“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. This man definitely had something to hide. He felt emboldened.
Steffen said nothing in response, but merely toed the floor, continuing to wring his hands.
“I know nothing,” he repeated. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”
Godfrey and Gwen exchanged a knowing look. They had found someone important. Yet it was also clear he would give them nothing more. Godfrey felt that he had to do something to get him to talk.
Godfrey stepped forward, reached up, and lay a firm hand on Steffen’s shoulder. Steffen looked up, guiltily, like a schoolboy who had been caught, and Godfrey scowled down, tightening his grip and holding it there.
“We know about what happened to your master,” he said, bluffing. “Now, you can either tell us all we want to know about our father’s murder, or we can have you thrown in the dungeon to never see light again. The choice is yours.”
As he stood there, Godfrey felt the strength of his father overcome him, felt, for the first time, the inherent strength that ran in his own blood, the blood of a long line of kings. For the first time in his life, he felt strong. Confident. Worthy. He felt like a MacGil. And for once, he felt his father’s approval.
Steffen must have sensed it. Because finally, after a very long while, he stopped squirming. He looked up, met Godfrey’s eyes, and nodded in acquiescence.
“I won’t go to jail?” he asked. “If I tell you?”
“You will not,” Godfrey answered. “As long as you had nothing to do with our father’s death. This I promise you.”
Steffen licked his lips, thinking, then finally, after a long while, he nodded.
“OK,” he finally said. “I will tell you everything.”
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
Thor sat deep in the boat, lined up with the others on the long wooden benches, both hands on the thick wooden oar as he rowed, Krohn sitting at his feet. He sweated beneath the sun, as he had for days and, breathing hard, wondered when this would ever end. The journey felt endless. At first, their sails had carried them, but then the wind had died abruptly, and all of the boys on the ship had been set to the task of rowing.
Thor sat there, somewhere in the middle of the long and narrow boat, Reese behind him and O’Connor in front, and wondered how much more of this they could stand. He had never engaged in such hard labor for so long, and every muscle in his body shook. His shoulders, wrists, forearms, biceps, his back, his neck and even his thighs—they all felt as if they would give out. His hands trembled, and his palms were raw. A few of the other Legion had already collapsed in exhaustion. This island, whatever it was they were going, felt as if it were on the far side of the world. He prayed for wind.
They were only given a brief break at nighttime, allowed to sleep for just fifteen minute shifts, while others relieved them. As he had lay there in the boat in the black of night, with Krohn curled up beside him, it had been the blackest and clearest night he had ever seen, the entire world filled with sparkling red and yellow stars; luckily, the summer weather had held, and it had not been too cold. The moist breezes of the ocean had cooled him and he had fallen asleep in moments—only to be awakened minutes later. He wondered if this was part of The Hundred, if this was their way of beginning to break them.