Chapter 1 -- Hiding and Seeking

"She's lost, you say?"

"Well, not lost. Just...we can't find 'er."

"She wins 'ide and seek, 'ands down."

A sigh. "Fine. I shall go look for her. You two, it's almost time for the evening meal, so wash up and help Miss Abigail with the dishes." Before a protest could be uttered, he added, "Without complaints, mind you."

"Yes, sir."

"Yes, sir."

As he watched the two young children race off to their task with his penetrating stare of green, the man straightened up. Wonderful. One could only guess where a child might end up in this rambling building.

The heavy tread of his boots on the wood paneled floor marked his passage; any workers flitting here and there stopped at the sound and nodded respectfully as he stalked by. He paused then, shielding his eyes from the reflection of sunlight through a window. If he didn't hurry, he might need a torch in an hour or so.

And I doubt that's a wise course of action with all the wood about. A hand raked through long black hair as he strove to think. If I wanted to hide somewhere and not be caught, where would I go?

"Master Marcello?"

Distracted from thought, Marcello turned to greet his visitor. "Miss Misty. Sorry, but I'm in a bit of a hurry. Apparently, someone is a little too good at hide and seek."

"That what I wanted to tell you, sir." At that, he fixed his gaze on her until she fidgeted with her smock.

"Tell me what, then?" he asked, trying to inject more patience into his tone. Daily, Marcello reminded himself that his workers were not Templars. A parade ground bark didn't endear himself well to the employees and even less to the children.

"I think I saw little Brianna run for the second floor. She might be 'idin' in a supply room or summat, sir."

"Aren't those usually locked?"

"Of course, sir, but we'd been doin' some cleanin' and all. She might 'ave slipped into one of 'em." The young woman clutched her smock with both hands in front of her stomach. "Nothin' that could fall an 'urt 'er, I promise!"

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. "I understand," Marcello replied, silently tapping the seconds against his thigh, forcing himself to calm down. "I'm sure Brianna is probably hiding in a box of Midwinter Festival decorations." Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. "If you'd be so kind as to help the other children get ready for the evening meal, I would appreciate it. I won't be joining you, if this search goes on as long as I think."

"As ye will, Master." With a curtsy, Misty walked quickly down the hall.

Bloody marvelous. Another person who shrinks when I want a word. Suppressing a snarl, Marcello climbed the stairs two at a time, startling an elderly woman carrying laundry. "I say! You in a hurry, Master?"

"Just trying to find a stray sheep. Have you seen Brianna up here?"

The old woman hefted the laundry basket more securely in her arms. "I thought I saw a young girl up here a little bit ago. Can't say it was the little rapscallion. Down that way it was." She inclined her head down the corridor.

"Thank you," Marcello said fervently.

"Not at all, Master. Just mind the children don't see you running up the stairs like you were racin'. Gives 'em devilish thoughts, it does."

"I think I'll be all right, as long as I'm not sliding down the banister as though I were riding a sabrecat." Dryness filled his voice, having caught three children last week doing just that.

With a chuckle, the old woman left him to his work. Fine then. Again, if I am a child, where would I hide up here?

At 31, Marcello did not ever expect to need such a skill. But, when one took over an orphanage, a phalanx of unknown occupational hazards presented themselves. Children, he found, leaped from ridiculous heights, considered everything a drawing surface and did everything in their power to make a grown man scream with frustration.

On the other hand, as master of the orphanage, he could stop an argument with a ferocious glare, pluck a frightened tree climber from the branches of the oak tree in the front yard and tell a bed time story. With varying voices of characters.

In fact, if he recalled, the children had clamored for a group story time. It might do much to soothe his temper. Marcello had noted for the past week and a half, he'd had a terrible time controlling the anger in his voice.

He knew very well why. But that was neither here nor there. He couldn't be angry with these people. They couldn't have known until it was too late. No one could have.

Right. Find the girl and think about which story the children want to hear, Marcello.

The first doors he tested remained firmly shut. Not likely a child could force them open. Various other rooms revealed spare bedrooms, a cupboard of Midwinter Festival decorations, and a linen closet. No Brianna.

Puzzled at where else to search, Marcello began to head back toward the staircase when the sound of a creaking door arrested his attention. "Hello?" he called out. "Who's there?"

Confused, he walked back the way he came, noting every other room he'd checked. If the sound didn't come from these doors then where did it come from? There was only one other room and no one used it anymore.

The temper Marcello held in check all day long snapped. Who would dare! He'd given the strictest orders never to touch anything in the room, save the cleaning maids. Even then, it was only at the rarest of occasions. Anger propelled him down the hall to the half-open door. Hands shaking with rage, he reached unsteadily for the door frame. "Whoever is in this room is violating one of my strongest rules. If that person doesn't reveal themselves immediately, they will find themselves in serious trouble."

A rustling of cloth immediately followed his proclamation. A small girl in a homespun smock scooted into the hall. "Mr. Marcello, I just wanted a place to hide!"

"I told everyone in this house not to touch this room. Why did you go in there?" Blood thundered in his veins and sounded in his ears.

"I just..." Brianna sniffled and wiped her eyes. "I wanted to be there because it was always happy there before. But it's all diff'rent now. 'm sorry, Mr. Marcello."

With every fiber in his being, Marcello fought not to strike the child. Instead, he pointed back toward the staircase. "Get yourself to the table. The evening meal will be served. I will think of an appropriate punishment for you, Miss Brianna." Whimpering, the little girl fled.

Poised at the doorway, he began to close the door, when he realized Brianna had hid somewhere. Goddess, perhaps she disturbed something in the room. Mouth growing dry, Marcello faced two choices: waiting for the maids to clean the room or stepping foot in the only room of the orphanage he'd never seen.

Surely it might be all right. Just to straighten whatever is amiss and run back to my office.

He'd never wanted to look in the room, but apparently chance had other ideas. Taking in a huge breath, as though steeling himself for danger, Marcello push the door open.

The pounding of his heart filled the world with sound. But nothing else stirred in the room. The light of the setting sun through glass windows in the far wall cloaked the furnishings and Marcello in crimson purple. Taking a few steps in, he took in room's writing desk, bookshelves, wardrobe closet and bed. At the sight of the bed, he realized where Brianna had hidden herself.

Sighing, he reached for the covers and meticulously straightened them on the bed. There. Now everything was as it should be here. As he set the pillows to rights, he brushed against a nightstand set next to the bed. A metallic rattling broke through the sound of Marcello's steadying heart. He froze. She didn't PUT something in here, did she? How dare she disturb this room!

Unwilling to look inside, but unwilling for anything to violate the state of the room, he pulled the drawer open. The culprit of the sound rattled into view. A ring. Picking it up, Marcello glanced at the design. And nearly dropped it to the floor. Blood drained from his face as the familiar design revealed itself.

Hard not to recognize this ring, having worn it himself for a good long time. He'd just never expected to see it again, considering he'd thrown it away. But apparently, someone else thought it worth keeping.

Marcello palmed the ring and closed his eyes. This is why I didn't want anything here. So nothing could be disturbed. So I couldn't ruin anything. But yet, the ring rested in a drawer. His ring. A sign of something? But what?

He breathed quietly, steadying his nerves. Opening his eyes, he took in the room again and saw one of the drawers of the writing desk didn't quite close. Did that girl touch everything in this room while looking for a hiding place? Goddess.

A few steps drew him to the desk. He sat down in the chair and pulled the drawer open. A thick bound book wedged itself somehow inside. With a grunt, he yanked it from its hiding place. Well, I doubt a child would be wandering around with something this heavy. Setting it on the desk, he flipped the tome open. Writing covered the pages.

-- Instead of the daily ramblings of the orphanage and usual dabbles at bad poetry, I thought I'd try writing a few stories. Or rather, conversations I once had with people that I remember the strongest. I have the vaguest sense I need to do this now, rather than later. --

Painfully, Marcello swallowed. Oh no, this definitely sat here before Brianna opened the door. He should close this book, close this room and never enter it again.

Which is what he told himself and mostly believed. Yet he found his hand pulling the book closer, smoothing out the pages. I found my Templar's ring in this room. Perhaps...perhaps he wouldn't mind me reading this.

Fear fought with a surge of longing to understand this former room's occupant. Decades of rage had clouded his mind. Up until nearly the very last day. Now, Marcello didn't know what he felt.

But if he ever wanted to know anything now, this book would be the only way.

Sighing, Marcello placed his ring in his pocket and closed the book. Not here, though. His office would be better. I'd feel like I could be brave there.

The book wasn't nearly so heavy as it seemed, but a lifetime of animosity dragged it down, adding layers of weights and regrets.

But I will read this, Marcello vowed, locking the door to his office and sitting at his proper desk. "Angelo, forgive me," he whispered and opened the book.