said raising his voice. “What’s your name and address soldier? I’ll need it for the report.”
Fear blossomed in the guard’s eyes. “There’s no need for that sir.” He forced a nervous laugh. “I’m the first to support his majesty’s culture ministry. Please go inside.”
Uneasy silence replaced the laughter and light conversation among the gathered nobles. Nobody wanted a visit from the Meranthian Culture Ministry.
“If I discover the lord of the manor received warning of our arrival, I’ll make sure it’s included in the report.” Ronan kept his voice raised.
The guests near the guard post avoided eye contact as Ronan glared.
Ronan and Rika cleared the checkpoint and walked toward the manor’s towering entrance. A pair of servants wearing House Randal colors held open giant bronze engraved double doors.
Ronan held his head high and haughty as he stepped into an expansive carpeted foyer.
Knights, dignitaries, and nobles clogged the foyer making pleasant conversation before entering the party. Orchestral music drifted from the ballroom mingling with the idle chatter of arriving nobles. Servants entered through a side door carrying trays laden with champagne, pastries, and various appetizers. They weaved through the foyer offering guests refreshments as they entered the great house.
Ronan leaned in close to Rika and whispered in her ear. “The servant’s entrance.”
She kept her expression neutral as she give a quick curt nod.
A tall wiry man wearing House Randal’s crest emblazoned on his formal jacket appeared in front of Ronan. “Welcome to House Randal.” He bowed with a formal stiffness reserved for the upper crust. “My name is Simmons. I’m Lord Randal’s personal steward, and I’m privileged to offer my assistance on behalf of his lordship.” A greasy smile slid across his thin face. “Officers of the cultural ministry are always welcome, and his lordship’s home is open for inspection.” He extended both arms in a welcoming gesture. “In fact, Secretary Mathers himself is in attendance this very evening. I’m sure he’d be pleased to know his guard is turning over ever stone in pursuit of the work Elan intended. If you’ll wait here, I’ll find him right away.”
A chill crept up Ronan’s spine. “There’s no reason to bother the secretary. We’re here to work, not intrude on the Secretary Mathers’ personal time.”
“His Lordship would insist. Now, if you’ll wait here, I’ll return with Sir Mathers in just a few moments.” Simmons spun and disappeared among the throng of party goers.
Sweat gathered on Ronan’s palms, and his thoughts froze. The sideways glances and hushed conversations of the surrounding nobles pricked his ears. The crowded foyer grew cramped, and he pushed away an urgent need to tear away the constricting ministry uniform.
Three house guards stood straight-backed and stiff spread along the foyer’s perimeter. They ignored Ronan and Rika, and their blank expressions gave nothing away.
Ronan moved toward the swinging door the servant’s used. As he brushed past a guard, his skin prickled anticipating a move to intercept him.
Rika followed Ronan, and the guard remained motionless as they passed through the door unmolested.
Ronan felt the guard’s icy glare bore a hole through his back as the door swung closed behind them.
“I don’t think he believed us,” Rika said in a nervous whisper.
The red carpet of the foyer gave way to a parquet covered hallway that stretched out thirty feet ending with a second swinging door. On the hallway’s left side, the final remnants of the late afternoon sun laid an orange glow across the hallway’s wood grained floor. On the hall’s right side, ornate double doors stood open. Near the hallway’s end a small ordinary door stood closed.
“Rika, the last door on the right. Hurry,” he said.
The double doors revealed a library empty of guests. Floor to ceiling bookcases crammed with
John B. Garvey, Mary Lou Widmer