Chapter 3
Lunch was another solitary affair in the cavernous dining room.
Frau Dietrich had prepared something that Herr Müller announced as “Tafelspitz with root vegetables and horseradish sauce.” It looked beautiful and tasted like dust in Petra’s mouth.
She forced herself to eat anyway, mindful of the cook’s efforts and her own need to keep her energy up.
The morning had been draining. It had been full of numbers and legal terminology, and the weight of decisions she wasn’t ready to make.
Then she’d had her confusing encounter with Seth in the garden, which should have frightened her but instead had left her feeling oddly steadied.
She came away from it feeling as if someone had finally told her the truth, even if she didn’t fully understand it yet.
Now she had to face touring the castle and the mysterious workshop. The place Seth had specifically warned her about.
Be careful what you touch, he’d said. What kind of bloody warning was that?
Herr Müller appeared as she finished her coffee. “If you are ready, madam, I will conduct the tour of the castle.”
“Thank you.” Petra stood, smoothing her skirt. “I’d like to see everything.”
“Of course.”
He led her through the ground floor first, opening doors to reveal room after formal room. A music salon with a gleaming grand piano. A smoking room with leather chairs and oil paintings of hunting scenes. A conservatory filled with orchids that must require constant attention.
Everything was maintained to perfection. Not a speck of dust. Not a wilted flower in sight. The wealth on display was staggering, and Petra felt increasingly like an impostor walking through someone else’s life.
“Master Abdul entertained frequently,” Herr Müller explained as they moved through a ballroom that could have hosted a hundred guests. “He appreciated the finer things and wished to share them with those of similar tastes.”
Similar tastes. Petra wondered what that meant. Arms dealers? Weapons manufacturers? Or something else even more sinister? Something Seth had hinted at but not explained?
The second floor held bedrooms. Most of them were guest suites. Each was decorated with antiques and art that probably belonged in museums. Herr Müller opened door after door, maintaining a running commentary about provenance and historical significance that Petra tried to follow.
She noticed he was taking his time. Lingering over details. Explaining the history of a particular tapestry or the craftsmanship of a carved armoire. As if he was deliberately stretching out the tour. Like he was stalling.
The realization settled cold in her stomach. He didn’t want to show her the workshop.
“If we go up another flight, we come to the lady’s solar, which has not been used since Lady Kettering’s time and several other areas that are currently unused. Above that are the servant’s quarters,” Herr Müller told her as he led the way toward another staircase, but she didn’t follow.
“What about the lower chambers?” Petra asked. “You mentioned a workshop. I’d like to see that before we go much further, since it’s currently in use. I can always explore the unused rooms later.”
She hoped that sounded plausible to the man. He was so stiff, she had a really hard time reading him.
He paused. It was brief, but noticeable. “Yes, madam. If you will follow me.” He changed direction and headed for the stairs leading downward.
They descended a servants’ staircase that took them down past the ground floor.
The temperature dropped a tiny bit with each step, and the opulent decoration gave way to stone walls and practical lighting.
This part of the castle was older, medieval perhaps.
The kind of foundation that had stood for centuries.
Herr Müller led her down a corridor lit by modern fixtures that seemed jarringly out of place against the ancient stone. He stopped at a heavy wooden door reinforced with iron bands.
“The workshop is through here,” he said, producing a ring of keys. “Master Abdul provided space for artisans whose work he admired. They value their privacy, and of course, some of the materials they work with are worth a great deal of money.”
That excuse didn’t make sense to Petra. Everything she’d seen in the castle so far was worth a fortune. Why lock up the artists’ expensive materials when literally everything in the place was worth a fortune?
Herr Müller unlocked the door and pushed it open. Petra followed him into a space that made her skin prickle with immediate unease.
The workshop was large, stretching back into the castle’s foundation.
Modern lighting illuminated what appeared to be a fully equipped lapidary station near the entrance.
Grinding wheels, polishing equipment, trays of gemstones in various stages of cutting.
Beyond that, three jewelers’ benches stood in a row, each one stocked with tools that gleamed under the lights.
And gold. So much gold.
Sheets of it, coils of wire, casting equipment, a small forge in the corner that looked like it had been used recently. The raw materials alone represented a fortune. Maybe Herr Müller’s excuse for locking this stuff up hadn’t been so far off the mark after all.
Petra made herself walk closer, even though every instinct screamed at her to turn around and leave.
The silver caught her eye first. Fine silver wire, sheets of sterling, elaborate findings and clasps.
She’d never been able to wear silver jewelry.
It turned her skin green within hours, sometimes black if she wore it too long.
Her mother had been the same way, and Gran before her. Some people just reacted badly to it.
But this silver felt inexplicably worse than usual. Looking at it made her stomach churn.
The gold was better, if only slightly. At least it didn’t trigger the same visceral reaction. But something about the way it was displayed, the sheer quantity of it, felt wrong. Excessive in a way that spoke to greed rather than artistry.
“Master Abdul was generous with his patronage,” Herr Müller said behind her. “He provided the finest materials and asked only that the artisans create their best work.”
Petra moved past the benches to the back of the workshop, where a doorway led to what appeared to be living quarters. She stepped through and stopped.
The suite was opulent. Not comfortable, not welcoming, but deliberately, almost violently luxurious.
A sitting room decorated with furniture that belonged in Versailles.
Bedrooms with silk hangings and antique mirrors.
Everything expensive, and radiating a kind of cold disdain that made Petra’s skin crawl.
Priceless antiques were scattered around as if they meant nothing. A Ming vase used as an umbrella stand. A Renaissance painting hanging in the bathroom. Louis XIV chairs pushed carelessly against the wall.
The people who lived here didn’t appreciate these things. They used them with contempt, as if demonstrating their superiority to mere objects, no matter how valuable. Petra felt physically ill.
“The guests will return to these quarters?” she asked, keeping her voice neutral.
“Yes, madam. They left when Master Abdul’s death was announced, out of respect. But they have indicated their intention to resume their work next week.”
“I see.”
She didn’t. Not really. But she was beginning to understand why Seth had warned her.
This wasn’t a workshop for artisans. Or rather, it was, but artisans of what? What were they making down here with all this gold and silver and those tools that looked designed for purposes beyond simply making jewelry?
Equipment that isn’t what it appears to be.
Petra made herself examine everything. The benches, the materials, the forge, the living quarters. She noted the expensive tools, the precision equipment, the way everything was arranged for serious work rather than casual hobby crafting.
The whole time, she felt Herr Müller watching her. Studying her reactions.
She kept her face carefully blank. She struggled to display professional curiosity, nothing more. Certainly not the revulsion churning in her stomach or the way her skin felt too tight, too cold, as if the air itself down here was toxic.
“Thank you for the tour,” she said when she’d seen enough. More than enough. “It’s all very impressive.”
“Master Abdul took great pride in providing for his guests,” Herr Müller said. Something in his tone suggested approval. As if she’d passed some kind of test by not reacting badly.
Or maybe she was reading too much into it. Maybe the past two days had simply made her paranoid.
They returned upstairs, and Petra pleaded fatigue to escape to her assigned bedroom. Herr Müller had given her a suite on the second floor that was mercifully less ornate than the others. Still expensive, still intimidating, but at least it didn’t feel like sleeping in a museum.
When she’d arrived, he’d offered her the master suite, but she’d taken one look inside and decided to let sleeping dogs lie.
All of Abdul’s stuff was still in those rooms and she wanted nothing to do with it.
A guest room was good enough for her. For now.
Maybe forever. She might never feel comfortable enough in the sheer opulence of this place to want to go near that luxurious suite of rooms again. Time would tell.
She sat on the edge of the guest room’s bed and checked her watch.
Four thirty. She’d told Seth she would meet him after the tour.
She didn’t know quite how that worked. Was he just out there in the woods watching for her?
That should have creeped her out, but oddly, it felt reassuring rather than scary.
Her instincts were tingling again. Could she trust them?
She wasn’t quite sure, but for now, she would wait and see.