If those bees attack my uncle one more time, the old keeper will be dragged away in chains for treason, my cousin whispered as we stood on the portico of Elmwood Manor.
The hours inside the locked tent stretched long and tense. Dr. Finch worked tirelessly, meticulously documenting every detail of his findings, while I fretted over General Silas, just outside our reach.
I could hear the distant sounds of the manor: the guards’ patrols, the rustle of leaves in the growing breeze. But no one came for us.
At dawn, a sudden commotion jolted me awake from a fitful doze. Heavy footsteps approached the tent.
The sound of metal scraping against metal announced their arrival. The lock on the tent flap rattled, then snapped open.
Four Union soldiers, rifles at the ready, burst in. Major Pryce stood behind them, his face grim, his eyes fixed on us with cold triumph.
“Clara Albright,” Pryce announced, his voice like stone. “You are hereby served with an immediate civilian expulsion order. You are to leave this property within the hour, under military escort.”
He thrust a folded parchment at me. My hands shook as I took it.
“Dr. Alistair Finch,” Pryce continued, turning to the toxicologist. “You are under arrest for military insubordination, obstruction of justice, and unauthorized access to classified War Department files.”
Two of the soldiers stepped forward, seizing Dr. Finch by the arms. He offered no resistance, his face a mask of weary resignation, but his eyes held a steely glint.
“My findings are fully documented, Major,” Dr. Finch said, his voice calm. “And will be delivered to the Inspector General regardless of your attempts to suppress them.”
Pryce merely sneered. “We’ll see about that, Doctor. Your ‘findings’ will be incinerated with the rest of this ‘biohazard.’”
Outside the tent, I heard frantic shouts. “No! Please! My bees!”
It was Ebenezer. I pushed past Pryce, rushing out of the tent.
Two other soldiers had Ebenezer by the arms, dragging him towards a waiting supply wagon. His old, tattered hat had fallen off, revealing his wispy white hair. His face was streaked with dirt and tears.
Behind him, piles of dry timber were already stacked high around the bee yard. Another soldier held a smoking torch, ready to ignite the sulfur.
Ebenezer thrashed against his captors, his cries echoing across the quiet morning. “They’re innocent! Don’t burn them!”
Julian Montgomery stood on the portico of Elmwood Manor, sipping a cup of coffee. He watched the clearing of his obstacles, his expression unreadable, almost placid.
A few fat drops of rain began to fall, pattering softly on the dusty ground, but Julian didn’t flinch. He simply stood there, observing his triumph unfold, as if orchestrating a play.
More Stories
+ There are no comments
Add yours