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In Ruins

By M.B. Hart

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2010 M.B. Hart
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4490-4652-1

Contents

Chapter 1......................1Chapter 2......................16Chapter 3......................31Chapter 4......................48Chapter 5......................61Chapter 6......................69Chapter 7......................82Chapter 8......................94Chapter 91.....................18Chapter 10.....................137Chapter 11.....................148Chapter 12.....................171Chapter 13.....................185Chapter 14.....................200Chapter 15.....................211Chapter 16.....................221Chapter 17.....................230Chapter 18.....................246Chapter 19.....................267Epilogue.......................275

Chapter One

Guinevere Rhoslyn sat, fingers laced, in a plush chair in the Head of School's office at St. Gilgen's International School in Austria - a newly opened boarding school in which her father had placed her for `modern opportunities' as he had put it. She was sitting alone at the moment, which suited her nicely. A few moments passed and she looked down, studying her plaid skirt. She spotted a wrinkle and smoothed it, her white hand running over the blue and white fabric. Her hand was literally white-just like the rest of her - in the eeriest sense, for she suffered from albinism which kept her from having any pigmentation. She had situated her hair in its usual fashion- in a tight bun at the base of her neck- and her thin bone structure made her seem like the slightest breeze would knock her to the ground even as she sat. Albinism was not the greatest thing to have to live with, but live with it she did, and she enjoyed the privacy she received because of her oddity. Behind her smoked glasses her pink, almost salmon, eyes inspected her white satin polo shirt and red tie. This was her rather annoying uniform, much less comfortable than her custom tailored Cavalli suits, but she looked as presentable as a schoolgirl could. She waited, her patience wearing thin from the bright illumination in the room. At the moment the Head of School and the person Guinevere was impatiently waiting on, Professor Naldan, was in the other room speaking with one of her professors- Professor Norrel.

As Guinevere's eyes raked around the office she noticed it was rather large, and the window positioned behind the desk nearly covered the entirety of the wall behind said desk. Of course the room would be comfortable for the Head of School- for his plush black leather chair faced the door opposite of the window- but for Guinevere the sunlight streaming in through the open shutters was annoying. She fidgeted slightly, focusing her eyes on the deep mahogany desk, memorizing the details to get her mind off the light. A new computer sat on the desk-Toshiba by the looks of it- and beside it a plaque with the Head of School's name etched in copper ...

Proffessor Naldan entered the office. He was a chubby man with dark-rimmed glasses magnifying his eyes and a traditional black suit draped over his short frame. His sleek graying brown hair reflected the sun shining through the window. He sat down behind his desk, strain showing slightly on his face.

"I was told that you belittled one of your professors, again: Professor Norrel?" he said, looking at her with features that neared exasperation. This was neither the first nor the fifth time she had been sent into his office for such a thing.

Inwardly Guinevere smirked. Professor Norrel was simple-minded to say at the least. She honestly saw no meaning of a man with such narrow-minded thoughts being the psychology professor. The board should have known better than to appoint him. He did not even know half of the tricks in the book.

"Sir," she explained, "I made no intention of belittling my professor. However, in his state of mind he thought that I was not as intellectually inclined as to understand him accurately and I was obliged to establish the fact that I am as intellectual- if not more than- he is."

The Head of School shook his head sadly. "Miss Rhoslyn," he said jadedly. "You are a student at this establishment. You are here to learn from our professors, not to disparage them. If you feel that you must show others that they are wrong in their state of mind, please do not refrain from signing up for the debate team."

At that moment Professor Naldan's lecture was cut off for Guinevere's phone began to ring. It buzzed loudly in her pocket and the room was quiet enough that everyone present could hear it. A vein pulsed in the Head of School's head, but Guinevere acted as though she did not notice it. Showing no regard for her superior, she took out her phone. Only two people had the number to her cellular phone, and this number was neither one of them.

"Could you please excuse me," she said, not expressly requesting permission but saying it out of mild politeness. Then she answered the call.

"Don't move a muscle," she heard a poorly disguised soprano voice say. Guinevere guessed that the caller was reaching for a bass, or even baritone pitch, but its falseness would not have fooled even a toddler. "I have a gun fixed on your head and if you try to find me I will shoot."

The room was quiet for a moment. Professor Naldan looked at her with a mix of anger and questioning, but she ignored it. Then Guinevere, rather capriciously, hummed a low E so quietly that it could only be deciphered as static from the person on the other end of the line, though in actuality it triggered the voice sensor on her phone, enabling her butler and bodyguard, Alfonse, to listen into the conversation. "Don't do anything to get the painting," the voice continued, "or that will be last thing you do." The line then went dead, the dial tone humming in her ear.

That was a bit melodramatic, Guinevere thought. Then she thought on an aside, why did there always have to be melodrama? There really is no need for it. She put her phone back in her pocket, still slightly irritated about the melodrama and the sun shining into her sensitive eyes, and faced Professor Naldan. "I need to leave. It is an emergency. Please accept my apologies."

She saw the old man gape, but before Professor Naldan had a chance to reply Guinevere was out of his office and on her way to the front gates of the school.

"Did you get a fix on the location of the call?" Guinevere asked as soon as she entered the dark blue four-wheeler. She was relieved to be out of the blinding light she had been forced to endure in the office, and even the small amount of light she walked through to reach the car. Being one with albinism, she could very easily acquire skin cancer; and besides, she was normally always in a dimly lit room.

"It was scrambled and the system was unable to retrieve it on time," Alfonse answered from the driver's seat. Strongly built, he looked the part of a European spy and wore a black suit that concealed two pistols, extra ammunition, a knife, and a small variety of assorted weapons. "Don't you think that you should stop now before someone gets hurt?" the bodyguard asked, looking into the back seat. "It sounds like someone is against you obtaining that painting; and primarily they know. The odds do not look good for this."

Even though Guinevere was agitated that someone besides her knew of her intentions, she grinned. "When odds are against you is when the game gets interesting," she said.

Alfonse sighed. He knew that - as much as he wished he could- he could not change her mind. When Guinevere...