Kill the Raven: A Thriller (Raven Trilogy Book 3)

by Kurt B. Dowdle

  Now two men, the bear and the turtle, advanced on Nyx. The raven held out his right hand, and they stopped.

  Nyx could feel all eyes on her. Her heart, which had been pounding, slowed, and she stared directly at the raven.

  A minute passed, and no one moved or spoke until the raven said, “We’ve been waiting for you.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “So you can participate.”

  The raven held the dagger across his open palms and held it out to Nyx.

  “Liberate her, he said.

  The woman on the table tilted her head back.

  Nyx said, “What?”

  The raven set a small gold box on the table, opened it and removed four silver, eight-sided coins.

  “We know you have no concern for yourself. So, these are for Agnes Kamp, Joe Six Killer.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “And the last one is for Kamp’s daughter. Each of these coins will be delivered to its intended recipient.”

  “Unless I—”

  “Once you’ve completed our ceremony—and certainly you’re not squeamish about blood—once you’re finished, your debt is paid. We won’t deliver these coins. Your choice.”

  “You’re telling me I can leave then?”

  “No, not at all.”

  “Then what?”

  “You’ll remain with us. In a sense you’re already one of us. It’s a very great honor.”

  The raven motioned to an empty chair at his right. She laid the rifle on the table and removed a skull from the canvas sack.

  Nyx said, “This was Hugh Arndt, the man you sent to murder Rachel and Jonas Bauer, two good and upright people, my parents. You sent this son of a bitch to kill them in order to hide your crimes. And that led to the deaths of Danny Knecht, and now, Kamp. And it started with this son of a bitch right here!”

  With both hands, Nyx raised the skull above her head and slammed it down on the table, smashing the jaw, sending the teeth flying.

  She took the dagger from the ram’s hands and plunged it into his neck. Then she picked up the rifle, aimed for the raven and shot him through the left eye of his mask.

  The force of the shot knocked him backward, and he tumbled out of the ornate chair.

  Nyx grabbed the woman by the wrist and yanked her off the table. She hurried the woman out of the room, while all the men watched her leave. She guided the woman down the front hallway, opened the door and shoved her onto the porch.

  “Run.”

  The woman disappeared down the stairs and into the darkness.

  “OPEN THIS DOOR!”

  The shouting and pounding on the door barely registered on E. Wyles, who continued sewing Joachim Thaler’s wound.

  “Uh, Miss Wyles,” Pickler said. “Ma’am?”

  “I know, I know. Almost finished.”

  “It would be best to get quit of this situ—”

  Something heavy slammed into the door.

  She looked at Barend, “Tell them to back off.”

  “Gentlemen, wait.”

  From the other side of the door, a voice. “What?”

  “Wait!” Barend Thaler turned to Wyles. “What do I do?”

  “Keep this wound clean, hear me? And in eight hours, give him the rest of the laudanum. Now, Barend?”

  “Yes?”

  “How do we get out of here?”

  He pointed to the closet.

  She left her medicine bag on the floor, shoved Pickler and followed him into the closet. The last sound she heard was the bedroom door getting knocked off its hinges.

  NYX RACED UP THE STAIRS, then stopped to reload. She moved down the hallway and saw a man sitting on a bed next to another man who lay there. She raised the rifle and walked slowly toward them.

  Barend Thaler could do nothing to protect himself from Nyx.

  He said, “I don’t know what you want, and I can’t help you. I’ve been instructed to—”

  Nyx pressed the tip of the barrel to his forehead.

  “Where are they?”

  “Attic.”

  She went to the closet and saw that a ladder had been pulled down from an attic door in the ceiling. At the base of the ladder were two of the masks she’d seen in the great room.

  She listened for a moment, then slung the Sharps on her shoulder and began to climb, carefully and silently. When she reached the top rung, Nyx peered into the attic and saw one man and then the other climbing out a window and onto the roof.

  WYLES COULD HEAR THE FOOTFALLS of the men following them, though she dared not look back. She and Pickler headed for the only place that might offer some protection, the bell tower rising before them on the western side of the building.

  As soon as she reached its base, Wyles found handholds between the bricks, and then began to climb with Pickler alongside her. They were aware of the men right behind them. What neither she nor Pickler saw, though, was the guard in the bell tower who’d extinguished his cigarette and waited, pistol drawn.

  FROM HER VANTAGE POINT, Nyx saw Wyles and Pickler making their way up the outside of the tower, as well as the guard who stood inside the tower waiting for them.

  She thought about calling out to them but realized that it would do no good. They couldn’t climb down, nor could they stay where they were.

  When she saw the guard in the tower point his pistol at Wyles, Nyx raised the rifle and fired. The bullet whanged off the bell.

  The sound sent the men on the roof scrambling for cover behind one of the chimneys, and the man in the tower ducked low.

  Nyx hurried to reload and aim once more, but by the time she did, the guard in the tower had begun shooting at Wyles and Pickler. The first two rounds missed, but when he shot a third time, Nyx heard Pickler let out a low moan. He did not, however, fall from the side of the tower.

  Nyx drew in a long breath, and on the exhale she squeezed the trigger. The bullet connected and sent the guard toppling backward out of the bell tower and crashing to the ground. She reached in her pocket for another cartridge. Empty.

  The two men who’d taken cover behind the chimney now emerged. One ran for the tower, the other for Nyx.

  WYLES CLIMBED INTO the bell tower and then pulled Pickler over the ledge as well. They crouched there, both breathing hard, and by the moonlight she saw blood on Pickler’s shoulder.

  He said, “I’ll be fine.”

  Wyles knew they were defenseless in the tower. She peered over the side and saw the man scaling up the outside of the tower. She kicked off her boots, then stepped onto the ledge and reached for its roof. Once she’d gotten a good grip, she swung her foot onto the roof of the tower and then climbed onto it.

  Now she stood in an even more precarious position atop the tiny roof, which slanted at an extreme angle.

  But she found what she needed there. Wyles grabbed the iron weathervane, adorned with a flying raven, and worked it back and forth until it snapped at its base.

  She said, “Here,” and handed it to Pickler. Then she slithered back into the bell tower just as a guard appeared at the ledge.

  Wyles took the weathervane from Pickler and with one thrust buried the pointed end in the man’s chest, sending him tumbling off the side.

  THE OTHER MAN SAID NOTHING as he approached Nyx, and she said nothing, either. She flipped the rifle around so that she held it by the barrel, and when the man reached her, she raised it over her head and brought it down on his skull.

  The man swayed but didn’t fall. Nyx raised the rifle and brought it down again with enough force to splinter the stock.

  Now the man collapsed. Nyx dropped the broken Sharps and ran to the tower, scaling it the way Wyles had. By the time she climbed into the bell tower, armed men swarmed onto the roof.

  Nyx turned to Wyles and said, “Where now?”

  She pointed to a tall maple tree, growing beside the building.

  Pickler said, “No.”

  They lifted him onto the ledge of the bell tower.

  Wyl
es said, “Jump,” even though she could tell he wouldn’t be able to cross the chasm.

  “I can’t!”

  A bullet hit the tower, and the ricochet nicked Pickler’s ear. He steadied his feet, bent his knees and balled his fists.

  At the instant Pickler made his leap, Wyles gave him a hard shove, launching him into the branches that bent and snapped as he descended through them.

  Without hesitation, Nyx followed suit, hurling herself into the tree and catching a sturdy bough. Then Wyles felt her bare feet on the slate ledge, spread her arms, bent her knees and propelled herself through the darkness into the waiting branches.

  FORTY-FIVE

  GRIGG AND STIER ARRIVED in Bethlehem well ahead of the news that Black Feather’s mansion in Mauch Chunk, Pennsylvania had been attacked, it was later said, by a “nefarious element.”

  When the pair reached the city limit, Grigg pulled back on the reins and brought the horses to a stop.

  He called back to Stier and woke him from a deep slumber.

  “Where do we put Kamp? Can’t take him to the morgue.”

  “Gotta take him home.”

  Grigg started the horses again and guided them in the direction of Kamp’s small farm. He began imagining what he’d say to the imposters who occupied Kamp’s home. While Grigg was eager to avoid further trouble, he was resolute in his intention to bury the man properly. And he was sure that Stier wouldn’t hesitate to impose his will on the imposter, if the need arose.

  But when they reached Kamp’s small farm, no candle burned in the window, and when they went to the front door, they found it locked.

  Stier circled the house and seeing no signs of the inhabitants, broke in through the back door. He walked through the upstairs and then back down the stairs.

  He opened the front door and said to Grigg, “Whoever they were, they’re gone.”

  ON THE SOUTH SIDE OF BETHLEHEM, the Royal Traveling Company packed its caravan and prepared to leave town. The company had gotten word from a representative of their patron, Black Feather Consolidated, that they were to start a run of shows in Philadelphia the next night.

  One of the members of the Company, the man who’d been playing the part of Kamp, was instructed to vacate Kamp’s house immediately along with the woman who’d been playing Shaw.

  Black Feather didn’t give the man the additional compensation they’d promised, and as he stood waiting for his fellow players to finish packing, he felt a flicker of resentment. They owe me.

  He knew he wouldn’t get his recompense from Black Feather, though perhaps he could score another way.

  He remembered that the district attorney B. H. Grigg lived close by and that no one had seen him in weeks. His house would be unoccupied, unguarded, maybe even unlocked.

  The man ran down the block, up the stairs to Grigg’s front door and turned the knob. It opened.

  In his haste the man didn’t think about the wire he nearly tripped over on his way in. Nor did he pay attention to the hissing noise before the explosion that blasted his corpse back out onto the street.

  GRIGG DIDN’T HEAR THE SOUND of his house exploding. When it happened, he was five miles away and three feet deep in the hole he and Stier were digging with spade shovels. At the base of a maple tree near the top of the mountain behind Kamp’s house, the two men worked in tandem.

  Having talked to Kamp at this very spot the year before, Grigg knew its significance and knew that the grave would never be found or disturbed. When the hole reached the requisite size and depth, Grigg climbed out and wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. Both men looked down at the grave and then at Kamp’s body wrapped in its winding sheet. Neither man was religious, and no prayer was said. There was nothing left to do but bury him, but neither man wanted it to be finished.

  A blackbird whirled overhead, and Stier said, “It’s time.” He bent down to take hold of the body.

  “Wait,” Grigg said, as he knelt down, unwrapped the winding sheet and said, “Personal effects.”

  Grigg went through the pockets in Kamp’s shirt, found nothing and then checked his pants pockets as well. Grigg pulled out a piece of paper, folded small and nearly falling apart at the creases. He unfolded it gently.

  It was a child’s pencil drawing, showing a simple house with two smiling faces, one in each upstairs window. In one downstairs window was a candle, and in the other window, a Christmas tree. Across the top of the picture were the words “WEEL MISS YOU DANNY!” Across the bottom, it read, “LOVE MERCY.”

  Grigg folded it back up, returned it to Kamp’s pocket and wrapped him again in the winding sheet.

  They lifted Kamp’s body and lowered it as best they could before letting it fall to the bottom.

  NYX PARTED WAYS WITH WYLES AND PICKLER at the turnoff to Long Run Road. She’d decided to go back to the burned cabin where she’d lived with Angus to see if anything could be salvaged. Wyles and Pickler started the walk back to Bethlehem, moving along the roadside in silence and wondering what awaited them upon their return.

  FORTY-SIX

  NYX FOUND NOTHING worth saving in the charred ruins of Angus’s cabin, except for a set of double triggers. As night gave way to dawn, she realized she had nowhere to lay her head.

  Instinctively, her feet began moving in the direction of the mine, and soon she fell into the line of miners headed there as well. When she entered the company store, no one gave her a second look, not even the clerk who handed over her Gezähe in his typical officious way.

  On her way into the mine mouth, Nyx felt numb. The throbbing from where she’d been shot had receded, and she wanted nothing more now than to return to a routine, isolated and in the dark.

  The first sign that that wouldn’t happen came when Nyx reached the large wooden door and waited for the trapper kid to swing it open. A different person, a wizened little Irishman yelled, “Hold your horses, I’m coming” when she knocked.

  Nyx said, “What happened to the kid?”

  “Who?”

  “There’s usually a kid here.”

  “Is that so?” he said and closed the door behind her.

  She kept her head down as she made her way to the back room at the bottom of the mine, her only refuge.

  Memories of Aodh flooded her consciousness, and she stood still for a long moment, waiting for the emotion to pass. When it did, she took her pick in hand and began to hew the seam. Nyx let the memories and feelings recede and let her body take over.

  B.H. GRIGG STARED AT THE REMAINS of his home from a distance, because he still dared not let his presence be known. Instead of trying to pick through the wreckage for any semblance of his former life, Grigg resolved to go straight to the Big Judge Tate Cain, come what may.

  Emma Wyles walked to town that morning in a similar state of mind. Considering what she’d risked in order to make her case directly before the Order of the Raven, she believed she had a right to demand that the Judge rectify all of the skullduggery that led to the loss of her livelihood.

  Grigg and Wyles converged on the courthouse before the first county employees arrived for the day. They’d both decided they’d wait as long as necessary for the Big Judge to appear so that they could make their demands known to the only authority in Bethlehem who held real power.

  When they met at the front door, Grigg said, “Here to see the Judge?”

  Wyles nodded and turned to the front door, which was ajar. She looked to Grigg, who raised his eyebrows. She gave the door a gentle push, and it swung open.

  Wyles called into the lobby, “Hello?” and got no response.

  They walked in slowly, listening to their footfalls echoing on the marble floor. The doors of the Judge’s courtroom were closed but unlocked.

  When Grigg opened the door, he and Wyles witnessed the grim spectacle.

  The corpse hung by a heavy chain, wrapped around a bare white ankle. The chain had been thrown over a rafter and fastened by a railroad spike hammered into the floor. Shards o
f orange early morning sun lit the room through tall windows, and the only sound was the dripping of blood that pooled on the floor.

  Wyles and Grigg walked to the body and inspected it. The cut had been made after the body had been turned upside down, and the instrument had entered below the navel and stopped just below the chin. The genitals had been removed.

  The long white beard obscured the corpse’s face, and when Wyles pushed it aside, she saw a bullet hole where the right eye had been. In the open mouth, she found a penis and testicles. No scrotum.

  The handle of the gavel had been pounded into the left ear so that only its head protruded.

  Grigg stepped back once again to take in the scene. On the back wall of the courtroom the letters “HOR” were written in blood.

  He scanned the room and saw no cutting tools. They looked at the body once more and at the blue silk dress that hung from the corpse, a tattered death shroud.

  Wyles and Grigg began to contemplate the questions, the causes and the massive implications of the scene, knowing that there would be great upheaval and confusion. One thing was certain, though.

  The Big Judge Tate Cain was dead.

  NYX FELL INTO A WORKING RHYTHM, her muscles remembering how to move without her having to think. She didn’t care that she’d never make seven cars for the day. Nyx only wanted solitude, but then she sensed she wasn’t alone.

  At the back corner of the room in which she’d been hewing, Nyx discerned the outline of a figure in the darkness.

  She heard the sound of a match being struck and then a man’s voice.

  “I don’t see that you’re no diff’rent,” he said.

  “What?”

  “No one gets out till they’ve paid the last penny. And you’ll earn yer addlings today. Tha’s certain.”

  Nyx recognized the voice. She’d known all along he’d come after her, and now the moment had arrived.

  The man moved toward her.

  “Stop. Don’t.”

  She heard him unbuckling his belt.