Mattie glanced toward Luthor, who arched his eyebrows inquisitively.
“There has to be a solution,” she begged. “We can’t leave them as his slaves.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Luthor said, “but I just don’t know another solution.”
“There’s always another solution, my good man,” Simon remarked with a knowing smile.
“What are you getting at, sir?”
Simon stood from his kneeling position before Mattie and walked over to his chair before sitting again. “The werewolves are here in Haversham, which means that our original plan B is no longer a lost cause.”
“It was plan C, if it’s all the same,” Luthor replied. “Though need I remind you that this whole discussion is still a moot argument? The werewolves may be here in town, but they’re hardly our friends. Truth be told, they weren’t our friends before falling under Gideon’s sway. Now instead of merely distrusting and disliking us, they’re actively trying to kill us.”
“Semantics,” Simon said dismissively with a wave of his hand. “They will help us if we can free them.”
“Which, bringing the argument full circle, is impossible. We lack the time and abilities necessary to subdue and convert them one at a time.”
Mattie politely raised her hand, interrupting the growing back and forth between the two men.
“Yes, Mattie?” Simon asked.
“Gideon Dosett converted us as a group; the whole pack in a single metaphorical wave of his hand. Can’t we do the same to release them from his spell? Perhaps we could spray them with the liquid as though from a hose?”
Simon shook his head. “If my understanding of Luthor’s brew is correct, and feel free to correct me if I’m not, the concoction has to be absorbed within the body. A spray would soak the skin but hardly enough would get into their mouths or absorbed through the mucus membranes of the eyes and nose. It would be an exercise in futility.”
Luthor shrugged apologetically. “He’s quite right, unfortunately. It has to be fully absorbed within the body. Ingestion seems to be the most effective technique.”
Simon sat upright, his face breaking into a broad smile. “It’s the most effective technique we’ve considered to date, and that’s only because we’ve had no need for a more effective delivery system.”
Luthor pushed away from the wall and walked toward the bed. “I know that look all too well, sir. What are you getting at?”
“The chemicals have to be properly absorbed in the body, correct?”
Luthor nodded. “They do.”
“Is fluid intake truly the most effective way to introduce a chemical into the blood stream?”
Luthor frowned. “Sir, you know I hate when you ask questions the answers to which you already know. Please do get to the point.”
“My point, dear chap, is that there is a far more effective way to introduce foreign chemicals into the body: through a gas. Inhaled through the mouth and nostrils, a gas is absorbed directly into the membranes of both the nose and lungs, transmitting quickly and efficiently directly into the blood stream. In this case, carried rapidly to the brain to… well, to do whatever it is your strange brew does when it destroys Gideon’s tenuous hold over his thralls.”
“It’s brilliant,” Luthor said, though the sarcasm was evident in his voice.
Mattie looked back and forth between the two men as though observing an intense tennis match.
“You don’t approve?” Simon asked.
“It’s not that I don’t approve, sir, it’s merely that we lack any way to deliver an aerosolized version of my liquid. In order to do so, we would need some sort of contraption that could take a liquid state and turn it into a gas. Unless I’ve greatly misjudged you, sir, we lack both the tools and the skills necessary to do something of the sort.”
“The skills, yes,” Simon said excitedly, climbing from his chair. “The tools, however, we might just have. In order to aerosolize a liquid, you would need pressurized canisters with some sort of hose work through which you could transmit the gas, correct?”
“Fine, I’ll pull on this string and see where it leads. Yes, sir, you would need pressurized canisters.”
“Tell me, Luthor, where have we seen pressurized canisters, mounted to backpacks, with already designed spraying capabilities?”
Luthor opened his mouth with a rude retort before being struck by a recent memory. “The flamethrowers.”
“The flamethrowers,” Simon confirmed. “The same ones they use to melt the thick layers of ice from the zeppelin docks and the doors leading in and out of the city. We have the tools readily available.”
“And the skills to modify the flamethrower?”
Simon smiled broadly. “I believe Mr. Orrick would have the skills necessary to convert the flamethrower.”
“And he just happens to be standing guard at the telegraph office,” Luthor concluded.
Mattie cleared her throat politely. “Do either of you realize how disturbing it is to see grown men finishing one another’s thoughts?”
Both men looked at her as though surprised she was still in the room.
“I understood next to nothing of what you just said,” she continued, “except that it appears we have a way ahead, correct?”
“Yes,” Luthor replied, “and yet at the same time, a resounding no. We may know where Mr. Orrick is, but that hardly answers our other conundrum from earlier about how to subdue six men without lethal means. Did we not discuss that we couldn’t do it alone?”
“Then it’s a good thing we’re no longer alone,” Simon said, turning toward Mattie. “Tell me, how are you feeling? Are you feeling up for a fight?”
Mattie stretched her wounded shoulder and nodded. “If it means freeing my people, then I’m ready to help however necessary.”
“Then it’s settled. We’ll leave tonight, collect Mr. Orrick, send the telegram, steal a flamethrower, create an aerosolized version of your concoction, and free the werewolves.” Simon sighed. “We have a busy night ahead of us.”
“I know where to find a flamethrower,” Mattie offered. “We saw a collection of them when Gideon brought us into the city.”
“Excellent,” Simon remarked. “That’s one less thing on our list.”
“We should get some rest between now and then,” Luthor offered, stifling a yawn.
“Indeed we should,” Simon agreed.
He started to return to his chair when Mattie stood, tapping Simon gently on the shoulder. As the Inquisitor turned, she swung her open hand, slapping him solidly on the face. Simon staggered, catching himself on the headboard of the bed.
“That was for shooting me, you ass!” she said, storming off toward the other side of the room.
Luthor suppressed a laugh as he walked after Mattie. “Yes, sir, I will be adding this moment to your list of private ridicules.”
They walked down the dark streets, Luthor and Simon shoulder to shoulder as they passed the empty storefronts. Only the clicking of heels and the tip of Luthor’s cane on the cobblestones broke the silence of the evening.
Simon ground his teeth in anticipation, as he fidgeted with the hilt of the sword strapped to his hip. He ran scenarios through his mind, attacks and counters, thrusts and parries. A multitude of strategies circulated, both dealing with armed and unarmed opponents. He recalled a myriad of pressure points that would disable a man without doing lasting harm. Of all the things Simon disliked, and there were plenty, he most of all hated the unknown.
They rounded a corner, passing onto one of the city’s major thoroughfares. The street lamps glowed brightly overhead, illuminating the road in both directions. Behind the pair, the road was empty, which was not uncommon at the late hour. Before them, however, six men stood in a horseshoe shape protectively in front of the telegraph office.
Simon and Luthor pulled their hats low over their faces, letting the glow from the streetlamps overhead cast dark shadows over their features. They continued walking forward without
slowing, their pace marked by the maddening clicks of Luthor’s cane.
One of the men looked over, noticing the two men approaching. He looked to his counterparts, who motioned for him to deal with the strangers. The man hefted a crude club, formed by applying coarse engineer’s tape to the bottom of a wooden beam. Resting the weapon on his shoulder, he broke from the other guards and approached the two.
“You’re out after curfew,” the man said hoarsely. His skin was red from standing in the cold night’s air. “You need to return to your homes immediately.”
Neither man responded. They continued forward, the cane clicking in rhythm with their steps.
The man shifted his club from his shoulder, patting the top in his open hand as a warning.
“I won’t tell you both again. Mr. Dosett has set a curfew, and you’re in violation. Go home, or I’ll send you there in a body bag.”
Simon lifted his head and pushed back the brim of his top hat. He smiled calmly to the guard, who stared at him in surprise. “The youth of today clearly have no manners, Luthor.”
Luthor lifted his cane, ceasing the incessant clicking. “None at all, it would seem.”
“It’s them!” the man exclaimed.
He shifted his grip on his club, preparing to swing it in a wide arc when the lights on the street suddenly went out. The entire road was plunged into darkness, leaving bright blue spots dancing in everyone’s vision as their eyes struggled to adjust.
Simon recollected the number of paces to the guard, refusing to let his limited eyesight hinder his ability to fight. He closed the distance quickly, drawing his sword as he moved. Rather than turning the blade toward the man, he drove the hilt forward, catching the guard under his chin. The man’s head snapped backward and blood flew from his mouth as he fell limply to the ground.
Night vision was restored to everyone left standing nearly simultaneously as their eyes adjusted to the moonlight. The five guards stared at Simon and Luthor, their gaze passing over the unconscious man at their feet. Simon nodded to the guards before the two sides rushed one another.
Simon spun his sword, pointing the blade at the approaching men. Tambor broke from the pack and charged at Simon, a pickaxe held threateningly over his head. Just before they crashed into one another, Simon slid to the side and let Tambor’s swing pass inches from his shoulder. The pickaxe struck the stone street with bone-jarring force, stunning the head of the Miner’s Guild.
The Inquisitor flicked his blade behind him, slicing cleanly through the heavyset man’s belt. Tambor’s pants fell unceremoniously to the ground, and the man released his pickaxe in an attempt to save his decency.
Luthor parried the first strong swing by the nearest guard, though the force of the impact reverberated through his cane. A second guard flanked him, swinging a wrench toward Luthor’s head. The apothecary ducked and struck the man’s knee with his cane. He howled in pain and clutched his leg, hopping away from the battle. Luthor was able to stand in time to parry the next swing. He wanted to release the blade in his cane but knew the temptation to use it effectively would be too great. Instead, he used the exterior of it effectively to block the heavy, but slow swings of the guard before him.
The night filled with the sound of clashing metal, as Simon parried a knife thrust from another guard. His gaze shifted over the man’s shoulder as he turned his long knife aside. Mr. Orrick hurried to join the battle, though he struggled to find an opening amidst the chaos.
Simon struck forward with the flat of the blade, catching the knife-wielding man on the side of the face and drawing a thin line of blood across his cheek. The guard seemed infuriated and drew back his knife for a thrust. The Inquisitor easily sidestepped the jab and struck the man across the other cheek. The guard reeled, granting Simon the opportunity to drive the pommel of the sword into the top of the man’s head. His eyes rolled upward as he fell to the ground.
Simon spun quickly and kicked outward, catching Tambor in his rotund belly. The miner groaned loudly before dropping to his knees, his pants slipping forgotten back to his ankles.
Luthor struck his opponent across the neck with his cane. The man grasped his neck immediately as the muscles seized, causing lances of pain to shoot through the right side of his body. He reared back to strike the guard again when he heard a low growl behind him.
The apothecary spun as the guard he had struck on the shin rushed him from behind. No sooner had Luthor spun, however, than a white form crashed into the man, driving him to the ground. Mattie tumbled with the man before pummeling him with oversized paws.
Luthor turned back to his first opponent just as the man drew his weapon over his shoulder for a powerful swing. Luthor jabbed his cane forward, smashing the pommel into the man’s nose. The guard’s weapon tumbled from his hand as he clutched his ruined face. Luthor dropped to his knee and swung his weapon low, sweeping the man’s legs. He crashed hard onto the ground, where he rolled around in pain.
Orrick saw the hasty defeat of his other guards and turned to run. Mattie leapt from her unconscious foe, barreling into Orrick, driving the tall man to the ground. She placed a paw on either shoulder, pinning him to the ground with sheer weight. He tried to struggle momentarily, until she lowered her snout to within inches of his face and growled threateningly. He immediately ceased struggling and lay perfectly still.
The relative silence of the street returned, save the chorus of assorted groans. Simon picked up his top hat from where it had tumbled from his head and replaced it, canted as always.
He strode over to where Mattie snarled above Orrick and knelt down beside the pair.
“Well done, Ms. Hawke,” he commended. “Captured but not seriously injured.”
The werewolf glanced over toward him, its eyes smoldering darkly. “Sorry it took so long,” she said, though her voice was hardly recognizable as the feminine woman’s. “It was a longer run from the breaker box to here than I first imagined.”
“No worries. Your timeliness with shutting off the lights was impeccable. Now I do believe you can let our good friend Mr. Orrick up. He won’t try to run away, will you, sir?”
Orrick turned his head slowly toward Simon before glancing back at the werewolf’s maw hovering over his face. “No, sir, I don’t suppose I will.”
“Excellent,” Simon remarked, clapping his hands together. “Then I won’t be obligated to say something dreadful like, ‘if you try to run, I’ll let the werewolf eat the skin from your face while you’re still alive.’”
Orrick visibly shook as he stared at the pointed canines. For effect, Mattie opened and closed her mouth, snapping her teeth together.
“I believe you can let him go now, Ms. Hawke.”
Mattie climbed off the man slowly, keeping her long snout pointed at him as she did so. To his credit, Orrick refused to move even the faintest bit until Mattie was well away from him. The werewolf skulked toward the darkened alley nearby until her figure was consumed by the dark shadows.
Simon snapped his fingers before Orrick’s face, drawing the man’s attention. “Do look over here, Mr. Orrick. There are things that you and I must discuss.”
The sound of wood connecting with flesh was followed by a dwindling groan of pain. Simon looked over his shoulder as Luthor stood over the now unconscious Tambor.
“My associates and I,” Simon said, pointing to both Luthor and the darkened alley down which Mattie had disappeared, “have use of your unique sets of skills.”
Orrick’s eyes suddenly dilated, and his worrisome expression grew emotionless. “I will never help you. I’ll kill you all and bring your heads to Mr. Dosett. I’ll—”
Simon drew back and punched Orrick in the chin. The spell faded at once, and the fear returned to the artisan’s face.
“Please don’t interrupt me again,” Simon warned. “In a moment, Mr. Strong is going to come pay you a visit and he’s going to offer you a drink. You will drink, Mr. Orrick, or he will beat you unconscious and force the fluid down
your throat. Trust me when I tell you that I have observed him do exactly that, and it is not your preferable course of action.”
Luthor approached them as Mattie emerged from the alley. She was human again, dressed in the clothing she had concealed in a bag down the street. She carried Luthor’s medical bag, which she handed to the apothecary.
“Send the telegram, sir,” Luthor said. “Mattie and I can handle Mr. Orrick, should he become rowdy once more.”
Simon stood and nodded to the other two. “Be on your guard, both of you. If Mattie was correct, there is a pack of werewolves roaming these streets and no telling what sort of human guards may be with them. If you see anything at all, don’t hesitate, just run.”
“What about you?” Mattie asked.
“This should take but a minute,” Simon explained. “I’ll be back out before you have time to grow concerned.”
Mattie frowned. “I’m already concerned.”
Simon shrugged as he turned toward the telegraph office. “Then I shall have to work quickly.”
Glass clattered to the ground as Simon smashed a hole in the store’s front window. He reached through and unlocked the door, pushing it open and disappearing into the gloomy interior.
Mattie looked to Luthor, who smiled confidently.
“Watch him,” Luthor said, pointing at Orrick. “I’ll have this put together in a matter of seconds.”
Mattie looked down at the still prone man. “Do I need to turn back into a werewolf so that you behave?”
Orrick shook his head without reply.
She turned her attention back to Luthor, but lowered her voice so as not to be heard inside the store. “Is it safe to assume that this is not an ordinary apothecary concoction?”
Luthor lifted the twig and smiled before dropping it into the glass. It ignited in a brilliant blue flame before falling to ash.
“Clearly not,” he replied.
Mattie took the glass and knelt beside Orrick. The man flinched at her very presence, as though he could see the lingering mass of the werewolf concealed within her diminutive frame.
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