He turned and hurried over to where she was looking. On the floor, against the dark stone, there was the faintest outline of a stain. They walked towards the window, following the trail, and as they entered the sunlight, he could see it more clearly: a bloodstain. He felt a chill. The stains covered the floors, the walls, and he realized they were his father's.
"It must have been a violent struggle," she said, following the trail throughout the room.
"Awful," he said.
"I don't know exactly what I was hoping to find here," she said. "But I think perhaps it was a waste of time. I see nothing. "
"Nor do I," Godfrey said.
"Perhaps there are better places to look," she said.
"Where?"
She shrugged. "Wherever it is, it's not here. "
Godfrey felt another cold breeze, and felt a chill that would not leave him. He was overcome with a desire to leave this room, and he could see in Gwen's eyes that she felt the same.
As one, they turned and headed for the door.
But as Godfrey was heading towards the door, suddenly something caught his eye that made him stop.
"Wait," he said. "Look here. "
Gwen turned and looked, following him as he walked several steps across the room, towards the fireplace. He reached up, and fingered a blood stain on the wall.
"This stain, it's not like the others," he said. "It's in a different part of the room. And it's lighter. "
They exchanged a puzzled look as they both examined the wall more closely.
"It could be from the murder weapon," he added. "Maybe he tried to hide it in the wall. "
Godfrey touched the stones, feeling for a loose one, but he could not find it. Then Gwen stopped and pointed towards the fireplace.
"There," she said.
He looked, but did not see anything.
"Beside the fireplace pit. Do you see it? That hole in the wall. It's a chute. A waste chute. "
"What of it?" he asked.
"Those stains, from the dagger. They surround it. Look at the ceiling of the pit. "
They got down on their knees and looked closely, and he was amazed to realize that she was right. The stains led right to the chute.
"The dagger came this way," she deduced. "He must have thrown it down the chute. "
They both turned and looked at each other, and knew where they had to go.
"The waste room," he said.
*
Godfrey and Gwendolyn wound their way down the castle's narrow stone, spiral staircase, deeper and deeper into the bowels of the castle, deeper in fact than Godfrey had ever been. Just as he was beginning to get dizzy, they reached an iron door. He turned to Gwen.
"This looks like the servants' quarters," he said. "I assume the waste room is behind these doors. "
"Try it," she said.
Godfrey reached up and slammed on the door, and after a wait, he heard footsteps. Finally, the door opened. A long, solemn face stared back blankly.
"Yes?" asked the older man, clearly a lifelong servant.
Godfrey turned to Gwen, and she nodded back.
"Is this the waste room?" he asked.
"Yes," the man answered. "And also the prep room for the kitchen. What business have you here?"
Before Godfrey could respond, the man narrowed his eyes, looking at them with sudden recognition.
"Wait a moment," he added. "Are you the king's children?" His eyes lit up in deference. "You are," he answered himself. "What are you doing down here?"
"Please," Gwen said softly, stepping forward and placing a hand on his wrist. "Let us in. "
The man stepped back and opened the door wide, and they hurried inside.
Godfrey was surprised by this room he had never been in, although it was in the structure he had lived in all his life. They were all in the bowels of the castle, in a vast room, dark, lit by sporadic torches, filled with burning fire pits, with wood prep tables, and huge bubbling cauldrons hanging over pits. Clearly this room was mean to hold dozens of servants. But other than this man, it was empty.
"You've come at an odd time of day," the man said. "We have not yet begun the breakfast preparations. The others will arrive shortly. "
"That's OK," Godfrey answered. "We are here for another reason. "
"Where is the waste pit?" Gwen asked, wasting no time.
The man stared back, baffled.
"The waste pit?" he echoed. "But why would you want to know this?"
"Please, just show it to us," Godfrey said.
The servant stared back, with his long face and sunken cheeks, then finally turned and led them across the room.
They all stopped before a large, stone pit, inside of which was an immense cauldron, one so large it needed to be hoisted by at least two people, and which looked as if it could contain the waste of the entire castle. It sat beneath a chute, which must have led high above. Godfrey could smell it from here, and he recoiled.
Godfrey stepped forward with Gwen and carefully examined the wall surrounding it. But despite their best
efforts, they could see no stains, and nothing out of place.
They looked down into the cauldron, but it was empty.
"You'll find nothing in there," the servant said. "It's emptied every hour. On the hour. "
Godfrey wondered if this was all a waste of time. He sighed, and he and Gwen exchanged a disappointed look.
"Is this about my master?" the attendant finally asked, breaking the silence.
"Your master?" Gwen asked.
"The one who is missing?"
"Missing?" Godfrey asked.
The servant nodded.
"He disappeared one night and never came back to work. There are rumors of a murder. "
Godfrey and Gwen exchanged a look.
"Tell us more," Gwen prodded.
Before he could respond, a rear door opened, on the far side of the chamber, and in walked a man whose appearance stunned Godfrey. He was short, and wide, and most strikingly, his back was deformed, twisted and hunched over. He walked with a limp, and it was an effort for him to lift his head. He ambled over, their way.
The man finally stood before them, looking back and forth between Godfrey and the servant.
"It is a privilege that you should grace us with your presence, my lords," the hunchback said with a bow.
"Steffen would know far more about the matter than I," the other servant added, accusingly. Clearly this servant did not like Steffen.
With that, the servant turned and hurried off, crossing the room and disappearing through a back door. Steffen watched him go.
Godfrey and Gwen exchanged a look.
"Steffen, may we speak with you?" Gwen asked, softly, trying to set him at ease.
Steffen stared back at them with twisting hands, looking very nervous.
"I don't know what he told you, but that one is full of lies. And gossip," Steffen said, already defensive. "I have done nothing. "
"We never said you did," Godfrey said, also trying to reassure him. It was clear that Steffen had something to hide, and he wanted to know what it was. He felt that it had something to do with his father's death.
"We want to ask you about our father, the king," Gwen said. "About the night he died. Do you recall anything unusual that night? A weapon falling down the waste chute?"
Steffen squirmed, looking at the floor, not meeting their eyes.
"I know nothing of any dagger," he said.
"Who said anything of a dagger?" Godfrey prodded.
Steffen looked back up guiltily, and Godfrey knew they had caught him in a lie. This man definitely had something to hide. He felt emboldened.
Steffen said nothing in response, but merely toed the floor, continuing to wring his hands.
"I know nothing," he repeated. "I didn't do anything wrong. "
Godfrey and Gwen exchanged a knowing look. They had found someone important. Yet it was also clear he would give them nothing more. Godfrey felt that he had to do something to get him to talk.
Godfrey stepped forward, reached up, and lay a firm hand on Steffen's shoulder. Steffen looked up, guiltily, like a schoolboy who had been caught, and Godfrey scowled down, tightening his grip and holding it there.
"We know about what happened to your master," he said, bluffing. "Now, you can either tell us all we want to know about our father's murder, or we can have you thrown in the dungeon to never see light again. The choice is yours. "
As he stood there, Godfrey felt the strength of his father overcome him, felt, for the first time, the inherent strength that ran in his own blood, the blood of a long line of kings. For the first time in his life, he felt strong. Confident. Worthy. He felt like a MacGil. And for once, he felt his father's approval.
Steffen must have sensed it. Because finally, after a very long while, he stopped squirming. He looked up, met Godfrey's eyes, and nodded in acquiescence.
"I won't go to jail?" he asked. "If I tell you?"
"You will not," Godfrey answered. "As long as you had nothing to do with our father's death. This I promise you. "
Steffen licked his lips, thinking, then finally, after a long while, he nodded.
"OK," he finally said. "I will tell you everything. "