THE SON-IN-LAW WHO WOULDN'T BURN

CHAPTER 9: BACK TO THE MOP

The cellar door stayed open after Garrick left. Cole sat on the mat with his sore hand resting in his lap. He listened as Garrick's heavy footsteps faded down the hall, one step after another, until he could no longer hear them.

The only sounds left were the water dripping from the wall and his own heartbeat.

He was afraid his heart would start beating too fast, so he kept counting.

Breathe in for four. Hold for four. Breathe out for six.

"He's gone," Hollow said at last.

"I know."

"You can breathe normally now."

"I'm not sure I remember how."

The red mark on the back of Cole's hand was already fading. It was no longer bright red, just a patch of pink skin. He turned his hand over and moved his fingers. It still stung like a bad sunburn, but that was all.

"He knows," Cole said.

"He suspects. That's different. Suspicion can't open a door unless someone gives it a key."

"That's comforting."

"It's meant to be."

At dawn, the ring on his wrist changed to 26.

Two hours later, a guard Cole had never seen before came to the door carrying a bucket and a mop. He threw them onto the floor.

"Silas says you're well enough to work," the man said. "Kitchen floors, east hall, and the servants' stairs. Don't make the rest of us do your work."

"Does Silas know I was nearly burned alive three days ago?"

"Silas knows you're a servant."

The guard pointed down the hall.

"Move."

Cole picked up the bucket. He was almost glad to have something to do. A mop was something he understood.

The east hall was long and cold. Grey stone walls stood on both sides, with narrow windows letting in little light. The Vance cousins often ran through it as if it were their own race track. Cole had cleaned that hall every morning for three years.

The water in his bucket had already turned grey before he finished the first part. He moved the mop from side to side, keeping his head down. The work felt familiar, and for a little while, he could almost forget everything that had happened.

"You're doing it too well," Hollow said.

What?

"The mopping. You're moving like someone who has never been hurt. Slow down your left arm. You're supposed to be stiff."

I'm cleaning floors, not acting in a play.

"It's the same thing in this house."

Cole slowed his left arm.

He had just reached the end of the hall when a pair of shiny boots stopped in front of him. He didn't need to look up to know who they belonged to. No one else in the family wore shoes that clean to breakfast.

"Well, look who came back from the dead."

It was Brent.

Cole lowered his head.

"Good morning, young master."

"Don't young master me, you cheap wine joke."

Brent leaned against the wall with his arms crossed. He was twenty-two and built like a barrel. He had Garrick's pale eyes, but none of his patience.

Two cousins stood behind him, both wearing big smiles. One was a tall, thin boy named Lorne. The other was a girl whose name Cole had never bothered to learn.

"I heard you made a joke about me on the altar," Brent said. "Something about cheap wine, was it?"

"I'm sorry, sir. I wasn't thinking clearly."

"Not thinking clearly?"

Brent stepped forward and placed his boot in the soapy water Cole had just mopped. Grey water splashed across the clean stone.

"You know what I think? I think the old man's gone soft. My uncle should have burned you the moment that fire went out."

"I'm sure he knows best, sir."

"He's a fool."

Brent's smile grew wider.

"Pick it up."

"Pick up what?"

Brent kicked the bucket.

It fell over, spilling dirty water across the hall. The water ran towards the cousins' shoes, making the girl jump back with a small cry.

"Whoops." Brent rubbed his chin. "Looks like you missed a spot."

Cole, Hollow said softly. Breathe. Don't answer him.

I wasn't going to.

Your hand is tight.

Cole relaxed his fingers. He bent down, picked up the bucket, and put the mop back inside.

"Right away, sir."

He turned to leave. But as he stepped to the side, Brent moved his foot and caught Cole's ankle.

The floor rushed up towards him.

Cole threw out his hands just in time to stop his face from hitting the stone. His palms struck the hard floor, sending pain up both arms.

The cousins burst out laughing. The girl covered her mouth with one hand, but her shoulders shook as she tried not to laugh.

"Careful," Brent said. "The floor's wet."

You could break his leg, Hollow said.

No.

I can feel your heart. It wants to.

No.

It would be so easy.

Cole stayed on his hands and knees. Cold, soapy water soaked through his trousers. He kept his eyes on the floor and counted his breaths.

In four. Out six.

His left wrist burned beneath his sleeve. The white ring had grown hot, almost painful. He pressed his hand hard against the floor until his knuckles cracked.

"Good boy."

Brent reached down and messed up Cole's hair. Then he turned and walked away as if nothing had happened.

"Clean it up. All of it."

His laughter followed him down the hall.

Cole waited until he could no longer hear him before slowly getting back to his feet. He picked up the mop and squeezed out the dirty water.

"You did well," Hollow said.

I want to kill him.

I know.

I want to punch his teeth out.

That too. But you didn't.

Hollow went quiet for a moment.

Did you notice what happened when you held back?

Cole frowned.

What do you mean?

Listen.

He stopped moving.

The hall was quiet now. A door shut somewhere upstairs. Water dripped from the mop, and the stone walls made small cracking sounds as they cooled.

Then Cole heard something beneath all those sounds.

A beat.

It wasn't exactly a sound. It felt more like something pressing against the floor, moving through the soles of his shoes and up into his knees.

He placed his palm against the wall.

The salt blocks were cold and rough beneath his fingers. But he could feel them moving. Not much, just a small, steady beat.

Dum.

A long pause.

Dum.

It came again, slow and steady, like the sound of a clock.

"What is that?" Cole whispered.

"The chain," Hollow said. "Or the sound it leaves behind. The salt carries it through the whole house. Nobody feels it unless they're looking for it, and nobody looks."

Hollow's voice had changed. It was lower now, and he spoke with care.

"But you can follow it."

Where does it go?

"Down."

Cole looked along the hall. No one was watching him.

The servants' stairs were about forty steps away. They were narrow and dark, with very little light reaching the bottom.

He pushed the bucket towards them, walking like a man who had nowhere else to be.

With every step, the beat grew stronger. He could feel it through the soles of his shoes, keeping time with his own slow heartbeat.

He turned one corner, then another. The air grew colder. The wall beneath his fingers changed from smooth plaster to bare salt blocks. They were rough, with tiny bits of salt shining on their surface.

At the bottom of the stairs was a narrow storage passage. Broken crates were piled along one side, blocking part of the way.

The beat was much louder here, almost like someone hitting a drum.

Cole crouched and moved a broken piece of wood out of the way. Beneath it, he found a rusty iron grate set into the floor. It was no wider than a dinner plate.

Cold air blew through the gaps. It smelled of salt water and old stone.

The beat was coming from below.

"A drain," he whispered. "Where does it lead?"

"To the Brine Tunnels. They run beneath the whole cliff."

Hollow paused.

"You shouldn't go down there yet."

I'm just looking.

That's what they all say.

Cole bent closer and looked through the grate.

It was dark below. Far down, he could see a small shine of water.

He pressed his ear against the rusty bars. The steady beat filled his head.

Then something moved in the darkness.

Cole froze.

It was small and fast. He caught a quick glimpse of cloth and something pale before it disappeared.

He told himself it was only a rat.

Then he felt something brush against his bare ankle, where his trouser leg had slipped up.

A hand closed around it.

It was small, cold, and wet. Its fingers wrapped around his ankle and held on tight.