I walk out of the kitchen and attempt to find Barthlew Madson, our prestigious conductor.

The sun hit our windows in a way that casted an slightly orange glow in the dining room. I was usually gone from the room long before this time, there was something beautiful about a large empty room all cleaned up like this. The long wooden tables looked as though they were shinning. It’s no wonder Barthlew usually came to eat breakfast here by himself when everybody else was gone.

Between concerts I hardly ever see the man. He usually is too busy trying to get the court orchestra up and running, forcing practice after practice till in his ears the music becomes perfection.

Not all things made to be perfect are well received however, for his methods did not made him any friends. Occasionally as well, Mortimer would replace him at the last minute only practicing a little with the Orchestra before the actual concert, it was no wonder that whenever I saw him around he always had the look of a very bitter man on his face.

Cecil mentioned that the man usually took his breakfast after everybody had finished theirs. I search around the dining room in hopes of finding him, but yet also hoping that I did not find him. Luckily or unlucky for me, there was no one present. I was not sure how to find and confront him. Would I just go up to him and say “excuse me sir but did you or did you not push Mortimer down the stairs?” How do you begin a conversation like that?

I think back to yesterday and realised that I did in fact ask Tricia that question. Although less politely. I could do it. I clench my fists. I could do it. But I have to find him first, and if he isn’t here yet, he will be here later.

I make up my mind to leave when suddenly the doors to the room push themselves open.

I freeze. My sudden bravery melting as I watched a man walk into the hall. But I breathe a sigh of relief as I realised it was not the conductor.

Walking straight to the piano in the alcove of the dinning room is Hector Stormere. He has straight nose and sleek black hair contrasting with his sharp light green eyes. He is the court’s piano player. He always plays flawlessly.

He notices me and walks towards me.

“Hey Heston. What are you doing here? Not that you can’t be here, need help with something?” he says, not unkindly, just to the point. The man is always to the point. I wish I could learn pointers from him.

“I was looking for the conductor. Barthlew I mean,” I mumble looking downwards.

“Oh I think I just saw him leave. I think he went to see how Mortimer’s doing. You know you don’t have to mumble, there’s no reason to,” he says turning to walk towards the piano again.

“Oh, um sorry, uh.”

“No worries. No reason to be sorry though either. Just keep your chin up.”

“I uh… thank you,” I say a bit louder. He waves his hand without glancing backwards at me.

I walk out the room not wanting to disturb his practice. I have wondered before when and where he went to practice.

It looks like I would have to go visit Mortimer after all. There was no putting that off any longer. Why did I not want to go? I hardly knew myself.