The Blood Thief of Whitten Hall (A Magic & Machinery Novel Book 2)

by Jon Messenger

  “Unless my eyes deceive me, I do believe that I’m in the presence of greatness,” a man said from behind him.

  Simon dropped his gaze and turned, coming face to face with a broad-shouldered man who stood a few inches taller than Simon did. The man wore no hat and his long hair was tied in a single braid that fell down his back. The man smiled broadly, an expression that seemed well at ease on his chiseled face.

  “Indeeed, I am in the presence of a true hero of the crown,” the man said. He turned toward a much younger man, barely out of boyhood, who stood beside him. “Peter, show some respect. You’re standing before Royal Inquisitor Simon Whitlock, slayer of demons.”

  Simon smiled and laughed softly at the young man’s awed expression. “Perhaps, Ambrose, you would be so kind as to carry a trumpet next time so as to better announce my presence?”

  Inquisitor Ambrose Supperwood laughed before patting Simon firmly on the shoulder, nearly knocking him aside. “It’s good to see that your fame has certainly not bewitched your sense of humility.”

  “Of course not,” Simon remarked ironically. “I’m by far one of the most humble men you’re likely to meet.”

  Inquisitor Supperwood turned toward his young charge. “Inquisitor Whitlock is an old friend of mine. We attended our schooling together a few years ago.”

  “We’ve been friends a long time,” Simon corrected. “Neither of us are hardly old.”

  “Of course not. In fact, I believe we’re still in our prime.”

  “Never felt better,” Simon quickly agreed.

  “Come on, then,” Ambrose chided. “I don’t believe this discussion of demons will advance far without the slayer himself.”

  Ambrose gestured toward the Grand Hall before them. Guards standing on either side of the doorway pulled the ten-foot doors apart as the two Inquisitors approached. Both guards bowed with a flourish at their presence, causing Simon some general discomfort.

  “Are you feeling well, Simon?” Ambrose whispered as they entered the buildings entry hall.

  “Of course,” Simon replied dismissively. “I surmise there’s just a small part of me that would rather forego today’s festivities in lieu of another assignment.”

  Ambrose nudged Peter, who rubbed his arm where the larger man had struck him. “He has the bug, Peter. Give the man a sense of the glory that comes with being an Inquisitor and he yearns for more. Is that about right, Simon?”

  Simon chuckled as he handed his top hat and jacket to a servant. “Nothing quite so abstruse, I’m afraid. It’s not the fame for which I yearn—”

  “Though you’re generally not opposed, I should say,” Ambrose interrupted.

  “I certainly won’t argue. No, it’s less the fame and far more the freedom. There was a palpable excitement when Luthor and I discovered the real mystery behind the goings-on in Haversham. It makes my heart race at just the thought.”

  Ambrose shook his head. “Mr. Strong. Are you still traveling with the apothecary? When will you get a proper apprentice like Peter?”

  Simon looked to the young and hopeful apprentice. “Never. No offense meant, Peter, but I simply prefer the company of someone closer to my own age. Besides which, Luthor proved invaluable in defeating Gideon Dosett.”

  Ambrose huffed. “An Inquisitor of your caliber, one trained by the Grand Inquisitor himself, should be teaching our future generations rather than dallying about with a medical professional. I apologize. This conversation is neither here nor there. What were we discussing before I rudely interrupted you?”

  “I do believe that is the first time you’ve ever properly apologized for interrupting me. Perhaps you have changed. In any regard, I was discussing the thrill of the hunt. I should say you’re more than familiar with that sensation.”

  Ambrose shook his head. “Alas, I’m not. I haven’t received so thrilling an assignment in some time. In fact, my last assignment was investigating a demon bird harassing a logging expedition. It turned out to be merely a large bat to which someone had affixed a duck’s bill. Can you imagine a more preposterous creature?”

  “A forgery, then?” Simon asked as a valet directed them toward the large meeting hall.

  “Most certainly, and poor taxidermy work at that. Even Peter saw right through the guise, though how the loggers hadn’t is still beyond me. It was most certainly a waste of Inquisitor resources and time.”

  The meeting hall doors were open and the interior exceptionally crowded. The din of conversation rolled from the room, filling even the foyer with a general indistinguishable rumble of voices. Simon paused at the doorway and looked into the busy room beyond.

  The meeting hall was a tiered affair, with rows of seats rising to either side of a central floor. The middle of the room was open, save for a raised dais near the far end of the chamber on which a pair of ornate chairs rested. Behind the chairs were two doors, closed at the moment, leading to hidden rooms beyond.

  The middle of the room was as much of a divide between philosophies as was the central hall of parliament, in which either side of the room held the two opposing political ideations. In the Inquisitors’ hall, however, the two sides worked toward a common goal, though the means to their end differed greatly.

  To the left, the seats were filled with Inquisitors of Simon’s and Ambrose’s order, those who investigated reports of magical maladies with due diligence. Simon noticed many a familiar face amongst the Inquisitors and a few even offered friendly nods as he caught their eyes.

  Simon’s gaze drifted to the right side of the room, where the Order of Kinder Pel sat, talking amongst themselves. They looked no different than his own Inquisitors, though Simon knew there was darkness within the Pellites, one of fanaticism that would see magic destroyed by any means necessary, collateral damage be damned.

  “They even appear as hulking brutes,” Ambrose remarked as he too glanced toward the Pellites.

  “Give them nary another thought,” Simon said. “We should find seats. We’re practically late as it is.”

  The two men wove through the rows of seats, Simon receiving a fair share of pats on the back and offered handshakes. There were seats available near the top of the tiered seats, the front-most seats having been reserved for those with more political clout than a mere second-year Inquisitor.

  Simon and Ambrose sat and gave polite introductions to the men sitting on either side. They settled back in their chairs and glanced across the vast space between the two factions. A few Pellites glanced toward them as they talked in low tones.

  The sheer number of Pellites filling the seats, which had nearly reached maximum capacity, took Simon aback. “I don’t recall there ever being so many of them before.”

  Ambrose shook his head. “Their numbers have been growing steadily over the past year. The younger generation seems more astutely attuned to their brazen approach to investigations, finding our more practiced approach to be archaic and old-fashioned.”

  Simon laughed. “We’re in our thirties, and yet somehow time has already passed us by, it seems.”

  “Still in our prime,” Ambrose echoed from their earlier conversation.

  Simon crossed his arms over his chest and frowned. “They’re mere children, barely older than Peter, yet they’re being sent on missions just the same as we are. It seems mildly blasphemous.”

  “I concur, yet we’ll never be rid of the Pellites. Despite their brutish ways, their results speak for themselves. They have uncovered more hidden nests of monsters than we have, not in spite of their methods but because of them.”

  “They uncover these things through torture and inhumane practices. Thank you, but no. I’ll remain true to our methods of inquiry.”

  “You’re preaching to the preacher, Simon,” Ambrose remarked.

  The two doors in the back of the room opened, and everyone in the room quickly climbed to their feet. Through the doorways, two men entered. Dressed in heavy robes, the two elderly gentlemen walked onto the central floor before takin
g their seats on the raised dais.

  The speaker of the house stepped forward and drove a tall staff onto the marble floor. The sound echoed through the silent chamber and, as one, the Inquisitors took their seats.

  “This tenth meeting of the Inquisitors has come to order,” the speaker announced.

  As quickly as he arrived, the speaker retreated between the ornate chairs and walked briskly through the rear exit. For a moment, the room was cast in silence. The Grand Inquisitor and Grand Maester looked slowly around the room, examining those in attendance.

  Slowly, the Grand Inquisitor stood. The elderly man, his hair white with age and his face deep set with wrinkles, looked around the room as he cleared his throat.

  “There is a grave danger threatening the sovereignty of our great kingdom,” he said, his strong voice belying his frail appearance. “We have known for years that the Rift posed a threat, that the magic seeping from its depths could upend our very way of life. Yet it seems we’ve underestimated the very nature of the Rift. As we struggled to contain incursions of magical creatures, a much greater threat was infiltrating our realm. I speak of demons!”

  At the mention of the word, the room broke out in both angry and scared voices. Simon could easily understand the conflicting emotions carried by the crowd. He, too, had experienced both fear and anger when facing the demon in Haversham, nearly simultaneously.

  The Grand Inquisitor raised his hand, and the room fell silent once more. The Grand Maester, leader of the Order of Kinder Pel, motioned toward the main entrance. A pair of guards wheeled a cart forward, prostate on which was a disturbingly familiar sight.

  Gideon Dosett’s body remained the inky blackness of his reverted demon self, rather than the slightly pale, fleshy tone Simon had known upon their first meeting. A single long, curled horn jutted from his forehead and curved around his ear. Where a second horn had once protruded, only a broken stump remained. Sightless red eyes stared at the hall’s ceiling, no longer burning with their infernal fire but intimidating nonetheless.

  Simon felt his gut churn at the sight of the demon’s body. Though the Inquisitors in the room had all heard the story of its existence, only Simon, Luthor, and Mattie had faced the monster when it was alive. The memory of its raw power and the still-healing wounds it had given them all were still fresh in Simon’s mind.

  The presence of the demon’s body caused a ripple of commotion through the meeting hall. Simon ignored the individual remarks, his eyes never leaving Gideon’s body, as though he expected the demon to rise from its grave and seek revenge. Simon had known that they would be discussing the presence of demons in their kingdom but never had he expected the body to be presented before him.

  The Grand Inquisitor raised his hand once more, and the room settled again. “We have brought forth the remains of the demon to end any discussion or skepticism of its validity. This should be proof enough that all is not well within our borders. The demon wore the guise of a human, worming his way into the confidence of even the regional governor before making his move toward the very throne of our city.”

  The Grand Maester, who looked at least a decade younger than the Grand Inquisitor, climbed from his chair as well. “For those who reside beyond Callifax, we ask that you seek out with all diligence any evidence of further demons within our borders. For those who are within the city, use every opportunity during your assignments to find proof that this demon was the exception within our lands, rather than the rule. It is up to you all to keep our kingdom secure from the occult menace from the south!”

  Simon sat back in his chair and stared at the body. His eyes were not the only ones affixed to the corpse, but Simon quickly tuned out those around him. The meeting droned on, even as the conversation moved beyond the demon and its implications, but Simon barely acknowledged the further discussion. His thoughts drifted not only to Gideon Dosett and all that had transpired in Haversham, but to the tribe of werewolves that still existed beyond the frozen city’s high walls. Simon had risked not only his career but his very life in concealing the truth from the rest of the Inquisitors, though he knew a secret that even Luthor did not. Technically, there was one other Inquisitor who knew of the werewolves’ existence. It was only a matter of time until Simon would have to answer for his decisions regarding their continued existence.

  Nearly an hour later, the speaker of the house returned and rapped his staff upon the floor once more, adjourning the meeting. Individual sects of Inquisitors would now segregate themselves into committee meetings to discuss further aspects of missions and policy, though Simon belonged to none of these.

  Instead, he and Ambrose stood and prepared to make their way toward the exit. Simon glanced over once more toward the displayed corpse and shivered in disgust. His gaze drifted past the body to the Grand Inquisitor and Grand Maester, both of whom stood stoically before their ornate chairs. A bald Pellite stood beside the Grand Maester as they spoke in hushed tones. The Grand Maester’s gaze drifted in Simon’s direction, and Simon arched his eyebrow inquisitively. The bald Pellite nodded and began crossing the room’s divide as he approached their tiered seats.

  “Inquisitor Whitlock,” the man said, gesturing for Simon to join him near the floor. “May I have a moment of your time, if you please?”

  Simon glanced toward Ambrose, but the taller man merely shrugged. Together, they walked down an aisle that led to the floor, stopping before the Pellite.

  “Thank you for meeting with me,” the man said. “My name is Inquisitor Creary. Grand Maester Arrus is most impressed by your defeat of the demon and would like to discuss your adventures, or misadventures as they may have been, in a private meeting.”

  Simon glanced over Creary’s shoulder and met the gaze of the stern Grand Maester. The Maester nodded slowly, acknowledging Simon.

  “I’m most flattered by the invitation,” Simon said, wracking his mind for an excuse not to meet with the Grand Maester. While he had nothing against the man, the thought of meeting with the leader of the Order of Kinder Pel was off-putting, considering how often Simon had spent railing against their very existence.

  “If you would join me, the Grand Maester has time now, if that suits your schedule.”

  Before Simon could reply, another voice cut through the emptying chamber.

  “Simon,” the Grand Inquisitor bellowed. Simon looked up, relieved as the Grand Inquisitor gestured for Simon to join him. “We have much to discuss, you and I, if you would be so kind as to accompany me to my office.”

  “Of course, Your Eminence,” Simon replied. He turned his attention back to Creary. “Forgive me, Inquisitor, but it appears I am needed elsewhere. Please apologize to the Grand Maester and let him know that I will most certainly meet with him at a more agreeable time.”

  Creary frowned and glanced over his shoulder, but the Grand Maester’s expression revealed nothing. The Pellite turned back toward Simon without emotion, revealing neither disappointment nor relief at Simon’s refusal.

  “Forgive us, but we are needed by the Grand Inquisitor,” Ambrose remarked, breaking the silence. “If you could kindly move aside. You’re blocking the exit.”

  Creary turned his gaze toward the charismatic Inquisitor and frowned. The broad smile on Ambrose’s face remained even as he dropped his voice low enough so that only Creary and Simon could hear his follow-on remarks.

  “Now do run along and pull the wings from flies or whatever it is you Pellites do during your free time.”

  Creary’s frown deepened with anger. “Be careful. Your tongue will get you in trouble one of these days.”

  Ambrose merely laughed. “My dear man. My tongue has quite some notoriety for causing trouble, especially with the fairer sex.”

  The Pellite turned abruptly and returned to the side of the Grand Maester.

  Simon shook his head as he turned his attention back to Ambrose. “You’re incorrigible, you realize? He wasn’t being disrespectful, though I struggle to say the same about you.”r />
  “Any respect you perceived was a falsehood meant to deceive you. The Pellites are brutes, and none more so than the one with whom you were talking.”

  Simon glanced toward the bald man who now had his back to them. “Then who is this Inquisitor Creary?”

  “He’s the Grand Maester’s confidant but also, more often than not, his enforcer.”

  Simon took in the man’s broad shoulders and square jaw. Though he looked fit, he hardly seemed like a physical threat.

  As though interpreting Simon’s expression, Ambrose shook his head. “Do not underestimate the man. What he lacks in stature, he more than makes up for in brutality. The problem is that Creary is indicative of their entire Order, to include their more youthful recruits. They all lack class. That brute, especially, is a curmudgeon. In a sea of sophisticated rapiers, that man is a veritable battle axe.”

  Simon broke his gaze away from the Pellite and noted the Grand Inquisitor’s rapid approach. “If that’s the case, then I owe you both an apology and my thanks. Though, truth be told, I certainly didn’t need your help when dealing with a strong arm from the Order of Kinder Pel.”

  “Of course not,” Ambrose replied, his mood lightening considerably as he, too, hurried to finish their conversation before the Grand Inquisitor’s arrival. “That being said, I enjoyed myself immensely at someone else’s expense, which I categorize as the start to an exceptional party.”

  “Belittling Pellites is your idea of fun?”

  “Naturally.”

  The Grand Inquisitor stopped in front of the two men, and they both bowed their heads respectfully. The Grand Inquisitor nodded in return, and the two men met his gaze.

  “Join me, Simon,” the Grand Inquisitor said. “There is much you and I have to discuss.”