He approached as though expecting a familiar hug, but Simon’s expression stopped him cold. “Javin Dane,” Simon remarked. “You’ve come a long way for a pirate.”
“Privateer now,” Captain Dane corrected, tapping the epaulets on his shoulders. “I’m amazed, Simon. You’ve hardly changed in the past ten years. Have you found a fountain of youth?”
Simon took a deep breath, calming himself. “No, Javin, I’ve found an outlet for my frustrations.”
“Yes?” the captain asked inquisitively.
“I find that every time I get too terribly upset with someone, I merely shoot them. That way, I ensure I don’t surround myself with too much negativity.”
The captain’s smile faltered for a moment, and the Grand Inquisitor took Simon by the arm. “We have a meeting with the king. We must be off.” The older man turned toward Javin. “Forgive our abrupt departure, Captain.”
“Think nothing of it, Grand Inquisitor. Do take care, Simon. I hope to see you again soon.”
“No,” Simon corrected. “No, you don’t.”
As Captain Dane hurried away to catch up to the rest of his cohorts, Simon turned and followed the Grand Inquisitor.
“Is that the same man with whom you once—” his mentor began to ask.
Simon nodded, stopping the Grand Inquisitor from finishing his sentence. Wordlessly, they followed their guide into the throne room.
Wide pillars rose toward the vaulted ceiling overhead. They walked along an intricate red-and-gold rug, but their footsteps still echoed throughout the chamber. Simon turned his head, glancing left and right, following the raised walkway that ran the perimeter of the rounded room. Small hallways exited from the cushioned walkway, disappearing deeper into the labyrinth of passages and rooms that lay buried in the heart of the castle.
Light flooded into the room through hundreds of small windows covering the walls. It poured in long beams, making the far end of the chamber hard to see. Simon could see a raised dais and the outline of the throne resting atop it, but he could make out little of the details.
The rays of light left the room abnormally warm. Simon could feel sweat beading on his brow, though he wasn’t sure if it was from the heat or his nervousness. The Grand Inquisitor had been intentionally vague in discussing their meeting, though he didn’t seem quite as nervous as Simon did. That did little to set the Inquisitor’s mind at ease, however.
As they passed through more of the light, persistently following their guide, the details of the throne grew more pronounced. The gilded gold chair rose taller than a man, its trim inlaid with gemstones of assorted sizes. The gold of the chair itself changed abruptly into red velvet cushions sewn into its back. As they grew closer, Simon could see the man upon the throne.
King Uriah Godwin was small in stature and, in many ways, reminded Simon of Luthor. He lacked an impressive physical demeanor and being in his presence, aside from his position as ruler of Ocker, hardly left Simon feeling intimidated. He had the same narrow, wide eyes and weak chin of his ancestors. The king had a full head of hair, as far as Simon could discern, though much of it was concealed beneath a heavy crown. He carried a hooknose that left him unattractive, but he wore a kind expression, one that immediately put Simon at ease.
“Your Highness,” the guide announced in a voice that echoed around the chamber, “I present to you Grand Inquisitor Ulster Highworth and Royal Inquisitor Simon Whitlock.”
The three men bowed deeply, as was the custom, their eyes cast upon the floor. They knew not to rise until the king bade them. For a long moment, Simon wondered if he ever would, though he didn’t know the king’s custom.
“Rise, please,” the king replied, his voice far stronger and deeper than Simon would have believed from such a diminutive man.
The three men stood once more and looked upon King Godwin. The king adjusted his crown, which seemed a touch too large for his frame. Simon realized the man carried a golden scepter in his hand, which he fiddled with absently as he spoke to the Inquisitors.
“You’re dismissed,” the king said to their guide.
The guide bowed deeply once more before retreating. He hurried from the room, closing the door behind him. Once the guide was gone, the king turned his attention toward the two men.
“Thank you for responding to my summons,” the king said, his voice not nearly as stern once the guide was gone. “I know the work of Royal Inquisitors, especially those as renowned as the two of you, must keep you busy.”
“Think nothing of it, your Highness,” the Grand Inquisitor replied. “We live to serve.”
The king waved his hand at the older man’s remark. “There is no need for such formality. I didn’t call you here to praise me. I have more than enough men in my retinue to do such things. You two serve a far more important role to the kingdom. In fact, I had the stuffiness removed from this very chamber because it was far too intimidating to those holding court. Large suits of iron armor, heavy and cumbersome, used to line the catwalk. I think it looks far more approachable without it.”
Standing, he walked down the few steps until he was on the same level with the Inquisitors. Simon realized that, with his hat, he towered over the small king. Closer and out of the glaring light, Simon noticed that despite his abnormal facial features, the king looked very young, far younger than Simon himself. He didn’t know exactly how old King Uriah had been when he ascended to the throne, but the years had left him young.
“Royal Inquisitor Whitlock. You’ve done many great services for the crown. The Grand Inquisitor has told me of your exploits against the werewolves, and most recently against vampires. You’ve even slain a demon. No small challenge, I’m sure.”
Simon cleared his throat. “My thanks to you, Your Highness. I was merely doing my duty to the crown.”
“That is exactly why I’ve called you here. I presume the Grand Inquisitor has told you of the troubles to the south?”
Simon glanced cautiously toward his mentor, but the older man merely nodded.
“Yes, your Highness. He’s informed me that the Kingdom of Kohvus has fallen to the army of the Rift.”
The king turned away and paced his chamber. “Yes, the army of the Rift. My spies inform me it’s led by a single dark figure, a lord of shadows, if you will. His very description made me think of the demon you slew, not its physicality, mind you, but his ability to command great forces.”
“You believe it to be another demon?” the Inquisitor asked.
“I do,” the king said quietly. “Can you imagine if another demon has escaped the Rift? How many more could have followed suit, infecting the lands? Without the Kohvelian Knights to retard their conquest, I fear we may be seeing a flood of abominations attempting to enter our lands.”
King Uriah turned and walked back to the two men. “That is why I’ve called you here. Grand Inquisitor Highworth has served the crown admirably these past ten years, but he grows older, though still spry, I’m led to believe.”
The Grand Inquisitor bowed slightly. “Your Highness flatters me.”
“Someday, he will need a successor. After much deliberation between the Grand Inquisitor and after hearing of your numerous exploits, we believe you to be that man.”
Simon was dumbfounded. He didn’t know quite how to respond. Of all the reasons to be called to the throne room, being granted the mantle of leadership for the Royal Inquisitors hadn’t made his list.
“I’m… well, I’m honored, of course, Your Highness,” he stammered.
The king smiled. “Well, you can’t very well have it until the current Grand Inquisitor retires, of course. You’ll have to wait your turn.”
“Of course. I never meant—”
“This will be a great opportunity for you to learn from him,” the king continued, and Simon realized he would be better suited remaining silent. “Your duties from this point forward will be solely at the Grand Inquisitor’s side, learning the nuances of leadership and the more businesslike compon
ents of leading my Royal Inquisitors. It’s surprisingly complex but due to the Grand Inquisitor’s professionalism, virtually invisible to the naked eye. Let’s not forget,” he said, glancing at the elder statesman and winking, “that the duties also include managing relationships with the Order of Kinder Pel.”
Simon frowned for a number of reasons. The mention of the Order of Kinder Pel left an ache in his chest. The counterpoint to his sect of Royal Inquisitors, the Order served the crown with the same responsibilities, yet far differing means to reach the same ends. Whereas the Inquisitors were a surgeon’s scalpel, investigating magical outbreaks and removing them where necessary, the Pellites were a mallet, indifferent to the collateral damage they caused.
His true displeasure, however, came from the mention of staying close by the Grand Inquisitor’s side. He was a field investigator and, was he to be honest with himself, one of the best. He and Luthor had solved a number of cases, and though many turned out to be charlatans or tomfoolery, they were effectively and efficiently handled. Leaving the field to become a permanent fixture at the Grand Hall was, frankly, depressing.
He wanted to voice his dissent but knew better. The king had spoken and his word was law. Instead, he bowed deeply. “Thank you, Your Highness.”
The king smiled warmly. “I will be keeping my eye on you, Inquisitor Whitlock. I expect great things from you in the future.”
Simon and the Grand Inquisitor noted the change in the king’s tone, signifying the end of their conversation. King Uriah immediately turned and walked back up the steps to his throne, where he sat. As though on cue, the throne room doors behind them opened and their guide reappeared. Simon and his mentor both bowed deeply before excusing themselves from the grand room. As they passed beyond the throne room, the doors quickly shut behind them. Their guide bowed to them both before vanishing through a side door, leaving both men alone in the castle’s atrium.
They walked toward the front doors, which were pulled open for them by guards. Through the open portal, they could see their car already pulled around, the back door open, awaiting their return. The two men hurried inside and took their customary seats before the driver pulled away from the curb.
Neither man spoke until they were beyond the guard tower and back onto the main roads of Callifax.
“This is a great honor, I hope you realize that,” the Grand Inquisitor said.
Simon nodded, though he already wondered how he’d break the news to Luthor and Mattie. The apothecary was only allowed on missions because of his working relationship with Simon. Without it, Luthor would return to a much more mundane life of a city apothecary, filling prescriptions and treating the typical maladies. It was for Matilda that Simon had far more concern. She was a werewolf, a secret that he, Luthor, and the Grand Inquisitor seemed keen to keep. Her presence in the city was on behalf of her people, as she sought to keep them safe against the Inquisitors themselves. He shivered at the thought of what would happen without his protection.
“I’m well aware that this isn’t the life you would have chosen for yourself. I apologize that I couldn’t have given you a better warning prior to our arrival at the castle. Frankly, I thought you’d be flattered.”
“I am.” Simon sighed, though that was mostly a lie. “I just worry about my friends and their ongoing… predicament.”
The Grand Inquisitor nodded. “I understand, and I promise you an answer before the week is out.”
Their car rolled to a stop before Simon’s townhouse. The Inquisitor retrieved his top hat from the seat beside him and his pistol from underneath before nodding to the Grand Inquisitor.
“Take the next week to set your affairs in order,” the older man said. “After that, come to the Grand Hall and we shall discuss our way ahead.”
“Very good, sir,” Simon morosely said.
He slipped from the car and climbed the steps. His mind was awhirl with the events that had transpired, so much so that he was nearly to his door before he noticed it slightly ajar. Instinctively, his hand fell to his waist and he slid his silver revolver from its holster.
The door opened quietly; it was well oiled for just such a purpose. The foyer was dark, but he could see lights pouring from the sitting room and the kitchen beyond. There were voices, muffled but audible, coming from the far rooms. Simon stepped into the study, noting the teacups setting on the table and a thick pile of folders resting on one of the empty chairs.
Luthor stepped around the corner of the kitchen and nearly dropped the teapot in his hand, as he noticed Simon and his threatening weapon. He let out a faint yelp, which caused Mattie to rush to his side, teeth bared. Both his companions relaxed as they realized who it was.
Simon sighed and lowered his pistol, slipping it back into its holster. “I nearly shot you both, I hope you realize.”
“Oh, trust us, we realize,” Luthor said breathlessly.
“The door was ajar and…” Simon said in a mumbled form of apology.
“That would be my fault,” Mattie said. “We had such exciting news that we figured it best to wait for you at your home, rather than try to catch you upon your return.”
Simon furrowed his brow, wondering what news they could be bringing. He suddenly remembered the mission he had sent them on, searching out case files for Gloria’s death, along with any other similar cases the constabulary might be investigating.
“You acquired the files?” he asked excitedly and, he admitted to himself, a little surprised.
“We didn’t have to,” Luthor admitted. He stepped aside, revealing a tall man leaning against a countertop in the kitchen. “The files actually came to us.”
Doctor Youke Casan stood and walked to Luthor’s side, blushing slightly.
“Why are you here, Doctor?” Simon asked, perplexed.
Doctor Casan walked past Simon and collected the stack of files resting on the chair. Lifting the topmost, he laid it on the table and opened it. Within, a grainy photo of Gloria—her skin pale and waxy—stared up at him. Intrigued, the Inquisitor walked to the sofa opposite the doctor and sat.
“You were right, of course,” Casan said. “I was forbidden from mentioning it while the detective was present, but your friend was murdered.”
Simon glanced over his shoulder toward the stairwell. Luthor sat across from Simon and shook his head. “Don’t worry, sir, she’s not upstairs. Miss Dawn went out for a walk shortly after our arrival. It was actually she that let us in.”
Frowning, the Inquisitor turned back toward his friends, even as Mattie sat on the couch beside him. “You let her leave? You know that she’s not well.”
“Should we have restrained her?” Mattie asked.
Simon paused before shaking his head. “No, of course not. Forgive us, Doctor. Let’s return to the issue at hand. How can you be sure Gloria was murdered?”
Casan glanced nervously between the two men before his gaze settled on Mattie. “Perhaps this is a topic better discussed somewhere where a lady isn’t present?”
Luthor laughed, but Mattie replied before he could. “If you think I’m that sort of a lady, then it merely proves you know nothing about me.”
“She’s quite correct,” Simon confirmed. “I dare say she has a better constitution for such discussions than even Luthor or I.”
The doctor ran a hand over his short-cropped hair before nodding. Standing abruptly, he walked to the window that overlooked the street below. He quickly pulled the curtains, blocking the view either in or out of the townhouse. “Forgive me,” he said as he returned to the armchair, “but what I’m showing you isn’t entirely legal. I could lose my job or worse if Detective Sugden discovered my whereabouts.”
“Have no fear,” Simon replied. “You have our complete discretion.”
Casan cleared his throat. “I confirmed your friend’s death was a murder at the scene, even before conducting my autopsy. Your friend’s leg was…” He glanced awkwardly once more toward Mattie, who met his uncertain gaze with a stern
one of her own. “Her leg was amputated just below the hip.”
Despite being told that Veronica was on a walk, Simon still glanced cautiously toward the front door before their conversation continued. “Could it have been post-mortem?”
“She died of extreme blood loss,” Casan said, shaking his head. “The incision and amputation was done while she was still awake and with surgical precision.”
Mattie covered her mouth in surprise. Even Luthor blanched at the thought. Simon leaned back into the sofa and stared down at the pale-faced woman in the black-and-white photograph.
“Wouldn’t she have screamed?” Mattie asked. “Wouldn’t someone have heard her assault and come to her aid? Certainly Callifax isn’t so callous a city that people would amble past so vicious and violent an attack.”
Casan spread the photos, revealing a page of small, tight handwriting beneath. The words were printed so small that they were hardly legible but were written in nearly perfect straight lines across the yellowed page. From beneath it, Casan pulled another photograph, this one of the side of Gloria’s neck. Despite the low quality of the photo, Simon could still see the tight blond curls splayed beside her head. Circled in red wax pencil in the middle of the photo, the doctor pointed to a slightly discolored dot on the page. Had he not drawn Simon’s attention to it, the Inquisitor would have dismissed it as a blemish on the photograph’s printing process.
“You can read my full autopsy if you so desire, but I’ve taken the liberty of answering many of your questions here and now. As you can see highlighted here on the photo, your friend—Gloria, if I may—had a puncture wound on the side of her neck, just below her left ear, a clear mark of a low-gauge needle, perhaps a syringe. Upon discovering the mark, I took it upon myself to run a full-spectrum analysis of her blood, at which time, I found large quantities of Curare in her system.”
Simon sat upright and glanced toward Luthor, who seemed equally intrigued. “Curare, you say?”
The doctor nodded, though he seemed confused as to everyone’s sudden interest. “You seem familiar with the drug. I had thought it a rare find.”
The Golem of Solomon's Way Page 9