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The Hunt for the Seventh

Chapter One

We've been given some rooms all the way at the top of the south turret. They are the old embroidery rooms and the seamstresses' quarters from centuries ago. The retiring gardener showed us up some old back stairs that led from the kitchen. Then we came to a small landing with several doors leading off. One of these led to a narrow spiral staircase. We struggled up it with the suitcases.

"Always always use the back stairs," said the old gardener. "The master hates to meet up with anyone. Phew! Nearly there."

We came out into a long circular corridor with doors lining it. One by one he opened them, and we followed him into each curved room.

I've never lived in a turret before. I'll feel like a medieval knight! First, the bedrooms. The biggest one is for Dad. Mine and Sal's are crummy, small things, both leading off the living room. Sal instantly claimed the best one for herself. In my room there was nothing much except for a wonky bookshelf, filled with dusty old encyclopedias. One of them was being used to prop up one leg of a wobbly chair. The whole thing didn't look very promising. On the living room floor was a cat dish with some old tuna caked in it.

"Suki's vanished," Harold said. "Sulking, no doubt! She hates change. If she shows up, I've left my phone number on the kitchen bulletin board."

Sally looked around with her nose screwed up. "It's kind of . . . smelly!" she said. (At ten she is much too fussy about Everything.)

Next, we filed into a tiny kitchen and then a bathroom, with a dripping shower over an ancient bathtub. Then back to the chilly living room.And two tiny storerooms. Back in the curved corridor Dad sat down on a suitcase.

"It'll do," he said.

There was one door left unopened. I stared at it. "What's through there?" I asked.

Harold glanced at it briefly. "Through there? Nothing."

"How can there be nothing? It's a door!"

"It's locked," said Harold, as if that settled it. "I've never bothered with it myself."

But I didn't quite like the way he said it, as if he didn't want to be asked any awkward questions. "Well, who has the key?" I insisted.

Harold frowned down at me. "If there's one thing the master dislikes more than children, it's questions! You'll find out when you meet him later." He nodded darkly to Dad. "And you two, you'd best keep your mouths shut around him, that's for sure."

I opened my mouth again, but Dad cut me short. "That's enough, Jim!" said Dad. "Let it go now."

He looked tired. Gray. So I let it go.

But it didn't let me go.

"Find the Seventh!" a young girl's voice whispered, right at my ear.

I glanced back at the door before scuttling to catch up with Dad in the living room. I was too scared to be out here by myself, even for a few seconds.

I wasn't sure I was going to like it here at all.

It was almost bedtime by the time we were finally summoned to the master's study. The royal summons. We walked nervously through the Grand Hall, upstairs, and along the echoing corridors. The passages were lit by dim lamps or, in more remote places, just the tiny glow of emergency lights set into the ceilings.

The only sounds were the ticking of the many clocks we passed. Every so often as we walked along, I heard the faint whirring of something small, set high into the walls. This puzzled me until I glanced back and spotted the small electric red dot of a security camera as it swiveled our way.

I wondered who was watching us.

The butler met us at the top of a long flight of stairs. With an impassive face, he ushered us into a dim study and closed the doors on us. Now we were alone, just us and Lord Louis Minerva III.

He was sitting in his wheelchair in front of a huge log fire—a grumpy-looking old man with a glass of amber brandy in one hand. He gestured us to step forward into his golden halo of firelight. When he smiled at us, his eyes were cold and filled with dislike. He made me think of a lizard.

"Mr. Brown—and your delightful children! Do come in. I trust your rooms are sufficient?"

"Perfectly, thank you, sir," said Dad.

I glanced around the room. One whole wall held screen after screen, the monitors of a vast closed-circuit TV system. Each screen flickered with ghostly images of various parts of the grounds. There was the great staircase. And the calm face of the lake. And the gatehouse with its flag, floodlit, on top.

The only light came from the flickering fire and those screens flashing a cold silver from frame to frame. I began to feel as if I'd stepped into some old silent movie.

Lord Minerva gestured Sal and me to step even closer. He regarded us silently. This made both of us fidget. Eventually he gestured toward the screens.

"I don't get out much these days," he said with a tight little smile. "Nevertheless, as you can see, I am in complete control of my entire estate. I have eyes everywhere, some of them hidden. I trust I shall not have cause to regret your coming here."

He was staring more at me than at Sal. I got the impression there was something about me he didn't like at all.

"No doubt you will want to explore your new home," he said. "But may I remind you that this is my home, not yours. Your home, for now, is in the rooms at the top of the south turret. As for my home, there are only certain areas that are open to the public. The rest of Minerva Hall is roped off. You are forbidden to go beyond those boundaries. Do I make myself clear?"

The Hunt for the Seventh. Copyright © by Christine Morton-Shaw. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold.