Confronting the Fallen (6 page)

Chris followed Martin back toward the stairs. With
his hunger sated, his legs were starting to feel as though they were
made of lead and he had to push himself to keep up with Martin. The
man seemed to sense this and he slowed his pace as they began to
ascend the stairs.

“So, what did you think of Chef, Mr.
Wright?” Martin asked as they walked.

“Oh, I liked him. A lot. And his food is
awesome.”

Martin laughed lightly. “It is indeed. The
judge would pay any price if Chef ever threatened to leave, but he
seems to like it here.” The man's tone changed slightly as he
continued. “And he seems to like you as well.”

They reached the top of the stairs and began
walking down the corridor. Chris glanced at the man's face but it was
blank of expression.

“Well, I did help him a bit with those
crates,” Chris said with a shrug. Martin shook his head.

“Chef's opinion is valued by the judge. By
all of the staff, really.” He glanced down at Chris for a
moment. “It isn't my place to discuss his background, but Chef
wasn't always a cook. And if he says he likes you, you can take it as
a huge compliment.”

The man stopped talking and continued to lead
Chris through the house, while Chris wondered about Chef and why his
opinion seemed to matter so much.

Finally, just when Chris felt that he couldn't
walk another step, they stopped in front of a door, which Martin
unlocked with a key from his pocket. He then turned to Chris and
handed it to him.

“This is the Lancelot room. While you stay
in it, it is considered yours. Housekeeping has a key, of course, but
they will never enter the room while you are using it. It is your
home and only those whom you invite in are permitted to enter. Do you
understand?”

Martin's tone was oddly formal and Chris, though
his mind was fogged with fatigue, wondered why.

“Um, sure, I understand,” he said,
pocketing the key.

“Good,” Martin said, He opened the
door, reached in and turned on a wall switch. “You'll find
toiletries in the bathroom. All residents are expected to be clean
and well dressed at all times. There will be clothes in the bureau
and closet. Someone will give you a wake up call before seven.”
He smiled. “Enjoy your well earned rest, Mr. Wright and, again,
welcome to the Hawkes Nest. Pleasant dreams.” Then he nodded to
Chris and walked away.

Chris walked into his new room, closed the door
and then just stood there and looked around curiously.

He was standing in a living area. On one wall was
a long, black leather sofa with tables at both ends. The lamps on the
tables were glowing softly, apparently turned on by the wall switch.
A coffee table stood in front of the sofa and several ornate rugs
were scattered around the room.

On the opposite wall was a long, heavy book shelf
stuffed with books of all sizes and colors. The smell of the leather
and paper was soothing. They reminded Chris of a library; one of his
favorite places. There was an archway across from the door that led
to a second room.

Behind the sofa was a huge painting that took up
almost the entire wall. Intrigued, Chris walked closer to the picture
and took in the details.

It was a painting of a battlefield. The largest
figure was of a man wearing gleaming armor riding a horse. The horse
was rearing and its mouth gaped open in what looked like a scream of
rage. The man was swinging a massive silvery sword that dripped with
blood and his expression matched the fury of his horse.

Bodies were scattered around the field and in the
distance, Chris could see other mounted, armored figures as well. But
it was the man's opponent that caught and held Chris' attention.

A huge, winged shaped was attacking the knight.
Chris assumed that it was a demon of some sort, because the wings
were webbed like bat-wings and its gore-covered body was covered with
scales of red and black. Horns spiraled out of its forehead and the
demon's lips were drawn back in a scream of rage to equal that of the
knight.

But Chris was confused. The figure looked demonic
except for the face. It was beautiful. There was no other way to
describe it. The eyes were large and blue, the skin smooth and
youthful and, except for the expression, Chris thought that the
demon's face could have been found in an ad in some men's magazine.
It somehow made the whole battle scene even more horrific and Chris
finally turned away from the picture, feeling disturbed.

He made his way through the archway and found a
bedroom. A wall switch turned on more lamps that flanked a large bed
covered with a cheery patchwork quilt. The room smelled lightly of
citrus. There was a full bathroom off of the bedroom and Chris found
a leather bag on the sink with a new toothbrush, toothpaste and
everything else he would need.

Chris got cleaned up and slowly walked back into
the bedroom, undressed and got into bed. He barely had the strength
to reach out and turn off the lamps before his eyes closed and he
sank into an exhausted sleep.

A loud buzzing jerked Chris awake and he stared
around blearily. Sunlight was streaming in through the partly-opened
curtains and he realized that he had slept all night in a strange bed
without waking up once. He felt like he had just fallen asleep.

The irritating buzzing was coming from a cellphone
sitting in a charger on the bed-side table that he hadn't noticed the
night before. He reached out and fumbled clumsily for it, finally
grabbing it and clicking the correct button.

“Hello?” he mumbled.

“Good morning, Mr. Wright,” a cheerful
female voice answered him. “This is Cynthia, down at the front
desk. This is your six forty-five wake up call. How are you this
morning?”

“Um, fine,” Chris said, still feeling
groggy. Six forty-five? Ouch, it was early. “I'm fine, thank
you.” He hesitated a moment, then said “How are you?”

“I'm quite well, thank you,” she
replied briskly. “Now, since you are new, allow me to explain
the routine here . Residents are expected to be cleaned up, dressed
and in the dining hall for breakfast no later that seven-thirty each
morning except Sundays, when a brunch is served. You will find
clothes to fit you in your room. To reach the dining hall, turn left
when you leave your room, take the first right you come to, continue
until you reach the stairs, turn left from the bottom of the stairs,
and the dining hall will be halfway down that corridor. Okay so far?”

Chris stared blankly into space, trying to get his
foggy brain to repeat the directions back in his head. “Um...”
he said.

The woman sounded amused. “Let me go through
that again, Mr. Wright.”

She repeated the directions a bit more slowly and
this time Chris was sure that he had them memorized. “Excellent,
Mr. Wright,” Cynthia said when he had told her that he knew the
way. “Now, it is almost six fifty-five. You have thirty-five
minutes to get washed, dressed and down to the dining hall, so I
won't keep you any longer. Oh, just one more thing. Please take the
cellphone you are using with you whenever you leave your room; it is
yours for the duration of your stay. If you have any questions, or
need directions, feel free to ring the front desk at any time, day or
night. The number here is one eleven. Any questions?”

“No, I don't think so. Thanks for the
information,” Chris said.

“My pleasure. Have a great day,”
Cynthia said brightly and she hung up.

Chris put the phone back on the table and sat
there for a moment, his mind a blank. Too much had happened in the
last few days and he had not had time to absorb it all yet. Then he
realized that he had to be downstairs in a half hour and jumped out
of bed and ran for the bathroom.

After a quick shower, Chris looked through the
closest and chest of drawers and realized that all of the clothes
were exactly his size. How was that possible? But he was in a rush
and decided to think about it later. Finally, dressed in black jeans
and a blue shirt, he shook his head once to get rid on any lingering
moisture, pushed his hair back off of his face, grabbed the cellphone
and slipped it into his pocket and left the room.

Chris remembered to lock the door behind him and
set off for the dining hall. Following the directions he was given
over the phone, he soon found himself outside of the dining room. He
stood in the hall and looked inside.

The room was very large. Chris counted at least a
dozen round tables scattered about, each one with six or more chairs.

The tables were covered with linen table cloths,
place mats and cutlery, and a vase of fresh flowers sat in the middle
of each one.

There were already people seated and eating their
breakfasts, maybe a dozen so far and Chris stood looking into the
room, uncertain where he should sit. Suddenly a voice behind him made
him spin around quickly.

“Good morning, Mr. Wright.” It was
Martin. He smiled at Chris' expression. “Sorry, I didn't mean
to startle you. Come on in and I'll find you a seat.”

Chris followed Martin gratefully and they entered
the dining room.

Not too far from the door, two teens were sitting
together, eating breakfast with great gusto and chatting amiably.
Martin led Chris to the table and waved him toward a seat.

“Good morning, gentlemen. Allow me to
introduce Mr. Wright. Christopher, this is Mr. Whitby and Mr. Saint
James. I'll leave you all to get acquainted.”

Martin walked away and at once the boy he named
Mr. Whitby grinned and said “Sorry for the whole formal thing.
The judge insists on it. I'm Tyler and this is Jacob.” Tyler
was tall and skinny with dirty blond hair. He had a long thin nose
and a wide mouth. His friend was almost his exact opposite; short, a
bit chubby with very short brown hair and small features. Jacob
nodded and smiled.

“How ya doing?” he asked through a
mouthful of food. He stopped chewing then and stared intently at
Chris for a moment.

“Wow,” Jacob said. “You have the
bluest eyes I've ever seen.” Then he blushed and swallowed
loudly.

“Um, thanks,” Chris replied, a bit
embarrassed. “Call me Chris. Everyone does.”

“Cool,” Tyler said. “Ignore
Jake, by the way. He has a habit of saying whatever pops into his
head. So, since this is your first day, breakfast is pretty straight
forward. Just serve yourself from the buffet table.” He waved
toward a long table across the room. “Plates and cups are on
the small table to the left. Go ahead and load up.”

Chris thanked him and headed for the buffet. After
grabbing a plate and cup, he served himself a full plate of bacon,
ham, eggs and toast and poured a cup of coffee, adding cream and
sugar and then headed back to sit down with Tyler and Jacob.

Chris was aware of the discreet looks he was
getting from various people around the room, but they were all being
polite and not staring at the new guy. He felt a bit uncomfortable
but appreciated that they weren't being too nosy or rude, just
curious.

He began to eat and listened closely to the
conversations around the room. But no one was speaking of anything
more interesting than the latest news or sports scores. Once the
other two teens had finished eating though, they began talking to
each other.

“Look Jake,” Tyler said as he wiped
off his mouth with a napkin, “I know you don't like calculus.
The whole class knows you don't like calculus. But one more smart
remark to Mr. Bilby and you'll be scrubbing pots in the kitchen
again. You really want that?”

Jacob scowled. “It wasn't a smart remark,
Ty. I was serious.” Chris saw Tyler roll his eyes. “I'm
not kidding,” Jacob continued. “What possible use is
calculus going to be to us? We need to spend more time with self
defense and tactics and less with these stupid math lessons.”

Chris swallowed the last of his breakfast. “Sorry,
I don't mean to interrupt, but you guys go to school here?” The
other two looked at him as he waved his hand indicating the room
around them. “I thought this was the judge's home?”

Jacob and Tyler exchanged a quick glance. “When
did you get here, Chris?” Tyler asked.

“Late last night. Why?”

“Well,” Tyler hesitated and Jacob
spoke up. “Did the adults say why they brought you here?”

Chris looked at both of them, waited a moment then
said simply “To save my life.”

“Save your life?” Tyler sat back and
glanced at his friend again. Chris noticed that neither looked very
surprised by what he had said. Then Tyler nodded. “Oh, I get
it.” He looked at Jacob. “He hasn't had the 'speech'
yet.”

“Ah, of course,” Jacob replied. “Well,
that explains it.”

Chris was beginning to feel a bit irritated.
“Explains what? What exactly are you guys and all these other
people doing here anyway?”

Tyler opened his mouth but Jacob cut him off. “We
can't tell you that, Chris.” He saw Chris' face darken and
hurried on. “Not yet. Sorry, but the rule is that one of the
senior members of staff has to take you through your indoctrination
first. After that, we can answer any questions you have.” He
shrugged. “If you have any afterward, which most of us don't,
actually.”

Chris watched them both and realized from their
expressions that they weren't trying to be mean. They seemed to
genuinely feel badly that they couldn't answer him. He tried to
smile.

“Okay, I understand.” Both of the
others looked relieved. “I'm just a bit confused by all this
and...kind of nervous.”

“I understand totally, Chris,” Tyler
said while Jacob nodded. “We both felt the same way when we
arrived. And I think we can at least tell you that you're not the
only one that's been brought here for your own safety.” He
looked at Jacob who quickly agreed.