Marcus Hartwell's Arc

Chapter 3 of 7

The copied records burned inside Marcus's coat all morning. He could not keep them at the manor. Aldrich searched the study drawers each night. If the old man found the sheet, Marcus would lose more than his wages. He needed a hiding place beyond the manor walls. The town shop came to mind. He had bought bread there twice. No one would look for Aldrich's secrets in a shopkeeper's counter. Marcus walked into town and pushed open the shop door. A girl stood behind the cashier's table, stacking coins into neat towers. She was maybe sixteen, with a leather apron smudged from work and her hair tied back tight. "My father's out," she said, not looking up. "So I'm counting. If you're buying, be quick." "Emma, isn't it?" Marcus asked. He had heard the shopkeeper call her that. She glanced at him then, wary. "You're the man working up at the manor. Nobody stays there long." "I need a favor." Marcus set a coin on the table. "I have a paper. Something valuable. I can't carry it. Could you keep it somewhere safe? Just for a while." Emma studied him. She did not take the coin. "What's on it?" "Nothing that touches you or your father," Marcus said. "You have my word." She was quiet a moment. Then she crouched and slid open a low panel under the table's surface. "There's a gap here, behind the shelf. Nobody knows but me." She held out her hand. Marcus drew the folded sheet from his coat. His fingers shook as he passed it over. Emma tucked it into the gap and pressed the panel shut. It vanished into the plain wood. "Don't come asking for it often," she said. "People notice things." Marcus thanked her and left. For the first time in days, his chest felt light. The evidence was safe, far from Aldrich's reach. Now he could open the hidden door without fear of losing his proof. He returned to the manor as the sun dropped. The halls were empty. He walked to the corner and counted the panels. Fourth from the left, waist height. He pressed the spot. The wall swung inward without a sound. Cold air breathed out. The same strange smell met him. Marcus lifted his candle and stepped into the dark passage. Something moved on the floor. He froze. A shape crossed the candlelight. It was long, ridged, green as wet stone. Too many legs. Its body curved like a scorpion's, and a wet mouth of teeth clicked as it turned toward the light. No insect he had ever seen looked like this. It should not exist. Marcus stopped breathing. The thing raised its head and fixed one glassy eye on him. Slowly, it began to crawl his way. He understood now what Aldrich shipped in those crates. And one of them was loose, between Marcus and the only way out.