The Infernal Express
Page 22
“Morris old thing. Such a surprise to see you here—didn’t know you were a member,” St. Cyprian said, as he made a show of examining the blade Bonneville had dropped. It was a horrid thing, covered in ugly, atavistic symbols. He set the knife aside. “Or have you come to harangue me again about that business from last month with Dracula’s skull?” he asked, fixing Morris with a steady gaze.
Morris gestured irritably. “We’re well shed of it,” he said. “And our cousins in the Westenra Fund are well-satisfied.” He looked at the knife. “I suppose you’re going to keep that?” he said.
“Maybe we’re going to add it to the collection,” Gallowglass said, sniffing a half-empty bottle of brandy. Morris glared at her, and she saluted him with the bottle. He looked at St. Cyprian.
“Fear not Morris. I merely intend to remove whatever baleful magics have been wrought into its length, or, failing that, bury it in a very deep hole,” he said. “But I’d wager you didn’t come all the way to the Voyager’s Club just to talk about a knife, now did you?”
“No.” Morris looked away. He seemed almost…hesitant. St. Cyprian sat up.
“Morris, what is it?”
The little man looked at him. “Swinburne,” he said.
St. Cyprian froze. In his line, there were names to fear and names to run away from. Swinburne was both. His heart twitched unpleasantly and he sucked in a harsh breath. “Ah. Well…what about him?”
“He’s gone.”
St. Cyprian blinked. “What?” he asked.
Morris grimaced. “You heard me, Charles. Enoch Swinburne has escaped. And may God have mercy on us all.”
About the Author
Josh Reynolds is a professional freelance writer who has contributed to numerous publications, including such anthologies as Hills of Fire: Bare Knuckle Yarns of Appalachia from Woodland Press and Use Enough Gun from Emby Press. He has also contributed to Gold Eagle’s Executioner novel series and Black Library’s Warhammer Fantasy and Warhammer 40,000 tie-in fiction line. Visit his site at:
http://joshuamreynolds.wordpress.com/