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With a grin, Adrian went up the ladder first, mostly because it avoided any risk of misconceptions—not that Georg was likely to accuse Adrian of staring at his arse. But it was an easy impression to prevent altogether.
The attic was a dimly lit space, murky daylight filtering throughsmall, dirty windows, old wood beams darkened with age. The slope of the roof created nooks and crannies that Adrian had loved to explore as a child. A few of his old comic books might still be hiding up here.
Georg pointed towards the steel tank that held a backup supply of water, nestled in a shadowed corner of the space. Chipped paint and faded warning labels testified to its age. His face was sober now. “First good news or bad news?”
“Should I be worried?” Adrian asked, striving for a light tone.
The fact that Georg didn’t immediately respond implied an answer Adrian wasn’t going to like. “I’m not an expert, yes?” Georg gestured at the water tank. “This is what I know—you have a leak and I can fix. But smell this?”
Now that Georg had pointed it out, a slightly damp, musty smell hung in the air. Adrian didn’t remember it from before, but then it had been years since he’d spent any notable time up here. He nodded and motioned for Georg to continue.
“Also this.” Georg crouched down to run his hand along a wood beam, and it came back covered in fine, orange dust.
Shit. Adrian was no carpenter, but this did not look good. He leaned in to inspect it—the particles looked like tiny flecks of rust. “Okay, yeah. What is that?”
Georg wiped his hands off on his dungarees before he replied, tone careful. “I’m not a wood expert.”
So he didn’t want to be the bearer of bad news. Fair enough. But also, bloody hell.
“Your best guess?” Adrian prodded, and Georg glanced away.
“Could be…” He frowned. “House sponge?”
Hausschwamm.
Fuck.Fuck.
“Dry wood rot,” Adrian said weakly. He didn’t know a whole lot about it, just that it was some kind of fungus that targeted wood and could cripple whole buildings.
Cripple wholebuildings.
Oh God.
He sat where he stood, dusty floors under him, a solid beam against his back. Maybe it was infected too. He tried to keep breathing. The musty smell clogged his head. He blinked, and blinked again, lungs painfully tight.
“Hey, ich bin echt kein Experte,” Georg said quietly. “Es kann auch was anderes sein.”
German now, and it was testimony to Adrian’s state that it took a moment to register. Right, Georg wasn’t an expert. But he’d been doing this job for three fucking decades, and if he thought it was dry rot, Adrian doubted it would turn out to be something else.
Somehow, he managed to raise his head enough to meet Georg’s eyes. His head felt like he was underwater. “How far has it spread?” No, German. “Sorry—wie weit hat es sich ausgebreitet?”
Georg shook his head, his features tight with worry. “Ich weiß es nicht.”
I don’t know.
“Okay.” Yet Adrian stayed where he was—on the floor, back supported by a wood beam that might be brittle on the inside, barely able to support his weight. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes.
“Tut mir echt Leid,” Georg told him in an undertone, and that was silly, wasn’t it? He had nothing to be sorry for.
“Kannst du ja nichts dafür,” Adrian managed because no, none of this was Georg’s fault. He’d delivered the news, that was all, and there was more that Adrian needed to say. Details, right. He should ask for details, but it was like solving an impossible puzzle—shaping letters into words, then words into a sentence. None of it made any sense. He pressed both palms flat against the floor. Which … wooden planks. What if they, too, were infected? What if the rot had spread like poison, sending its toxic snares into every corner of the hotel? What if he had to close everything down before it crumbled?
He didn’t have the money for a renovation.
Insurance. Would their property insurance cover the damage? But dry rot might be considered a case of neglect. Christ, they should have removed that water tank years ago—no one still needed abackup in case the municipal supply ran short. It hadn’t been a priority, though, because the tank hadn’t bothered anyone sitting up here, nearly forgotten and leaking all over the place. Much to the delight of fungus looking for a nice place to settle down.
“Adrian.” Georg crouched down in front of Adrian and clasped his elbow in a strong grip. Might be it wasn’t the first time he’d said Adrian’s name. “Soll ich jemand holen?”
Should Georg get someone?
