Krampus: The Three Sisters (The Krampus Chronicles Book 1) (29 page)

“But… but do you even know where you’re going?” Louis called after him.

However, it was too late. Albers had already disappeared.

“I’ll go after him,” Clemmie said. “Ward showed me how to get to the Kelder. He probably will get lost trying to find it.” Clemmie then took off after Albers, leaving Maggie and Louis alone.

“Now we’re not any closer to finding McNutt or the Horologe key,” Maggie observed glumly.

“Well, if any good comes out of this, it’s the realization that Clemmie isn’t completely useless,” Louis joked with a forced chuckle. “Where did Clemmie learn to bandage an arm? I didn’t even know he could read.”

Maggie’s eyes lit up and she grabbed Louis’ hand, tugging him toward the doorway.

“I know where to find McNutt.”

The Kelder was farther than the workshop, deeper than the Sleigh Pit and colder than the steamboat. But since Albers didn’t know how to get there, Clemmie had no trouble catching up to the injured man.

“Albers, the Foundlings have already gone down to find Nellie,” Clemmie explained again. “They probably have reached her by now.” But Albers brushed aside Clemmie’s comments and kept insisting he must go to her.

Giving into Albers’ persistent pleas, Clemmie led him toward the Kelder through the Foundling tunnels. Clemmie had a candle, but its glow only extended so far, and he didn’t see the other Foundlings walking his direction until Lloyd nearly smacked into Clemmie’s elbow.

“Is that you, Clemmie?” Harriet asked and then let out a gasp when she saw Albers, thinking he was a Garrison.

“It’s all right,” Clemmie said quickly. “He’s from Furnace―”

“Were you able to get Nellie?” Albers interrupted.

“No,” Lloyd said. “The Kelder is too well guarded.”

“We were coming back to get more Foundlings,” Harriet added, and then eyeing Albers’ uniform said, “But maybe now we won’t need them.”

Minutes later, Albers walked down the Kelder passageway alone while Clemmie and the Foundlings waited in the tunnels. They had directed Albers to Nellie’s cell and briefly orchestrated a plan that depended entirely on deception.

Two Garrisons confronted Albers as he entered the Kelder, which was a grisly, dirt-covered burrow full of windowless, wooden doors.

“I’m here to retrieve a Foundling,” Albers stated in a steady voice.

The Garrisons looked at Albers with uncertain expressions. He still had his bloodstained tourniquet around his arm.

“There was an accident in the Sleigh Pit,” Albers explained, nodding to his injury. “We need the Foundling to help clean up the mess.”

“Which?” grunted one of the Garrisons.

“Cell number four,” Albers replied, trying not to appear too anxious. “The blonde girl.”

The two Garrisons exchanged hesitant looks, causing Albers to lose his composure.

“Do I need to get…” Albers paused, trying to remember the name the Foundlings had given him. “Cockrell? Do I need to bring Cockrell down here? Or are you going to follow orders and take me to cell number four?”

One Garrison pointed down the hall. “On the right,” he directed.

Albers nodded and marched on, trying to hide his apprehension.

Reaching the cell marked number four; Albers unlocked the iron bolted door and pushed it open. He stepped into the darkness, unable to see his own hands in front of him.

But then a set of blue eyes appeared. They were frightened at first, but a look of recognition soon swept into them as a voice muttered, “Albers?”

Albers shivered, but he didn’t know if it was the temperature of the cell or the reunion he had anticipated for over the past decade.

“Albers?” the voice repeated.

“Nellie,” Albers replied softly. There was so much he wanted to say, but all he managed to choke out was, “Do… do you have the wheel?”

A pair of familiar arms quickly wrapped around his chest as a head of blonde hair settled under his nose. It smelled like a past he had nearly forgotten. But instead of giving him back the comfort he thought he had once lost, he became very aware of his age and the years he would never get back.

Although he wanted to stay in the embrace longer, the sound of footsteps approaching pulled them a part. The Garrisons were coming.

“Do you have the wheel?” Albers repeated, looking down at Nellie.

Albers stared at the girl’s glowing skin. He couldn’t remember her ever looking so youthful. Although he had imagined this reunion from the moment Nellie left Furnace Brook, convinced that the passing of time was insignificant when it came to love, he now realized that time may be the only thing that mattered.

“How do you know McNutt is here?” Louis whispered as Maggie led him through the tunnel Harriet had shown her earlier.

Maggie didn’t respond. The truth was she really only had a slight hunch.

The Boeken Kamer was eerily quiet as they slipped out of the bookshelf. Maggie and Louis tiptoed through the rows of books. With Henry and Catharine probably closing in on Francis and Ward, and Clemmie retrieving Nellie and the Sister Wheel, Maggie needed to find the redheaded Garrison.

“McNutt!” Maggie called, knowing she was taking the risk of someone other than McNutt hearing her.

But nothing stirred.

“McNutt!” she called again.

Maggie began to worry she had led them astray. But then out of the last row of bookshelves, McNutt finally emerged.

“You!” Without hesitation, Maggie charged toward him. “You betrayed us! You led Castriot to the Horologe Hall! People died because of you!”

Wide-eyed with his mouth slightly open, McNutt looked stunned. “Maggie, I did not betray you. I know you don’t believe me, but you must.”

Maggie folded her arms and looked at McNutt doubtfully.

“When we arrived in the steamboat and Francis sent the other Garrisons away, he must have told them to alert Castriot of your arrival. After I left the Furnace Brook men behind, I ran into the Garrisons just as they were coming to find you. I know it may be hard to believe, but it was Francis who betrayed you, not I.”

“Considering that Francis just fled with one of the Sister Wheels,” Louis said, “It’s not too hard to believe, actually.”

Maggie didn’t speak, but she knew that Francis’ actions did give McNutt’s version of the events some credibility.

“How did you know I was here?” McNutt asked.

“Your reputation precedes you,” Maggie said, but seeing McNutt’s confusion, she added, “I remembered that you had a book when Henry and I first ran into you.”

Maggie also wanted to say that McNutt probably needed an isolated space where he could get away from the other Garrisons who hated him. But she didn’t.

“Did you take the key from me?” Maggie asked instead.

McNutt was quiet for a moment, but then nodded. “I suppose you’d like it back.”

Maggie looked at him with uncertainty. “You didn’t give it to Castriot?”

McNutt shook his head. “He doesn’t even know about its existence.”

“Then how do you know about it? And why did you bother to even steal it?”

McNutt scratched his prickly red hair. “Henry and Catharine had mentioned the key on the way back from Van Cortlandt Manor. I wasn’t sure what I would do with it. I just knew I didn’t want you to have it until I was sure of what should be done. But now I don’t know what’s right anymore.” McNutt reached in his jacket’s pocket and pulled out the key.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” he said, handing it over to Maggie.

Maggie sighed. “Oh, how I wish that I did.”

Catharine and Henry didn’t see Ward’s body when they rushed into the banquet hall, searching for any sign of Francis or the Garrisons. It wasn’t until Henry’s foot smeared along a puddle of blood that they finally noticed the dead Foundling.

Henry gasped while Catharine bent down to examine the body.

“They shot him,” she observed, touching Ward’s neck.

The ominous sound of guns being cocked filled the banquet hall. A moment later, Garrisons stepped out from behind the columns under the mezzanine, pointing their rifled muskets toward Catharine and Henry.

“Yes, another unfortunate casualty that your interference in Poppel has caused.” Castriot appeared on the mezzanine with Francis at his side. Comstock and Cyrus lingered in the background.

Unknown to everyone else in the banquet hall, Maggie, Louis, and McNutt were just sneaking out from the Boeken Kamer through the door hidden behind the maroon curtain.

Seeing the armed Garrisons through the slit in the fabric, Maggie leaned over to Louis and whispered, “We may have to bring the Horologe to the remaining Sister Wheel. Go back to Kleren. Find the others.”

Louis understood and dashed back into the Boeken Kamer while Maggie and McNutt watched Castriot stroll down from the mezzanine.

“You should have learned a thing or two from Clement Clarke Moore,” Castriot continued. “He was wise enough to stay away from Poppel. But do not be confused, for he was not any less noble. I actually did not realize the extent of your grandfather’s gallantry until tonight.”

McNutt led Maggie over to a ladder that was against the wall. She slowly followed him onto the mezzanine where they hid in the shadows. Even Francis, Comstock, and Cyrus didn’t see them as they walked down the creaky steps to the banquet hall.

Meanwhile, Castriot circled Catharine and Henry, looking ready to strike.

“I wasn’t aware that the Livingston family also knew of Poppel’s existence until Francis told us about Henry’s visit to Chelsea Manor tonight. If I had known, Sidney would have been killed alongside Catharine and Margaret Moore all those years ago.”

“What do you mean by that?” Catharine cried while Henry placed a hand around her shoulder to keep her from charging at Castriot.

“Didn’t you know?” Castriot feigned an innocent, wide-eyed expression. “After that delightful little Christmas poem was published in 1823, exposing Poppel once and for all, we soon learned about Catharine and Margaret’s connection to the village. But we weren’t aware of Sidney Livingston until tonight.”

“You killed Clement Clarke Moore’s wife and daughter,” Henry said bitterly.

Cyrus nodded from behind Castriot. “Quite right.”

“Years apart, of course,” Comstock cut in. “So as to not make it too suspicious.”

“Both poisoned. Rather sudden deaths,” Cyrus added. “Easy when one has such access to their home.”

“Arsenic dusted sugarplums,” Comstock said without emotion. “Delivered right to their pillows in the early morning hours. Catharine and Margaret both easily mistook the candy as messages from Poppel. An unfortunate, but understandable error.”

Henry continued to restrain the thrashing Catharine, who was using all her strength to claw her way toward the Garrisons.

“That was my mother!” she cried. “You killed my mother!”

“What’s done is done,” Castriot said calmly. “We couldn’t risk Poppel being brought to the public’s attention after our takeover. And unfortunately, the knowledge they held posed a threat that had to be eliminated. However, after Margaret’s death, it seems that Clement Clarke Moore must have become suspicious, conducting his own little investigation over the years. Eventually, he traced their deaths back to us, which is why it seems he finally laid claim to authoring
‘Twas the Night Before Christmas
.”