Wondrous Master | boyxboy | (Book Three: The Master Collection)

I - One Stormy Night

Islesbury, England

October, 1829

With only the tattered clothes on his back, the boy stumbled down the stone pathway. Rain stormed all around him, weighing down his shirt, and matting the brown length of his hair to his forehead. He could hardly see in the thunderstorm erupting from all over, but after faintly being able to spot the paved pathway from the muddy road half a kilometer back, he knew if he followed it, there was a chance he'd wind up in a place where someone was willing to help him.

As he continued through the storm, he raised a hand over his eyes to block the rain, able to catch a dull, distant glow of light. Shaking his hair from in front of his eyes like a wet dog, the boy picked up his limping, weary pace, caught off guard when he ran into an iron gate blocking his entrance to the property. He'd stumbled upon a manor at the end of the lane, a massive fair bricked three story house with endless pastures, and evergreens lining around it like a boundary to keep strangers out.

Knotting his hands around the iron bars blocking him, the boy tried to scream for attention, but his voice proved nothing against the roaring of the sky around him. Drenched and heavy from the rain, he agilely slipped through the narrow divisions of the gate, able to fit his lanky, slender form through with surprising effortlessness. Filthy as ever, he stumbled up the wide drive, crawling on his hands and knees when he reached the steps to the large doorway. Weakness overcame his sore limbs as he reached the top step, dizziness causing him to lose most of the control over his body. When he was able to make it to the door, he clawed at the thick wooden surface, wishing he were powerful enough to knock it down with a single thrust.

Balling his fists, the boy pounded on the door with all the strength he could muster. "Help me," he begged, voice raspy in the back of his throat. He hammered both of his fists against the door over and over and over, hoping to any god that could hear that whoever lived inside would come to his aid. "Please," the boy cried, slumping up against the door, "Anyone..."

Feeling his mind sway in and out of consciousness, the boy felt himself falling forward suddenly, a warm breeze meeting his bitter skin. Too dazed to realize the doors of the manor opened, he collapsed headfirst as every previous thought in his fuzzy mind went blank.

"My god..." a woman's voice gasped, her name was Romani and she was the head housekeeper to the Thorne family. "Luna, get the Master. Quickly!"

Romani tucked her arms under the boy's, dragging his body further into the entranceway of the manor. He was heavy for her petite stature, but she managed to heave him far enough to shut the door from the wild storm taking place outside. When she stepped back, she looked him over, taken aback by just how filthy he was. With clothes soaked from the rain, mud was caked on his boots, sullying the bottom of his black trousers and the floor. She could see by the looks of him that he couldn't be any older than fifteen, pale with puffy cheeks from the sickness attempting to burrow into his body. A rather charming young boy, he was, with light tea stained hair, a finely molded prettiness about his face and plump lips.

Kneeling over him, Romani took a clean rag from the front pocket of her maid's uniform, dabbing assuredly at the boy's forehead. "Young man?" she spoke lightly, "Young man, can you hear me?"

With no response to her calm words, Romani continued to dab the boy's forehead, waiting patiently for her Master to come down from his office. She knew he was rather busy at the moment, hoping he would be kind enough to allow her and Luna to bring aid to the boy to make sure he was well. She sat there on the floor with the boy's head placed on her lap, his hair wringing water into her skirt. Curiosity ate at her, wondering what in god's name he could have been doing outside, not only in this weather, but this far away from the inner city of Islesbury. How long had he been wandering, stuck in the freezing rain until reaching some sort of shelter? If he hadn't come here when he did, Romani just knew he'd have lost his life to the cold.