The Blood Thief of Whitten Hall (A Magic & Machinery Novel Book 2) (3 page)

“I concur, yet we’ll never be rid of the Pellites. Despite their brutish ways, their results speak for themselves. They have uncovered more hidden nests of monsters than we have, not in spite of their methods but because of them.”

“They uncover these things through torture and inhumane practices. Thank you, but no. I’ll remain true to our methods of inquiry.”

“You’re preaching to the preacher, Simon,” Ambrose remarked.

The two doors in the back of the room opened, and everyone in the room quickly climbed to their feet. Through the doorways, two men entered. Dressed in heavy robes, the two elderly gentlemen walked onto the central floor before taking their seats on the raised dais.

The speaker of the house stepped forward and drove a tall staff onto the marble floor. The sound echoed through the silent chamber and, as one, the Inquisitors took their seats.

“This tenth meeting of the Inquisitors has come to order,” the speaker announced.

As quickly as he arrived, the speaker retreated between the ornate chairs and walked briskly through the rear exit. For a moment, the room was cast in silence. The Grand Inquisitor and Grand Maester looked slowly around the room, examining those in attendance.

Slowly, the Grand Inquisitor stood. The elderly man, his hair white with age and his face deep set with wrinkles, looked around the room as he cleared his throat.

“There is a grave danger threatening the sovereignty of our great kingdom,” he said, his strong voice belying his frail appearance. “We have known for years that the Rift posed a threat, that the magic seeping from its depths could upend our very way of life. Yet it seems we’ve underestimated the very nature of the Rift. As we struggled to contain incursions of magical creatures, a much greater threat was infiltrating our realm. I speak of demons!”

At the mention of the word, the room broke out in both angry and scared voices. Simon could easily understand the conflicting emotions carried by the crowd. He, too, had experienced both fear and anger when facing the demon in Haversham, nearly simultaneously.

The Grand Inquisitor raised his hand, and the room fell silent once more. The Grand Maester, leader of the Order of Kinder Pel, motioned toward the main entrance. A pair of guards wheeled a cart forward, prostate on which was a disturbingly familiar sight.

Gideon Dosett’s body remained the inky blackness of his reverted demon self, rather than the slightly pale, fleshy tone Simon had known upon their first meeting. A single long, curled horn jutted from his forehead and curved around his ear. Where a second horn had once protruded, only a broken stump remained. Sightless red eyes stared at the hall’s ceiling, no longer burning with their infernal fire but intimidating nonetheless.

Simon felt his gut churn at the sight of the demon’s body. Though the Inquisitors in the room had all heard the story of its existence, only Simon, Luthor, and Mattie had faced the monster when it was alive. The memory of its raw power and the still-healing wounds it had given them all were still fresh in Simon’s mind.

The presence of the demon’s body caused a ripple of commotion through the meeting hall. Simon ignored the individual remarks, his eyes never leaving Gideon’s body, as though he expected the demon to rise from its grave and seek revenge. Simon had known that they would be discussing the presence of demons in their kingdom but never had he expected the body to be presented before him.

The Grand Inquisitor raised his hand once more, and the room settled again. “We have brought forth the remains of the demon to end any discussion or skepticism of its validity. This should be proof enough that all is not well within our borders. The demon wore the guise of a human, worming his way into the confidence of even the regional governor before making his move toward the very throne of our city.”

The Grand Maester, who looked at least a decade younger than the Grand Inquisitor, climbed from his chair as well. “For those who reside beyond Callifax, we ask that you seek out with all diligence any evidence of further demons within our borders. For those who are within the city, use every opportunity during your assignments to find proof that this demon was the exception within our lands, rather than the rule. It is up to you all to keep our kingdom secure from the occult menace from the south!”

Simon sat back in his chair and stared at the body. His eyes were not the only ones affixed to the corpse, but Simon quickly tuned out those around him. The meeting droned on, even as the conversation moved beyond the demon and its implications, but Simon barely acknowledged the further discussion. His thoughts drifted not only to Gideon Dosett and all that had transpired in Haversham, but to the tribe of werewolves that still existed beyond the frozen city’s high walls. Simon had risked not only his career but his very life in concealing the truth from the rest of the Inquisitors, though he knew a secret that even Luthor did not. Technically, there was one other Inquisitor who knew of the werewolves’ existence. It was only a matter of time until Simon would have to answer for his decisions regarding their continued existence.

Nearly an hour later, the speaker of the house returned and rapped his staff upon the floor once more, adjourning the meeting. Individual sects of Inquisitors would now segregate themselves into committee meetings to discuss further aspects of missions and policy, though Simon belonged to none of these.

Instead, he and Ambrose stood and prepared to make their way toward the exit. Simon glanced over once more toward the displayed corpse and shivered in disgust. His gaze drifted past the body to the Grand Inquisitor and Grand Maester, both of whom stood stoically before their ornate chairs. A bald Pellite stood beside the Grand Maester as they spoke in hushed tones. The Grand Maester’s gaze drifted in Simon’s direction, and Simon arched his eyebrow inquisitively. The bald Pellite nodded and began crossing the room’s divide as he approached their tiered seats.

“Inquisitor Whitlock,” the man said, gesturing for Simon to join him near the floor. “May I have a moment of your time, if you please?”

Simon glanced toward Ambrose, but the taller man merely shrugged. Together, they walked down an aisle that led to the floor, stopping before the Pellite.

“Thank you for meeting with me,” the man said. “My name is Inquisitor Creary. Grand Maester Arrus is most impressed by your defeat of the demon and would like to discuss your adventures, or misadventures as they may have been, in a private meeting.”

Simon glanced over Creary’s shoulder and met the gaze of the stern Grand Maester. The Maester nodded slowly, acknowledging Simon.

“I’m most flattered by the invitation,” Simon said, wracking his mind for an excuse not to meet with the Grand Maester. While he had nothing against the man, the thought of meeting with the leader of the Order of Kinder Pel was off-putting, considering how often Simon had spent railing against their very existence.

“If you would join me, the Grand Maester has time now, if that suits your schedule.”

Before Simon could reply, another voice cut through the emptying chamber.

“Simon,” the Grand Inquisitor bellowed. Simon looked up, relieved as the Grand Inquisitor gestured for Simon to join him. “We have much to discuss, you and I, if you would be so kind as to accompany me to my office.”

“Of course, Your Eminence,” Simon replied. He turned his attention back to Creary. “Forgive me, Inquisitor, but it appears I am needed elsewhere. Please apologize to the Grand Maester and let him know that I will most certainly meet with him at a more agreeable time.”

Creary frowned and glanced over his shoulder, but the Grand Maester’s expression revealed nothing. The Pellite turned back toward Simon without emotion, revealing neither disappointment nor relief at Simon’s refusal.

“Forgive us, but we are needed by the Grand Inquisitor,” Ambrose remarked, breaking the silence. “If you could kindly move aside. You’re blocking the exit.”

Creary turned his gaze toward the charismatic Inquisitor and frowned. The broad smile on Ambrose’s face remained even as he dropped his voice low enough so that only Creary and Simon could hear his follow-on remarks.

“Now do run along and pull the wings from flies or whatever it is you Pellites do during your free time.”

Creary’s frown deepened with anger. “Be careful. Your tongue will get you in trouble one of these days.”

Ambrose merely laughed. “My dear man. My tongue has quite some notoriety for causing trouble, especially with the fairer sex.”

The Pellite turned abruptly and returned to the side of the Grand Maester.

Simon shook his head as he turned his attention back to Ambrose. “You’re incorrigible, you realize? He wasn’t being disrespectful, though I struggle to say the same about you.”

“Any respect you perceived was a falsehood meant to deceive you. The Pellites are brutes, and none more so than the one with whom you were talking.”

Simon glanced toward the bald man who now had his back to them. “Then who is this Inquisitor Creary?”

“He’s the Grand Maester’s confidant but also, more often than not, his enforcer.”

Simon took in the man’s broad shoulders and square jaw. Though he looked fit, he hardly seemed like a physical threat.

As though interpreting Simon’s expression, Ambrose shook his head. “Do not underestimate the man. What he lacks in stature, he more than makes up for in brutality. The problem is that Creary is indicative of their entire Order, to include their more youthful recruits. They all lack class. That brute, especially, is a curmudgeon. In a sea of sophisticated rapiers, that man is a veritable battle axe.”

Simon broke his gaze away from the Pellite and noted the Grand Inquisitor’s rapid approach. “If that’s the case, then I owe you both an apology and my thanks. Though, truth be told, I certainly didn’t need your help when dealing with a strong arm from the Order of Kinder Pel.”

“Of course not,” Ambrose replied, his mood lightening considerably as he, too, hurried to finish their conversation before the Grand Inquisitor’s arrival. “That being said, I enjoyed myself immensely at someone else’s expense, which I categorize as the start to an exceptional party.”

“Belittling Pellites is your idea of fun?”

“Naturally.”

The Grand Inquisitor stopped in front of the two men, and they both bowed their heads respectfully. The Grand Inquisitor nodded in return, and the two men met his gaze.

“Join me, Simon,” the Grand Inquisitor said. “There is much you and I have to discuss.”

Simon nodded. He remembered being so excited about these festivities when the day began. Now it seemed he spent more time dreading his next encounter, and this meeting with the Grand Inquisitor was even more nerve wracking than a meeting with the Grand Maester would have been.

The Grand Inquisitor stepped away, heading toward the hall’s main entrance. Simon turned quickly to Ambrose, knowing he had but a moment to spare.

“Will you still be here when I return?” Simon asked.

“If I were to judge the sour expression on your face, I would assume you meant to ask if I’d be here
if
you ever return. In either case, however, the answer is yes. I have yet to turn away from an opportunity for free liquor.”

Simon nodded, though he lacked any mirth in his eyes. “Do be certain to keep control of your faculties between now and then. I may yet have need of your council.”

Ambrose smiled warmly. “I make no promises.”

Simon followed the Grand Inquisitor out of the hall and into the foyer. Inquisitors moved aside as they passed, walking in silence. Beyond the entryway, a hallway led to offices near the rear of the structure.

The Grand Inquisitor’s office seemed innocuous compared to the trappings of his attire. A simple wooden door, currently closed, marked its entrance into the wide but subdued interior.

They stopped at the doorway, and the Grand Inquisitor turned toward Simon. “Thank you kindly for the walk, Simon. Have a good rest of your day.”

Simon arched his eyebrow in confusion. “Sir? Did you not have something to discuss?”

“Oh, I do, but nothing that won’t keep until a later date and time. In truth, I saw the discomfort in your eyes when asked to visit the Grand Maester and figured I would save you from that horror.”

Simon forced a smile at the thought. “You were right to do so, sir. For that I am eternally grateful.”

The Grand Inquisitor patted Simon on the shoulder. “It wouldn’t do to have my own apprentice courted by the Order of Kinder Pel, would it?”

“Former apprentice,” Simon corrected.

“Former,” the Grand Inquisitor agreed, smiling at his former pupil. “Even so, you’re one of the brightest Inquisitors currently under employment. I can’t very well have Arrus foolishly attempting to bribe you from my side.”

Simon leaned forward and lowered his voice. “It would never work, sir. I simply couldn’t bring myself to be, how did Inquisitor Supperwood so eloquently put it, ‘a veritable battle axe in an ocean of refined sabers.’ It was something to that affect, at any rate. He’s far better spoken than I.”

The Grand Inquisitor laughed heartily. “I can certainly discern the intent, even if you butchered an otherwise well-designed quote. Go home and enjoy your reprieve from work, Simon. We’ll call upon you once more when we have an assignment.”

The Grand Inquisitor began to turn, but Simon politely cleared his throat. The elder gentleman turned back toward him.

“Do you, per chance, happen to know how many Inquisitors are before me in the queue for assignments?”

A pair of Inquisitors walked past the two men, and they were forced to step out of the way. The passing Inquisitors nodded politely to the Grand Inquisitor. They waited for the men to pass before continuing their conversation.

“Are you so eager to be deployed? Was not a battle against vicious werewolves and a demon more than enough excitement for you? Are you building a resume on the backs of the mystical investigations?”

Simon chuckled but shook his head. “You know me well enough to know it’s not the fame I seek. I’m merely not one to sit on my laurels for too long. I yearn for adventure and travel. It’s a wanderlust that burns in my veins.”

The Grand Inquisitor smiled. “For someone who claims not to be well spoken, you certainly do have a flair for the dramatic.”

“I merely wish to know when I might expect another assignment.”

The Grand Inquisitor stroked his smooth-shaven chin thoughtfully. “There are a number of Inquisitors still awaiting assignments, many of whom have been in Callifax for far too long, in my honest opinion. Perhaps a few weeks’ time, maybe as long as a month.”

Simon sighed. “A month is a long time, sir.”

“Poppycock. A month is the right amount of time for an Inquisitor to unwind from his latest expedition, spend some time with that lovely lady friend of yours, and enjoy the sights of the city. You fought demons and werewolves, for God’s sake. You deserve some time to yourself.”

Simon furrowed his brow at the second mention of werewolves. He glanced over his shoulder to ensure no more Inquisitors could overhear their conversation.

“Have you, per chance, had the opportunity to read my report from Haversham, sir?”

The Grand Inquisitor frowned apologetically. “I regret to admit that I have not. These past two weeks have been a myriad of issues from the crown, one after another. I haven’t yet found the time, though your report is in the top drawer of my desk even now. Is there something important you need to discuss from it?”

Simon bit his bottom lip but slowly shook his head. “As you said earlier, sir, it’s nothing that can’t wait until a later date and time. Please be sure to let me know the moment you do review my report.”

It was the Grand Inquisitor’s turn to furrow his brow inquisitively. “Is anything the matter, Simon? Did something occur of which I need to be made aware?”

Simon thought about his report, which was honest to a fault about his adventures in Haversham. It described Simon and Luthor’s encounters with the werewolf tribe and, more precisely, how they allowed the werewolves to live following the destruction of Gideon Dosett. Even more damning was the admission that Matilda Hawke had returned to Callifax, a werewolf amongst the overly conservative residents of the capital city.

The myriad of thoughts fluttered about his mind, but he finally shook his head and smiled disarmingly. “No, sir, nothing that cannot wait. Have a good day, sir.”

The Grand Inquisitor turned the handle to his door and opened it wide. “You as well, Simon. Give my best to both Mr. Strong and Ms. Dawn.”

“I most certainly shall, sir.”

Simon waited until the door closed behind the Grand Inquisitor before turning back toward the entry hall. A small group of Pellites huddled at the end, but they gave him barely a second glance as he passed.

The foyer itself was practically empty, though a fair number of voices escaped from the sitting room on the far side. Simon could see Ambrose leaning against the hearth, speaking with great enthusiasm to an older Inquisitor whom Simon didn’t recognize.

Simon entered the room. Ambrose glanced toward him and raised his glass in salute, inviting him to join their conversation. As Simon walked toward the pair, Ambrose arched his eyebrow inquisitively.

Ambrose turned toward the other Inquisitor. “Forgive me, Bertrand, but I didn’t expect that my counsel would be needed so hastily.”

Bertrand laughed heartily before nodding to Simon. “A pleasure, Inquisitor Whitlock. Ambrose, we will speak again soon.”

“Of course,” Ambrose replied as Bertrand turned and walked away. Ambrose turned back toward Simon. “I see it was unwise of me to get so tall a tumbler of liquor. I honestly expected your meeting to go much longer.”

“As usual, he was merely acting as a guardian angel, protecting me from the evils that are the Pellites. Our actual conversation was rather abrupt.”

Ambrose shrugged. “Then do you have need of my counsel?”

Simon’s gaze fell to the drink in Ambrose’s hand. “What I need is a drink. Would you care to join me?”

Ambrose drained his glass of liquor, despite the hefty quantities, and set the empty tumbler on the top of the fireplace. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Ambrose drank deeply of his stout, wiping away the foam from his lips with the napkin before him. His gaze never left Simon, who merely watched the people in the bar from across the table. Simon had barely touched his scotch, and most of the ice had already melted in his glass.

“If you don’t drink that soon, I’ll be forced to intervene before it grows far too diluted. I would drink it, you know, for the sake of the liquor.”

Simon looked at his glass. With a smile, he lifted it to his lips and took a drink.

Ambrose leaned back in the bar’s privacy booth. The curtains were not yet drawn, allowing a view of the moderately busy barroom beyond.

“Would you like to talk at all about what is on your mind, or shall we merely enjoy our liquor? By ‘we,’ I clearly mean ‘me’.”

Simon impulsively took another drink from his scotch in spite of his friend’s observation. The large swig of hard liquor burned slightly as it went down his throat and settled in his stomach. A warming sensation spread to his limbs.

He fiddled with the nearly empty tumbler as he glanced around the room once more. Simon found himself doing it more and more often, as though some unknown assailant was waiting patiently to strike when he was unsuspecting.

“You seem rather pensive,” Ambrose remarked as he signaled the barmaid for another round of drinks. “You’ve actually seemed rather out of sorts since your return. Is anything the matter?”

Simon examined the faces of the disinterested bar patrons. “It’s off-putting to know that there was a demon walking amongst us and no one was any the wiser. I, myself, held numerous conversations with the demon in human form and never had the slightest inkling that it was anything other than a smug businessman.”

He leaned back in the booth and let his gaze drift across the room once more. “I’m not one to overlook details, as you well know, but that demon truly had the wool pulled over my eyes. It makes me feel…”

“Incompetent?” Ambrose offered.

Simon frowned. “I was going to say ‘inadequate,’ but thank you for your contribution.”

Ambrose laughed, his mirth continuing even as the barmaid delivered their drinks. He flashed her a warm smile and winked as he handed her a silver coin. As she walked away, Ambrose composed himself, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye.

“You’re neither incompetent nor inadequate, and you damn well know it,” the charismatic man said. “You’re one of the best Inquisitors in the field. I know it, you know it, and even the Grand Inquisitor knows it.”

“Then what hope do we have if even I was duped by a magical monster?” Simon asked. “I just find myself perusing rooms, wondering if one of the faces on which my gaze nonchalantly passes is in fact another demon set to spread chaos within the kingdom.”

Ambrose scanned the room, catching the passing eye of a half-drunk patron or two. “Certainly, Simon. Why that man over there, the one who is walking toward the water closet as though one of his legs was far shorter than the other, he most certainly could be one. Perhaps the man across the way whose head is nodding with a combination of exhaustion and intoxication, perhaps he is a demon as well.”

“You mock me,” Simon said flatly.

Ambrose turned his gaze back toward his friend. “I mock you because you deserve to be mocked. Your demon, this Gideon—”

“Dosett.”

“Yes, this Gideon Dosett was in a position of power in Haversham. He was able to shape and influence the politics of the region, with the obvious help of his abyssal powers, of course.” Ambrose spread his arms, gesturing wildly toward the assorted patrons. “The men and women you’ll pass on a daily basis hold no influence and no affect to politics, literally, not at all.”

“So you’re saying I’m being paranoid?”

“You are being paranoid, but justly so. You fought and killed a demon. No one else can claim such a feat. As soon as word spreads to the corners of the kingdom, you’ll be a celebrity. You’ll have enough women throwing themselves at you that even I might get jealous.”

“My God, that is an asinine number of women.”

Ambrose laughed. “Exactly. You should be laughing and enjoying this time. Revel in their adoration; I know I do.”

Simon shook his head. “You’re incorrigible.”

“You keep saying that, when what I think you mean to say is that I’m adorable.” Ambrose looked down at his drink and arched an eyebrow in surprise. He didn’t remember drinking most of his pint, and yet, it was nearly empty.

In contrast, Simon looked at his two-fingers of scotch, which was still mainly untouched.

“Another round?” Ambrose asked, reaching for his coin purse.

Simon glanced out the bay windows across the room and noticed long shadows stretching down the street in front of the bar. He fetched his pocket watch and glanced at the time. “Sadly, I must decline,” he remarked. “I have a few errands left to run before I enjoy an evening date.”

“So it begins,” Ambrose chided.

“Nothing is beginning. My date is with Veronica.”

Ambrose leaned back in the booth and picked up his pint of stout. He raised the glass in salute. “Give Ms. Dawn my regards. Perhaps we shall have to double date in the near future.”

Simon furrowed his brow as he realized Ambrose had no intention of vacating the booth. “Are you not coming?”

Ambrose took a long draw from his beer before setting the empty glass on the table. He looked past Simon to where the barmaid stood near the bar. “No,” he said, smiling knowingly. “I believe I’ll have other plans this evening.”