The doors of the gate were propped open, the metal scrollwork now almost lost among the riot of growth. If it had been summer the gate would have been completely lost from sight, covered in leaves and greenery. Stopping his horse again, Chapman dismounted and approached the gate. Hidden behind a tree he found the brick base that the gate was anchored to. It was covered in ages of moss and dirt and the mortar was crumbling between the bricks. He traced his fingers over the iron of the gate, flinching away when his skin singed with the cold. There was half a crest at the edge of the gate, which would only be fully visible when the two halves were closed together.
With his hand inside the sleeve of his coat Chapman brushed away the snow, revealing the half-crest. The top left corner of the crest held a rose in full bloom, the bottom corner a double-handed sword. But what lay in the center he could not distinguish; without its second half it had no meaning. Turning to look at the other side of the path, Chapman searched the trees and undergrowth, but could not see the other gate. It was possible it had fallen from its hinges and was now buried under years of growth and dirt.
His horse had wandered down the path, and was now almost out of sight around the sharp corner. Shaking the images of the crest from his mind, Chapman stood and went to his horse, placing a comforting hand on her neck. She whinnied at him softly, then moved farther along down the path. Frowning, Chapman followed, reaching out to grab her reigns. But as soon as he was within reach she moved again, dragging him after her down the path in a bizarre cat and mouse game.
After several minutes of following his horse Chapman lost his patience and broke into a jog, puffing with age and the cold. When he reached her he snatched up the reigns before she could flee again; but she stood still and looked back at him, as though to ask why he had been running. Hauling himself up into the saddle again, Chapman had his third surprise of the day. Not more than a few hundred feet down the path lay another set of gates—also open, but larger than the first—and beyond them was a sprawling, run-down estate.
The main house was set back aways from the gate, but Chapman could still clearly see that it was old and falling apart. The roof sagged in several spots and off to the left side it had caved in over what would have been the front parlor. Between the gates and the house was a graveled path leading to a large circle in front of the house, with a dead garden in the center. The forest had been cleared back from the house, but there were several trees in the yard, providing some shade for the house.