Part Thirty – The Stranger with the Key
The echo of a knock broke the stillness. Slow, hesitant, yet insistent.
Heller frowned, setting aside his duster. Few dared approach the Hanns estate unannounced. He made his way to the grand door, pulling it open to find a scrawny, middle-aged man, his coat threadbare, his beard unkempt. The man's eyes darted about nervously, like a rat expecting a trap.
"Morning, sir," the stranger rasped, clutching something in his dirt-streaked hand. "I was told to bring this. A man gave it to me four weeks back, said if no one claimed it, I was to bring it here."
He opened his palm. Resting there was a key — old, iron-forged, heavy. At first glance it seemed ordinary, until Heller saw the base: etched into the metal, the unmistakable sigil of Raymond Hanns, two lions.
A chill spread through Heller's chest. His master's hand was in this.
"I don't know the man's name," the vagrant continued, "only that he said I'd be paid for my trouble. Twelve silver coins. Not a coin less." He held out his hand expectantly.
The precision of the demand struck Heller at once. Raymond Hanns had always been a man of detail, down to the last fraction. It could be no coincidence. Wordlessly, Heller fetched the exact amount, counting out the silvers into the man's grimy palm.
The stranger's eyes widened, astonished at his own good fortune. "By the gods," he muttered, half laughing, half cursing. "Should've asked for more, eh? That man… cleverer than he looked."
Heller closed the door with a quiet firmness, shutting out the man's mutterings. He turned the key over in his hand, the sigil catching the dawn's light. A message. A secret. Perhaps a burden.
His thoughts darkened. Whatever this key unlocked, Raymond Hanns had meant for Jonathan to inherit it. And Heller would see to it that the boy did.