The fire started small but spread quickly in a
matter of seconds from the drapes to the carpet
before a saw it.
I froze for a minute, not out of fear of the fire,
but fear of looking foolish, fear of violating that good
English decency I’d worked so hard to cultivate by
raising my voice like a vagabond.
“Fire,” I called too softly. As it began to
spread toward the stairs, I called more loudly.
“Fire!” Finally, I was shouting as I raced to the
library, thinking only to alert my lord.
The library was empty, and the door of the
forbidden chamber stood slightly ajar.
“My lord! My lord,” I called, but no answer. I
knew it went against the sanctum sanctorum of my lord’s
privacy, but I reasoned that this was an absolute
necessity to get him to safety and acquire aid in the
fire. I put my hand on the fox’s mouth, and pushed
the door open.
It was a dark, freezing cold chamber. It
seemed to be snowing inside. It was an extension of
the library, with artwork and statues everywhere, like
Medusa’s garden. All the statues were of men. One I
recognized: Zeus and Ganymede. The opened books
around the room; all seemed to depict men—
engaged—with other men. Some actions, I flushed to
admit, I recognized from those nights with my lord.
Some—I did not.
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