The Blood Thief of Whitten Hall (A Magic & Machinery Novel Book 2) (7 page)

She placed her front paws on her hips in a mock of the position she took when defiantly speaking to the Grand Inquisitor earlier. The familiarity seemed to give the elder man pause, and he tilted his head inquisitively.

“Rest assured, sir, that I’m very much in control of my faculties,” she explained. “My imposing visage is in no way an underpinning of a monster hidden within. It’s merely, forgive the pun, another face that I wear.”

“Truly remarkable,” the Grand Inquisitor remarked. “Please, madam, I’ve seen enough. You may change back now.”

Mattie walked over to her discarded pile of clothes on the floor and reached down, retrieving her blouse from the pile. She held it tightly between her paw and opposable thumb, feeling the fabric even through the thick pads on her palm.

“If it’s all the same, gentlemen,” Mattie said, “I would appreciate the courtesy of turning around once more. I’ll be returning to human form as naked as a newborn babe.”

Simon invited the men to his side. Again, they turned toward the far wall. The sound of her fur sloughing from her body was nauseating, and Simon hated the thought of the filth that was certainly piled upon the Grand Inquisitor’s immaculately kept office. Within seconds, Mattie cleared her throat and the men turned toward her.

She was fully dressed once more, looking very similar to the way she had appeared upon her arrival, save for the new dampness to her hair. At her feet, a gelatin oozed across the ground, intermixed with faint clouts of white hair. As they watched, the sludge evaporated, filling the room with a musky mist before dissipating completely. The floor appeared slick with moisture but otherwise untarnished.

The Grand Inquisitor motioned toward the chairs on the near side of his desk. He walked around the table and sat in his own high-backed chair.

As they sat, he glanced toward Mattie. “You’re not at all what I expected.”

Mattie smiled reassuringly. “I’ve heard that many more times than you would believe.”

“No, no, I’m quite certain I know exactly how many times you’ve heard that phrase recently,” he replied, glancing toward Simon and Luthor.

“Forgive the intrusion, sir,” Luthor said as the Grand Inquisitor made eye contact, “but I feel that we need to discuss what happens next. You’ve seen now that there’s far more to Ms. Hawke than a mere title like ‘werewolf’ can truly do justice.”

The apothecary glanced nervously toward Simon, as though he realized he had suddenly overstepped his bounds as a mere observer. Despite his awkward position, he cleared his throat and continued.

“I guess what I’m asking, sir, is… what are your intentions?”

The Grand Inquisitor sat back in his chair and stroked his chin thoughtfully. “I would refrain from providing an answer at this time.”

Luthor began to speak but the Grand Inquisitor raised his hand, silencing him. “That’s not to say that I’ve made a decision one way or another. You’ve provided me far more to consider than I would have thought possible when this day began.”

Simon nodded. “Sir, we understand the conundrum in which we’ve placed you and, for that, we apologize.”

“As well you should,” the elder man quickly replied. “Mr. Strong and Ms. Hawke, please give us the room. There is some Inquisitor business that I must address with Inquisitor Whitlock.”

Luthor glanced nervously toward the Inquisitor, but Simon nodded his approval. Hesitantly, Luthor and Mattie stood from their chairs. They walked to the door, opened it, and disappeared into the hallway. The door swung shut behind them and closed with a click of its lock.

Simon took a deep breath as he looked at his former mentor’s somber expression. “Sir, I believe I can explain—”

“Have you taken a leave of your senses?” the Grand Inquisitor asked, striking the report with his open hand. Simon leapt at the sound. “You have brought a werewolf into the heart of our kingdom, within a stone’s throw from the castle itself? Have you gone mad?”

“You’ve read my report, sir,” Simon replied calmly. “You’ve seen Ms. Hawke with your own eyes. You know that things are a bit more complicated than we originally believed.”

Simon leaned forward in his chair as he continued. “These are our citizens, not monsters ripped from the bosom of the Rift. They aren’t here to overthrow our sovereignty. Quite the opposite—they’re men and women loyal to the crown.”

The Grand Inquisitor threw up his hands in disgust. “For someone so astute, you are absolutely blinded by this case. Bringing her here puts us all at risk. I don’t merely mean your life and that of your apothecary companion. I don’t even mean my own life, since I am now privy to your report. If word were to escape of what you’ve done, it would tarnish the very credibility of our organization. Our name and reputation would be worthless, if the people knew that we harbored monsters.”

Simon bit his lip until he tasted coppery blood in his mouth. “What would you have done, were our roles reversed? Would you have slaughtered the tribesmen? I ask simply because I know I couldn’t. I’m many things, sir, but I’m not an executioner.”

The Grand Inquisitor leaned back in his chair and brushed the stray strands of hair from his face. “The three corpses that you brought with you from Haversham would say otherwise. You are very much an executioner, Simon. That’s the very expectation of being an Inquisitor.”

Simon shook his head. “On the contrary, sir, that’s the very definition of being a Pellite. We’re supposed to be better than they are.”

The two men sat in silence, staring intently at one another in a quiet battle of wills. The Grand Inquisitor finally reached up and stroked his chin thoughtfully.

Taking Simon’s report from Haversham, he closed it. He opened a drawer beside him and placed the report into it. With a key he retrieved from around his neck, he locked it tightly, ensuring it would be available for his eyes only.

“You’ve lost some perspective, Simon, perspective about what it is you were commissioned to do for the crown. You jeopardized everything we have worked for over the past decade, though your reasons are a mystery to me. Return to your homes and await my response. Whatever you do, Inquisitor, keep her close to your side at all times. You walk a fine line and play a very dangerous game with all your lives.”

Simon frowned but nodded his consent. “In the interim, sir, we would ask the same discretion from you.”

The Grand Inquisitor frowned as well. “You have some gall, but I shall grant your request.”

Simon stood, understanding their meeting was at an end. “Thank you, sir. I look forward to your next missive.”

He quickly exited the Grand Inquisitor’s office, pulling the door shut behind him. Luthor sighed disappointedly when he noticed Simon’s expression, though the Inquisitor revealed nothing of his private conversation. For a long moment, they merely stood in the hallway, absorbing all that had transpired.

“Everyone looks like a ghost has passed over their grave,” Mattie said. “What happened after we left?”

“Let’s just agree that it certainly could have gone worse and leave it at that,” Simon finally said, breaking the sullen mood that had settled over the group.

The Inquisitor turned away from the pair and walked toward the building’s entrance. Luthor shook his head and took Mattie’s hand, leading her down the hall and past a small throng of conversing Pellites, as they followed Simon’s departure.

“I wasn’t being flippant earlier,” Simon said as they rode in the back of the automobile. “It absolutely could have gone worse.”

The clunky, black car rattled along the cobblestone street as the taxi driver drove them toward their respective townhouses.

“It could have also gone far better, sir,” Luthor said morosely. “In what bizarre world did you believe that the Grand Inquisitor would be a champion for acceptance of a werewolf in Callifax?”

Simon chose not to reply, instead glancing out the window at the buildings that rolled slowly by.

“I’m not entirely certain what all this means for me,” Mattie said nervously. “I know I wasn’t taken from his chamber in shackles, but somehow, I doubt I’m truly a free woman any longer.”

“You’re not a prisoner,” Simon replied without turning back toward them, “but it would be wise to stay close for the foreseeable future.”

“So in essence I’m shackled to you by invisible manacles?” she asked, disgusted. “It’s not a reassuring solution to our problem.”

“Then what shall we do from here?” Luthor asked. “Will you take up residence on my couch to ensure we don’t leave Callifax in the dead of night?”

Simon turned back toward them and sighed. “I don’t have the answers you seek, either of you. I don’t intend to suspend my life at the behest of the Grand Inquisitor, and neither should either of you.”

“Are you proposing we just continue our lives as though none of this transpired, sir?” Luthor asked.

“To a degree, that’s exactly what I mean,” Simon said, suddenly more enthusiastic about the conversation at hand.

Luthor arched his eyebrow, knowing Simon’s varying moods all too well. “I presume you have something planned?”

“Veronica has been begging to meet Mattie, and I believe tonight might be the best opportunity. There’s a film showing at the Majestic, about which Veronica has heard nothing but rave reviews. Come out tonight and watch a moving picture with us.”

Luthor glanced toward Mattie, who merely shrugged noncommittally. The apothecary wasn’t sure Mattie had ever had the pleasure of watching a film, but the idea of leaving the townhouse tonight seemed mentally exhausting.

“Perhaps another night, sir. Tonight might be better spent recuperating from our ordeal.”

Mattie placed her hand on his. “No. Though I’m loathed to admit it, Simon might very well be correct in this instance.”

Simon furrowed his brow. “Why does everyone keep adding a caveat every time they admit that I’m correct? As often as I am correct, it’s an exhausting habit.”

Mattie smiled, though she wasn’t entirely sure if Simon was speaking in jest or not. “We’ve spent very little time outside the four walls of the townhouse since our arrival and the few misadventures we’ve taken into the city, like today for instance, have not ended as I would have desired. A film, and meeting the mysterious Veronica Dawn, would be a welcomed distraction.”

Luthor shrugged. “It appears we’re accepting your invitation.”

Simon smiled broadly. “Excellent. The film begins promptly at eight tonight.”

The taxi rolled to a stop before their townhouses. The driver climbed quickly from his seat and opened the door so that the passengers could disembark. Simon set his top hat on his head as he climbed from the taxi, letting the brim of his hat block the warm sunlight. Luthor and Mattie followed suit. Reaching into his pocket, Simon retrieved a coin for the fare. The driver thanked them before climbing behind the wheel and sputtering away. The air was suddenly filled with noxious, black smoke as the automobile coughed soot from its tailpipe.

As the air cleared, Simon coughed softly. “I will have to meet Veronica before our date, so shall we simply meet at the Majestic at eight o’clock?”

Luthor nodded as he led Mattie toward their shared townhouse. “That sounds perfect, sir. We’ll see you then.”

The Majestic was a fairly nondescript building, nestled between taller apartment complexes. The two-story theater had a painted sign hanging from the upstairs balcony, announcing the name of the building. A smaller wooden sign hung below the Majestic’s main sign, depicting the film that was currently showing. Blockish letters on the smaller sign read that tonight’s film was “A Night on the Train,” a film of which Luthor was completely unfamiliar. Truth be told, it had been ages since he had watched a moving picture. His enthusiasm was only slightly less than Mattie, who stood enraptured beside him.

“Do you see Simon?” Luthor asked, perusing the small throng of people milling about outside the theater.

Mattie craned her neck but quickly shook her head. “I don’t, but we are early. Perhaps they have yet to arrive.”

“Luthor. Mattie,” Simon called from the midst of the crowd. He stepped out of the flow of pedestrian traffic with Veronica beside him. The brunette wore a far more formal dress than Luthor would have believed possible, considering her occupation. She smiled broadly at the apothecary, despite knowing his general feelings toward hers and Simon’s relationship.

“Luthor, it’s so good to see you again,” Veronica said. “This must be the lovely Matilda, about whom I’ve heard so much.” She leaned in close to Mattie and spoke just loudly enough for the two gentlemen to overhear. “You’d be absolutely amazed how often he speaks of you, as though you two share some devious secret.”

Simon arched an eyebrow and smiled apologetically. “Nothing devious, I assure you, my love. Matilda simply has a practically animalistic personality.”

Luthor frowned and glanced warningly toward his friend. In response, Simon merely smiled knowingly.

Mattie extended her hand to Veronica. “It’s truly a pleasure to finally meet you, Veronica. Simon insists on referring to me by Matilda, but Mattie is just fine among friends.”

Veronica shook her hand. “Then Mattie it shall be, since I’m assuming we’ll become friends. It would do well to have another lady’s touch around these brutish oafs.”

Mattie glanced at the two gentlemen. “I do believe we will become friends, though I should warn you that ‘lady’ may be far too flattering a word for my capabilities.”

“Has Luthor told you what it is I do for a profession?” Veronica asked bluntly.

Mattie nodded, though she glanced toward Luthor for assistance in what she assumed would quickly become an awkward situation.

“Then you’re already well aware that being a true lady isn’t exactly in my vocabulary either,” Veronica finished, defusing the palpable nervousness.

Simon laughed, and the effect was intoxicating. The quartet continued laughing as Simon led them into the theater, handing their tickets to the doorman.

The interior of the Majestic was dimly lit. A number of electric lights were mounted to the wall, but their light failed to reach to the center of the expansive room. Most of the illumination was centered on the large, white screen hung from the back of the raised stage. The lights were covered in wooden clamshells, focusing all their light solely on the stage itself rather than blinding the audience members.

An usher met the group at the door and led them to their seats, which were situated near the middle of the theater. Simon turned as they entered their aisle, noting the narrow balcony high above. The rear doors to the interior balcony were open, revealing the night air and the external balcony beyond. A cool night’s breeze filtered through the open doorways and cascaded down onto the audience below, cooling them in the otherwise warm theater.

Veronica sat and pulled Simon down beside her. Luthor sat beside the Inquisitor, with Mattie on the outside. They spoke little as other people entered the theater and found their seats. Before long, the theater was full of couples and individuals, all eager to watch the evening’s affair. The din of conversation grew to a dull roar, so much so that Luthor had to lean close to Simon’s ear just to be heard. After a few meager attempts, he simply quit trying to be heard and settled into his seat.

Simon pulled his pocket watch from his vest and checked the time. As the hands ticked around to eight o’clock, the house lights flickered on and off as a warning that the show would soon begin.

From the wings of the stage, a small band of assorted string and brass instruments emerged. They took their seats in a sunken pit just before the stage, practically disappearing from view. As the conversations fell silent around the room, the sound of tuning instruments filled the void.

In time, the instruments, too, were silenced and the house lights dimmed completely. Only a few lights along the side of the stage remained illuminated, revealing a dapperly dressed man as he emerged from behind the wing’s curtains. The man withdrew a series of cards from his pocket, none of which were much larger than a telegram. He cleared his throat before he began reading. His booming voice easily filled the acoustically designed theater.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer began, “welcome to the Majestic.”

Polite applause rolled from the crowd.

“If you would please turn your attention to the screen before you, we will begin tonight’s presentation.”

From behind the group, the whir of a motor came to life. Simon glanced behind him as sepia light filtered through a narrow window in the back wall. He turned back around quickly as the image on the white canvas came into focus.

On the screen, a pair of heavily armored men stood stoically in the foreground, with a daunting castle looming in the distance behind them. The knights hoisted swords, pikes, and rifles as the narrator spoke again.

“For nearly ten generations, the Khovelian Knights have stood watch protectively over their kingdom. When it was threatened by the appearance of the Rift, the Khovelian Knights became a bastion of freedom, protecting not just their own kingdom but all the lands from the threat of magic. So long as the Knights have stood, our lands have been secured.”

The silent image on the screen changed to a company of Knights standing around the slain body of a giant. The humanoid figure, even prone, appeared to be over fifteen feet tall.

“In ten generations, the Knights have never been defeated in battle. Even now, they patrol the edges of the Rift, slaying the abominations that seep from its demonic depths.”

Simon leaned over toward Luthor. “I find the use of the word ‘demonic’ an interesting selection, don’t you?”

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer continued, “please join me in showing our appreciation for the Khovelian Knights, our heroes and stalwart defenders of the freedoms we so richly enjoy.”

The audience clapped politely again, though Simon could see some hesitation amongst the seated members. He wasn’t at all surprised. Though the Khovelian Knights were very much aligned with the intents and purpose of the Inquisitors, the Kingdom of Khovus had hardly been an ally ten years earlier. The Rift had made strange bedfellows of the two kingdoms, though some of the elder population still remembered the tensions and sanctions levied against one another in their quiet, political war.

“Without further ado,” the announcer said before quiet conversations could erupt throughout the room, “I present to you the acclaimed film, ‘A Night on the Train’.”

The announcer stepped off stage, and the remaining stage lights dimmed. The projectionist held a bottle of brown fluid before the camera as the silent film began. As he rocked it back and forth, the liquid sloshed in the container. Its sepia projection, cast over the film’s image of the interior of a rocking train, gave the audience the impression of movement on the screen.

As the film began, Veronica took Simon’s hand in hers and squeezed it tightly. Though the moving picture had received rave reviews by critics and patrons alike, Simon absorbed little of what he watched that evening. He vaguely remembered a murder on a train, solved by a main character that resembled all but in title a Royal Inquisitor. Astute and perceptive, the man found clues where there were none and understood the nuances of the suspects on board the train. By the time the train arrived at its destination, the murder had been solved and the criminal brought to justice.

Simon sighed, wishing the solving of his cases was that simple.

As the silent film ended, the house lights came on and the audience shuffled toward the theater’s rear doors. As they waited patiently in line for the throng of patrons to thin before making their own departure, Simon pulled his watch from his pocket. Pressing the button on its top, he opened the watch and checked the time. It read just before nine o’clock.