The Gilded Seal Read Free Page A

greens of the surrounding hills and wood-
    lands.
    Tom Kirk stepped out and drew his dark overcoat around
    him with a shiver, turning the black velvet collar up so it
    hugged the circle of his neck. Ahead of him, blue- and-white
    police tape snapped in the icy wind where it had been strung
    across the opposing steps that curved up to the main entrance.
    Six feet tall, slim and square shouldered, Tom had an athletic
    although not obviously muscular build, his careful gestures
    and the precise way he moved hinting at a deliberate, con-
    trolled strength that was strangely compelling to watch.
    It was his eyes that were most striking, though, an intense
    pale blue that suggested both a calm intelligence and an un-
    flinching resolve. These were set into a handsome, angular
    face, his thick arching eyebrows matching the color of his
    short brown hair, the firm line of his jaw echoing the sharp
    edge of his cheekbones and lending an air of measured self-
    confidence. The only jarring note came from the series of
    1 4 j a m e s
    t w i n i n g
    small fighting scars that flecked his knuckles, tiny white
    lines that joined and bisected each other like animal tracks
    across the savanna.
    Looking up, he was suddenly struck by the almost deliber-
    ate extravagance of the castle’s elaborate Renais sance splen-
    dor compared to the artisinal, gray functionality of the
    neighboring village he had just passed through. No doubt
    when it had been built that had been precisely the point, the
    building a crushing reminder to the local population of their
    lowly status. Now, however, the castle looked slightly out of
    place, as if it had emerged blinking into the new century,
    uncertain of its role and perhaps even slightly embarrassed
    by its outmoded fi nery.
    In the distance, a police helicop ter made a low pass over
    the neighboring forest, the chop of its rotors muffled by the
    steady buzz of the radios carried by the twenty or so offi cers
    swarming purposefully around him. Tom shivered again, al-
    though this time it wasn’t the cold. This many cops always
    made him nervous.
    “Can I help you, sir?” A policeman on the other side of
    the tape shouted over the noise. At the sound of his voice the
    thick curtain of cloud drew shut once again, and the castle
    faded back into its gray slumber.
    “It’s okay, Constable. He’s with me.”
    Mark Dorling had appeared at the top of the left- hand
    staircase, a tall man wearing a dark blue double-breasted suit
    and a striped regimental tie. He waved him forward impa-
    tiently, Tom recognizing in Dorling’s ever so slightly propri-
    etary manner evidence, perhaps, of weekends spent visiting
    friends with houses of a similar size and stature.
    The policeman nodded and Tom stooped under the tape
    and made his way up the shallow and worn steps to where
    Dorling was waiting for him, shoulders back, chin raised, fi sts
    balanced on each hip like a big game hunter posing over his
    kill. Oxford had been full of people like Dorling, Tom re-
    flected. It was the eyes that gave them away, the look of scorn-
    ful indifference tinged with contempt with which they surveyed
    the world, as if partly removed from it. At first Tom had been
    offended by this, resenting what appeared to be an instinctive
    t h e g i l d e d s e a l
    1 5
    disdain for anyone who didn’t share their privileged back-
    ground or gilded future. But he had soon come to understand
    that behind those dead eyes lurked a cold fury at a world
    where the odds had so clearly been stacked in their favor, that
    their lives had been robbed of any sense of mystery or adven-
    ture. Far from contempt, therefore, what their expression actu-
    ally revealed was a deep self-loathing, maybe even jealousy.
    “I wasn’t expecting you until later.” Dorling welcomed
    him with a tight smile. Tom wasn’t offended by his accusing
    tone. People like Dorling didn’t like surprises. It disturbed
    the illusion of order and control they worked so hard to