Krampus: The Three Sisters (The Krampus Chronicles Book 1) (21 page)

McNutt.

The redheaded Garrison had crouched behind the paddlewheel when the Furnace Brook men raided the steamboat. And after listening to their conversation, McNutt realized that the new Foundlings were indeed the feared Van Cortlandt descendants and they were trying to unite the Sister Wheels.

Not wanting to end up like the dead Garrisons, McNutt patiently planned his next move. Unlike many of the Garrisons, McNutt was unarmed. But even if he had a weapon, he wouldn’t have tried fighting the Furnace Brook men after seeing what had occurred earlier. McNutt knew that his best chance was to flee as fast as he could.

As the Van Cortlandt descendants disappeared on the horses, McNutt knew he only had a small window of time before he would lose them. He lowered his body into the freezing river, making sure not to make even a pinprick of a splash. After taking a deep gulp of air, he dipped down until he was completely underwater. If the Furnace Brook men happened to see his submerged form, McNutt knew he would be met with a quick, fatal blow.

So when his knees made contact with the shallow riverbed, he splashed up with a gasp and blindly bolted toward the unguarded horses. He immediately felt the sting of water upon opening his eyes. Everything was eerily quiet, but once McNutt’s ears popped, the frightening curses of the Furnace Brook men could be heard closing in on him.

McNutt safely reached the forest’s edge, but as he mounted a horse, a scythe came slicing through the air, missing his arm by only inches. However, the furious men startled the horse as much as they’d scared McNutt, and soon the animal was charging away.

McNutt steered the horse down the rift in the trees the others had gone through. With angry shouts filling the air, McNutt rode on, knowing he would soon be chased as aggressively as he pursued the Van Cortlandt descendants.

But McNutt had to keep Catharine and Henry from obtaining the Sister Wheel. No amount of Furnace Brook men would stop him.

en Sylvan Terrace was a three-story yellow row house with green shutters located on a narrow cobblestone road that once functioned as a carriageway to an old mansion. Coach lights illuminated the other identical row houses crammed along Sylvan Terrace. But Maggie didn’t see any of that when her underground sleigh came upon the tunnel marked 188D.

“Here we are,” Ward announced, hopping off the sleigh and sprinting toward the tunnel entrance. Maggie, Clemmie, and Louis quickly followed.

The passage was different than the one under Chelsea Manor. Instead of being led directly to the ash pit, the tunnel was full of doors. Ward hurried past the entrances, muttering directions under his breath. Upon reaching the end of the passage, Ward turned left and disappeared through a doorway.

“This way,” his hushed voice called.

The pit was smaller than the one under Chelsea Manor. But there was still a mound of ash just below the ceiling, and Maggie wondered how they would get inside the house.

Apparently thinking the same thing, Louis stretched out an arm and lunged upward, trying to touch the ceiling in hopes of triggering an opening. But his efforts fell short and he landed clumsily on top of the ash pile.

Clemmie let out a hearty chuckle while Ward stared blankly at Louis before walking over to a darkened corner. He returned a moment later with a ladder.

Wet ash flew from Louis’ mouth as he blew a raspberry. He looked at Ward in annoyance as he steadied himself up on his knees. “And how did you find that?”

“Every ash pit has one,” Ward said simply, placing the ladder against a barely visible square frame in the ceiling. Maggie spotted a smirk twitching at the edge of Ward’s lips as he added, “We’re Foundlings, Louis. Not birds.” Ward scrambled up the ladder and slapped his palm on the frame’s center, causing the square to vanish. “It’s about knowing where to strike.”

Ward looked down at the Moore grandchildren and raised his eyebrows. “Is everyone ready? We are breaking into someone’s home, so no one will come to our defense if we’re caught. Surprisingly, not even the Garrisons.” Ward’s tone was light, but the underlying seriousness did not go unnoticed by Maggie. “So if you have any sneezes, coughs or other unnecessary noises, please kindly make them now.”

As Louis climbed the ladder after Ward, Clemmie gave Maggie a supportive shove, insisting she go next. The wobbly ladder creaked under her feet, but Maggie quickly reached Ward and Louis’ extended hands. They pulled her into the dirty cellar of Ten Sylvan Terrace with Clemmie arriving shortly after.

A window on the front end of the cellar let in a cool glow from the street outside. Old furniture and wooden barrels were packed against the walls with the exception of a round table with mismatching chairs. On top of the table, situated in the center of the room, was a single candle imprisoned within its own melted wax.

The back area was made extra dark by boarded up windows. In the corner there appeared to be a kitchen covered in tilting stacks of plates. A squeaking mouse weaved through the dishes, apparently indifferent to the intruders.

“Do you think we should search down here?” Ward asked.

Like Maggie, he seemed to notice there wasn’t a grandfather clock in sight.

“Only if we don’t find a clock upstairs.” Maggie tried to sound confident, but the truth was, if they didn’t find a grandfather clock, she didn’t know where else to look. The key could have been easily discarded years ago.

But Maggie tried not to worry about that possibility yet.

After emerging from the cellar and into the foyer on the main floor, Maggie could see the street through the window on the front door. The doorway to the left led to a parlor packed with furniture, including a regal grandfather clock ticking softly next to the fireplace. Silently, the group crept closer, and Clemmie, easily the tallest of the four, reached on top of the clock. But after churning up a cloud of dust, Clemmie’s hand returned with nothing.

Maggie, Louis, and Ward opened the glass panel and went about looking for the key inside the clock, clunking the weights and chains aside and feeling around the bottom. Ward even peeked under the clock, in case the key had fallen.

“Are you sure it’s not up there?” Maggie pleaded with Clemmie.

Rolling up his sleeves with a sigh, Clemmie made a second attempt at the top of the clock. Once again, his dusty hand returned empty.

“Anywhere else it could be?” Ward whispered, scanning the dark room.

Although the key could very well be hidden amongst the parlor’s numerous bookcases, searching through the endless shelves was a bit improbable. Instead Maggie nodded toward the desk in the corner.

Clemmie and Ward began rummaging around the desk, opening screeching drawers and shuffling through stacks of papers. But after a few minutes of unsuccessfully searching, Clemmie and Ward gave up.

A knot twisted in Maggie’s stomach as Ward patted her shoulder, trying to ease the disappointment. “We still haven’t looked upstairs.”

Ward led them back to the foyer and then crept up the staircase to the second floor. When reaching the top, he held out his hand to signal the others to wait while he checked if the coast was clear. Ward disappeared for a few moments, but when he returned, he waved them up.

The group stayed close together at first, just four shadows moving along the hallway. Then Maggie and Louis went down the hall to the farthest door while Clemmie and Ward started with the nearest.

Maggie and Louis opened the door and found a bedroom with white sheets eerily draped over the furniture. None of the ghostly figures looked to be clock shaped. But Maggie and Louis still picked up the ends of the sheets and peered underneath. They were just peeking below one that turned out to be a dresser when a door slammed in the hallway and then another violently swung open.

“Who the hell are you?” a deep voice shouted.

Maggie’s insides dropped.

The house wasn’t as empty as they thought.

Maggie and Louis scrambled to the bedroom door. Glancing out into the hall, the cousins not only spotted the silhouettes of Clemmie and Ward, but also a thick shadow of a man whose width was greater than the other two combined. A long shiny object was angled in front of Clemmie and Ward, and it took Maggie a moment to recognize that it was a sword.

The man had to be Sir Pringle Taylor.

“What are you doing in my house?” Sir Pringle wiggled the antiquated sword under Clemmie and Ward’s chins.

A few seconds of silence ticked by as Ward’s arm rose above his head. Maggie thought she spied something in his hand. And then with one sudden motion, Ward threw the object to the ground, releasing a storm of powder. The wide figure of Sir Pringle collapsed into a coughing fit while Clemmie and Ward stumbled toward the stairs.

“Run!” Ward shouted.

Maggie and Louis covered their faces as they struggled through the hazy hallway. But a familiar spice permeated the inside of her mouth.

Cinnamon.

Ward had dropped some kind of cinnamon explosion.

The spice-tinged air stung Maggie’s eyes, but it was the only opportunity to get by Sir Pringle who was against the wall, wheezing and wailing. His sword continued to fiercely wave as though dueling with the pungent scent. And Louis had to quickly dodge a blow while lunging toward the staircase.

Maggie had reached the main floor when Sir Pringle bounded after them.

“Hurry!” Ward cried, holding open the cellar door and waving to the others frantically.

They rushed down the cellar steps as Ward slammed the door behind them.

Maggie, Clemmie, and Louis charged toward the fireplace while Ward desperately held the door shut at the top of the stairs. Sir Pringle was trying to heave open the door from the other side.

“Go down!” Ward called. “Now!”

Heeding Ward’s instructions, Clemmie and Louis dropped down the fireplace opening. But Maggie hesitated.

“Come on, Maggie!” Clemmie yelled.

Maggie watched as Ward made one last effort at holding Sir Pringle at bay. Knowing he couldn’t keep the door closed much longer, Ward forcefully threw it open, knocking Sir Pringle back. Ward then ran toward Maggie whose legs were dangling in the fireplace hole.

“Drop!” Ward shouted.

Maggie plunged straight down, landing between Clemmie and Louis on the mound of ash just as Ward and Sir Pringle neared the fireplace. Ward leapt toward the opening and the Moore grandchildren watched in horror as the Foundling’s ankle was grabbed by a beefy hand in the middle of his desperate dive. His body was quickly pulled back up into the cellar.

The ladder rattled in Maggie’s hands as Ward and Sir Pringle scuffled on the floor above.

“Get… off… me,” Ward grunted, frantically trying to break free from Sir Pringle’s grasp.

“Where are your little friends? Why don’t you get them to help you?”

Maggie started back up the ladder, but was stopped by Louis.

“Don’t go!”

But Maggie brushed away Louis’ hand and continued climbing. When she peeked through the fireplace hole, Sir Pringle held Ward in a headlock, the sword poised under the Foundling’s throat.

“Now tell me, what are you doing in my house?” Sir Pringle growled, his heavy jowls quaking around his shaggy white moustache.