Tales of the Big Bad Wolf: The Red Riding Hood Arc (A Fairy Tale)

Chapter Eleven: Inner Circles

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CHAPTER ELEVEN

Inner Circles

Whether the snow fell or not, the Count often sat up in his tower watching the world below.  This lonely, unappreciated duty had fallen to him once he was returned here many years ago.  He would often sit up here to look westwards beyond the road, over the woods and to the Silver  River beyond. He would watch for the appearance of those who did not belong to this land.

For many years, there had been nothing to see.  Wolfram attributed this fortunate situation to the elves who had taken up residence in the denser forests.  He believed them capable of dealing with any creatures normal or otherwise lurking within those woods.  His confidence in their knowledge and their skills had been unbroken until he saw the creature at the bridge a short time ago.

If he had spent the past fifty years looking for something he did not think would come here, now he would need to prepare as if change was imminent.  Suddenly there were more travelers on the roads here where there had been none this time of year.  And the hunters, who had stayed away from him, were now poking about the woods that belonged to him.   Several days of snow had kept many would-be explorers and travelers from exploring the cold wintry outdoors, but with the snows again easing, he realized that there were no guarantees that people would not once again trespass on his properties.

He found people bothersome. They distracted him from his need to look west for the Unthings and whatever other dark things that might be drawing closer.  He still bore the scars from his encounters with a powerful witch, and he worried about the existence of others like her.  For many years now he had not read the Book of Taleshis grandfather had left him in a while, and he realized that he needed to begin reading them again.

The sound of steps upon the stairs interrupted his solitary deliberations.   His man Hastings cleared his throat before entering the small watchtower room.  Wolfram put his glass tube down on the ledge and looked back.  He observed Hastings carrying a tray of warm tea and food in hand.

As usual, the old man wore an expression that bordered on disapproval. “Sir, you’ve not eaten in hours.  Allow me to take a turn.”

Wolfram gave his faithful manservant an almost fond look.  “Should I ask that of you?  Your eyes are not as good as they were once, Hastings.”

“No sir,” the man began to efficiently set up a small space on a side table for his master to dine at. “But it is bright enough outside that I do not need eyes such as yours. I know the area from this point well.  I can see blots and shadows well enough.”

Wolfram nodded, stepping aside to permit the man to do so.    He sat on a small stool and picked up a cup of fragrant tea from the silver tray that was literally overflowing with food.    While he waited for it to cool, he watched Hastings, standing at the window with the sunlight streaming in around him.  Maximilian remembered the manservant as a young boy standing there in similar fashion, watching the road with sharp eyes and intense focus. The man was focused, but was far from being young. “It’s been sixty or so years, has it not since you first took up that duty?”

Hastings coughed. “I hardly recall.”

“You were a young boy then,” Wolfram mused.  “Not nearly as talkative as you are now.”

“I was terrified of this place and you, sir!” Hastings did not turn around, instead taking the glass tube in hand and training it at various parts of the road.  “You have no idea the stories they used to tell me when they were preparing me to enter your family’s service.  It was one thing being told that I was going to the main household, but I had no idea how large or isolated this place would be.  And no one had any idea of what you were like either.”