The other Furnace Brook men were ordered to stay out of sight in the meantime.
As the group walked through the underground passages, it dawned on Maggie that they still didn’t have the other two Sister Wheels in their possession. One was already in the Horologe and the other had been left with the Foundlings that had stayed behind.
“We have to find everyone else,” Maggie whispered to Catharine and Henry.
“What was that?” asked Francis, who was walking a few steps ahead of them.
“We’ll search for the others later,” Henry whispered back. “It will be much easier for them to find us than it will be to locate the Horologe.”
“What’s with all the whispering?” Francis spun around. His voice rose in annoyance. “And what about the Horologe?”
Maggie was unsure of where they currently were within Poppel. They were passing through slender halls and stairways with no sign of Myra Lane, Boeken Kamer, Foundling Row or the banquet hall. It seemed Francis was leading them deeper into the ground, lower than even the Sleigh Pit and workshop. Maggie thought of the Kelder and wondered if they were close to it.
“Where are we?” Maggie asked.
Francis smirked. “Don’t worry. We’re almost there.”
“Yes, but to where, Francie?” Maggie said, using his hated childhood nickname.
Francis narrowed his eyes and swiftly turned back around. Not saying another word, he marched further down the hall.
“Probably not best to antagonize him,” Catharine whispered to Maggie.
Finally, Francis and the group came to a dead end. Or at least that’s what they thought. The oil lamp hanging on the wall gave off a soft glow, so they didn’t immediately notice a door in the corner, blending perfectly into the wall.
“Here we are,” Francis announced. He opened the door with one hand and gestured to Maggie with the other.
“After you,” Francis said, directing her through the ominous doorway with a sly grin.
he inscription Horologe Hall was carved into one of the many large columns of the underground hall. The size and splendor of the space caught Maggie by surprise, but she didn’t dare speak. It would have been impossible to even whisper without the words being echoed throughout the two rows of columns dividing the three vaulted aisles of the hall.
Francis led Maggie and the group down the center aisle. Albers and Wesseling carefully trailed behind. Francis strutted along with his head held high while a clock mightily ticked away in the distance. But just as they were halfway down the aisle, Francis stopped and motioned for the others to do so as well.
As Maggie watched to see what Francis would do next, a pack of Garrisons exploded into the hall from where they had just entered. Maggie recognized Comstock, Cyrus, Cabell, Crowther, Calhoun, and Crofoot as well a dozen others. A few held rifled muskets while the others had swords drawn. The Garrisons staggered into position, stationing themselves throughout the hall.
There was no escaping.
Finally, Castriot stormed into the hall, carrying nothing but an overly stretched smile. Maggie almost shook with anger when she spotted McNutt walking behind the Head Garrison.
“Most impressive, Francis Casimier,” Castriot boomed. “You have done what was once believed to be unthinkable, you have gathered the Sister Wheels. Or at least, those who carry them.”
Maggie looked over to Francis. He stoically avoided his cousin’s stare. His expression was hard to read, so Maggie couldn’t tell if he had intentionally led them into a trap.
“McNutt was kind enough to alert us of your recent arrival on the steamboat and reported that Francis was leading you to the Horologe Hall,” Castriot continued.
Maggie now understood. Francis had been honest, even though Castriot thought he had been acting on behalf of the Garrisons. As predicted, McNutt was the one who betrayed them.
“Now,” Castriot said, stepping forward. “Hand over the Sister Wheel.”
The Garrisons inched toward the group, their muskets remaining steadily positioned.
“We don’t have it,” Henry lied.
Castriot looked back at McNutt.
“I checked his clothes on the steamboat. He doesn’t have it,” McNutt stated. He then nodded to Catharine. “Search her.”
One Garrison with a musket and another holding a sword advanced on Catharine. She resisted at first, gripping tightly the side pocket of her dress that held the Sister Wheel.
Castriot had yet to mention anything about the Horologe key, and Maggie was starting to think he didn’t know about it.
“Give it to them,” Maggie instructed just as one Garrison raised his sword in the air near Catharine. Maggie made eye contact with her sister. With a reassuring look, Maggie repeated, “Give them the wheel.”
Catharine hesitantly pulled the Sister Wheel out of her pocket. With one final act of defiance, she tossed it on the floor a few feet from Castriot. Cyrus quickly scooped the wheel up and handed it over to the Head Garrison.
Holding the wheel up and slowly rotating it between his thumb and pointer finger, Castriot examined its round edges.
“Perfect,” he muttered. “Now we only have one left to find. Francis told me he saw Clemmie pick it up back at Chelsea Manor before coming here. Clemmie no doubt is hiding away with the Foundlings. But I’m sure if he thought his sisters and cousins were in danger, he would happily surrender it. What a gallant and final gesture on his part.”
The group fell silent, realizing the Garrisons were not going to let them go peacefully once all three Sister Wheels were collected. But Maggie still noticed the Garrisons seemed unaware a key was needed to fully unite the wheels.
Maggie slowly placed her arms down at her sides. Her right hand brushed against the outside of the pocket, searching for the hard key.
Nothing.
Her left hand felt around on her other side for the key.
Again nothing.
Somewhere between the steamboat and the Horologe Hall, the key had disappeared.
A wave of anxiety rushed through Maggie’s body, but she tried not to let it show. Castriot was no longer interested in the Moore grandchildren as he approached the Horologe with the Sister Wheel in hand. The other armed Garrisons directed the intruders to follow until they reached the end where an extravagant bronze clock was mounted on the high stone wall.
Cyrus scurried up a metal ladder leaning against the wall and opened the clock’s large face, revealing an intricate display of gears and wheels, rotating and clicking away. Comstock took the Sister Wheel from Castriot and passed it up to Cyrus who attempted to place it in one of the spaces within the turning gears. But he soon saw that it didn’t fit. Cyrus studied the Sister Wheel and then the clock, realizing the wheel was too small.
A second later, the golden wheel came soaring between the heads of Catharine and Henry before slamming into Francis’ black-coated chest. The wheel rattled noisily as it finally hit the ground.
“It’s a fake!” Cyrus shouted. “It doesn’t match the other Sister Wheel.”
Castriot tore around, glaring at the Van Cortlandt descendants. He glided toward them like a snake pursuing its prey. Before Castriot could strike, however, the entrance door at the other end of the hall burst open once again. Maggie’s heart jumped thinking it was more Garrisons, but it turned out to be the Furnace Brook men, led by an ever jubilant Boe who was swinging a spade wildly around. The Garrisons didn’t even have time to mount their muskets before the Furnace Brook men collided violently with them.
Maggie’s body was jerked sideways as Henry pulled her toward the door. Catharine and Francis were already far ahead, escorted by Ward and Harriet. The Foundlings had snuck in behind the Furnace Brook men who were staying behind in the Horologe Hall, making sure the Garrisons didn’t follow the Van Cortlandt descendants.
Clemmie and Louis were waiting in the doorway. Maggie was so happy to see that they were unharmed that she ran up and wrapped her arms around Louis. But the embrace was short-live
d.
“We have to get back to the tunnels,” Clemmie directed, starting down the hallway.
“What happened since we left?” Maggie asked.
“Castriot knew we had been hiding all of you,” Harriet said. “He started locking Foundlings up in the Kelder and even tortured some for information.”
“Gardiner and Gertrude…” Catharine trailed off.
Harriet shook her head. “The twins are unharmed. They were the first to be hidden away. Although the Foundlings fought back, we were no match against the Garrisons.”
“By the time Clemmie, Louis, and I returned from Sylvan Terrace, all the Foundlings had retreated to the tunnels,” Ward added. “It’s the only place the Garrisons didn’t know how to reach us.”
Ward stopped in the middle of the corridor. After quickly glancing around, he reached up to one of the oil lamps and pulled it down. An opening in the wall appeared and the group slipped inside the tunnel where they were met with a floating light.
It was Lloyd.
“Follow me,” he whispered, holding a candle up to his face where the light reflected in his glasses. He turned and clambered up a flight of steps.
No one spoke as they maneuvered through the winding passage. When Lloyd finally stopped walking, Maggie recognized they were under the Kleren shop. One by one they climbed into the backroom where Hostrupp and Madame Welles were waiting.
“Where is the Sister Wheel and key?” Madame Welles immediately asked.
Henry explained how the Garrisons deemed it to be a fake since it hadn’t fit in the Horologe.
“Where is it now?” Madame Welles’ eyes scanned the Van Cortlandt descendants.
No one responded. The last time anyone saw the wheel had been when Cyrus angrily threw it. It was probably still lying on the floor in the Horologe Hall.
But then Francis extended his arm out to the group. The Sister Wheel was resting in his palm.
“I picked it up,” he mumbled.
Madame Welles’ face brightened. “Wonderful!”
“But if it’s a fake, what good is it?” Clemmie asked.
She sneered. “It’s certainly not a fake. Do you really think that monstrous clock in the Horologe Hall traveled all the way from Belgium? That decoy was built here in New York. Even the Foundlings never knew where the original Horologe was kept.”
“Which is where?” Maggie asked.
Hostrupp emitted a giggle. “In plain sight. Oh, so very plain sight.”
He motioned for everyone to follow him to the front of the shop where all the windows had been boarded up, and the door was now barricaded by chairs, racks of clothes, and piles upon piles of useless, yet colorful, ribbons.
Maggie noticed the pendulum wall clock with pear-shaped weights hanging on the wall. Its blue and white porcelain dial indicated that it was almost seven o’clock in the morning.
“This is it,” Hostrupp said shrilly. “Beautiful mahogany wood, silver features. Made in Holland.” He turned to Maggie. “Do you have the key?”
Maggie was silent. She didn’t know how to tell everyone that the key―the vital instrument in freeing Poppel―had gone missing between the steamboat and the Horologe Hall.
“It’s… gone…”
‘What?” Madame Welles snapped. “What do you mean it’s gone?”
“I had it on the steamboat, but it wasn’t in my pocket when we reached the Horologe Hall,” Maggie admitted. “It’s lost.”
“It’s not lost,” Henry interrupted. “McNutt took it. I bet you anything. You heard him tell Castriot that he searched my clothes to see if I had the Sister Wheel. He probably did it when I was changing into the Garrison uniform.”
“Was there ever an opportunity where McNutt could have taken the key from you?” Catharine asked.
Maggie thought for a moment. The only contact she had with McNutt was when he tried to hold her back during Henry and Wesseling’s fight. Although the gesture had seemed unnecessary, she hadn’t given it too much thought at the time. But now the reason behind his actions seemed rather clear.
“Yes,” Maggie finally answered. “Yes, I think McNutt took it.”
“I’m going after him,” Henry spat, heading toward the back.
“Wait,” Madame Welles called. “Where is Nellie?”
Henry spun around. “Nellie?”
“Yes, the girl who took you and Catharine to Furnace Brook. Where is she now?”
Henry and Catharine exchanged glances, realizing that no one else knew about her capture.
“She was taken to the Kelder,” Catharine said.
“No,” Madame Welles gasped, cupping her mouth with her hand.
“We’ll get her out,” Louis stepped forward. “Once everything is said and done, we’ll free all the Foundlings in the Kelder.”
“No, you fool,” Madame Welles barked. “Nellie was given the wheel that came from Chelsea Manor―Grace’s Sister Wheel.”
Ward sighed. “So now we’re missing the key and one of the wheels.”
“Two of the wheels,” Lloyd added. “Francis is gone.”
Everyone quickly looked around and saw that Lloyd was right; Francis had managed to slip away. But to where exactly no one knew.
“Seems as though we have another double-crosser on our hands,” Ward said, sprinting toward the backroom. Before anyone could say anything, Ward disappeared through the trapdoor.
“So now both Sister Wheels and the key are gone,” Henry forced a laugh of despair. “Looks like we’re starting all over again from the beginning.”
“It’s more terrible than that,” Madame Welles said grimly. “Francis has escaped with valuable pieces of information―the truth about the Horologe and the location of the Foundling tunnels.”
Hostrupp let out a squeal. “My, my. Perhaps this is the rare occasion―the rare occasion indeed―where Poppel doesn’t have much time. No, no. Not much time at all.”
Francis had been told to head to the Krog if trouble arose. So the moment the others were distracted by the clock in Kleren, he snuck back down to the tunnels, and soon he was stumbling out into the hallway near the Sleigh Pit.
With the Sister Wheel clutched in his palm, Francis ran through Myra Lane. It wasn’t until he neared the stairs that led up to the banquet hall that he heard someone running behind him. A sharp sting accompanied the sound of footsteps as something pelted the nape of his neck.
Francis glanced back and spotted Ward aggressively chasing him, a thin pipe between his lips. Ward reloaded his mouth with a handful of jellybeans and soon another round was shot in Francis’ direction. The beans smashed against the stones under Francis’ feet as he ascended to the top of the stairs. Francis made it halfway through the banquet hall before something struck his legs, tripping him right underneath the chandelier. Ward had hit Francis with a whip made out of taffy, allowing him the opportunity to tackle Francis from behind.
“Get off me,” Francis grumbled while Ward tried pinning him to the ground. But the Foundling struggled to keep Francis’ flailing arms and legs still.
“Hand over the wheel,” Ward shouted. “Hand it over!”
Francis tried to push Ward off, but the Foundling continued to grapple with Francis’ chest, attempting to retrieve the Sister Wheel hidden away in the boy’s pocket. Freeing his arms, Francis punched Ward solidly in the face. Stunned, Ward fell backward, giving Francis the chance to wiggle out from the Foundling’s grasp and roll away.
Francis hurried to his feet and reached for the revolver Castriot had given him. He pointed it down at Ward who was kneeling on the ground. Ward’s eyes looked up at the gun in both fear and surprise.
Francis had never shot a gun before. Even when the Foundlings were uprising, Francis had been kept away from most of the action, for a Garrison of his importance couldn’t be in harm’s way.
“What are you waiting for?” Ward halfheartedly provoked with a gulp.
Francis considered shooting the air to further frighten the Foundling, but as
he was still pondering his options, a shot rang through the banquet hall. A second later, Ward hurled forward, blood dripping out of his mouth.
Stumbling back into a table, Francis let out a horrified scream, thinking his gun had accidently gone off. But then Francis saw Cyrus standing on the mezzanine in front of the Krog doorway. His bony face held a satisfied smirk.
“I knew you couldn’t do it yourself,” Cyrus snarled. His tone made it sound like Francis should be thankful he had shot the Foundling. Cyrus then motioned with his gun for Francis to join him. “Get up here, boy.”
Francis stared at Ward’s motionless body and then up at Cyrus. Although Cyrus repeated his request for Francis to join him up on the mezzanine, somehow Francis couldn’t muster the strength to unlatch his trembling fingers from the table behind him.
he Horologe Hall was empty when Maggie returned with Louis and Clemmie. The three of them came searching for McNutt, but he was nowhere to be seen.
“Over there,” Louis said, pointing to the far end of the hall where black-coated bodies were lying near the fake horologe.
“Are they Garrisons or…” Clemmie trailed off as the group neared the unmoving bodies.
While some Garrisons had been killed, the greatest number dead were the Furnace Brook men, as Maggie had feared.
“Boe and Wesseling,” Maggie muttered sadly, recognizing the older man with the bulbous nose as well as the blond-haired young man who had shown great interest in Catharine.
Maggie, Louis, and Clemmie respectfully bowed their heads, but the moment of mourning was interrupted by a cough. The Moore grandchildren jumped, expecting Castriot to be lurking in a corner.
But no one appeared.
It wasn’t until the hollow cough sounded again that they finally tracked the noise to one of the columns. They cautiously tiptoed behind it and were shocked to see Albers slouched against the column, gripping his bleeding right arm.
Clemmie dropped next to him. “What happened?”
Albers breathed heavily. “They got my men. And then the Garrisons escaped with Castriot.”
Krampus: The Three Sisters (The Krampus Chronicles Book 1) Page 18