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hrjSomeone has been pursuing Antuniet--or rather, pursuing her most precious possession: DeBoodt's alchemical treatise. He sent her fleeing from her mentor's protection in Prague, ransacked her workshop in Heidelberg, and now she fears that he's followed her all the way to Rotenek. She jumps at every shadow, despite her precautions. She only dares to bring the book out of hiding when she's alone at night, copying out the notes for the next day's workings.
* * *
Time was measured only in the ink filling the pages. Ten close-covered sheets were done and at least two more to go when a brief sharp noise brought her head up, ears straining through the darkness. Long minutes passed. Only the house settling. She raised the pen to continue when a second sound pulled at her attention: a soft shuffling, as if someone were carefully feeling his way across a dark room. The scratching of the pen would have masked it entirely. There was someone in the house above. Antuniet laid the pen carefully aside and snuffed the candles. She'd tested, to see there were no chinks in the floorboards that would betray the light. But if he came down the cellar stairs… She eased the concealing door closed. No chance to work the mystery on it anew. The plaster and woodwork would need to suffice.
The darkness was absolute, as if in her nightmares. The blood singing in her ears threatened to drown out the soft sounds from above. There! The familiar creak from the fourth step up to the over-story where her bedroom was. She tried to remember: the door would be open and even the closed shutters let in enough moonlight to see that the bed was empty. But did he mean to murder her or was he only searching? The same creak again. Not a search, then. Only long enough to see she wasn't there. They'd never tried entrance when the house was occupied before. Perhaps even now they thought it empty. They…he. She thought there was only one intruder above. A long hesitation, then the faint whisper of the workshop door. Less cautious footsteps now. Yes, he thought he was alone. Antuniet imagined him rifling through her things, sifting through notes, poking at the half-complete work laid out on the bench. Had he lit a lamp? There was no way for her to see. The footsteps returned to the corridor. A longer silence. Had he left?
* * *
Time was measured only in the ink filling the pages. Ten close-covered sheets were done and at least two more to go when a brief sharp noise brought her head up, ears straining through the darkness. Long minutes passed. Only the house settling. She raised the pen to continue when a second sound pulled at her attention: a soft shuffling, as if someone were carefully feeling his way across a dark room. The scratching of the pen would have masked it entirely. There was someone in the house above. Antuniet laid the pen carefully aside and snuffed the candles. She'd tested, to see there were no chinks in the floorboards that would betray the light. But if he came down the cellar stairs… She eased the concealing door closed. No chance to work the mystery on it anew. The plaster and woodwork would need to suffice.
The darkness was absolute, as if in her nightmares. The blood singing in her ears threatened to drown out the soft sounds from above. There! The familiar creak from the fourth step up to the over-story where her bedroom was. She tried to remember: the door would be open and even the closed shutters let in enough moonlight to see that the bed was empty. But did he mean to murder her or was he only searching? The same creak again. Not a search, then. Only long enough to see she wasn't there. They'd never tried entrance when the house was occupied before. Perhaps even now they thought it empty. They…he. She thought there was only one intruder above. A long hesitation, then the faint whisper of the workshop door. Less cautious footsteps now. Yes, he thought he was alone. Antuniet imagined him rifling through her things, sifting through notes, poking at the half-complete work laid out on the bench. Had he lit a lamp? There was no way for her to see. The footsteps returned to the corridor. A longer silence. Had he left?
