Nightside 07 - Hell to Pay

a will, anyway?”
    “Because not even immortality lasts forever,” said Jeremiah Griffin.

TWO
    Queen Bee
    W hen in doubt, as I so often am, start with the scene of the crime. Perhaps the criminals will have left behind something useful, like a business card with their names and addresses on it. Stranger things have happened in the Nightside. After I left the conference room, I turned to the butler Hobbes, and spoke to him firmly.
    “I need to see Melissa’s room, Hobbes.”
    “Of course you do, sir,” he said calmly. “But I’m afraid you won’t find anything there.”
    Hobbes led me through another series of corridors and hallways. I was beginning to think I’d have to ask someone for a map if Hobbes ever decided to give me the slip. All the hallways and corridors seemed unnaturally still and quiet. For such a large Hall, surprisingly few people actually seemed to live there. The only people we passed were uniformed servants, and they all gave Hobbes and me a wide berth, scurrying past with bowed heads and lowered eyes. And for once, despite all my hard-earned reputation, I didn’t think it was me they were scared of.
    We came at last to an old-fashioned elevator, with sliding doors made up of rococo brass stylings. Very art deco. Hobbes pulled back the heavy doors with casual strength, and we stepped inside. The cage was big enough to hold a fairly intimate party in, and the walls were works of art in stained glass. Hobbes pulled the doors shut and said Top floor in a loud and commanding voice. The elevator floor lurched briefly under my feet, and we were off. For such an old mechanism, the ride was remarkably smooth. I looked for the floor numbers and couldn’t help noticing there were no indicators or controls anywhere in the elevator.
    “I can’t help noticing there aren’t any indicators or controls anywhere in this elevator, Hobbes.”
    “Indeed, sir. All the elevators in Griffin Hall are programmed to respond only to authorised voices. A security measure…”
    “Then how did Melissa’s abductors get to the top floor?”
    “An excellent question, sir, and one I feel confident you will enlighten us on in due course.”
    “Stop taking the piss, Hobbes.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    The elevator stopped, and Hobbes hauled the doors open. I stepped out into a long corridor with firmly shut doors lining both sides. The lighting was pleasantly subdued, the walls were bare of any decoration or ornamentation, and the carpeting was Persian. All the closed doors looked very solid. I wondered if the Griffins locked their doors at night. I would, in a place like this. And with a family like this. Hobbes closed the elevator doors with a flourish and came forward to stand uncomfortably close beside me. Invading someone’s personal space is a standard intimidation tactic, but in my time I’d faced down Beings on the Street of the Gods and made them cry like babies. It would take more than one severely up-himself butler to put me off my game.
    “This is the top floor, sir. All the family bedrooms are here. Though of course not every member of the family is always in residence at the same time. Master William and Miss Eleanor have their own domiciles, in town. Master Paul and Miss Melissa do not. Mr. Griffin requires that they live here.”
    I frowned. “He doesn’t let the children live with their own parents?”
    “Again, a security measure, sir.”
    “Show me Melissa’s room,” I said, to remind him who was in charge here.
    He led the way down the corridor. It was a long corridor, with a lot of doors.
    “Guest rooms?” I said, gesturing.
    “Oh no, sir. Guests are never permitted to stay over, sir. Only the family sleep under this roof. Security, again. All these rooms are family bedrooms. So that every member can move back and forth, as the fancy takes them, when they get bored with the trappings of a particular room. I am given to understand that boredom can be a very real problem with immortals, sir.”
    We walked on some more. “So,” I said. “What do you think happened to Melissa, Hobbes?”
    He didn’t even look at me. “I really couldn’t say, sir.”
    “But you must have an opinion?”
    “I try very hard not to, sir. Opinions only get in the way of providing a proper service to the family.”
    “What did you do before you came here, Hobbes?”
    “Oh, I’ve always been in service, sir.”
    I could believe that. No-one gets that supercilious without years of on-the-job training.