If you had told The Huntsman formally known as Mr. Hunter,
(one week before all of this took place) that he was going to die from a
misplaced shot fired from his own crossbow, he would not have believed you.
In fact, he most likely would have shot you, after a brief discussion on
how it was your destiny to die now, not his. Then he would have gutted you
just for fun. Regardless, whatever violence he could have inflicted upon
you while he was alive didn't matter anymore, because the fact remained
that he was dead. Dead and still lying face down on the table where he had
fallen, a bolt still sticking out of his back.
By that time most of the guests had been ushered out of the enormous room where the fake Prince Wendell's coronation had taken place. Some of the royal guards and a hand full of police officers were milling about, surveying everything. The Queens corpse still lay on the floor surrounded by a few onlookers, and Virginia, who stood nearby with Wolf at her side. She hadn't taken her eyes off of her dead mother's body. It looked like it might be a while before The Queen's body was moved.
The only ones who noticed The Huntsman at that point were two totally random talking mice, who were perched on a teacup next to his body. They had been observing everything since the coronation began; now they were avoiding mousetraps and watching the commotion. "Well," Said one of the mice to the other. "This has certainly been an eventful evening." "Indeed." Replied the other mouse in its squeaky little voice. "When do you suppose their going to take this unfortunate fellow's body away. It's giving me the shivers seeing him laying there like that." "I expect they'll take him away soon, it's been nearly an hour."
From across the room somebody began walking towards the table that the mice and the dead man inhabited. "Quick!" Squeaked one of the mice. "Move your tail! Someone's coming!" Then the mice scampered away, never to be heard from again in my story.
Two men approached the table and stopped a few paces away. One man was a palace guard, and the other was a police officer by the name of Gregory Dice. Gregory could scarcely believe what had happened at the palace. He had only heard of the Queen a few times before in passing conversation, and he'd never perceived her as any type of threat. So it was a huge surprise to him when he learned that she had almost successfully poisoned every guest at the coronation...and nearly overthrown the government.
Gregory and his fellow officer, David Birch were summoned with the other officers in the room. Having been told that something big had taken place at the palace and that there had been two deaths. David Birch had headed over to the dead Queen as soon as he walked into the room, and began collecting details from the people around her. That left Gregory with the job of getting the second casualty out of the way, and giving it a once over so it could be delivered to the morticians down the road. When he saw The Huntsman's corpse he knew that he would truly hate his assignment.
Cringing, Gregory looked down at the body. The wound where the bolt had struck The Huntsman had begun seeping blood, and there was a large, dark-red stain running down the back of his brown over coat. Gregory hated blood, and gore in any form, and he knew that when he removed the bolt blood would spill all over the damn place. He most certainly wasn't looking forward to his task, but work was work.
On the ground next to The Huntsman, Gregory spotted something on the floor. Taking his eyes off the dead man, he peered curiously at a crossbow he saw laying there. He knelt to pick it up, and found that it was heavier in his hands than it had looked on the ground. Nobody saw him pick up the bow, if somebody had seen him with it they might have stopped him from carrying it away. Gregory slipped it under his overcoat and told himself that he was taking it for evidence. Fate had other plans, and Gregory was lying to himself.
Turning to the guard next to him he asked. "Is there a place in the palace that we can take the body. I want to make short work of this."
The guard looked at him thoughtfully, then nodded. "Down the hall, plus a few turns and down a flight of stairs there's a small morgue reserved for the occupants of the palace." He instructed. "We can take him there for now." "Good." Replied Gregory. "Would you give me a hand dragging him down there? This wont be easy to do alone." "Yeah. Sure." The guard replied unenthusiastically.
To spare you the details of the trip down the hall, plus a few turns and down a flight of stairs, I'll just pick this back up at the door to the morgue. Gregory and the guard deposited the body on the ground; the guard fumbled with a large metal ring of keys, and the door was opened. It was a small boxy room with latched shutters over its one window. A lantern burnt just outside of the window, mounted atop an awning that was used as a decoration. Some light from the lantern slipped through the shutters, casting a dim glow into the room, but it wasn't nearly enough to see by. The guard stepped into the room leaving Gregory alone in the hall with the body.
A few seconds later the strong glow of a lantern drifted from the room into the hall. The guard returned, kneeled down, and taking the dead man by the collar of his coat, dragged him (with some effort) into the morgue. Gregory followed him, and got a good look at the room around him. He could immediately tell that the room had not been used for a few years. There was a thin layer of dust covering everything, including the disturbingly out of place painting of a dandelion on the wall next to a row of body bags that hung from large steel hooks.
The very dead Huntsman was propped up in a corner, and the guard turned to Gregory for further instruction. "I can take it from here." He said, trying to sound professional. "I just need to pull the arrow out of him than take a few notes. You can go for now if you want to." Than Gregory turned his back on the guard, and turned his attention to the body. "Ass..." The guard mumbled under his breath while leaving the room. Angry he hadn't even received a word of thanks. He shut the door forcefully behind him. The sound of the door slamming echoed eerily around the room. Shadows from the lantern danced on the walls, and grew onto the ceiling. It would have made a great room to tell horror stories in, but the effect went unnoticed by Gregory, who was kneeling on the floor next to The Huntsman. "Alright my friend." He said speaking to our dearly departed. "You have gotten yourself into one hell of a predicament. Mind telling me exactly how you got that arrow stuck in your back? Nobody up there bothered filling me in."
The dead man said nothing. Gregory hadn't expected him to. Reaching out his hand and pulling the body forward he examined the fatal wound in The Huntsman's back. Gregory realized with dismay that it would take some effort to pull it out, it had really shot itself in there deep. "Right into the heart." He murmured. Gregory was perplexed. The only thing he had been told was that the cause of death was accidental, that he hadn't been shot by anyone else. Which made absolutely no sense. It looked like a deliberate shot, and he had certainly never heard of anyone shooting themselves in the back before.
Gregory turned all of this over in his mind, when a thought struck him. He remembered the crossbow he'd found on the floor by the body. That might have had something to do with it. He reached into his coat and retrieved the concealed crossbow. It was a wicked looking, but beautifully crafted bow. It had a silver hawk head with gleaming emerald eyes at its front that made it look positively menacing. Gregory had never seen a crossbow like it, and he wondered how the dead man had gotten it. Shrugging, he slipped the bow back under his coat. Then he smiled, and said aloud. "You won't be needing it anymore."
Taking a deep breath, and grabbing hold of the bolt in the dead mans back he counted to three. 1...2...3...Pull! The bolt didn't offer too much resistance, but it did make a stomach turning tearing noise when it came out, and as Gregory had predicted there was a lot of blood. Gregory got to his feet as fast as he could and set the bloody bolt down on a shelf next to him. He was disgusted to see that his hands were covered with blood, he suddenly wanted more than anything to get out of the room. He grabbed a towel that was hanging nearby and rubbed away the blood covering his hands.
Deciding that he had done his part thoroughly enough, he decided to forget about the dead man. He would just have David Birch take care of the mess. By tomorrow this whole nasty business would be behind him. But Gregory couldn't have been more wrong. In exactly two hours Gregory would disappear, never to be seen alive again, the crossbow he had stolen would be stolen again, this time from Gregory's cold dead hands...and The Huntsman (who at that very moment was waking up in hell.)Would be anything but dead by noon the next day.
By that time most of the guests had been ushered out of the enormous room where the fake Prince Wendell's coronation had taken place. Some of the royal guards and a hand full of police officers were milling about, surveying everything. The Queens corpse still lay on the floor surrounded by a few onlookers, and Virginia, who stood nearby with Wolf at her side. She hadn't taken her eyes off of her dead mother's body. It looked like it might be a while before The Queen's body was moved.
The only ones who noticed The Huntsman at that point were two totally random talking mice, who were perched on a teacup next to his body. They had been observing everything since the coronation began; now they were avoiding mousetraps and watching the commotion. "Well," Said one of the mice to the other. "This has certainly been an eventful evening." "Indeed." Replied the other mouse in its squeaky little voice. "When do you suppose their going to take this unfortunate fellow's body away. It's giving me the shivers seeing him laying there like that." "I expect they'll take him away soon, it's been nearly an hour."
From across the room somebody began walking towards the table that the mice and the dead man inhabited. "Quick!" Squeaked one of the mice. "Move your tail! Someone's coming!" Then the mice scampered away, never to be heard from again in my story.
Two men approached the table and stopped a few paces away. One man was a palace guard, and the other was a police officer by the name of Gregory Dice. Gregory could scarcely believe what had happened at the palace. He had only heard of the Queen a few times before in passing conversation, and he'd never perceived her as any type of threat. So it was a huge surprise to him when he learned that she had almost successfully poisoned every guest at the coronation...and nearly overthrown the government.
Gregory and his fellow officer, David Birch were summoned with the other officers in the room. Having been told that something big had taken place at the palace and that there had been two deaths. David Birch had headed over to the dead Queen as soon as he walked into the room, and began collecting details from the people around her. That left Gregory with the job of getting the second casualty out of the way, and giving it a once over so it could be delivered to the morticians down the road. When he saw The Huntsman's corpse he knew that he would truly hate his assignment.
Cringing, Gregory looked down at the body. The wound where the bolt had struck The Huntsman had begun seeping blood, and there was a large, dark-red stain running down the back of his brown over coat. Gregory hated blood, and gore in any form, and he knew that when he removed the bolt blood would spill all over the damn place. He most certainly wasn't looking forward to his task, but work was work.
On the ground next to The Huntsman, Gregory spotted something on the floor. Taking his eyes off the dead man, he peered curiously at a crossbow he saw laying there. He knelt to pick it up, and found that it was heavier in his hands than it had looked on the ground. Nobody saw him pick up the bow, if somebody had seen him with it they might have stopped him from carrying it away. Gregory slipped it under his overcoat and told himself that he was taking it for evidence. Fate had other plans, and Gregory was lying to himself.
Turning to the guard next to him he asked. "Is there a place in the palace that we can take the body. I want to make short work of this."
The guard looked at him thoughtfully, then nodded. "Down the hall, plus a few turns and down a flight of stairs there's a small morgue reserved for the occupants of the palace." He instructed. "We can take him there for now." "Good." Replied Gregory. "Would you give me a hand dragging him down there? This wont be easy to do alone." "Yeah. Sure." The guard replied unenthusiastically.
To spare you the details of the trip down the hall, plus a few turns and down a flight of stairs, I'll just pick this back up at the door to the morgue. Gregory and the guard deposited the body on the ground; the guard fumbled with a large metal ring of keys, and the door was opened. It was a small boxy room with latched shutters over its one window. A lantern burnt just outside of the window, mounted atop an awning that was used as a decoration. Some light from the lantern slipped through the shutters, casting a dim glow into the room, but it wasn't nearly enough to see by. The guard stepped into the room leaving Gregory alone in the hall with the body.
A few seconds later the strong glow of a lantern drifted from the room into the hall. The guard returned, kneeled down, and taking the dead man by the collar of his coat, dragged him (with some effort) into the morgue. Gregory followed him, and got a good look at the room around him. He could immediately tell that the room had not been used for a few years. There was a thin layer of dust covering everything, including the disturbingly out of place painting of a dandelion on the wall next to a row of body bags that hung from large steel hooks.
The very dead Huntsman was propped up in a corner, and the guard turned to Gregory for further instruction. "I can take it from here." He said, trying to sound professional. "I just need to pull the arrow out of him than take a few notes. You can go for now if you want to." Than Gregory turned his back on the guard, and turned his attention to the body. "Ass..." The guard mumbled under his breath while leaving the room. Angry he hadn't even received a word of thanks. He shut the door forcefully behind him. The sound of the door slamming echoed eerily around the room. Shadows from the lantern danced on the walls, and grew onto the ceiling. It would have made a great room to tell horror stories in, but the effect went unnoticed by Gregory, who was kneeling on the floor next to The Huntsman. "Alright my friend." He said speaking to our dearly departed. "You have gotten yourself into one hell of a predicament. Mind telling me exactly how you got that arrow stuck in your back? Nobody up there bothered filling me in."
The dead man said nothing. Gregory hadn't expected him to. Reaching out his hand and pulling the body forward he examined the fatal wound in The Huntsman's back. Gregory realized with dismay that it would take some effort to pull it out, it had really shot itself in there deep. "Right into the heart." He murmured. Gregory was perplexed. The only thing he had been told was that the cause of death was accidental, that he hadn't been shot by anyone else. Which made absolutely no sense. It looked like a deliberate shot, and he had certainly never heard of anyone shooting themselves in the back before.
Gregory turned all of this over in his mind, when a thought struck him. He remembered the crossbow he'd found on the floor by the body. That might have had something to do with it. He reached into his coat and retrieved the concealed crossbow. It was a wicked looking, but beautifully crafted bow. It had a silver hawk head with gleaming emerald eyes at its front that made it look positively menacing. Gregory had never seen a crossbow like it, and he wondered how the dead man had gotten it. Shrugging, he slipped the bow back under his coat. Then he smiled, and said aloud. "You won't be needing it anymore."
Taking a deep breath, and grabbing hold of the bolt in the dead mans back he counted to three. 1...2...3...Pull! The bolt didn't offer too much resistance, but it did make a stomach turning tearing noise when it came out, and as Gregory had predicted there was a lot of blood. Gregory got to his feet as fast as he could and set the bloody bolt down on a shelf next to him. He was disgusted to see that his hands were covered with blood, he suddenly wanted more than anything to get out of the room. He grabbed a towel that was hanging nearby and rubbed away the blood covering his hands.
Deciding that he had done his part thoroughly enough, he decided to forget about the dead man. He would just have David Birch take care of the mess. By tomorrow this whole nasty business would be behind him. But Gregory couldn't have been more wrong. In exactly two hours Gregory would disappear, never to be seen alive again, the crossbow he had stolen would be stolen again, this time from Gregory's cold dead hands...and The Huntsman (who at that very moment was waking up in hell.)Would be anything but dead by noon the next day.