Angel of Death: Book One of the Chosen Chronicles

by Karen Dales

  “I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t allow that.” He kept his hand on the Noble. “I strongly suggest that you come back tomorrow or go to the other kitchen.”

  Fernando stared at the hand on his chest and slowly raised his eyes, his smile replaced with the onset of rage. “And I strongly suggest, sir, that you remove your meat hook from my person, now.”

  The man’s eyes widened in shock and dismay at the uncharacteristic response before his jaw tightened and his dark eyes narrowed menacingly.

  “Gladly,” he replied, and to drive his point home he gave the Noble a shove.

  Stumbling backwards, Fernando had expected something like this and once he regained his footing he let Yin and Yang fly. Yang found his home in the throat of the brute that had begun his advance on the Noble. The large, silent man fell to his knees, blood streaming out of the fatal wound, and then collapsed onto the pavement, all the while trying to clutch at the dagger until he lay still. Yin found her home through the eyeball of the rude man, embedding deep into the brain. The man had no time to react to the intruding weapon before he too fell limply to the ground.

  Admiring his handiwork, Fernando wiped his hands clean against each other and went to lean over the brute. An easy tug freed the bloody blade and he wiped it clean on the brown coat. He was not about to take any chance with the blood. Standing, he walked the two steps to the insolent man and realized he was doing all the dirty work.

  “Am I going to get some help here?” asked Fernando, and bent, dislodging Yin from the socket of the dead man.

  The Angel had watched the whole scene with a dour expression that grew at the violent deaths of the two men who had done nothing to warrant such an attack. Killing out in the open was dangerous and these two stacked the numbers to eight bodies in less than an hour. They were lucky that no one had witnessed any of the murders and he shuddered at the thought.

  The homeless man had been killed by Rupert, taking the young Chosen with him, and the four on the Bridge were brigands deserving of no less, but these two on the stairs, they had done nothing except irritate Fernando by denying him entrance. The thought that Fernando could relish in cold-blooded murder appalled him.

  Coming up behind the Noble, he asked, “What do you want to do with them? I do not think the police would like finding six bodies in the Thames.”

  Fernando pursed his lips in thought and then glanced up at his partner, a mischievous glint lighting his eyes. “Since this is a soup kitchen, there probably is a garbage bin in the back. We can dump them there.” He reached down, grabbed the man’s cold, limp hand, and hoisted him over his shoulder. “Don’t you just love the irony of it?” he chuckled, disappearing around the back of the building.

  A sigh of resignation at the bad joke escaped his pale lips and he hoisted the brute and followed.

  A dark lane followed the length of the back of the building, black in the absence of any gaslight or internal illumination. A few people huddled in their sleep for warmth under ratty blankets and refuse and he found Fernando dumping the body in a pile of garbage against the wall. Despite the bloodied face, the body appeared quite normal amongst the living ones. He bent and dropped his burden beside the other corpse in a way that made them appear to be passed out drunks.

  He did not straighten right away. A dull light emanating from a window near to the base of the building caught his attention. Moving closer for a better look through the filthy glass and iron bars he saw, sitting on straw, Jeanie hunched over, shoulders shaking. He did not realize he had said her name until the Noble crouched beside him.

  “Well I’ll be damned,” muttered Fernando. “That pretty little nothing was right. She is alive.” He stood and slapped the Angel on the back. “Come on, you’ve got a fair maid to rescue.”

  Giving the Noble a sidelong glance, he stood but not without one last look at Jeanie.

  I’ll get you out, he promised and turned to Fernando. He was surprised at the slap on his back. It seemed almost friendly.

  Rounding the corner of the Kitchen, they were going for the simplest way in, a frontal assault.

  Taking the stairs two at a time they arrived before the open doors. Inside the brightly lit room could be seen rows of wooden trestle tables and old worn benches. Upon stepping in, it was evident the place was empty of patrons and staff. Along the west wall was the serving counter closed down for the night and at the north end of the dining room, on a raised dais was a speaker’s pedestal. It looked what it appeared to be - a soup kitchen, but why would a soup kitchen have a gaol? And why was it imprisoning Jeanie? Nowhere could they find the entrance to the basement.

  The answer arrived through the swinging door to the kitchen. The short skinny man wore a soiled wet apron and carried a tray of washed wooden plates. He dropped the pile with a crash at the sight of the Noble and the Angel staring at him.

  “You, you’re not supposed to be here,” stated the man, ignoring the wooden heap that he would have to rewash. “We closed an hour ago.”

  “We’re not here for a meal.” Fernando took a step towards the little man. “We’re looking for a friend. You may have seen her. A young, pretty woman, thin yet not skinny, about so high with green eyes and fiery long hair that falls in curls.”

  “Nope, haven’t seen her.” He bent to pick up the plates. “I’d remember her if I had.”

  “She speaks with a Scots accent,” added the Angel, staying where he was, watching the man from the depths of his hood.

  The man shook his head and stood, plates in hand. “Told you, I’d remember a girl like that.” He piled the plates at the end of the serving counter and turned to go back into the kitchen.

  “Then can you explain why she is locked in your cellar?” he took a step forward. He knew he was being lied to and it angered him. Why would they want to keep Jeanie?

  The man halted, hand on the swinging door and did not turn around.

  “Oh, nicely done,” laughed Fernando, appreciating the subtle attack with the truth. He turned to face the kitchen help. “Well?”

  The man got as far as pushing the door half open before both Chosen surrounded him. Fernando snatched the man’s hand from the door the same instance the Angel wrapped his long white fingers around the man’s sweaty neck.

  He gave a slight squeeze, causing his prisoners eyes to bulge with the lack of oxygen. Relaxing his hand somewhat to allow the man to take a deep gasping breath, water wrinkled fingers clutched at his white hand in the futile attempt to escape.

  “Where is the entrance to the cellar,” he demanded. He ignored the Noble’s vicious smile and bore his crimson gaze into the kitchen help’s eyes. Chosen sensitive ears picked up every sound of the man’s being as he quietly spoke into the man’s soul. “How do I find Jeanie Stuart?”

  His attempts to break free from the iron grasp vanished as a cloud descended. “Down the stairs from the kitchen,” answered the little man, mechanically.

  Satisfied with the answer, he let go of the throat and touched the man’s forehead saying, “Sleep.” Eyes rolled back and as if on cue the man slumped into his arms and he gently laid the man underneath the serving counter.

  “Nice touch,” remarked the Noble as the Angel stood. “I still don’t understand why you didn’t kill the insect.”

  “There has been too much killing,” he replied, cautiously pushing the swinging door open.

  “No such thing.”

  They stood on the threshold of a large kitchen stocked with skillets and huge pots that were arranged in an orderly manner along the counter. Above, on shelves lining the walls, a veritable storehouse of herbs and spices sat in containers of all shapes and sizes. In the centre of the counter a large sink filled with steamy soapy water and piles of food encrusted wooden trenchers sat waiting to be washed. It was highly doubtful that the job would get done this night. Along the far wall a large wood burning stove and ovens sparkled in the light, obviously cleaned earlier. There was no sign of the stairwell.

  Opening t
he door farther was met by a solid thud. Fernando smiled up at his partner and they stepped into the kitchen, allowing the door to swing close behind them. Right beside the entrance stood a thick unadorned wooden door to the cellar. It opened without a sound. Cautiously, they stepped down the rickety stairs. Fernando’s hands flexed and extended nervously, wishing Yin and Yang were in them. This was much too easy.

  The cellar opened to a spacious room littered with scattered casks and barrels on the floor, and Jeanie huddled behind the barricade of iron bars.

  At the sound of footpads descending, she looked up, her face drawn and her eyes red from crying. She could not believe who she saw, having resigned herself to the fact that the Angel would not care to find her. She sat there, in the straw, numb at the fantasy become reality.

  His being leapt at the sight of the girl and only paused long enough for the Noble to pass the set of keys hanging on a hook at the bottom of the stairs. “Go rescue her and let’s get the hell out of this place.”

  The keys felt cold against his hand but he paid it no mind. He covered the distance to the padlock on the bars far quicker than he should and he found that his hands shook as he tried the keys. It was the fourth one that turned the tumbler and snapped the lock open. Discarding the ring of keys and the padlock onto the floor, he pulled the iron barred door open and stepped inside, pushing back his hood.

  Jeanie still remained on the floor, face full of shock. He was really here. Green eyes filled with tears and she threw herself on him, her arms wrapping around his slender waist as she buried her face in his chest weeping.

  Unbalanced by her assault, he recovered himself long enough not to pull himself from her embrace. Reluctantly his arms closed around her shuddering form and held her fast.

  It felt odd, yet so right. He felt the warmth of her body encompass him and her heartbeat felt good against him. All that he wanted to do was keep her safe and happy. It terrified him even as he held her until the violence of her sobbing subsided.

  “Are you alright?” he asked, gently lifting her by the chin with a finger to face him, but not breaking the embrace. She looked so lovely despite the effects of her crying. I could drown in those eyes. The realization stunned him to the quick.

  Taking a couple of shuddering inhalations, Jeanie shyly turned her gaze from his burning crimson eyes to his chest and slightly drew back.

  “Och, look what I’ve done,” she sniffed. “I’ve gotten ye’re shirt all wet.” She laid a hand on his chest and drew it back when she realized what she had done.

  A small smile lighted his features for a brief moment. It was so typical of Jeanie to worry over inconsequential things and yet so comforting.

  “Are you alright?” he repeated, smile gone from his lips but not from his eyes.

  Jeanie nodded and pulled back from the embrace, a frown bending her lips. “I thought ye’d never find me. I thought ye’d never look.”

  Surprise and hurt vied for dominance over her admission. “Of course I looked,” he solicited. “How could I not?”

  “But I thought –” Ashamed, she stared at the rush strewn floor as tears dripped down her face. Could she have been so wrong? She did not know what to think of the Angel any more. She just wanted to be in his embrace.

  He laid his hands on her arms, causing Jeanie to look up at him. “I’m here now,” he said.

  “If the two of you are finished, I think you ought to take a look at this,” called Fernando. He crouched by one of the barrels, his hand on a yellowed sheet of paper attached to it. To distance himself the embarrassing scene, the Noble had explored the contents of the room.

  Moment dismissed by the taciturn declaration, the Angel lowered his eyes and his hands fell from Jeanie’s shoulders, surprised that he was missing the momentary connection and turned around. “What is it?”

  “While the two of you were playing damsel in distress rescued by her knight in shining armour, I decided to be more useful.” Fernando stood studying the writing, paper now in hand. “This is the shipping order for these four barrels.” He looked up long enough to point them out. “There are no names for the contents except this one is called ‘One,’ this is ‘Two,’ that ‘Three,’ and the one over there is ‘Four.’” He lifted the lid off of ‘One’ and his brow lifted in surprise. Running his hand through the reddish brown powder, he grabbed a handful allowing the fine grains to slip between his fingers and fall back into the barrel. “What do you make of this?”

  Intrigued at the discovery, he gave Jeanie an examining glance to see if she was all right and was returned by a sad frown before he walked to barrel ‘Three.’ Lifting the lid revealed a greenish powder. The Chosen looked at each other before moving to the other unopened barrels that yielded two other types of powder. The smells of each were pleasant and unknown.

  “They are just seasonings,” he remarked, running his hand through ‘Two.’

  “That’s a lot of just four kinds of spice,” responded the Noble. “They’re not even named. Most of this will probably go bad before they can use it all.”

  Realization hit and he stated, “Not if these are the ones those two tried to force Tom and Alice to buy before torching the inn.”

  “What?” Shocked out of her reverie by the news, Jeanie took a step towards the two men, her eyes filled with concern.

  “Yes,” the Noble’s head bobbed excitedly, ignoring the girl. “That would mean…” He grabbed a handful of spice from ‘Four” and filled a pocket. “We need to take samples of these to make sure.”

  Before he could nod in agreement, Jeanie shouted, “What did ye say?” Her voice trembled as she fastened her pleading gaze on him.

  Both the Angel and Fernando stared mutely for a moment, remembering Jeanie’s presence. Fernando was the first to recover, going back to fill his pockets, mumbling in his native language, which, by the sounds of it were not complementary.

  He shot the Noble a reproving glare and moved to the girl. “The Rose and Thorn burnt down earlier this evening. Arsoned by two men who tried to sell spices to Tom and Alice,” he quietly explained.

  “Oh, my dear God.” Jeanie began to pace, trying not to cry again. She did not know if she had any tears left. Too much had happened too quickly and she was having difficulty making sense of things.

  “Lily told me that you died in the fire.” He tried to keep the hurt from his voice as he watched Jeanie pace.

  “Then how did ye find me?” She halted and stared into sad ruby eyes.

  “A woman told us you were carried away just before the fire,” interrupted Fernando, now standing in the opened gaol with the other two.

  Confusion filled her emerald eyes. “But that’s no possible.” Her gaze shifted between her two saviours. “I’ve been here all day.”

  It was their turn to be confounded. “But she said she saw you carried away this evening,” he replied, pale brows furrowing.

  “I dinna ken anythin’ ‘cept wakin’ here just after noon.”

  The three of them stood silent for a moment before Fernando exploded. “Carahlho! What the bloody hell is going on?”

  “The capture and disposal of the two of you.”

  They spun at the voice and found several men coming down the stairs with drawn sabres. A gasp escaped from Jeanie’s trembling form as she found protection at the Angel’s side. Fernando’s face tightened in anger, more at himself for not having heard the approach of the men. His hands grasped the hilts of Yin and Yang. The Angel stared at the very deadly metal glinting in the dim light, his face drawn at the seriousness of the situation and the protection Jeanie expected from him. The man in front smiled, knowing he blocked the only exit. This fact was not lost on the three in the cage.

  “I am quite surprised at how easily we managed. It took Sebastian over there quite a bit longer to get this far,” said the sandy blonde leader, smile still intact.

  Fernando glanced over at the three limbs he previously ignored, blanched and swore at the pile that could possibly pa
ss for ash.

  “Now, if you please, relinquish your weapons.” Two men walked forward into the cage, sabres in hand, ready to take any arms presented.

  “Not bloody likely,” growled Fernando, throwing the daggers into the approaching men just as the Angel pulled the door closed, forcing the dying men to stumble further into the cell.

  He ordered Jeanie to get the lock that was lying in the rushes by the door. Holding the door took all his nerve as he saw the flash of metal descend towards his hands. He snatched them back in time as metal clanged against the metal of the lock as it snapped in place and the sabres impacted iron. Checking to see if he still had all his fingers, he sighed in relief and looked to Jeanie. Her face was full of worry and terror and there was nothing he could do. They were trapped.

  “Get the key,” shouted the sandy blonde headed man. It was obvious he was ill pleased at the apparent loss of control.

  “I can’t find ‘em,” replied another.

  Realizing their dilemma, the Angel remembered where he had placed the keys. A quick search through the straw disclosed what the men were searching for. He held up the keys, jingling them a bit to get their captors attention. Fernando, having retrieved and pocketed Yin and Yang, now held both sabres in each hand, a murderous smile on his face.

  The man in charge turned purple at the sight of the keys dangling from the hand of his would be prisoner. “Give those to me,” he bellowed. “There is no way out, and I don’t think you can wait until morning.” His knowing laugh grated. “Definitely not. So in that case I’ll leave some men here to stand guard. You four will stand watch.” With a laugh he turned to go up the stairs, muttering something of how Mr. Vale would be pleased.

  Relieved of their captor, he stared at each of the four men, his face tightened in anger at the sight of their fear of him, and turned to the Noble now standing at ease. “Let’s get out of here.” He did not care if the four heard him.

  “And how, pray tell, do we do that?” mocked Fernando, relaxing on the hilt of one of the sabres pointed into the ground. “You have the key.”