The Chronicles Of Power

Stephen crossed the great hall with quick, silent steps. It was just after lunch, and Sir and Ma’am were resting in their bedroom. Under no circumstances were they to be disturbed. At the same time, he held an envelope that had just arrived in the mail.

The bill had caught his attention immediately. Something wasn’t right. And when something wasn’t right, Ma’am was to be informed at once. Two orders that stood in direct conflict. For most people, it would have been an impossible situation. For Stephen, it was just another day at work.

Over the years, he had learned to navigate their whims. It was all about timing, judgment, and knowing when a rule could be bent without actually being broken. He didn’t particularly enjoy the job. The days were long, the pace relentless, and the plans changed constantly. More often than not, the responsibility landed on his shoulders.

But the salary… It was still hard to believe. Even after all these years, he found himself surprised each time the money appeared in his account.

Thanks to that salary, both of his nephews had been able to attend university. His elderly mother lived in a care home where she received the finest care he could have hoped for. And as for himself? In a few years, he would leave all of this behind. He could already picture it: a warm beach, a calm sea, and evenings spent watching the sun sink below the horizon. He would sit there with a cocktail in his hand, never having to button a suit again.

But that day was still a few years away. For now, there was only work.

He continued through the great hall. The dreadful Lucy was perched high on a ladder, dusting the enormous crystal chandelier. She was so absorbed in her work that she never noticed Stephen passing directly beneath her. His father, the old fool, would have claimed his ability to move unseen came from their Apache blood. Stephen gave the credit to his years in the Special Air Service.

In the small room beyond stood Ivan. Stephen glanced inside. What exactly was he doing? There was something about the young man that refused to leave his thoughts. He couldn’t have explained it if he tried. Something wasn’t right. And it wasn’t the fact that Ivan was always naked, or that he never spoke. It was something else. Something more elusive. He let the thought pass. There wasn’t time for it now. Still, he resolved to keep an even closer eye on the imposing Russian.

Outside the kitchen, he found Tamara and Molly clearing away after lunch. Plates were stacked, glasses carried inside, and silverware disappeared into dish tubs. When Stephen saw Molly, his expression softened almost imperceptibly. The girl with the sad eyes and the perpetually serious expression reminded him so much of his sister as a child. The same cautious way of moving. The same look that always seemed to apologize before anything had even happened. He couldn’t help feeling a certain responsibility for her.

On that first evening, when they had all stood naked and exposed, he had remained silent, hidden from view, watching everything unfold before him. But when it was Molly’s turn, he had looked away. It was the one thing he hadn’t been able to watch.

Then, about two or three months ago, he had seen Molly leave Penelope’s room with tears streaming down her cheeks. He hadn’t needed to ask what had happened. He already knew Penelope had been cruel. He despised the little bitch.

The feeling had grown over many years. Once, when Penelope had still been younger, she had made him lose face in front of Sir and Ma’am. He could still remember the helplessness of watching her skillfully turn the situation to her advantage, making him look like a fool. Sir and Ma’am had laughed. The laughter hadn’t been the worst part. The worst part had been seeing how much Penelope had enjoyed it.

Stephen continued down the corridor until he stopped outside the master bedroom. The heavy door was closed. He rested a hand lightly against the doorframe and leaned in, tilting his head toward the door. Before knocking, he wanted to make sure the timing was right.

Then he heard voices. Raised voices. “I know what I saw!” Ma’am’s voice was unusually sharp. “But how would you know the difference between a marijuana roach and an ordinary cigarette? It’s not as if you’ve ever seen one in real life.”

Sir answered much more calmly. “I’ve seen more than you think. I saw it. It was lying on the lawn. And now it’s gone.”

Stephen could almost picture the scene. Ma’am punctuating every sentence with her hands. Sir standing perfectly still, replying in his usual measured tone. “You know I hate drugs,” she continued. “More than anything else. They’re so… dirty.” She fell silent for a moment before speaking again, her voice noticeably colder. “If I caught you with drugs, you’d be thrown out on your head. And heaven help us… if Penelope were involved with that sort of thing, I’d disinherit both her and my good-for-nothing sister.”

“You don’t really think that either I or Penelo—”

Sir never finished. “Of course not, my dear,” Ma’am interrupted, her voice suddenly warm again. “It’s either one of the gardeners. Or one of our four… helpers.” She let the last word hang in the air. “God help them if it’s one of them.” A brief silence followed. “They’re to be tested.” “Now.”

Stephen straightened. Without making a sound, he turned and hurried away. The bill would have to wait.

An hour later, the entire household had gathered in the small drawing room. Stephen remained just outside the half-open door. No one knew he was there. He listened.

Ma’am stood in the center of the room. She spoke with unusual sharpness. “Drugs have no place in my house,” she said. “Under any circumstances.”

The four employees stood in a line before her. Stephen watched them exchange brief, uncertain glances before quickly looking away again. Sir stood a short distance behind Ma’am with his arms folded, his expression grim. “Having drug addicts in this house is unthinkable,” Ma’am continued. “You will all be tested. If you refuse, you can leave.”

Stephen heard the rustle of clothing. He glanced through the narrow gap in the door. The women had their underwear around their ankles, squatting over individual specimen cups. The Russian stood beside them with his—well, enormous cock in one hand and his cup in the other.

Stephen stepped back at once. A faint trickle could be heard. Then another. And another. Ma’am thanked them one by one. “Thank you, Tamara.” “Thank you, Lucy.” “Thank you, Ivan.” Then silence. Molly’s name wasn’t called.

Stephen looked through the crack again. She was still squatting, the specimen cup beneath her. Ma’am remained standing before her, perfectly still. “Please… it’s coming,” Molly said, her voice trembling. “It’ll come soon. It’s just so hard… when someone is watching, Ma’am.” She sounded close to tears.

“I can wait,” Ma’am replied calmly.

A short while later, Stephen left to fill the car with fuel, have it washed, and pick up groceries.

When he returned a couple of hours later, the house had settled back into its usual calm. He glanced into the small drawing room, Sir and Ma’am were entertaining two other couples. The conversation drifted effortlessly from taxes to tax havens, boats, and champagne. Laughter came easily, and the atmosphere was warm, almost familial.

But Molly was still there. In the middle of the room, she remained squatting on trembling legs. The specimen cup beneath her was still empty. She hadn’t moved. She remained exposed before everyone in the room. They could see everything. Dried tears had left pale tracks down her cheeks.

The soft clink of ice against glass made Stephen turn. At the far end of the sofa sat Penelope. She was leaning back comfortably, idly stirring a large glass with a spoon. A faint smile rested on her lips as she watched Molly without blinking.

Stephen hesitated for only a moment. Then he turned away. He strode off. This time, he was furious.