NOVEL NEXT Chapter 39: Secret
Minutes passed, each one stretching endlessly. Finally, the muffled shouts and footsteps began to retreat. Nicholas allowed himself a single, careful breath. The floor was neglected. Spider webs and the small sound of termite crunching through wood was all there was here. It was cramped, filled with old chairs and discarded furniture, but it provided him a moment to think.
He pulled out his pocket knife, flicking it open and shut, the repetitive action grounding him. "They won't give up that easily," he muttered to himself, his voice barely above a whisper. "I need to move."
Nicholas adjusted the lamp, its frail glow casting trembling shadows on the stone walls around him. The air was heavy with the scent of soil. He placed one hand on the rough, cold surface beside him to steady himself, his heart pounding not just from exertion but from the growing awareness of how deep he was into his foolish plan. He had no clue what to do next.
He paused halfway, pulling the folded map from his coat pocket. By the dim light of the lamp, he studied it again. The seventh floor remained blank, a noticeable absence on an otherwise detailed sketch of the castle’s layout. He traced a finger over the lines, frustrated. How could it simply not exist on the map?
Nicholas sighed, stuffing the map back into his pocket. Henry would have laughed at his irritation, probably with some cryptic remark about the limits of human knowledge. He stood from the cold floor and straightened his back, his neck felt strained as if he had spent an entire night in the wrong position. He couldn't remain rooted to one spot. He knew better than to trust that they would not look here.
He picked his lamp up, he needed to find a place to hide, even if he was stuck here. He couldn't allow them to find him.
The walls were filled with portraits of people he could not recognise, a few names and a few quotes in a language he did not understand. Lating lerhaps it was. For a fleeting moment, he allowed himself to imagine Emberline explaining the Latin scribbles he was seen, her voice patient and soft, something that would put him to sleep.
But the thought of Emberline only made the ache in his chest sharper. Why was he even thinking about her? There were better things to think about at this moment. He knew. Did he? He didn't but the thought of Emberline wasn’t helpful. He shook it off and pushed forward, gripping the lamp more tightly.
The corridor deposited him into a narrow hallway. The air felt heavier here, and the walls were lined with faded painted, chipping away as he walked past. It felt as though the dust was rising from the red carpeting at his feet. The pictures on the walls curled, their edges frayed. He raised the lamp to examine one. The pictures were almost hypnotic, though time had robbed them of most of their detail. Someone was giving a toothy smile with an eye missing, others were missing whole limbs.
A faint draft brushed past him, carrying with it the faintest whisper of sound. He froze, holding his breath. It was distant, so faint he could barely tell if it was voices or just the wind playing tricks on him. Either way, it urged him forward.
At the end of the hallway was a door—thick, wooden, and bound with iron hinges. Nicholas pressed his ear to it, listening. Nothing. Carefully, he pushed it open, wincing as the hinges creaked softly.
The room beyond was vast, its ceiling disappearing into shadow. His lamp caught the gleam of something metallic, and as he stepped closer, the light revealed a row of weapons—ancient swords, halberds, and shields, their surfaces gleaming as though freshly polished.
He ran a hand over the hilt of a sword, the cold metal smooth beneath his fingers. But then came a sound—a soft rustle, like the whisper of fabric brushing against stone. Nicholas spun around, holding the lamp high.
“Who's there?” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
The room seemed to hold its breath, and for a long moment, there was nothing. No movement. No sound. But the sensation of being watched lingered, thick and unshakable.
He set his jaw, turning back toward the door. Whatever this place was, it wasn’t meant for him to linger. Although in the corner of his eye, almost inviting, he saw a passage. Strange as it was, he could swear it was not there before. Gripping the lamp tightly, Nicholas stepped near it, examining first the frame, which was non existent. He then looked inside.
A staircase. The door ajar to a staircase. Nicholas felt a pull at his heart. He closed the door to see if it made a difference.
"Many secret passageways are built into castle walls in case of a seige" he recalled being told. There was something rather ominous seeing one in real life. Were there more? Had he simply never noticed? The questions did not stop, and as he stepped into the passage, his lamp felt brighter than ever in the still darkness of the passageway.
The staircase curved sharply downward. It reminded him of a serpent coiling in endless circles. Each step echoed loudly, the sound swallowed almost instantly by the thick silence around him. The passage wasn’t wide—Nicholas had to keep his elbows close to his sides—but it felt deliberately built, meant to conceal something far more important than a mere escape route.