Free Dark Labyrinth 1 by Kevin J. Anderson Page B

interested in the pleasure of running, he stayed the night with the innkeeper’s daughter, who did not know of his troubles. In the morning, shaky with both relief and guilt, the runner went back up to the castle, glad to have a fresh start.
    When he arrived, the household staffmembers were distraught, and young Victor Frankenstein glared at him with angry eyes. His voice was cold. “We know what you’ve done. Those candlesticks were my mother’s heirlooms, fashioned out of the purest silver from the mines of Transylvania.”
    “I . . . I did nothing. I didn’t take them.”
    “You were seen!” cried the head housekeeper, her face streaked with tears. “I saw you, and so did two others!”
    Victor said, “You are hereby discharged from service.”
    The runner stood aghast. “I will make up for it, sir. I’ll pay you back. Please don’t tell the Baron!”
    “I am in charge while my father is away. You cannot repay this debt. You have stolen from us. You have betrayed people who trusted you. Leave Castle Frankenstein, before I call the magistrate.”
    The runner went dejectedly to town. Hearing of his disgrace, all those who had laughed and played games with him, all those who had delighted in his generosity, now did not wish to be seen in his company. Very hungry, he begged the innkeeper’s daughter for food, and she scolded him gambling despite her warnings. She slammed the door in his face.
    As he left the inn, the runner turned into a narrow, dim street where he hoped to curl up and sleep undisturbed. At first, he didn’t see the shadowy man following him, but once in the alley, the stranger came close. He had sharp eyes and a broad face with a thin dueling scar on his left cheek. The man said, “I have a gift for you from Victor Frankenstein.”
    The runner felt a sudden irrational hope. Perhaps he was forgiven after all! Then he saw a long stiletto with an ivory hilt. With a swift jerk of his arm, the other man slashed his throat. “There, not a scratch on the rest of the body, especially the legs. Exactly as ordered.”
    The runner gurgled, feeling hot blood pumping onto his skin, his shirt, and the cobblestones. The assassin leaned over him with a feral smile. “Now Victor says your debt is paid.”
    The heels of the young runner’s boots beat an erratic drumbeat on the ground. His legs stuttered, then stopped running forever.
    #
    The thump is faint at first, then louder. Stronger. No other sound is such a powerful symbol of life. Victor lifts his head from the bandaged chest, raising his triumphant voice to the storm. “One of the hearts is beating!”
    Thump. The blood begins to circulate through quiet blood vessels. Thump.
    #
    With a loud thud, the silver smile of his sharpened axe bit deep into the trunk. Pine chips sprayed as the woodcutter swung again, using his mighty biceps. The impact rang through his hands and wrists, up to the shoulders, absorbed by a sturdy chest. His heart was pumping heavily.
    His old clothes carried the healthy smell of sweat earned through hard work. The axe handle was stout oak polished by the sweat of his palms, smoothed by years of use. His muscles ached after a day of such labor, and it was a good soreness.
    Five more swift strokes, and the gouge had gone to the core. The woodcutter checked the angle, judged where the tree would fall, then struck again. Splinters flew. With a groan of wood and a whisper of scraping boughs, the pine toppled. He stood back with satisfaction, then guided the old horse and cart around fresh stumps to the site of the felled tree. With a saw and a hatchet from the cart bed, he trimmed the branches, then cut the trunk into smaller pieces. He could sell the load in Ingolstadt. He would never become a rich man, but he had a cottage in the forest, food to eat, and a beautiful wife, Katarina. She was the most important part of his life.
    He’d been gone from home for weeks, chopping wood in the dense and untraveled forests near Baron