A Tale as Old as Time

III

Night had come hours ago, but there were no stars, there was no moon, there was nothing to remind Francis of all the beauty in the world. Matthew should have been back before dinner, which by now was six or seven hours ago, but there was still no sign of him yet.

Francis had told himself to wait. Wait for what, he didn't even know. Dinner lay untouched on the table, and even though he had been laying in the same position for hours, he had not been able to fall asleep. Maybe if he'd gone with Matthew, none of this would have happened. The two would have been home safe and sound.

Instead, he'd let Matthew disappear just like his brother. Francis curled up on his side and held himself, his eyes becoming watery. He didn't know what he'd do if he never saw him again.

Suddenly, he heard barking outside and scratching at his door. He knew what that meant. Immediately he got up and hurried to his door, swinging it open, but Matthew wasn't there. All he saw was his dog and the cloak he'd let him borrow, which was soaked and muddy. He started to cry and hugged the dog, but the animal wouldn't stop barking.

“Be quiet!” Francis snapped, and the dog went quiet at once, although he trotted over to the edge of the forest and sat down. With a sigh, Francis pushed himself up and followed him. Perhaps Matthew was nearby, but he had gotten himself hurt, so he wasn't able to come back on his own.

Yes, that had to be it! With renewed faith, Francis followed the dog through the trees, eventually having to break into a run just to keep up with him. They ran for goodness knows how long, then stopped at a set of iron gates, which had been left open. Francis could hardly believe what stood beyond the gates.

A castle, one grander than anything he'd ever seen in paintings or in real life, was hidden just a stone's throw away from their village. The architecture was absolutely amazing, and Francis admired whoever was skilled enough to bring such a creation into the world, and into France herself, no less.

He looked to Matthew's dog, who was sitting, but he was gazing up at the castle. This must be where Matthew was. Maybe some gracious lord was letting him stay the night on account of how late it was. With a deep breath, he slipped through the gate and started towards the castle.

There were no guards outside, so maybe the place had been abandoned. It chilled Francis to think about Matthew here alone, maybe hurt, in a castle as large as this one. But, as he pushed the front doors open and crept inside, he heard soft piano music, accompanied by two voices in a nearby room.

“Please stop playing that. It's late and we're all trying to get a little rest,” a woman's voice said. She was calm, but it sounded like she was starting to lose her patience.

The other, a man, let out a short huff as he replied, “I am a pianist, and I shall play as it suits me. Besides, the master never asks and I cannot be expected to sit here in silence, letting my skills grow dull while the boy upstairs weeps.”

The boy upstairs weeping… Francis turned around and looked for a staircase. He saw one with a tall figure standing at the foot of it. Looking for another option, he turned away, but immediately heard footsteps going up the stairs and turned back around. The figure had vanished.

“Sir, wait! My little brother is here, and I only want to make sure that he's okay!” Francis insisted as he followed the figure upstairs, but at the top, he saw no one. Well, there was a statue of a man, one with armour and a sword in its hilt, but the expression depicted upon its face was one of worry and uncertainty. He wasn't the only one.

Francis examined the place he was now in and saw dark cells lining the corridors. He followed the sound of crying and saw candlelight in front of one particular cell. Looking inside, he saw Matthew curled into a ball and sobbing into his knees. His ankle was noticeably swollen and it appeared as though something had clawed his face, but because of his hair covering his face, he couldn't be certain.