Confronting the Fallen (5 page)

The judge stared at the picture but seemed to be
thinking about something else. Finally he began to speak.

“The original Hawkes, my ancestor, came to
Canada when Ottawa was still called Bytown. He was a scholar and
wanted a place of solitude to pursue his studies.” The judge
glanced down at Chris. “The story is that he had a falling out
with some people at court and found it more...convenient to move some
distance away.” The judge sounded amused and then went back to
staring at the painting.

“His older brother allowed my ancestor to
take his inheritance when he left; they were very close. And, for
whatever reason, he decided to move here. I imagine the local
populace thought him quite mad when he started building this place.”

“But why would they think that?” asked
Chris curiously.

“You may not know this, Christopher, but two
hundred years ago, this was nothing but wilderness. Imagine the
people that lived here back then. They were lumbermen mainly, some
were traders and trappers. And then a nobleman arrived and announced
that he needed workers to build a mansion in the forest, hours from
the nearest settlement.” The judge let out a bark of laughter.
“I think that the only reason they didn't lock him up was
because of the money he was offering. But he managed to hire willing
workers and they spent several years building the place. I believe it
took a month or more just to cut a road through the forest to get to
the site.” The man began walking again slowly down the hallway.
Chris followed closely.

“Every one of the Hawkes born here since has
added to the structure, including myself. And here we are, the Nest
as it is today.”

The hallway opened up into a huge round room
surrounded by a balcony. Two half-circle staircases led upward from
the left and right. Chris saw several people walk quickly through the
room, heading in various directions.

The judge stopped and looked around. Chris stared
at the ornate walls covered with more paintings and wood carvings and
then remembered his original question.

“So if you and your ancestors aren't
religious then why...?” and he gestured at the paintings.

Judge Hawkes chuckled again. “The original
Hawkes was fascinated by religious history, Christopher. Although he
wasn't religious per se, he was interested in how religions
originated, how they changed over time, that sort of thing. Once this
house was built, he spent many years traveling the world, speaking to
religious leaders, exploring old ruins and the like.”

The judge led Chris toward the left side staircase
as he continued to speak.

“My ancestor became quite a talented
archaeologist over time,” the judge said as they began to climb
the stairs. “When we have a spare moment, I'll show you some of
the finds he brought back with him, if you're interested.”

“I'd like that,” Chris answered. “I've
always liked old buildings and stories of explorers finding lost
ruins and stuff.”

“Good. I'll be happy to share some of my
ancestor's work with you, Christopher, when we have a chance.”

They reached the top of the staircase and Chris
noticed several corridors heading off from the central chamber. There
was also a man standing off to the side, dressed in the same dark
suit that Chris had already seen on the others downstairs. Must be
their standard uniform or something, he thought.

The judge called the man over. “Martin, this
is Christopher Wright. A guest. Christopher, this is Martin. He's the
head of my in-house security team. And my second in command.”
Chris nodded at the man who smiled and nodded back. The judge glanced
at his watch then looked at Chris. “Now, unfortunately we've
arrived too late for dinner but I'm sure you're hungry after the
events of the last two days.”

Chris suddenly realized that he hadn't eaten
anything since yesterday and had only drunk a little water. His
stomach seemed to wake up at the thought and rumbled loudly. Judge
Hawkes smiled.

“Just as I thought. Martin, would you take
our guest to the kitchen, please. I'm sure Chef will be happy to whip
something up for him.” The judge pulled out his pad and tapped
on it a few times. “And I think we'll assign him to the
Lancelot room for now. It should suit him nicely.” The judge
put his pad away and looked at Chris. “Martin will be your
guide for now. Ask him anything you like. He will also explain the
house rules, our schedule and all that.” He shook Chris' hand
firmly. “I'm glad you're safe and sound, Christopher. And I'm
pleased to have you as a guest. Have a good night and I will talk to
you tomorrow.”

“Good night, judge. And thanks for
everything,” Chris replied.

The judge nodded and walked off briskly. As he
left, Chris saw him pull out his electronic pad again and start
tapping away.

“This way, Mr. Wright,” Martin said
and led the way down the hall. “So, what do you think of our
little home so far?”

“It's amazing,” Chris replied. “I've
never been in such a huge house before.”

Martin chuckled. “Yes, it is a bit
overwhelming at first. I think I got lost three times on my first
day.”

The two of them were passing many doors, all
closed. They turned left and walked down yet another hallway.

“How long have you been here, sir?”
Chris asked the man curiously.

“It's been about five years now. The judge
is an easy man to work for. Once he hires someone, they tend to stay
for a long time.” He waved his hand to indicate the house
around them. “And living in this place is a fascinating
experience as well.”

They turned down yet another corridor. “Now,”
Martin continued, “the house rules are fairly simple. No one
not on official business is allowed to be wandering the halls after
eleven in the evening. All residents are expected to appear for
breakfast no later than seven-thirty in the morning. And if you want
to wander the grounds, please let whomever is manning the front desk
know before you go out.” He glanced at Chris. “Clear so
far?”

Chris nodded. “Good,” Martin
continued. “All other regs are posted in each room. If you end
up staying with us for some time, you will be given a schedule.”

They continued to walk the corridors and finally
approached a large arch leading to a stairwell. They were almost
through the arch when they heard someone call out behind them.

“Oh, evening Chloe,” Martin said as he
turned to look over his shoulder.

“Good evening, Martin,” a blond,
middle-aged woman answered. She was glancing down at a clipboard and
had a rather harried look on her face. “I hate to bother you,”
she continued, “but we've just received word that Father O'Day
is feeling ill and can't take his shift tonight.” She looked at
Martin expectantly and he nodded.

“Right. Give me a moment to work this out.”
Martin turned to Chris. “Sorry, but I have to re-juggle our
schedule on the fly here. Why don't you head down to the kitchen and
have Chef whip you up something?” He waved at the stairs. “Just
go down to the bottom, turn left and the kitchen is right at the end.
I'll be along in a few minutes.”

“No problem, sir,” Chris said and he
headed for the stairs. As he began to descend, he heard the woman say
“Sister Roberta is in tonight but with her gout...well, I don't
know.”

Chris followed the directions given by Martin and
soon found himself standing outside of the kitchen. He peeked inside
and saw a large room that looked big enough to service a restaurant.
Pots and pans were hanging from hooks all over the walls; they were
spotlessly clean and shiny. In fact, the entire room was gleaming.

As Chris stood in the hall and peered through the
doorway, a very large man dressed in white and wearing an apron
walked into the kitchen from what Chris guessed was the pantry. He
was puffing loudly as he balanced several vegetable crates in his
arms and slowly made his way across the room to set them down on a
counter.

As the man approached the counter, the boxes began
to tip forward and he let out a yelp. Chris darted forward and,
reaching up as high as he could, pushed back against the pile.

“I think I've got them!” he said
loudly and stood there holding the boxes as the man tried to
re-balance the pile.

“Good boy!” the man, who Chris decided
must be the cook, exclaimed. “Hang on and we'll sidle over to
the counter.” They walked slowly across the floor in unison and
slid the crates on to the counter. The cook stepped back and wiped
off his forehead with the back of his hand.

“Whew! That was a close one.” He
looked down at Chris with a broad grin. “Nicely done. You saved
a week's worth of tomatoes there.”

Chris smiled back. “My pleasure, sir.”

The man gave the stack of boxes a final check and
then wiped his hands on his apron and looked down at Chris. “And
now, my friend, let us be introduced.” He held out his hand and
shook Chris' firmly. “I am Mario Denofrio; but most of the
residents just call me Chef. And you are...?”

“Chris Wright, sir. Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise, Chris Wright, especially after
your timely save. And what can I do for you tonight?”

As he asked the question, Chef turned and waved
Chris toward a chair next to the counter that ran the length of the
room. Chris sat down gratefully. He was starting to feel very tired.

“Well, Martin was bringing me down but had
to stop for a minute, so he sent me ahead. I just arrived and, well,
I haven't eaten for a while and...”

“Say no more!” Chef said loudly and
held up both hands dramatically. “A young man needs constant
feeding, how well I know! And a hungry young man even more so. Let me
just whip something up.”

Chef immediately began to bustle around the
kitchen. Chris watched in fascination. For a large man, the cook was
very quick and agile, and bounced between the stove, refrigerator,
cupboards and counter with such speed that Chris had a hard time
figuring out what he was doing.

In the midst of his preparations, Chef visited the
fridge and then put a tall glass of juice in front of Chris. “Start
with that, young Christopher. Get some vitamin C into you,” he
said and carried on with his cooking.

Chris took a long swallow of the juice. It was
grape, his favorite; ice cold and delicious.

In a surprisingly short time, Chef had set a plate
in front of Chris. It was piled high with pasta smothered in a thick
meat sauce and sprinkled with Parmesan cheese. Chris' stomach rumbled
loudly at the amazing smell and Chef chuckled as he handed Chris a
knife and fork.

“Get that into you, my young friend, while I
see about dessert.” Then he patted Chris lightly on the
shoulder, took his glass and headed off toward the fridge.

The food was amazing. However, Chris had only
taken a few bites when he caught a movement from the corner of his
eye. He turned quickly toward the doorway to find Martin leaning
against the frame, arms folded and smiling. He waved toward Chris'
plate.

“Carry one, Mr. Wright. Chef's food is much
too good to let it get cold.”

Chris' mouth was too full to answer but he nodded
an enthusiastic agreement and went back to his dinner.

Chef walked back from the fridge with Chris'
refilled glass and put an enormous piece of apple pie smothered with
whipped cream next to his plate. He smiled at Chris again and then
walked over to Martin.

“So, we have a new resident, Martin?”
he asked.

“I think so, Chef. That's for the judge to
decide, of course. For now, we'll call him a guest.”

Chris continued to eat but was listening closely
to the conversation.

“Well, I certainly hope we keep him,”
Chef said. “He just helped save my whole shipment of tomatoes
without being asked. Something some of our...less helpful youngsters
wouldn't have done.”

Chris listened even more intently. So, there were
other young people living here, he thought. Interesting.

“Now, be nice, Chef.” Martin sounded
amused. “They're good at heart, you know that, or they wouldn't
be here.”

The cook sighed. “Yes, yes, I know. His
honor trusts them and we all know he's infallible. But still, just
because they're passed the test...”

“Chef!” Martin no longer sounded
amused and Chris glanced at the two men. Martin was staring sternly
at the cook. “We aren't supposed to forewarn candidates. You
know that.”

The other man didn't seem to be bothered by
Martin's attitude and smiled as he caught Chris watching them.

“I don't see why not. It can't affect the
outcome, you know that. Besides, I've decided I like our young
Christopher here,” and he waved at Chris. “I think we
should keep him.”

Chris returned the man's smile and then went back
to his dinner.

“That's up to the judge, Chef,” Martin
replied. Then he hesitated and said “But I will pass on your
opinion to his honor.”

Was it Chris' imagination or did Martin sound a
bit impressed?

“Yes, you do that, Martin,” Chef said
and then both men remained silent.

In a very short time, Chris finished his meal and
heaped praise on the cook.

“It was amazing, sir. Totally amazing. The
pie was just, just...” He couldn't think of a big enough
compliment. “Amazing,” he repeated again, a bit lamely.
But Chef was beaming at him.

“Ah, it was nothing, Christopher. Wait until
pizza night. I pride myself on my pizzas.”

Even though he was full, the thought of what Chef
could do with a pizza almost made Chris hungry again.

“I can't wait, sir,” Chris said
eagerly.

Martin interrupted. “Okay, okay, gentlemen.
Mr. Wright has had a very long day and it's time I showed him to his
room.” He glanced at the cook. “Thanks for doing this on
such short notice, Chef.”

The large man waved away the comment. “Not
at all. Thank you for bringing Christopher here in time to save my
tomatoes. Sleep well, young man. We'll talk again soon.” Then
he waved at them both and left the kitchen through a side door.