyzed by his own sudden vulnerability. The liquor in his veins, which had moments ago fueled his rage, now only amplified his paranoia. He looked at Arthur, who had not flinched, not even when the blade was inches from his throat. The Magistrate's silent judgment was infinitely more terrifying than any scream.
"Elias is right," Barto finally grunted, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. He dropped the cleaver entirely. It landed in the mud with a wet slap. "Take him to the strongroom beneath the east wing. Lock the heavy iron door. If he makes a sound, gag him. Do not touch him until I have dealt with this meddling Deputy."
Colin scowled, his eyes narrowing with venomous disappointment, but he dared not countermand a direct order. He signaled the guards. Rough hands grabbed Arthur by the shoulders, hauling him out of the mud. Arthur's ribs screamed in agony from the earlier beating, and his soaked clothes clung to his freezing skin, but he forced himself to stand tall. He was dragged away into the shadows of the manor, leaving Barto alone in the rain with his mounting dread.
"Go," Barto snapped at Elias. "Bring Lawrence to the main parlor. Give me three minutes to change."
Inside the lavishly decorated parlor, a fire roared in the massive stone hearth, casting dancing shadows against the imported silk tapestries. The room smelled of expensive tobacco and roasted pheasant a stark contrast to the scent of mud and blood in the courtyard.
Deputy Lawrence sat rigidly on the edge of a velvet-cushioned armchair. He was a man who usually preferred the quiet safety of his dusty office, surrounded by ledgers and inkpots. Right now, his heart was hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. He held a cup of steaming tea in his hands, using the porcelain to warm his trembling fingers, praying silently that Captain Carter was in position in the woods outside.
Heavy, thudding footsteps echoed in the corridor. The double doors swung open, and Barto Thorne entered. He had swapped his soaked clothes for a dry, crimson velvet smoking jacket, though his thick neck was still slick with nervous sweat, and his eyes were bloodshot. Colin trailed closely behind him, lurking in the periphery like a shadow.
"Deputy Lawrence!" Barto boomed, forcing a hearty, jovial laugh that sounded entirely unnatural. "What an unexpected pleasure! To what do I owe the honor of a visit on such a miserable, wretched night? Had I known you were braving the storm, I would have sent my carriage for you!"
Lawrence stood up, offering a polite but strained bow. "Master Thorne. Forgive the late intrusion. I would not have disturbed your peace were it not a matter of the utmost urgency. My men and I were patrolling the regional borders, you see."
"Sit, sit! Drink your tea," Barto urged, waving a massive hand as he threw himself into the high-backed armchair opposite Lawrence. "What urgency could possibly drag the good Deputy out into a tempest?"
Lawrence took a slow sip of his tea, buying himself a second to steady his voice. "It concerns the new Chief Magistrate of Oakendell, Arthur Pendelton. He arrived in the Shire recently, but it seems he is a man of unconventional methods. He went out into the territory for a private inspection in disguise, no less and he has not returned. His servant raised the alarm. We have been scouring the villages for any sign of him. I thought it prudent to ask if he had perhaps sought shelter at Thornfield Manor, given your family's esteemed reputation."
The silence that followed was deafening. The only sound in the room was the crackle of the burning logs.
Barto's face flushed a deep, ugly red. His mind raced frantically. He knows, Barto thought, panic seizing his throat. The servant talked. The disguise is ruined. He knows the Magistrate is here.
For a long, agonizing moment, Barto simply stared at Lawrence, entirely incapable of formulating a lie. His thick fingers gripped the armrests of his chair so tightly the wood groaned.
Lawrence, despite his natural cowardice, was an incredibly astute man. He saw the sweat bead on Barto's forehead. He saw the feral, cornered-animal look in the tyrant's eyes. Lawrence's blood ran cold. Arthur is here. And from the look of this monster, he might already be dead.
"Master Thorne?" Lawrence prompted, keeping his voice carefully neutral. "You look unwell. Have you heard something regarding the Magistrate?"
Barto blinked, snapping out of his panicked stupor. He forced a sickeningly sweet smile. "Ah, forgive me, Deputy. You startled me with such grave news. A missing Magistrate is a terrible thing indeed. As the old saying goes: In a world of constant storms, bad news travels faster than a galloping horse. But alas, no. I have seen no wandering officials, disguised or otherwise. Perhaps he lost his way in the marshlands?"
Lawrence set his teacup down on the saucer with a soft clink. "Perhaps. But my men have reports placing him near Thornfield Village this very afternoon."
At those words, Colin "The Rat" stepped out of the shadows. He leaned down, placing a hand on Barto's shoulder, and whispered rapidly into his master's ear.
"He is not looking for him, Master. He knows he is here. He came with a small guard. If we let him leave, he will return at dawn with an army. We must sever the head of the snake. Kill the Deputy, kill his guards, and we bury them all with the Magistrate. We will say they were ambushed by highwaymen on the road."
The whisper was poison, but to Barto's terrified mind, it sounded like salvation. A dark, murderous resolve settled over Barto's heavy features. He took a deep breath, his chest expanding under the velvet jacket. The charade was over.
Barto's eyes locked onto Lawrence, all pretense of hospitality vanishing, replaced by naked malice.
"You know, Lawrence," Barto rumbled, his voice dropping an octave. "You are a very nosy man. And nosy men rarely live to see their hair turn white."
Lawrence's breath caught in his throat. He slowly reached into his coat, his fingers brushing the handle of a concealed signal flare.
"Colin," Barto commanded, not breaking eye contact with the Deputy. "Lock the parlor doors. Call the guards from the hall. Have them draw their steel."
Colin's face twisted into a cruel grin. He moved toward the heavy oak doors, sliding the iron bolt into place with a definitive clack. "With pleasure, Master."
Barto stood up, his massive frame towering over the fireplace. "You came here looking for a dead man, Lawrence. Congratulations. You are about to join him. Did you really think you could walk into my home and interrogate me? I am the law in Thornfield!"
"You are a fool, Bartholomew," Lawrence said. To his own surprise, his voice didn't shake. The sheer adrenaline of impending death had burned away his cowardice. He pulled the flare from his coat, struck the fuse against the stone hearth, and tossed it toward the large, stained-glass window.
The flare shattered the glass, erupting into a blinding, brilliant red light that illuminated the stormy night sky.
Barto roared in anger, lunging across the table to grab the Deputy's throat.
But before his thick fingers could close around Lawrence's neck, the world outside the manor exploded.
CRASH!