Kevin Wade Johnson
2024
The heavy wooden door in the back looked cared for, oiled before winter arrived. I lifted the knocker and rapped on the door three times. After a chilly minute, it opened, and a big man with a shaved head looked at us, raising his eyebrows. I said, "A distant friend directed us here." "Did she now?" he said in a pleasant baritone. "Then, be pleased to come in." He opened the door wide, and after we got snow-covered boots and outerwear off, led us to a nearby receiving parlor. The house gave the same impression of age as the city in general did; the wide, wide floor planks didn't come from any trees like we'd seen from the sleigh, and though oiled and maintained, were worn enough in the middle of the hallway that the floor was perceptibly lower there. The walls weren't wainscoted, but rather paneled floor to ceiling, then whitewashed, making the hall feel wider. The footman stood by the door once he'd opened it. A pretty servant girl with a limp worse than mine—she walked with a stick—came from a back cross hall and stopped when she saw us. The footman said, "Hermine, please fetch the mistresses." "At once, Hadrien." She turned and went. Meanwhile he led us to the parlor, which unfortunately lacked a fireplace. Warmer air came in from the open door, though, which Hadrien the footman still stood holding. I quietly studied Hadrien while we waited. He stood relaxed, composed, seeming unconcerned that two men with swords and a couple of dagger-armed "servants" stood within the house he was clearly guarding. He wasn't overconfident either. I could tell. *Four likely looking youngsters.* *All four more dangerous than they're trying to look.* *Probably friends.* *If not…no problem.* A dangerous man indeed.
Read this work at the World Public Library (library card needed).