Chapter 9: Dawn in the Carriage House
The gray light of early dawn was just beginning to slice through the grime of the high clerestory windows when we finally breached the old carriage house at the far northern edge of the estate. The air here was cool and smelled of old leather, dried hay, and motor oil. For hours, we had navigated the damp labyrinth of the service tunnels until we emerged beneath the floorboards of the disused stables, moving silently through the predawn chill.
Jura was exhausted, her head resting heavily against my shoulder as I carried her across the open floorboards of the loft. Clara was already busy unlatching the heavy wooden side doors that led out toward the neglected timber road winding through the valley.
"The car is still here," Clara whispered, pointing toward a dust-covered vintage sedan parked in the shadows of the stalls. "Your father's old vehicle. I checked the fuel gauge yesterday; it's half full, and the spare key hangs right there by the tack room."
I gently set Jura down on a pile of clean horse blankets, wrapping her in a woolen shawl. "Can you drive it, Clara?"
"I used to drive my brother's truck before I came to work at the palace," she said, her hands steady as she reached for the brass key ring hanging from the rusted nail. "The question is whether Victor left the outer security gate unlocked for the milk delivery. If he bolted that from the inside as well, we'll smash through the timber if we have to."
Before I could answer, the sharp crunch of gravel echoed from the courtyard outside. Headlights swept across the frosted windows of the carriage house, painting long, frantic bars of white light across the dusty rafters. A heavy car door slammed shut with a definitive metallic crack.
"They're early," I muttered, moving silently to the cracked window.
Down below, parked directly beside the carriage house entrance, was a dark county sheriff's cruiser. Sheriff Vance—a heavy-set, local official whom Victor had known for years—stepped out of the vehicle, adjusting his wide-brimmed hat against the morning mist. He didn't look like an impartial lawman; he walked with the practiced stride of a man fulfilling a pre-arranged favor.
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"Stay here with Jura," I told Clara, my voice dropping into a hard, unyielding register. "If I don't come back in ten minutes, take the car and break through the north fence. Do not look back."
I descended the wooden ladder, stepping out into the cold morning air just as Sheriff Vance reached for the heavy iron latch of the stable door.
