Wolves of the Northern Rift (A Magic & Machinery Novel Book 1) (30 page)

The sun was beginning to set as Simon strode alone through the streets of Haversham. He shoved his hands further into his pockets as he lowered his head against the cool breeze pouring through the streets. Gone was his telltale top hat, and his dark hair waved gently in the breeze.

Unlike the night before, the streets seemed fuller and busier than they had been in days, though the nervousness in the air was palpable. Citizens hustled from their work as businesses closed for the night, rushing home only to lock their doors and shutter their windows once inside. The people of Haversham knew something ill was brewing. Even Simon could taste it the air and hear its whispers on the wind.

He turned away from the market square and walked toward the city gates, keeping his head low even as he searched the nearby streets and storefronts for movement. In stark contrast to the square or even the streets down which he had already passed, the road that ran the circumference of the city wall was abandoned. Shuttered windows and a forgotten newspaper blowing down the street gave it the impression of a lost ghost town rather than the lively city carved into the tundra.

Pushing his hand deeper into his pocket, he felt the reassuring coldness of the silver revolver. Though it had already proven only partially effective against the werewolves, it added a level of comfort he wouldn’t have had walking through the city unarmed.

The first howl split the night, and Simon tensed. The sound echoed off the wall to his left, concealing the true direction of the call. It mattered little, as moments later the howl was picked up by others. Soon the entirety of the night air was filled with the barking and braying of wolves, stalking through the street.

Simon increased his pace, stopping just short of running. The howling grew closer as the pack hunted; they moved in an attempt to trap the Inquisitor.

From the corner of his eye, he saw the first sight of white fur. The werewolf stopped at the entrance to an alleyway, crouched on all fours and growling at Simon as he hurried past. Once beyond the alleyway, the werewolf tilted back its head and howled loudly into the night sky. Its call was quickly answered as more werewolves approached.

Simon knew that the wolves he was now seeing with some regularity weren’t there to capture him, but rather to prevent any chance of escape. They blocked alleyways that led away from the perimeter road, knowing that his left side was already obstructed by the impassable wall.

As more of the werewolves appeared, blocking escape routes, Simon picked up a light jog. His fingers closed over the handle to his revolver, though he was loathed to draw the weapon unless absolutely necessary.

The massive, metal doors of the gate rose before him, dwarfing even his tall stature as he hurried along the edge of the wall. He could hear padded footsteps behind him, keeping pace. Their speed increased or decreased in response to his actions, telling him that they weren’t yet ready to attack.

The gate, however, offered him a chance at escaping their tightening net, so it was no surprise at all when a large werewolf emerged before him, standing impassively in front of the gateway. The guards Simon had seen earlier that day were not so curiously absent, leaving him with little recourse but to face his pursuers.

With the werewolf before him, Simon slowed his pace to a walk. The padded footsteps behind him were joined by low growls of anticipation.

Simon came to a stop and turned toward the stalking pack. His frown deepened for a brief moment at the sight before him. A muscular werewolf stood on its hind legs before him, though most of the fur on one side of its body had been stripped away, replaced by a series of rapidly healing burns. Though the sight of a normal werewolf was horrible, the sight of a partially hairless monster was practically terrifying. It helped none at all that Simon knew this particular werewolf, and the indelible hatred it had for him.

“I guess talking about this is out of the question?” he asked.

The burned werewolf growled threateningly before dropping to all fours. Its nose twitched, as it smelled the air, taking in Simon’s scent.

“Before you attack, and it seems so invariably likely that you shall, do keep in mind that…”

Simon stopped speaking in mid-sentence as he noticed the werewolf listening intently. Before it could react, Simon spun on his heel and raced toward the city gate. The burned werewolf howled in frustration before charging after the fleeing Inquisitor.

The street behind Simon quickly filled with pursuing werewolves. The one guarding the street before him crouched, preparing to pounce on the seemingly unarmed human racing toward it. In a fluid movement, Simon drew the revolver from his pocket and fired a single shot. The bullet slammed into the werewolf’s rear thigh. The limb buckled immediately, even as the creature howled in pain. The werewolf collapsed to the street, clutching its injured leg.

Simon bound over the fallen wolf, yelling a halfhearted apology as he did so. As he landed on the far side, he could already see in his periphery that the creature was getting back to its feet, despite the wound to its leg.

On all fours, the werewolves were significantly faster than Simon was. The element of surprise bought him mere seconds of a lead, most of which vanished once the wolves began their pursuit.

The barn was ahead with doors already opened. Simon rushed inside with a pack of werewolves in close pursuit. The burned one led the pack, its powerful jaws snapping practically at Simon’s heels as he ran.

The Inquisitor rushed to the back of the barn just as the werewolf reached for him with long, sharp claws. Simon leapt, landing nimbly on the divider just as claws closed on the air where he had been a moment before. Unable to stop its momentum, the burned werewolf slammed into one of the sled dog pens and the sound of angry barking filled the enclosed structure.

Simon wobbled unsteadily as the divider shook from the impact. He dropped into a crouch, using his hands for support to steady himself. Behind him, the werewolf righted itself and began climbing the divider after him.

Feeling properly motivated, Simon climbed back to his feet and rushed toward the narrow window. Despite its elevation, he jumped easily to its height, turning sideways as he slid through its small gap. His stomach and back scraped along the windowsill and he tumbled out the other side, falling the ten feet to the hard ground below. He landed roughly, knocking the wind from his lungs. Staring upward, he saw the fur-covered arm and claw of the werewolf reaching futility out the window as the creature tried to squeeze through the narrow gap.

The pack followed the burned werewolf into the barn before they realized that the Inquisitor had escaped through the window. As the rearmost wolves turned to leave, Mattie and Orrick slammed the barn doors closed, sliding a heavy, metal rod across their length. The wolves slammed against the closed barn doors. The metal rattled, but held.

Their howling and barking was quickly interrupted by the sound of scraping metal as the skylight was pulled aside. Snow fell through the exposed hole, filtering down over the werewolves as they stared upward with a mixture of frustration and curiosity.

Luthor appeared at the hole, looking down on the trapped monsters. Their inquisitive braying quickly turned to anger at the sight of the apothecary. He looked for a moment longer before lifting the flamethrower, which was now thoroughly wrapped in blankets. Twisting all the valves, he hefted the contraption through the skylight even as the first elements of yellow gas poured from the smoke stack.

The flamethrower landed heavily in the midst of the werewolves, gushing a noxious cloud of gas. The pack parted quickly, forming a vacant hole around the odd machine. As the cloud quickly spread, they rushed toward the walls, clawing ineffectually at the metal barn in an attempt to escape. Mattie and Orrick stepped backward as the thrashing against the barn doors reached a frightening crescendo, though the heavy, metal bar held against their assault. Simon limped over to the pair, listening happily to their furious howling.

Luthor watched as the creatures ran in fear until the cloud consumed them. Their howls and barks turned to coughs of confusion. They tried to cover their long snouts with their arms, but the gas seeped past their meager defenses.

Slowly, the pack succumbed to the aerosolized potion. They dropped to their knees, some vomiting onto the hay-lined barn floor while others convulsed. The floor of the barn grew slick as the transformations began and fur sloughed from the werewolves as they returned to their human forms.

The howls and coughs became moans and retching. As the thick yellow smoke began to clear, Luthor looked down on a large collection of naked and confused indigenous people.

The apothecary stood and walked gingerly to the back of the barn, where a ladder had been propped against the building. He climbed down carefully before walking around and rejoining the other conspirators.

“It’s done,” he said. “They’ve all transformed.”

Simon and Orrick removed the locking bar from the door, dropping the metal rod unceremoniously to the ground with a clatter. They grasped the handles, pulling the barn doors open.

A cloud of lingering yellow smoke escaped the open doors, filling the air above it as though the building had caught fire. The cool wind rolled through the barn and the naked tribesmen within shivered from the cold.

Simon stepped inside and walked toward the building’s center, scanning the faces as he walked. Near the back, he stopped and extended his hand. Chieftain Kidnip reached up gingerly and took it, using his leverage to pull herself to her feet.

“Welcome back to the land of the living, Chieftain,” Simon remarked as the woman pulled herself to her full height. “We have a lot of work ahead of us.”

Simon pulled the strip of cloth tightly around the man’s leg wound, tying it firmly in place against his upper thigh. He patted the man’s knee once complete and smiled.

“That should do it,” he said. “This will stop the bleeding and you’ll be as good as new in no time at all. If it’s any consolation, I intentionally shot you somewhere that would have no lasting detriment to your well-being.”

Luthor shook his head as he moved past the groggy and nauseated wolves, covered now as they were in assortments of loose fitting clothing and spare parkas. He walked to the back corner, where the loose hay was piled higher than throughout the rest of the barn floor. The apothecary quickly brushed aside handfuls of the coarse straw, revealing a parka concealed beneath. With a flourish, he pulled it free.

Mr. Parrish squinted as the barn’s sole naked fluorescent bulb struck his sensitive eyes. Luthor knelt beside the man and untied the cloth gag wrapped firmly in place over the sled master’s mouth. Parrish coughed and spit onto the ground as his mouth was finally freed.

“Tell me, Mr. Parrish,” Luthor said. “How do you feel?”

Parrish glared at the apothecary. “If you’re asking me if I still have the urge to kill you, then the answer is a resounding yes. However, it’s no longer because of Gideon Dosett’s prerogative. I want to kill you solely for my own reasons now.”

Luthor smiled apologetically as he pulled a knife and began cutting on the thick leather cords binding the man’s hands and feet. “I truly wish there had been a better way to expose you to the compound. Trust that everything we did was in your best interest.”

Parrish merely snarled as the last of the leather straps were cut and his limbs were freed of the restraints. The sled master brought his hands around quickly and Luthor flinched, preparing for the inevitable punch to his face. Instead, Parrish merely rubbed his wrists to bring back circulation. He stood and pushed past Luthor without another word before storming toward the far end of the barn.

Luthor rejoined Simon as the Inquisitor knelt before the werewolf chieftain.

“Your pack is recovering quickly,” Simon remarked. “Perhaps the concentration wasn’t as severe in the gas as it was in the liquid the rest of us were forced to ingest.”

“We also heal quickly,” Kidnip replied. “We’ll be back to our old selves in no time.” She stared at Simon, though the Inquisitor struggled to determine if she was angry with him or merely angry at the situation in which they found themselves.

“We owe you our lives,” she said finally. “For free people like the wolves, there is little worse than being someone else’s pawn in a game in which we have no control. Working for the man, no matter how much it seemed to be of our own volition, was a living hell.”

“Then seek your revenge against Gideon Dosett,” Simon offered.

Kidnip narrowed her eyes as she watched the Inquisitor. “I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done, but it still doesn’t answer the question of ‘why’. You’re an Inquisitor and, if the evidence before me is to be believed, a rather good one. Why even offer to help the wolves? Why free us at all when you just as easily could have destroyed us with Gideon?”

“The enemy of my… never mind,” Simon conceded. “The simple truth is that I cannot defeat Gideon without your help. He has an army protecting him and to be competitive in this war, I needed one of my own.”

“Then you’re using us,” the chieftain replied. “Tell me, Inquisitor, how is being your pawn any different than being a pawn of that creature?”

Simon shrugged and gestured to the men and women around him, who were in various stages of recovery. “Of the two of us, who do you wish to see dead more? You could kill me now if you so desired. Your wolves have recovered enough that your pack could easily overpower Mr. Strong and me. If you do, however, are you not still left with the very real threat of Gideon Dosett? You’ve spent every waking breath since his arrival trying to destroy him. I’m offering you not only the chance, but my tactical genius to plan that very assault.”

“You can trust him,” Mattie said as she approached from the front of the barn. “He’s risked his life for everyone here, myself included.”

Kidnip glanced back and forth between one of her closest advisors and the Inquisitor, as though weighing and measuring her options. “If we charge into the governor’s estate, what’s to stop Gideon from merely enslaving us once more?”

Luthor raised his hand as he fielded the question. “I can answer that. The gas that you inhaled, the one that severed his connection to you, also acts as a vaccination against his future attempts. Try as he might, he won’t be able to reassert his dominance over you.”

“You’re free,” Simon added. “I can’t make you stay and help us, but I’m begging for your aid. If you know anything at all about Inquisitors, I want you to grasp the significance of this moment as I beg, on bended knee, the assistance of werewolves to overcome a far greater threat.”

Chieftain Kidnip stared at Simon intently, her gaze boring into him. After a long moment, she rose and turned toward her wolves. Her pack saw her and rose as well, facing their alpha female.

“The Inquisitor has freed us from our enslavement,” she said. “He has given us our freedom. We can return to the tundra to continue our lives as they have been. I, for one, don’t want to return our lives to the way it was before. I don’t want to return to our homes, knowing that tomorrow we march on yet another of Gideon Dosett’s holdings. I don’t want to know that every time we attack, we risk injury or worse to our wolves.”

She raised her fist above her head. “The Inquisitor has asked for our help, a chance to stop skirmishing on the outskirts of the city and take the fight to the demon’s doorstep. I intend to go with him. Who’s with me?”

A rousing chorus of barks and yelps sounded from the group as one by one they raised their fists into the air.

Kidnip lowered her hand and turned toward Simon. “You have our answer. What do we do first, Inquisitor?”

The werewolf padded back to the assembled group, only rising to his full height when he was securely out of sight from the estate’s front gates.

“There are at least twenty gubernatorial guards within the estate with at least the same number of armed civilians,” the werewolf reported, his rumbling voice a mere low whisper. “They’re ready for a fight.”

Simon turned toward Kidnip. “This won’t be easy. Gideon will do everything in his power to maintain his position. He knows that he fights for his very existence and will stop at nothing.”

“The wolves fight for our existence as well,” she replied. “An animal, backed into a corner, is dangerous. It will do everything it can to escape harm. An animal protecting its home is twice as dangerous. We’re both, Inquisitor. If the demon wants a war, it’s a war we shall give him.”

Simon shook his head. “These aren’t two opposing armies marching to war. Those men in the estate are thralls, much like you and your kin were not an hour ago. Subdue them and stop them, but don’t kill them. When Gideon dies, and he will, the spell will be broken. Those men deserve to return to their former lives when all this is done.”

Kidnip snarled angrily. “You tie our hands as we march to battle? Do you honestly believe that those thralls will hesitate to kill us? You can’t have one army showing restraint while the other has none.”

Simon glowered at her. “Promise me. Promise me that your wolves won’t kill without absolute reason.”

The chieftain turned away and glanced around the corner of the building, which offered a direct view to the gates of the estate.

“Promise me, Kidnip,” Simon repeated forcefully.

“I promise,” she replied without turning around. “We won’t kill without reason.”

Simon knew that her words were hollow, but he had no other recourse. He needed the wolves to cause the distraction so that he and Luthor might slip inside unnoticed.

“Sir, we have to go,” Luthor said, placing his hand on Simon’s arm.

Simon took a step to Kidnip’s side, taking a chance to look at the estate himself. “As we discussed, give Mr. Strong and me five minutes, then begin your attack.”

Kidnip huffed but refused to meet his stern gaze. Simon sighed, afraid of the repercussions of the bloodbath to come, before turning away and joining Luthor. The two men walked away from the pack, heading toward one of the main entrances to the tunnels beneath the city.

Mattie rushed up behind them, stopping only when she was walking in step with the two men. Simon stopped in mid-stride and turned toward the redhead.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked.

“With you,” she replied matter-of-factly.

Simon shook his head. “Contrary to what you clearly believe, this is something for Luthor and me alone.”

“Being contrary is what you do best,” she retorted. “You’ve already proven that you need my help. If you go to face the demon, then I intend to be by your side.”

Simon opened his mouth to respond but Luthor placed a hand on his chest, stopping him before he could speak. “Please, sir, allow someone with a little more tact.”

Luthor slipped his hand around Mattie’s waist and led her away from the irate Inquisitor. “I’m not going to stand here and refute what you say. You’ve been invaluable during our capture of Mr. Orrick and releasing the rest of your tribe from their captivity. You’ve proven yourself time and again. Even so, I’m asking… no, I’m begging, you to stay with your tribe.”

“Why?” she asked, dumbfounded. “You’re a contradiction, Luthor. You say that my help is invaluable, yet you would prefer I didn’t join you?”

Luthor shook his head and glanced over his shoulder, ensuring Simon wasn’t within distance to hear his conversation. “What the wolves will be facing will be dangerous. People will die, of that I’m sure. Whatever danger they may face, however, pales in comparison to what we’ll be facing when combating a demon lord.”

“All the more reason for me to join you! Why shouldn’t I be by your side?”

Luthor flushed as he tried to find the words. “I don’t want you there because I hate even the thought of you getting hurt,” he blurted, the words rushing from him before his good sense could pull them back.

Mattie paused, her mouth still hanging open in response. She slowly closed her mouth and blushed herself, her face matching the scarlet of her hair. “Why Mr. Strong, do you fancy me?”

Luthor cleared his throat. “If it’s all the same, could we not make this more than it already is? I have a lot to worry about before we will ever get the opportunity to continue this conversation. Just please listen to me, I beg of you, and stay with your tribe. It would be incalculably more calming knowing that you’re safe.”

Mattie smiled and placed her hand on the side of his face. She leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “Promise me you’ll be safe.”

Luthor nodded before turning away and hurrying to Simon’s side. Simon smiled knowingly as the apothecary returned but, to his credit, he refrained from comment as the two men rushed toward the tunnel’s entryway.

They reached the entrance within seconds and hurried inside. The spiral staircase descended into gloom below. They looked at one another before rushing down the stairs.

Mattie watched them both depart, hurrying into the building which housed the spiral staircase. She smiled thoughtfully as she counted the passing seconds in her head. When she had reached a full minute, she rushed off toward the tunnel’s entryway and descended the spiral staircase in pursuit.