The Blood Thief of Whitten Hall (A Magic & Machinery Novel Book 2)
Page 10
Luthor sighed. “I suppose I shall pack my things, then?”
Simon smiled. “Indeed, though try to pack your general optimism, if you could. It seems to be sorely lacking since the news of our new mission.”
Luthor slid his glasses onto the bridge of his nose and returned his wistful stare to his companion. “Sir, my morose attitude is not due to the mission at hand, though I think the whole misadventure of eight wasted days on a train just to disprove a sloppy… forgive me, noncommittal hoax is a pathetic use of our time. No, my saddened demeanor is because there are no less than four libraries, sixteen alehouses, and five new apothecaries, all of which I intended to visit during our, what I presumed to be, lengthy stay in Callifax. While I have visited the libraries and apothecaries, my patronage in the alehouses is severely lacking.”
“That is a dreadful business,” Simon admitted. “Upon our return, I’ll buy the first round. Out of curiosity, is your interest in apothecaries and alehouses in any way linked? You are known to brew some exceptional draughts, which put the intoxicating effects of alcohol to shame.”
Mattie politely cleared her throat, garnering the attention of the two men. “What shall I pack for this trip? I know nothing of the area and, though I’m sure I loathe to admit it, I simply can’t bring myself to pack another suffocating dress.”
Simon laughed. “Whitten Hall is in the forest, full of men of wilderness persuasions and occupations. A dress would be sorely out of place in the environment.”
“Thank the heavens,” Mattie replied, exhaling audibly. “If I had to squeeze my body into another corset, I’m sure I’d scream. Except I couldn’t, mind you, since the corsets in Callifax completely stop me from properly inhaling. I won’t even bore you with the uncomfortable things these corsets do to my cleavage.”
Luthor blushed. “Oh, I don’t think we’d be bored at all by that conversation.”
Simon laughed as he stood from his seat. “I shall leave you two alone as I go and pack as well.”
“Give Veronica our best, should you see her,” Luthor replied.
“Of course he’s going to see her,” Mattie chided.
“Just so long as he’s not late for our departure tomorrow morning,” the apothecary hastily added. “I don’t suppose they’d keep the train just for an absent Inquisitor, now would they, sir?”
“I shan’t be late,” Simon replied. “Ten o’clock sharp on the west platform. I’ll see you both there.”
They walked the Inquisitor to the door before shaking hands and bidding each other good night. Simon retrieved his top hat from the coat rack near the front door before stepping into the cool evening air.
Much of the day had passed between his conversation with the Grand Inquisitor and the planning of their mission to Whitten Hall. Simon walked briskly toward his home next door and packed hastily. His clothing was hardly packed with any semblance of order or thought toward its later retrieval. Instead, he considered the multitude of ways in which he could tell Veronica that he was already leaving Callifax, sent away on another mission.
For someone so brilliant at solving puzzles and crimes, Simon was at a loss for ideas.
Simon walked through the haze of smoke that filled the air within the Ace of Spades. The house of ill repute wasn’t quite as busy as it had been the night before, but most tables were still occupied. The Inquisitor took his familiar seat but waved away the waitress as she approached. He wasn’t interested in either drink or cigarette tonight, his mind already awash with the bad news he had come to share with Veronica.
He drummed his fingers absently on the table as the house lights dimmed. The recessed lights around the stage’s perimeter flared to life, filling the stage with a nearly blinding brilliance.
Simon smiled solemnly as Veronica took the stage. She wore a feathered bustier and matching undergarments, an outfit of which Simon was more than familiar. He doubted there was a single costume Veronica owned which he could not identify with little more than a passing glance. It wasn’t just a result of his exceptional memory. Repetition bred familiarity, and he had most certainly been a repeat customer at the Ace of Spades.
As Veronica began her performance, Simon averted his gaze. Watching her act, as she removed articles of clothing, was a painful distraction from his actual purpose.
His gaze drifted over the room and settled on familiar faces. The shadowed man in the booth across the floor from Simon was in attendance again tonight, his features still mostly disguised despite the brilliance of the stage lights. Though the nobleman from the night before was curiously absent, another flamboyant and rowdy man of affluence had taken his place near the stage. The nobleman, if that was indeed what he was, called futilely toward Veronica to garner her attention, but Simon knew it was for naught. Despite the reputation of businesses like the Ace of Spades, the performers were professionals at heart. It was a burlesque house, not a brothel. In fact, his and Veronica’s first encounter had ended poorly for him, as he had made the same incorrect assumption about her intents, as did the man near the stage.
Within minutes, the music faded into obscurity and Veronica’s show ended. The stage lights faded to black while the house lights remained dimmed. The transition from stark light to relative darkness left orbs of blue dancing in Simon’s vision.
Veronica quickly exited the stage under the cloak of darkness, followed by the rambunctious cheers of the audience, who were as equally blinded as Simon. As the Inquisitor blinked away the artifacts of the stage lights, he slid back from the table and walked toward the entrance beside the stage.
As the night before, the man guarding the doorway hastily stepped aside, allowing Simon to enter the backstage area. A new collection of women were quickly changing or applying copious amounts of makeup prior to their turn on stage. Simon recognized most but paid them no heed. He was focused solely on Veronica’s private changing room near the back of the open area.
The door to her room was closed, though he didn’t hesitate to knock. He could hear the sound of furniture and could imagine her turning her chair slightly from the vanity to peer toward the closed door. He knew her mannerisms as well as her stage clothing.
“Come in,” Veronica replied, her voice muffled by the closed door.
Simon opened the door slightly and peered within, ensuring Veronica was decent. “Might I enter?”
“Simon!” she exclaimed. “Of course you may come in. I didn’t think you’d be able to watch me perform tonight.”
“Originally I thought I would be otherwise occupied, but it seems that all my plans are changing.”
Her smile faltered as he entered. Though he had mentioned nothing of his mission, his expression told her all she needed to know.
“Are you leaving so soon?”
Simon nodded slowly as he pursed his lips with disappointment. “Sadly, I am. Luthor and I have received another assignment.”
Veronica stood from the vanity and placed her hands on her hips. Though her stance decried defiance to his new mission, her expression was still softened with sadness and concern.
“You’ve only just returned. Isn’t there someone else who could be going?”
“Dozens more, I would imagine,” Simon replied, “many of whom would gladly leap at the opportunity.”
“Yet they chose you?”
Simon rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “There are extenuating circumstances. As Luthor has repeatedly put it, I have been making poor life choices lately.”
Veronica bit her lip, and any semblance of her stern consternation faded. The logical, emotionless man who had sat at Luthor’s table faded with her sudden flood of emotion, and he quickly embraced her.
“Forgive me, my love. This was certainly not the way I planned our happy reunion.”
Veronica wiped her eyes, smearing the thick mascara beneath her lids. “I waited for nearly two months while you were away in Haversham only to have you return and leave again so soon afterward. Will you be gone long?”
Veronica broke abruptly from his embrace and turned toward the vanity. “My makeup has run,” she muttered to herself. “I look a mess.”
“Veronica? Please talk to me.”
She turned slowly and sat on the edge of the table, her back pressed against the mirror. Her face was flushed from the inner turmoil and conflicting emotions.
“What am I to do, Simon? Shall I wait for you patiently? Shall I stand on the train platform day after day, hoping you arrive on the next train while secretly praying that you haven’t encountered some terrible monster during your assignment?”
Simon stood without reply, staring at the disheveled yet still attractive brunette before him. Veronica stood once more and walked toward him before slipping her arms around his waist and laying her head on his chest.
“That’s not me, Simon,” she whispered, though her words carried clearly through the quiet changing room. “I’m not the doting lady in waiting who cares for house and home while her lover is away. You said it yourself; I work in a den of sin. For God’s sake, I take my clothes off for money. I’m hardly better than the ladies of the night roaming the streets, searching for the sailors on shore leave with far too much alcohol in their bodies, too much coin in their purses, and far too little brains in their heads.”
“You’re far too pretty to be a prostitute and not nearly desperate enough.”
He could feel her shoulders shake faintly with laughter. “You drive me to it.”
“Would you prefer I left coin on your nightstand before I leave next time?”
She took a step back and stared at the taller man. Her expression was serious once more. “I would prefer you didn’t leave at all, your and my reputation be damned.”
“Very well,” he said with a soft smile.
Her eyes widened in surprise. “You’ll stay?”
“Under one condition—marry me.”
Words failed Veronica as she sought a reply.
“I don’t expect an answer now,” Simon quickly added. “In fact, I would be quite put out if you didn’t give this the amount of thought it so rightfully deserves. Think about my proposal and what I offer you, and I’ll ask for your answer upon my return.”
When Veronica still didn’t speak, Simon cleared his throat uncomfortably. “When I said I didn’t expect an answer, it was solely to my proposal. I would be quite fine if you were to say something, such as, ‘Simon, you’re a bloody fool,’ or ‘get out of my dressing room before I’m forced to throw a shoe’.”
Veronica smiled, though Simon could clearly see her mind still deep in thought. “Some days, I wonder how I ever fell in love with such an odd man as yourself.”
“Alcohol would be my assumption,” Simon joked.
She slipped her arms around his neck and pulled him to her. Her lips were velvety as they kissed deeply. As quickly as the kiss began, it ended abruptly as she placed a hand on his chest and forced him away.
“Go,” she demanded. “You’ve already undone hours’ worth of makeup during your brief visit. I have much more to do before my next performance.”
“I’ll see you when I return, I promise you that, and I’ll expect an answer when I do.”
The corners of her mouth rose in an imitation of a true smile. “You shall have it, but not until your return. Now get out of my dressing room before I’m forced to throw a shoe.”
Simon laughed, but his laughter quickly faded as she playfully threw a heeled shoe in his direction. He slipped into the doorway and began pulling the door closed behind him. Before it closed completely, he slid his head back through the opening.
“Until I return, my love.”
She replied by throwing the shoe’s mate in his direction.
Simon carried a small suitcase with him as he climbed the three half steps to the station’s main platform. The rest of his luggage had been sent ahead with a valet and had, presumably, already been loaded on the train.
Cresting the last step, he found himself walking alongside the engine of the train as it rested in the station. Polished brass glimmered in the trickling sunlight, a stark contrast to the oiled black of the smoke stack rising from its core like the maw of an angry dragon. Black smoke belched from the chimney, rising into the air before dissipating as it was caught by the blowing wind. A conductor stood beside the engine and nodded politely as Simon passed.
The cars behind the engine were all passenger cars. Their exteriors were richly stained red oak, banded together by more of the polished brass. Innumerable glass windows lined each passenger compartment, allowing Simon an unfettered view of those already on board. Though he sought Luthor and Matilda, he found his gaze continuously drawn to the opulence of the individual train cars by which he passed.
Those nearest the engine were dinner cars. Expansive tables were set at intervals throughout the cars’ interiors. White tablecloths and spotless silverware rested on the tables. Those partaking in a late breakfast enjoyed steaming racks of braised meats and poached eggs that made Simon salivate, even without being able to smell the delicacies.
As he turned his attention back to the platform, the compressors beneath the train released a billowing cloud of white steam. The humid air, concealing everything beyond Simon’s immediate reach, consumed the platform. He continued walking forward, unperturbed by his lack of vision, and nearly ran into Luthor, who emerged from the steam like a ghost of legend.
“Sir,” Luthor said, as equally startled as the Inquisitor, “we were beginning to fear you wouldn’t make it.”
“Nonsense. I was here on time; you just couldn’t see me through this insufferable steam.”
Luthor smiled knowingly at the Inquisitor’s lie. Mattie stepped to the apothecary’s side and smiled broadly at Simon.
“We’re glad you’re here, nonetheless.”
Simon glanced appreciatively at Matilda. Gone were the suffocating dresses she had been forced to wear during official court functions. A loose blouse that plunged at the neckline, revealing more of her figure than Simon was used to seeing, had replaced her high-collared shirts. She wore a leather jerkin and matching leather pants that seemed out of place in the kingdom’s capital, but would probably be right at home in the wilderness into which they were traveling.
Though he had known her but a short time, Simon was constantly impressed by the different facets of the complicated female werewolf. She seemed completely different whether in the tribal furs of her people, the formal dresses of Callifax, or, as she was now, relaxed in a more masculine hunter’s garb.
“All aboard!” the conductor yelled, his silhouette barely visible as the steam slowly cleared from the platform.
“Our personal effects?” Simon asked.
“Already loaded, sir,” Luthor replied. “The only thing missing is us.”
“Then by all means, please do lead the way.”
Luthor led the trio toward one of the rearmost cars, a passenger car that rested just before the caboose. The car had been partitioned into individual cabins, in which the three could talk about their mission ahead in relative privacy.
A porter took Simon’s small suitcase and showed the group to their room. Their other luggage was already stowed in racks above the two benches, which faced one another from either side of a broad table. Two separate high-backed and cushioned chairs sat on either side of the door, framed by electric floor lamps that illuminated the room.
Simon slipped the porter a pair of copper coins, hardly feeling generous after the young man barely carried his suitcase more than a dozen feet. With a frown he quickly tried to hide, the porter nodded and left the room.
“Pull the door closed, if you please,” Simon said to Luthor.
The apothecary pulled and latched the sliding panel behind him, ensuring it would stay closed as they began their journey. As Mattie sat on one of the benches, Simon pul
led the mission folder from his bag and tossed it haphazardly upon the table.
“Come, Luthor,” he said as he sat across from the redhead. “We have much to discuss over the next few days.”
As they began perusing the files within the folder, a whistle split the morning air and, with a lurch that rattled the trio in their seats, the train pulled away from the Callifax station.
The train rattled along the tracks as the scenery drifted lazily past. The plains beyond the city walls of Callifax quickly gave way to the forest that would parallel their journey the remainder of their way to Whitten Hall.
Simon stared out the window absently, and Luthor and Mattie discussed the mission ahead.
“Whitten Hall is an outpost,” Luthor explained, “with a population of no more than one hundred and fifty, most of whom are indentured servants. Those numbers may be inflated, however, especially if there is a revolt in progress against the crown. I can’t imagine all one hundred and fifty people have thrown their hats in behind this coup.”
“One hundred and fifty is a small number,” Mattie remarked. “Even Haversham had…”
She paused as she realized she had no idea the number of people that lived in her former home.
“It’s a veritable metropolis by comparison,” Luthor concluded, saving her the embarrassment of the ensuing silence.
Mattie laid her head on the apothecary’s shoulder, pressing her body against his as she did so. “Why doesn’t the governor stop this nonsense? Wouldn’t he have a vested interest in stopping this revolution, since his station and funding come directly from the crown?”
Luthor breathed deeply as he tried to focus on the question at hand, rather than her close presence. “You have to remember that Whitten Hall is insignificant, or would be were it not for the veins of iron under its streets. The outpost has a chancellor of sorts, but the actual governor is located miles away.”
Mattie huffed as she sat back. “You’re letting a vocal minority control the financial future of the entire kingdom. It seems silly to me.”