"If he refuses, or if he acts suspiciously, it means he has something to hide," Lawrence said, swallowing hard. "I will try to talk my way inside to investigate. If things go wrong, or if I confirm the Magistrate is in danger, I will send up a red flare. That is your signal to break down the gates and kill anyone who stands in your way."
Carter smiled grimly. "Now you're speaking my language, Deputy. Let's go hunt."
And so, the trap was set. The march through the torrential rain was miserable, but the hundred guards moved with a silent, grim determination. When they reached the outskirts of Thornfield, Captain Carter signaled his men to vanish into the tree line.
Deputy Lawrence, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird, rode up to the imposing iron gates of Thornfield Manor accompanied by five loyal guards. He pulled the collar of his coat up against the freezing rain and ordered his man to knock.
The heavy iron knocker slammed against the metal gate, the sound echoing like thunder in the quiet village.
For several agonizing minutes, there was no response. Lawrence ordered them to knock again, harder.
Finally, a voice called out from the darkness within. "Who goes there? The hour is late! State your business or face the hounds!"
"It is Deputy Lawrence of the Oakendell Courthouse!" Lawrence's guard shouted back, trying to project authority. "The Deputy is conducting a regional night inspection and wishes to pay his respects to the Master of the House!"
"Wait a moment," the voice grumbled.
Inside the gatehouse, Elias the gatekeeper rubbed his tired eyes. He peered through the small viewing slit. Seeing the official uniforms of the Shire Guard, he immediately unbolted the heavy locks. The gates creaked open, revealing the rain-swept courtyard.
"Forgive the delay, Deputy Lawrence," Elias said respectfully, bowing slightly. "It is a foul night for a patrol. I am Elias, the head gatekeeper."
"No apologies needed, Elias," Lawrence replied, dismounting his horse and handing the reins to a guard. "We were caught in the storm while inspecting the northern roads. I know your master, Liam Thorne, is a hospitable man. Is the White Stallion in residence tonight?"
"I am afraid not, sir," Elias answered honestly. "Master Liam has traveled to the Riverbend Festival to meet with William Croft. The estate is currently under the care of his younger brother, Master Bartholomew. Please, step into the gatehouse out of the rain. I will go and inform him of your arrival."
Lawrence nodded, stepping into the dry warmth of the gatehouse, though a cold shiver ran down his spine. Barto is alone. The Magistrate is in terrible danger.
Elias grabbed a hooded lantern and hurried across the sprawling, manicured gardens toward the main house. He was a good man, Elias. He had spent his life serving the Thorne family, taking pride in Liam's honorable reputation. But he secretly despised Barto, knowing the younger brother was a cruel parasite who would eventually bring ruin to their name.
As Elias approached the main hall, he found the doors unlocked. He stepped inside, shaking the water from his cloak. The lavish reception room was a disaster. A shattered porcelain teapot lay on the floor, surrounded by scattered tarot cards and a fake theatrical beard.
Sitting in the corner, nervously picking at a plate of cold roasted pheasant, were Ned and Toby, the two young house servants.
"Boys," Elias said, his brow furrowing. "Where is Master Bartholomew? And what in the world happened here? Why is there a fake beard on the table?"
Ned, a skittish boy who was terrified of Barto, looked up with wide, panicked eyes. "Oh, Elias, it's terrible! The master is going to get us all killed!"
"Keep your voice down!" Toby hissed, elbowing his friend.
"What happened?" Elias demanded, stepping closer, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper.
"That fortune teller who came this afternoon?" Ned whimpered. "Colin figured it out. He wasn't a mystic. He was the new Chief Magistrate from Oakendell, here in disguise! Master Barto went mad. He had the guards beat him and drag him out to the west stables. Colin convinced the master that they have to kill him tonight to hide the evidence. They're out there right now with the Executioner's Cleaver!"
Elias felt the blood drain from his face. The lantern in his hand trembled. Murdering a Crown Magistrate? It wasn't just a crime; it was an act of high treason. If Barto went through with it, the military would burn Thornfield Manor to the ground, and Liam's legacy would be destroyed forever.
Elias didn't ask another question. He dropped his cloak and sprinted back out into the freezing rain, running faster than his old legs had moved in years, splashing through the mud toward the dilapidated west stables.
He burst through the stable gates, his eyes immediately drawn to the horrifying tableau in the center of the courtyard. The torches, the bound man kneeling in the mud, and the massive, drunken form of Barto Thorne raising the heavy iron cleaver.
"Hold! Master Thorne, hold your hand!" Elias had screamed, entirely unaware that he had just bought Arthur Pendelton a few more minutes of life.
Which brought them back to the present moment.
Barto glared at Elias, the rain plastering his expensive silk clothes to his skin. "Deputy Lawrence? Here? Now?" Barto muttered, paranoia gripping his alcohol-soaked brain. "Did someone leak the news? Did that rat of a servant escape?"
Colin "The Rat", who had been standing in the shadows watching the execution with a sadistic smile, suddenly stepped forward, his rodent-like face pale. "Master, this is bad. We cannot let him in."
Barto turned to Elias, his voice laced with panic. "Go back to the gates. Tell him I am bedridden! Tell him I caught a sudden fever from the storm and cannot receive guests. Turn him away!"
Elias stood his ground, shaking his head firmly. "Master Bartholomew, I beg you to think clearly. You cannot do that. Deputy Lawrence knows this family. He knows you. If you claim to be severely ill in the middle of the night, common courtesy will force him to insist on coming inside to check on you, or worse, he will offer to ride back to town to fetch a physician. He has five armed guards with him. If you refuse him entirely, it will look incredibly suspicious. He will know you are hiding something."
Barto lowered the cleaver, the heavy iron tip resting in the mud. He rubbed his face with his free hand, groaning in frustration. He was a man who relied on brute force; subtle politics and lies terrified him.
"Elias is right," Colin whispered, his eyes darting around like a trapped rat. "If we turn him away aggressively, he might return with the entire Shire Guard tomorrow. We must maintain the illusion of hospitality."
"Then what do I do?!" Barto hissed, spitting rainwater.
"You must go to the main hall," Elias urged. "Change into dry clothes. Offer him warm wine. Make small talk, complain about the weather, and send him on his way peacefully. It is the only way to avoid arousing suspicion."
Barto stared into the darkness, his chest heaving. He looked down at Arthur Pendelton, who was still kneeling in the mud, perfectly calm, his eyes fixed on Barto with an unwavering, piercing intensity that made the tyrant's skin crawl.
"Fine," Barto growled, his voice a low, terrifying rumble. "I will go play the gracious host. I will smile and drink with that pathetic Deputy."
Barto turned his back, taking two steps toward the main house before suddenly stopping. He slowly turned his head, his eyes burning with a renewed, psychotic malice. He looked at Colin and the dozen heavily armed guards surrounding the courtyard.
"But I am not leaving loose ends," Barto whispered, pointing a thick, trembling finger at Arthur. "Boys. Do not wait for me. Hack this arrogant bastard to pieces. Do it quietly. Leave nothing but meat for the hounds, and bury the bones deep in the woods before sunrise."
Barto dropped the cleaver into the mud and stormed off toward the manor, leaving Arthur completely at the mercy of the wolves.
Colin smiled, picking up the heavy iron cleaver. He ran his thumb over the razor-sharp edge. He looked at the guards, nodding slowly. "You heard the Master. Let's get to work."
The guards drew their steel blades, their boots squelching in the mud as they closed the circle around the lone Magistrate. The storm raged on, completely masking the sound of drawn steel.
(To be continued...)