The night was brightly lit up by the moon, and every object along the path casting a long shadow on the ground. The tall guard towers from which it was possible to see for miles were all manned and brightly lit by torches. A few mounted guards rode quietly around on patrol. Occasionally they spotted a travelling merchant and would approach the stranger for identification. Bugs had gathered around torches and lamps, and one by one, they would fall as little fireballs to the ground. The graveled road continued straight for as far as it was possible to see in the darkness. In the distance, she could only just make out the lamps adorning the mansion she was to visit. She avoided a pair of guards complaining about the length of their shifts and jumped into the ditch that ran alongside the road. The cool night air was still thick with the smell of grass and summer, heavily-laden tree branches sagged over the road, weighed down by yet unripe fruits. She continued along the path until the next cart or rider came thundering towards her. Immediately she sought shelter in the darkness of the ditch, and waited until the rider had passed.
Reaching the outer fence of the Mansion took her a good while. The main road leading to the city had been unusually busy. About two dozen messenger riders had gone by. Three convoys of wagons, their axels straining against their heavy loads had left visible wheel marks in the ground, and nine squads of soldiers, an unusually high number for a night patrol. To her relief, watching the gardens of the mansion from among the branches of a tree, she saw only a few hired guards on watch. One was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. Another was standing around looking up at the sky. Two guards were by a small bonfire in the garden, talking and drinking heavily. For some strange reason, the opportunity seemed almost too perfect. She quietly released her cloak, and climbed out as far as she dared. Soon, the branch began to bend, and she quickly threw her cloak around the branch, sliding off it and over the fence, taking care that the cloak caught a branch to not simply send it flying back. Once she had her boots on the ground, she took care to check on the guards. All of them were still completely oblivious, no need for a deadly distraction like with the smugglers. She laid down in the grass and slowly crawled forward, the well-trimmed grass almost felt like needles in places, stinging where the fabric had given way after a hard landing or simply due to fatigue.
She managed to reach the few steps leading up to the main building, when the door ahead opened and a young girl emerged, in a blue dress. The young girl’s appearance straightened up the guards and they all resumed their patrols, trying to appear as if already on it. After a short exchange of words with the guards in turn, the girl went back inside the house.
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Target now identified, in a blue dress with what could only be described as a philistine face… She felt a little puzzled over the last bit of information, but decided that the child fit the description. With the main doors now under a somewhat tighter scrutiny, she decided to look for a window or any other alternative. She traced along the finely cut and recently washed marble making up the building’s foundation until she found a small ventilation grate. The bars covering her entrance were wide and sturdy, but divided, leaving fairly big gaps. With just a little discomfort, she had managed to squeeze her half-starved body between the metal bars.
Her immediate landing was in a stack of flour bags. Her slight, but still countable weight caused a great white cloud to spread across the room, blanketing every surface in white. In the darkness, she could barely make out the facilities and utensils of a well-equipped kitchen. She tried to brush away the flour, which had begun to mix in places with moisture picked up from moving through the grass. Suddenly, the door squeaked as it opened, and she quickly scrambled to hide, sliding in under what appeared to be a slaughter bench.
From her hiding spot, she could make out the darkened silhouette of a small, infantile child. The child took a few wary steps into the darkness, hugging a small stuffed doll in small arms.
“Um, hello? Is there anybody there?” The child asked into the darkness.
“What’s the matter baby?” A voice, belonging to a woman, came from somewhere down the hallway beyond the kitchen.
The child stood there for a bit, then held up the doll, as if scanning the room.
“Um, Melina says there’s a person in the kitchen.”
“Don’t worry baby, it’s probably just a large rat in there, come back to bed?”
“Okay Mama…”
The child wandered out of sight, leaving the door open. Immediately, she emerged from her hiding spot, brushing off the last of the brown, and cakey flour on her boots. The coast clear, she decided to press on. She quietly snuck out into the corridor, following it in the opposite direction and soon arriving at what appeared to be a winding staircase. The stairs seemed to go on for eternity, and by the time she reached the top, she had to suppress her ragged breath. She emerged into a large room, filled with expensive splendor. The windows leading out to a large balcony were all covered by red curtains. In the middle of the room was a dining table with meticulously carved models of dragons and warriors onto its sides. All sides lined with wooden chairs, with leather cushioning. Upon the walls surrounding a still-smoldering fireplace hung great portraits of rich and wealthy men and women, all bearing the same eagle regalia on their person. Her reverie was interrupted once again by a series of footsteps. In a flash, she had climbed into the fireplace, the hot ashes and smolders nearly catching onto the edges of her cloak.