The Blood Thief of Whitten Hall (A Magic & Machinery Novel Book 2) (17 page)

Shortly before noon, Luthor heard a faint knock at his door. He quickly pulled down the sleeves of his dress shirt and buttoned them firmly at the wrists. A kick of his shoed foot dispersed the salt poured upon the floor of the inn’s room, and a carefully placed blanket appeared disheveled from a poor night’s sleep while truthfully concealing his magical communions.

The apothecary opened the door far enough to peer through the space between it and the doorframe. To his surprise, he was met by a mop of unkempt red hair, only barely brushed or tamed. Mattie smiled at him and gestured toward the still mostly closed doorway.

“May I come in?” she asked.

“Is Simon with you?” Luthor asked as he opened the door slightly wider.

She glanced over her shoulder and peered down the short hallway. “No. I heard him awakening earlier and moving about. I’m sure he’s a flagon or two into his daily drinking escapades by now.”

Content, Luthor opened the door, allowing Mattie to enter his room. She eyed the blanket tossed haphazardly upon the floor and glanced toward the apothecary as he closed the door behind him.

“Closing the door while you have an impressionable woman alone in your room?” she teased. “Imagine the scandal.”

Luthor blushed softly but quickly cleared his throat. “What can I do for you this morning?”

She used the toe of her boot to push aside the blanket, revealing the grains of salt spread across the floor. “Have you been… communicating with the Coven?”

Luthor glanced over his shoulder once more, though he was already sure he had closed the door firmly behind him. “I was.”

“Do you truly think there’s a chance another demon is present in Whitten Hall?”

Luthor could hear the genuine mixture of concern and fear in her voice, but he quickly shook his head. “Nothing that dangerous, I’m glad to report.”

“Did the Coven have anything worthwhile to share?”

Luthor shook his head. “Sadly, no. They listened to my concerns, but they aren’t in any position to scry into the goings-on in a place as remote as this. They can only tell me that there are no demonic presences in the immediate vicinity.”

Mattie sat on the edge of his unmade bed, crossing her legs in a more masculine way than the dainty ankle crossing which Luthor was more familiar.

“Yet you do believe there’s something amiss in the outpost?”

Luthor chose the solitary chair in the room, pulling it before the redhead before sitting. “I can’t quite find anything specific, certainly nothing tangible that I can present to Simon.”

“Yet you believe something’s amiss?” she repeated.

Luthor nodded, unsure if more superfluous words were truly necessary.

“Thank God,” Mattie exclaimed. “I was beginning to think that I was the only one.”

Luthor sat forward excitedly. “You feel it as well?”

“Not feel, per se, but more
smell
. The whole town has an odd scent to it, like an underpinning of decay. It’s not from any one location that I can surmise, but more a malodorous aroma that has permeated every corner of the town.”

“Why didn’t you mention this last night while I was being berated by Simon?”

Mattie furrowed her brow. “You two were quite thoroughly engaged in your debate. Besides, I hardly remember either of you even asking my opinion. I had become little more than a sideshow during your ongoing back and forth.”

Luthor frowned, as much because he knew she was right as from his frustration at her lack of support the night before. “Your point is conceded. I’ll ensure I don’t make the same mistake again.”

He gestured toward the closed door. “Would you come with me and plead our case again with Simon? Perhaps a unified front would convince him of the validity of our cause.”

“He won’t like it,” Mattie replied, pushing a strand of offending hair from her face.

“I find myself garnering small amounts of pleasure from doing things that Simon doesn’t like.”

Mattie smiled as she stood. Together, they exited his room and took the stairs at the end of the hall to the tavern below.

True to form, Simon was sitting at a table, enjoying a drink as a plate of steaming food sat mostly forgotten before him. When he saw them approaching, the Inquisitor retrieved his pocket watch and checked the time.

“You’ve only just made it down during the morning hours,” he remarked as Luthor and Mattie took seats across from him. “I quite nearly had to wish you a good afternoon.”

“What can we say?” Luthor asked. “You kept us up to obscene hours of the night.”

“
I
did?” Simon asked incredulously. “I seem to recall I wanted nothing more than to enjoy a good night’s sleep and, perhaps, a drink or two.”

“Which you seem to be thoroughly enjoying this morning.”

Simon glanced at his watch again. “This afternoon,” he corrected. “It’s only just rolled past. Drinking in the afternoon is completely acceptable.”

The Inquisitor glanced back and forth between his two companions when they didn’t immediately reply. He could read their looks of consternation and forced an audible sigh.

“I presume you didn’t join me this afternoon just for the delectable food and drinks in finely crafted flagons? Come on, then, out with it.”

Luthor glanced briefly toward Mattie before returning his attention to Simon. “Have you informed the Inquisitors of your findings thus far?”

Simon set his drink on the table and shook his head. “I tried my best to be more responsible than I was in Haversham, but it appears a recent storm knocked down the telegraph lines between Whitten Hall and Callifax.”

Luthor frowned. “I don’t recall any serious storms in the region recently.”

Simon reached for his fork but withdrew his hand in irritation. “Are we to begin this discussion anew?”

“Even you have to admit that it’s a surprising coincidence that our one method by which we can contact the capital has been eliminated.”

“It’s not a coincidence,” Simon replied. “It’s an unfortunate situation, and I wouldn’t be at all surprised if it was intentional.”

Luthor smiled. “Then you admit that something is amiss in Whitten Hall.”

“Yes, they are defying the crown. If the chancellor was tired of visitors, I can damn well assume he was bored to tears with the number of telegrams he received. Were I in his shoes, I would have personally climbed every telegraph pole between here and the capital and severed the lines.”

Luthor turned pleadingly toward Mattie. Simon noticed the gesture and frowned considerably.

“Please don’t tell me he’s pulled you into this nonsense as well, Matilda. I expect better of you. You’re the voice of reason to balance his irrationality.”

Mattie shrugged. “I am sorry, Simon, but he’s not wrong this time. There’s something wrong with this town.”

“Is this because you, too, have suffered gastrointestinal distress?”

Mattie furrowed her brow in confusion. Luthor shook his head as he explained.

“I merely told Simon I had a bad feeling in my gut.”

She covered her mouth as she laughed.

“Don’t encourage him,” Luthor complained.

Simon interrupted. “Is it another gut feeling then, my dear?”

Mattie composed herself before shaking her head. “It’s more the smell.
Something smells wrong in the town. It’s a scent I can’t quite place, but it smells faintly of putrescence.”

Simon pinched the bridge of his nose. “So when I complete my report for the Grand Inquisitor, I’ll simply remark that we believe something to be amiss because one of my companions has a gut feeling that he promises is neither indigestion or hunger pangs, while the other believes the town smelled peculiar. I think this report will go over smashingly well.”

“You mock us,” Luthor replied angrily.

“You warrant mocking!” Simon replied, matching the apothecary’s intensity. “You’re both actively searching for conspiracies where no conspiracy exists. Can’t you just enjoy the scenery and the poorly brewed alcohol for a few days before we board our train carriage home?”

He looked at both of their disapproving stares, neither of which wavered in the slightest as they glared at the Inquisitor.

Their intense moment was interrupted as the bartender delivered Simon another drink. He placed it on a folded napkin and didn’t bother inquiring into Luthor or Mattie’s drink requests before turning and walking away.

“I can’t abide a situation such as this to pass without proper investigation,” Luthor began. “You, of all people, should understand that.”

Simon slid his new drink aside and lifted the folded cloth napkin. As he unfurled it, he read the scribbled script hastily written on its fabric.

“All we’re asking is that you give this the serious consideration it deserves,” Mattie added.

Simon set down the napkin and met their gazes. “You’re absolutely correct. I’m an Inquisitor; the least I can do is inquire. It’s my namesake, after all.”

He discreetly pushed the napkin across the table. Luthor glanced around the nearly empty tavern, the population of Whitten Hall having reverted to its ghost town-like status, before he unfurled the cloth.

The words were muddied and smeared from the moisture of the drink that had so recently sat atop it. Still, the words were legible enough.

Get out now while you still can
.

The trio retired to Simon’s room, where they unfurled the napkin once more before placing it on the bed between them.

“Is it a threat?” Luthor asked, staring at the barely legible note.

“I read it more as a warning,” Mattie replied. “I think the bartender meant it more as a warning that there is an as of yet unseen danger in Whitten Hall.”

Luthor nodded. “As we’ve been saying all along.”

“Let’s not be presumptuous,” Simon said. “Handwriting has no context. This wouldn’t be the first time people have made incorrect assumptions after reading something.”

“Then we go and ask him what he intended from the note,” Luthor said, placing his hands on his hips.

Simon shook his head. “We can’t.”

“We most certainly can, sir. We go through your bedroom door, down the stairs, and into the tavern before—”

“That’s not what I meant,” Simon interrupted. “Gregory, our bartender accomplice, if that is what he is, operated very discreetly in giving us the note in the first place. You can be certain that he’s being watched, or else he would have been far more forthcoming.”

Luthor sat in the room’s sole chair pensively, though his eyes never left the note.

“Besides, have you ever seen the tavern empty? Has there ever been an opportunity to contact Gregory without someone noticing? No, my dear Luthor, if we go storming downstairs like a herd of wildebeests, we’re far more likely to condemn the bartender to a future most unfortunate.”

Simon picked up the note from the bed. “If this is a warning at all, that is.”

Luthor furrowed his brow in frustration. “How can you still cling to your belief that everything in this outpost is copacetic?”

“I don’t, Luthor,” Simon said morosely. He sat down heavily on the bed and sighed. “I just want to leave this mundane town and go home. I want to enjoy teatime with proper cups on proper saucers. I want to drink my scotch in a tumbler over ice, not out of a stained and foul-smelling wooden mug.”

“I sense a ‘however’ in our future,” Luthor said, turning knowingly toward Mattie.

“However,” Simon began, “I can see the telltale signs as surely as you can. I find it odd that so many people accompany the chancellor on his daily journeys. I find it odd that a man planning even a peaceful revolt against the crown sleeps only a few hours a night, yet seems so clear of mind.”

Simon stood and paced the room as he continued. “I find it odd that so many people left Whitten Hall, yet there was no mention in our mission report of refugees arriving in neighboring towns. I find it odd that the chancellor and his men travel some distance to neighboring towns each day, yet I have seen no sign of horses in Whitten Hall, despite the hitching posts along the street.”

The Inquisitor stopped his pacing and turned toward his companions. “I find it odd that they went through so much trouble to give the appearance of disuse at the mine pit, yet only the cars removed from the tracks are in a state of disrepair. I, too, noticed that while weeds have grown unbidden around the rails, the rails themselves are free of overgrowth, as though they are still in use.

“Most of all, perhaps, I find it incredibly odd that for a town who has presumably closed their iron mine for the foreseeable future would continue to advertise open laborer positions and have train car after train car of willing applicants arrive. Speaking of which, have you seen any of the workers with whom we arrived? They were led away by the foreman and have not been seen in town since.”

“Do you believe they could be taking the iron for their own devices?” Luthor asked.

“Potentially, though we won’t know unless we examine for ourselves, will we?”

Mattie raised her hand politely, drawing Simon’s attention despite his single-focused enthusiasm. “To play the devil’s advocate, have we considered that they are merely performing general upkeep on the mine, under the assumption that at some point in the near future they will return to work in the very same tunnels?”

Simon arched an eyebrow and turned toward the apothecary, who merely shrugged noncommittally.

“It was the two of you who have drawn me into this investigation,” Simon chided. “You lost your right to be the voice of reason, madam.”

Mattie shrugged. “It’s only that I’ve often found the simplest answer to be the correct one.”

“Then are you insinuating we should not investigate the mine?”

Mattie smiled wickedly. “I’m insinuating nothing of the sort. It’s been far too long since I’ve enjoyed any sort of adventure. This sounds perfectly thrilling.”

Luthor stood from his chair. “Then I shall gather my things and we shall be off.”

Simon shook his head and placed his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Not now. We’ll wait for nightfall.”

“Have you taken a leave of your senses?” the apothecary asked. “There is only a skeleton crew here in town now, with every other able body away from Whitten Hall. If ever there was a time to investigate the iron mine, now would be it.”

Simon continued to shake his head as Luthor spoke. “On the contrary, now is the absolute worst time to go. Where do you suppose the rest of the town is during the daylight hours? If we presume that they are not, as they’ve alluded, visiting neighboring towns, wouldn’t it be most likely that they are in the mine itself during the day and only return to the town during the hours of darkness?”

Luthor stroked his chin momentarily before pushing his glasses back up his nose. “You present a solid argument, sir.”

“Of course I do. No, we’ll wait until nightfall. It may be a bit more precarious to slip out unnoticed, but at least we’ll be certain that the townsfolk are duly occupied within the town’s limits. We should have free rein to investigate at our leisure, at least until sunup.”

Mattie frowned, obviously disappointed. “What shall we do until then?”

“Act naturally,” Simon advised. “We don’t want to alert anyone to our goings on until our investigation is complete. Go enjoy the sights and sounds of Whitten Hall.”

Luthor chuckled to himself. “That should take all of a half an hour at most.”

Simon smiled. “I’ll see you both back here in my room immediately after sunset.”

The woods were far more ominous on their own than they had been when the companions were in the company of the chancellor. The hooded lantern gifted by Martelus was clutched tightly in Luthor’s hand, its directed light pushing back, if not eliminating, the oppressive darkness surrounding them.

The hard-packed road was empty of other travelers, as it had been the night before when Wriggleton had guided them to the manor house. They had the road to themselves, though they walked close to the wood line, in case it became necessary to hide from other passersby.

As they rounded a bend, Simon could see the glowing lights of the manor house. He hastily motioned toward Luthor, who drew closed the screen on the front of the lantern. They were cast into darkness, and Simon was forced to blink repeatedly to wash away the dancing blue dots that lingered in his vision.

His eyes slowly adjusted until he could focus once more on the distant plantation home. The flickering lights from its outdoor lanterns provided enough illumination for the Inquisitor’s eyes to quickly adjust to the gloom. He could see the edges of the trail ahead as well as the domineering trees to either side, their limbs intertwined across the trail overhead.

“Do you see any guards?” Luthor whispered quietly to Mattie.

Mattie wiped the sweat from her brow as she narrowed her eyes and focused on the home. In the darkness, her pupils reflected the dancing orange flames of the lanterns, yet seemed to glow with their own inner light. The manor home appeared to grow nearer in her vision, and the shadows that clung to the building’s exterior faded away into shades of gray. She could see a pair of men pacing the upper balconies, watching only intermittently toward the road on which they traveled.

“There are at least two,” she replied, “though I wouldn’t be at all surprised if there were more concealed nearby.”

“We could try to sneak by unnoticed,” Luthor offered.

Simon shook his head, a motion noticeable even against the darkened tree line. “The risk is too great. We’ll take to the woods until we’re well past the chancellor’s home.”

The Inquisitor led them into the trees. They pushed past the initial undergrowth of thorny bushes and clinging branches. Beyond, the woods were far more hospitable and easier to travel.

The trio moved slowly, avoiding as best they could the fallen branches and dried leaves on the forest floor. Even so, each step brought an unnaturally loud crunch and an involuntary cringe from every member of the party.

After a few hundred paces, Simon broke from the group and moved back to the edge of the road. He crouched behind the thick bushes and peered across the road. No sign of the manor’s lanterns could be seen, nor any sound of pursuit heard. He stood slowly and returned to the other two.

“We can make our way back to the road, if you’re both ready.”

Luthor nodded, but Mattie held up her hand pleadingly. “If it’s all the same, gentlemen, I could use a rest. It seems my constitution is not at all suited for this humidity. I’m absolutely parched and could use a moment to myself.”

Simon noted the sheen of sweat on her brow and nodded. He motioned a few feet ahead where the canopy seemed thinner and moonlight filtered through to the forest below.

“We can rest in the clearing just ahead. Can I offer you my arm?”

Mattie shook her head but smiled. “It’s very gentlemanly of you, Simon, but I’m not yet an invalid. I can walk on my own.”

The trio walked into the clearing and took seats against the thicker trees. Though the walk had not been overly taxing, even Simon admitted the humidity felt oppressive. He removed his top hat and wiped the accumulated sweat from his hairline.

“A good spy you will never make,” Luthor chided. “Our discreet traipsing through the woods has left you vexed.”

“Subterfuge was never my forte,” Mattie admitted. “My one attempt at infiltrating civilized society ended in absolute failure when our good Inquisitor spotted me from across a crowded ballroom. I’m more of a hands-on sort of woman.”

Simon smiled. “Admittedly, embarrassing though it is to admit, I have brought our fair maiden along to serve as our muscle.”

“Which leaves you to be our brains and me to be?” Luthor asked.

“Our conscience,” Simon explained. “Every good adventuring crew needs the one honest man to serve as its moral compass.”

Luthor arched an eyebrow. “With you in our group, you may want to consider finding yet another honest man. You need two times the moral compass as most men.”

“Do either of you have a drink?” Mattie asked.

Simon pushed aside his jacket and patted his pockets but could only produce a flask. Neither of his companions had to ask its contents.

“It seems none of us will make good spies,” Simon admitted. “We planned our adventure without taking into consideration the basic necessities of life. Forgive us, Matilda.”

Mattie waved her hand dismissively before leaning back against the cool bark of the tree.

As they rested in silence, the quiet was interrupted by a bird singing overhead. Simon tilted his head backward and peered into the branches. High above the trio, a bright yellow canary perched on a narrow branch, its vibrant feathers noticeable even at night. It opened its beak once more and sang into the night air. In the distance, another canary, hidden from their view, answered its cry.

“What sort of bird is that?” Mattie asked.

“A canary, I believe,” Luthor answered as he stood slowly to get a better view.

“It is a canary,” Simon confirmed as he watched the little yellow bird.

“I presume from both of your surprise that they’re not indigenous to this area?” she asked.

“Not at all,” the Inquisitor replied.

“They use them in mines to check for noxious fumes, though,” Luthor explained. “It might have escaped.”

The distant canary sang out, which was answered by their bird overhead.

“Both of them might have escaped,” Luthor corrected.

Simon stood abruptly, startling the canary. The bird took to wing and disappeared amongst the trees.