Krampus: The Three Sisters (The Krampus Chronicles Book 1) (28 page)

No one responded. The last time anyone saw the wheel had been when Cyrus angrily threw it. It was probably still lying on the floor in the Horologe Hall.

But then Francis extended his arm out to the group. The Sister Wheel was resting in his palm.

“I picked it up,” he mumbled.

Madame Welles’ face brightened. “Wonderful!”

“But if it’s a fake, what good is it?” Clemmie asked.

She sneered. “It’s certainly not a fake. Do you really think that monstrous clock in the Horologe Hall traveled all the way from Belgium? That decoy was built here in New York. Even the Foundlings never knew where the original Horologe was kept.”

“Which is where?” Maggie asked.

Hostrupp emitted a giggle. “In plain sight. Oh, so very plain sight.”

He motioned for everyone to follow him to the front of the shop where all the windows had been boarded up, and the door was now barricaded by chairs, racks of clothes, and piles upon piles of useless, yet colorful, ribbons.

Maggie noticed the pendulum wall clock with pear-shaped weights hanging on the wall. Its blue and white porcelain dial indicated that it was almost seven o’clock in the morning.

“This is it,” Hostrupp said shrilly. “Beautiful mahogany wood, silver features. Made in Holland.” He turned to Maggie. “Do you have the key?”

Maggie was silent. She didn’t know how to tell everyone that the key―the vital instrument in freeing Poppel―had gone missing between the steamboat and the Horologe Hall.

“It’s… gone…”

‘What?” Madame Welles snapped. “What do you mean it’s gone?”

“I had it on the steamboat, but it wasn’t in my pocket when we reached the Horologe Hall,” Maggie admitted. “It’s lost.”

“It’s not lost,” Henry interrupted. “McNutt took it. I bet you anything. You heard him tell Castriot that he searched my clothes to see if I had the Sister Wheel. He probably did it when I was changing into the Garrison uniform.”

“Was there ever an opportunity where McNutt could have taken the key from you?” Catharine asked.

Maggie thought for a moment. The only contact she had with McNutt was when he tried to hold her back during Henry and Wesseling’s fight. Although the gesture had seemed unnecessary, she hadn’t given it too much thought at the time. But now the reason behind his actions seemed rather clear.

“Yes,” Maggie finally answered. “Yes, I think McNutt took it.”

“I’m going after him,” Henry spat, heading toward the back.

“Wait,” Madame Welles called. “Where is Nellie?”

Henry spun around. “Nellie?”

“Yes, the girl who took you and Catharine to Furnace Brook. Where is she now?”

Henry and Catharine exchanged glances, realizing that no one else knew about her capture.

“She was taken to the Kelder,” Catharine said.

“No,” Madame Welles gasped, cupping her mouth with her hand.

“We’ll get her out,” Louis stepped forward. “Once everything is said and done, we’ll free all the Foundlings in the Kelder.”

“No, you fool,” Madame Welles barked. “Nellie was given the wheel that came from Chelsea Manor―Grace’s Sister Wheel.”

Ward sighed. “So now we’re missing the key and one of the wheels.”

“Two of the wheels,” Lloyd added. “Francis is gone.”

Everyone quickly looked around and saw that Lloyd was right; Francis had managed to slip away. But to where exactly no one knew.

“Seems as though we have another double-crosser on our hands,” Ward said, sprinting toward the backroom. Before anyone could say anything, Ward disappeared through the trapdoor.

“So now both Sister Wheels and the key are gone,” Henry forced a laugh of despair. “Looks like we’re starting all over again from the beginning.”

“It’s more terrible than that,” Madame Welles said grimly. “Francis has escaped with valuable pieces of information―the truth about the Horologe and the location of the Foundling tunnels.”

Hostrupp let out a squeal. “My, my. Perhaps this is the rare occasion―the rare occasion indeed―where Poppel doesn’t have much time. No, no. Not much time at all.”

Francis had been told to head to the Krog if trouble arose. So the moment the others were distracted by the clock in Kleren, he snuck back down to the tunnels, and soon he was stumbling out into the hallway near the Sleigh Pit.

With the Sister Wheel clutched in his palm, Francis ran through Myra Lane. It wasn’t until he neared the stairs that led up to the banquet hall that he heard someone running behind him. A sharp sting accompanied the sound of footsteps as something pelted the nape of his neck.

Francis glanced back and spotted Ward aggressively chasing him, a thin pipe between his lips. Ward reloaded his mouth with a handful of jellybeans and soon another round was shot in Francis’ direction. The beans smashed against the stones under Francis’ feet as he ascended to the top of the stairs. Francis made it halfway through the banquet hall before something struck his legs, tripping him right underneath the chandelier. Ward had hit Francis with a whip made out of taffy, allowing him the opportunity to tackle Francis from behind.

“Get off me,” Francis grumbled while Ward tried pinning him to the ground. But the Foundling struggled to keep Francis’ flailing arms and legs still.

“Hand over the wheel,” Ward shouted. “Hand it over!”

Francis tried to push Ward off, but the Foundling continued to grapple with Francis’ chest, attempting to retrieve the Sister Wheel hidden away in the boy’s pocket. Freeing his arms, Francis punched Ward solidly in the face. Stunned, Ward fell backward, giving Francis the chance to wiggle out from the Foundling’s grasp and roll away.

Francis hurried to his feet and reached for the revolver Castriot had given him. He pointed it down at Ward who was kneeling on the ground. Ward’s eyes looked up at the gun in both fear and surprise.

Francis had never shot a gun before. Even when the Foundlings were uprising, Francis had been kept away from most of the action, for a Garrison of his importance couldn’t be in harm’s way.

“What are you waiting for?” Ward halfheartedly provoked with a gulp.

Francis considered shooting the air to further frighten the Foundling, but as he was still pondering his options, a shot rang through the banquet hall. A second later, Ward hurled forward, blood dripping out of his mouth.

Stumbling back into a table, Francis let out a horrified scream, thinking his gun had accidently gone off. But then Francis saw Cyrus standing on the mezzanine in front of the Krog doorway. His bony face held a satisfied smirk.

“I knew you couldn’t do it yourself,” Cyrus snarled. His tone made it sound like Francis should be thankful he had shot the Foundling. Cyrus then motioned with his gun for Francis to join him. “Get up here, boy.”

Francis stared at Ward’s motionless body and then up at Cyrus. Although Cyrus repeated his request for Francis to join him up on the mezzanine, somehow Francis couldn’t muster the strength to unlatch his trembling fingers from the table behind him.

he Horologe Hall was empty when Maggie returned with Louis and Clemmie. The three of them came searching for McNutt, but he was nowhere to be seen.

“Over there,” Louis said, pointing to the far end of the hall where black-coated bodies were lying near the fake horologe.

“Are they Garrisons or…” Clemmie trailed off as the group neared the unmoving bodies.

While some Garrisons had been killed, the greatest number dead were the Furnace Brook men, as Maggie had feared.

“Boe and Wesseling,” Maggie muttered sadly, recognizing the older man with the bulbous nose as well as the blond-haired young man who had shown great interest in Catharine.

Maggie, Louis, and Clemmie respectfully bowed their heads, but the moment of mourning was interrupted by a cough. The Moore grandchildren jumped, expecting Castriot to be lurking in a corner.

But no one appeared.

It wasn’t until the hollow cough sounded again that they finally tracked the noise to one of the columns. They cautiously tiptoed behind it and were shocked to see Albers slouched against the column, gripping his bleeding right arm.

Clemmie dropped next to him. “What happened?”

Albers breathed heavily. “They got my men. And then the Garrisons escaped with Castriot.”

“Was McNutt with them?” Maggie asked. Albers gave a puzzled look, so she added, “The redheaded Garrison.”

“I… I don’t know.” Albers paused for a moment and then shook his head. “No, I don’t think he was with the others. He may have slipped out earlier.”

Clemmie unbuttoned the top of his shirt, exposing a copper ascot. Maggie arched an eyebrow as her brother untied the ascot from around his neck.

Maggie and Louis gave Clemmie questioning gazes, and he looked back at them sheepishly.

“Is that silk?” Louis asked in disbelief.

“Hostrupp said I could have it.”

Maggie suppressed a tired eye roll, imagining Clemmie exploring Kleren for an accessory to complete his outfit. Only Clemmie would be concerned about looking dapper in the midst of battle. But Maggie soon regretted judging Clemmie, for he quickly used the ascot to bandage Alber’s wounded arm.

Albers admired Clemmie’s work, but then asked solemnly, “Where are the Sister Wheels?”

“There was a setback,” Clemmie reluctantly admitted. “Two are now missing.”

Louis sighed. “My brother Francis took off with one.”

Alber’s pale face turned even whiter. “Could he be working with Castriot?”

Maggie bit her lip. She didn’t want to believe it. It was easier to think that only McNutt had betrayed them, and not Francis, too.

“Catharine and Henry went after him,” Louis said. “So they’ll soon find out.”

“And the second wheel?” Albers asked.

Maggie explained that it had been given to the Foundling named Nellie, and that she was now being held in the Kelder.

Albers’ eyes shot open as he struggled to get to his feet.

“I must go,” Albers stammered.

Louis and Clemmie tried to keep him sitting.

“You’ve done enough to help,” Maggie said. “You should rest.”

“We sent Foundlings to retrieve Nellie and the wheel,” Clemmie added.

Albers fiercely shook his head. “No, no, no. You don’t understand. I must go to her. I must go.”

Even with Louis and Clemmie’s best efforts, Albers could not be restrained. Soon he managed to get to his feet and bolt toward the doorway.