12

 

 

 

        We did not have to work far up the hill from the road, even though trees have over grown the drive, branches intertwining above us so that we seemed to be walking through a tunnel.

        Puck faded with every step, pausing frequently to catch his breath and  he seemed to float in and out of a haze, sometimes mumbling about people and things I knew nothing about, other times, surfacing long enough to question me about where they were and how far they still had to go before they found warmth.

        "I'm so cold," he complained. "I got river water in my veins."

        "It's not far," I assured him, but I was alarmed by the flecks of snow filtering down through the trees.

        Puck squinted into the dark which was illuminated enough by the glow of the city lights against the low clouds beyond the trees. He seemed to be able to make out the vague outline of the mansion.

        “Castles?” he said, shaking his head as if he'd never noticed them before.

        "That's where we're going," I said

         "They're supposed to be haunted."

        "Which makes a good hiding place for us," I said.  “And they are better than no protection in this snow.”

        “Just get me inside,” he mumbled.

        So on we went, Puck clinging more and more to my arm as I led him up the drive, both of us stumbling over the unexpected pot holes and loose cobble stones.

        “How far?” Puck asked.

        “Not Far,” I old him.

        At the very top of the mountain, a single tower appeared through the growing veil of snow, testimony to the turn of the century silk barons and their delusion of becoming America’s royalty.

        In truth, this hill had two castles, and we were headed to the lower of the two, and I clutched the key Hutchinson had given me so I would lose it as the rest of me froze.

        Snow obscured the lower castle. So dark was its stone that it looked to be part of the mountain side. Closer up, I made out its single square tower and its tiny rectangular windows, half expected a 12th century army to begin shooting arrows at us.

        The sharp attack of the snow made me feel as if they did.

        Thick snow fell by the time we’d hobbled up to the arch and its door, through our trail barely showed under the shower of heavy flakes – leaving no trail for the authorities to follow.

        My numb fingers fumbled with the key and managed after several attempt to insert it into the lock At first, the mechanism would not turn, frozen locked by time or temperature and only after repeated attempts did it finally snap open.

        The creak of the metal and wood as the door opened in had all the rich flavor of a cheap horror flick, echoing through the rest of the building better than any burglar alarm.

        We eased into the dark hall beyond, our wet footsteps squeaking on the thick stone floor. An aged, rotting wood scent competed with the smell of mildew and the charcoal odor of old fires set by homeless men who sometimes managed to climb this out of the city, and find some other more devious way inside.

        But no one had been here in a long time, relieving me a little as I eased Puck into a room on the right which I remembered once had a working fire place.

        This room – which had served as some kind of reception area – had walls made of wood, so rich we might have stepped back in time to when the Castle actually serves as a wealthy man’s residence.

        Some of the original furniture remained, uncomfortable high backed chairs engraved by thousands of young hands, but too heavy to cart off and too well made for easy firewood. I dumped Puck into one of these -- and still stoned, I tried to figure out what I needed to do next.

        “I’m so cold,” Puck muttered. “I’ve never felt this cold before.”

        Hard snow flecked against the lead-lined glass of the room’s narrow windows. I glanced out, but the Hackensack Valley – named after one of the Indian tribes that had resident between this ridge and the distant palisades of Jersey City – had vanished into a white haze. Even the nearby trees stood like ghostly sentinels over and around us.

        “What we need is a fire,” I said – though Puck did not hear or understand me.

        He got my drift only when I lit a match and set some old newspapers to blaze in the fire place, then added a few twigs someone had left from some previous stay here.

        “Are you fucking crazy?” Puck asked. “Do you want the cops to find us?”

        “The police won’t see the fire in here.”

        “Bu they’ll see the smoke from the chimney.”

        “No in this storm,” I said. “And even if they did, they’d think we’re just bums that came here to get warm.”

        Puck grumbled, but seemed less insistent, letting his head lean back against the back of the chair. He blinked awake again when I made for the door.

        “Where the hell are you going now?” he asked.

        “To get more wood. What we have won’t last an hour. After that I’ll make my way back down to the city and see about getting us some food.”

        “While you’re at it, call Red Ball, and find out if he’s gotten me a decent place to hide out.”

        “Yeah, that, too,” I said, and made my way back out into the storm.