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

by Jon Messenger

  “Let me guess,” Luthor said, suddenly amused by her fervor. “Were it your choice, you’d march an army into Whitten Hall and destroy the resistance with claw and fang?”

  Mattie smiled at his obvious baiting. “I would and it would be effective. I’d have iron ore flowing again within a week.”

  “I would assume this is what you did in your tribe?”

  “We did.”

  Luthor smirked. “Was it effective?”

  Mattie crossed her arms as she leaned back in the booth. “Did you ever hear of a revolt within the tribes?”

  “Only once, and that resulted in the death of Haversham’s governor, one of its major business contributors, and half its arsenal of gubernatorial guards.”

  Mattie laughed. “Which, I might add, took less than a week to restore the balance of power in Haversham. Like I said, it’s effective.”

  Luthor turned his attention to Simon, who still stared blankly out the window. “What of you, Simon? Where do you weigh in on the use of force to enact laws?”

  The Inquisitor looked from the window and arched an eyebrow inquisitively. “Come again?”

  “You’ve been so deep in thought since we left Callifax. What are you contemplating so deeply?”

  Simon reached up and stroked his thin moustache. “I was considering the physics of how long I’d have to grow my moustache before I could properly sculpt it with wax. You know, with a proper curl on either end or perhaps even straight out like daggers that reached nearly to my ears.”

  Luthor frowned. “Do be serious, sir. We have a mission ahead of us that requires our utmost attention.”

  “You see, I would, Luthor, but it’s incredibly boring. We have four days ahead of us on this train, during which there will be more than ample time to peruse the files and determine a strategy. For now, I’m far too interested in the lunch options in the dining cars.”

  “The Grand Inquisitor thought this mission important enough to assign us to it. The least we can do is take it seriously.”

  “On the contrary, the Grand Inquisitor assigned us to this mission because he didn’t want a werewolf in the middle of Callifax and figured this would be the easiest means to an end. As such, I will take this mission exactly as seriously as he did and, at least for the time being, think with my stomach instead of my brain. Did you happen to see the lunch specials as you boarded the train earlier?”

  Luthor didn’t reply but instead fixed Simon with a disapproving stare.

  “To be honest,” Mattie said, interrupting their amusing repartee, “I’m feeling a bit puckish myself. Perhaps a break for lunch is in order.”

  “With the two of you around, I can’t help but feel perpetually outnumbered,” Luthor said, exasperatedly.

  “If everyone around you is always wrong and you’re the only one that’s right, perhaps everyone else isn’t the problem. Perhaps your real problem is perspective.”

  Luthor stood and offered his hand to Mattie. As Simon joined them, they made their way out of their private cabin.

  The hallway leading through their passenger car was narrow and, as they passed another patron, they found themselves pressed tightly to the wall. The constant rocking of the train cars did little to help their predicament, and Simon braced himself with a hand on one wall and the other on the glass windows. He felt as though he were struggling to find his sea legs during a first trip aboard a ship, rather than rolling steadily along the railroad tracks.

  Behind Simon, Luthor similarly stumbled with each step. Only Mattie seemed utterly unaffected by the motion of the train. Her exquisite balance kept each step perfectly in the middle of the hallway with no deviation as she made her way to the divider between rail cars.

  As Simon opened the door at the end of their car, he was overwhelmed by the sudden gust of wind and roar of the train. The air itself was malodorous, filled with the pungent smoke from the engine.

  A small catwalk spanned the space between the cars, with a narrow chain hung as railings. Simon grasped the chains firmly and groaned as they shifted more than he would have liked due to the slack in their hanging. With tentative steps, he led their way into the second passenger car.

  Unlike their partitioned private rooms, the second passenger car was lined with long benches, which were half-filled with men and women, most of whom were dressed in workman’s clothing. They looked to the suited men and the weathered redhead with a mixture of surprise and disdain.

  The workers on their way to Whitten Hall intrigued Simon. Surely, they would have heard that Whitten Hall was in revolt against the crown and that work, if there was any to be had at all, would be scarce. Furthermore, it was doubtful those who controlled the iron mine would be so willing to accept strangers from the capital as a labor pool, since they would rightfully be on guard for soldiers of the crown. Still, during times of civil unrest and weakened economies, jobs were scarce. Perhaps Whitten Hall truly was the best option for men and women of their station.

  The following two cars were sleeping cars. Like the passenger cars before them, Simon, Luthor and Mattie had designated private sleeping quarters, though a curtained partition was all that separated their stacked bunks from those nearby. The beds were shallow and were barely three feet in height. It allowed three beds to be stacked, one on top the other, but Simon loathed the time he would awake in the middle of the night and attempt to sit upright, only to strike his head on the ceiling directly above him.

  Beyond the sleeping cars, they came to the first of the dining cars. A waiter met them at the door, though Simon didn’t hear what the man had to say. He was far too involved in admiring the extravagant interior of the train car.

  Though he had seen the well-dressed tables prior to boarding, his earlier impression didn’t do justice to the actual interior. The dining car was slightly wider than the cars through which they had just passed, allowing for more space between dining tables. The walls and floor were the same rich red oak as had lined the exterior of the train cars. Above their heads, two chandeliers were affixed to the ceiling with straight poles, allowing for the glow of electric lights without the traditional sway of the glass chandelier. Instead, the room was bathed in a combination of quiet conversation and the faint jingle of glass and crystals in the chandeliers striking one another.

  “A table for three, sir?” the waiter asked again, finally catching Simon’s attention.

  “Yes, please,” he replied.

  They were led to a table near the middle of the room, which suited Simon well. The Inquisitor took the seat against the wall, which offered him the best view of the entirety of the room.

  Though Luthor waited for Mattie to sit, she remained standing and perused the room.

  “Is something the matter?” the apothecary asked.

  “I was just wondering if there was a water closet nearby,” she replied.

  The waiter gestured toward the far end of the car. “Just beyond those doors, madam.”

  Mattie smiled, knowing she hardly looked the part of a “madam” in her current attire. “Thank you. Gentlemen, if you’ll excuse me for a moment.”

  Both men nodded. As Mattie walked toward the end of the dining car, Luthor sat down heavily across from the Inquisitor. Simon glanced at his friend as the waiter brought them a steeping pot of tea. Luthor clearly looked distressed, which had been readily apparent in his curt attitude since their departure.

  “You’ve seemed unhappy ever since we left the station,” Simon said, as he sipped his tea. “What’s bothering you?”

  Luthor gestured toward the train car. “This is what is bothering me, sir. We’re already on assignment so soon after returning from the last. I’d only just removed the dust covers from all the furniture before we’re off again.”

  “That’s hardly my fault.”

  “It’s entirely your fault,” Luthor retorted. “You chose to tell the Grand Inquisitor about our misadventures in Haversham, and we were casually dismissed from the capital for it. That qualifies, in
my book, as a poor life choice on your part. As a result, instead of enjoying the townhouse that I purchased and yet so rarely see, I’m with you, gallivanting across the countryside.”

  “Gallivanting?” Simon replied, aggravated. “That hardly seems like a worthwhile descriptive word for what we’re doing.”

  The conversation halted temporarily as the waiter returned with a plate of assorted finger sandwiches.

  Luthor glanced at the plate before him and selected the cucumber sandwich, knowing there was far less of a chance of ruining so simplistic a recipe. He took a bite before lifting his teacup and taking a sip. “All that I’m saying is that I would appreciate a little predictability in my life.”

  “You should feel blessed,” Simon said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. “At least Mattie gets to accompany you on this trip.”

  Luthor nodded, setting his teacup down before him. “For that, I am most certainly grateful.”

  “This isn’t easy for me either, you realize. I had to leave Veronica, the woman whom I intend to marry.”

  Simon looked up at Luthor, expecting a rise from the apothecary. Luthor furrowed his brow but remained silent.

  “Do you have nothing to say in response?” Simon asked.

  Luthor looked down, acknowledging the teacup resting on its saucer before him. “Would you feel better if you repeated your dramatic news as I took a sip of tea, so that I might choke on the fluid in surprise?”

  Simon frowned. “It would be thoughtful of you if you did.”

  Luthor smiled disarmingly. “I may not always approve of your… future betrothed, and I might even categorize this in what is becoming a growing month of Simon’s poor life choices, but believe it or not, I’m genuinely happy for you.”

  Simon took a bite of a fish sandwich before pursing his lips. His chewing became slow and deliberate before he swallowed painfully.

  “Well, thank you,” Simon replied. “It seems like an appropriate time. After all, I’m hardly getting any younger.”

  Luthor shook his head. “Sir, I’m not sure you were ever young. For, you see, young people enjoyed their youth by laughing and playing. You spent your ill-begotten youth pulling the wings from flies and pulling the entrails from frogs.”

  Simon arched his eyebrow in consternation. “Luthor, when I describe those events to you, I ensured it sounded very much like biology. When you describe them, somehow, they sound mildly sociopathic.”

  Luthor took another sip of his tea, concealing his smile behind the cup.

  Simon glanced out the window, watching a copse of trees roll lazily past as the train chugged steadily along the tracks.

  “What of you, Luthor?” Simon asked. “Are you considering marriage with Mattie?”

  Caught unaware, warm tea rolled into the wrong pipe in his throat, causing him to choke. Simon laughed at his friend’s discomfort. “There’s the rise I was expecting.”

  Luthor coughed again, his face brilliant red from both choking and embarrassment. “Forgive me, sir, but you caught me a bit by surprise. No, we have no plans as of yet.”

  Simon arched an eyebrow. “That seems surprising, considering you’re living together. You care for her, don’t you?”

  Luthor flushed deeper and he averted his gaze. “Very much so.”

  Simon suddenly sat forward and smiled mischievously. “My word, you haven’t consummated your relationship, have you?”

  “I hardly think that’s any of your business,” Luthor quickly retorted. “Regardless, we only live together due to her awkward position, being…” He glanced over his shoulder to ensure he wasn’t overheard. “Due to her being what she is.”

  Simon laughed heartily. “You are full of surprises, my young apothecary.”

  “What has he done to surprise you today?” Mattie asked as she approached from the back of the dining car.

  Both men quickly cleared their throats and stood politely, neither man meeting the other’s gaze.

  “Nothing, at all,” Luthor replied. “He’s merely chiding as usual. Did you find the powder room?”

  Mattie walked around the table. Luthor pulled her chair away from the table, allowing her to sit. He gently pushed her chair in before both men sat.

  “I did,” she answered. “Thank you. Did you boys enjoy yourselves while I was away?”

  “I certainly did,” Simon replied with a wink.

  Her eyes widened with pleasure at the sight of the sandwiches. She reached for one of the fish sandwiches, but Simon politely shook his head as a warning.

  “Is it that bad?” she asked.

  Simon frowned. “How they can have such opulent surroundings and yet still create such atrocious food is absolutely beyond me.”

  Mattie raised her hand, signaling for the waiter. The man quickly approached.

  “Yes, madam?”

  Mattie flashed the man a warm smile. “Do you serve any beef dishes?”

  The waiter nodded. “Traditionally, our beef is reserved for dinner meals, but if the lady would like one now, it can be arranged.”

  “I would, very much.”

  “How would you like your steak prepared?”

  Mattie shot a warning glance toward the two men before she replied. “Rare, if you please.”

  The waiter seemed momentarily taken aback but quickly recovered. “Very good, madam. I’ll have it prepared at once.” He turned his attention toward Simon and Luthor. “How are your meals, gentlemen?”

  “It’s as good as my mother used to make,” Simon replied with a broad smile.

  “Excellent, sir,” the waiter said before departing.

  Luthor glanced at the plate of tasteless, unseasoned food before him. “I thought you told me that your mother was a dreadful cook.”

  Simon sneered at the fish sandwich. “She was.”

  Simon stretched and tried to sit upright in bed, but his forehead struck the shallow roof directly above him. For a moment, the grogginess of sleep clung to his mind and he felt disoriented. Slowly, he shifted his gaze to the narrow opening out of his stacked bunk bed and reality settled over him. He was suddenly acutely aware of the gentle rocking of the train as it clattered endlessly along the tracks.

  Rolling onto his stomach, Simon slid from the bunk and dropped his feet to the carpeted floor below. As he had done for the past two nights, he had slept in his clothes rather than attempting to change into a gown. Despite the partition, the cramped sleeping car offered little privacy. It was as easy to sleep in his vest and pants as to bother changing into something more appropriate.

  He slipped on his shoes before stumbling toward the vestibule that connected the sleeping car to the first of the passenger cars beyond. The cabin he shared with Luthor and Mattie was near the rear of the train, and he would have to pass through the rows of workers to reach their private car.

  Despite this being the third day of their train ride, many of the workers looked none the worse for wear. Simon, however, felt utterly disheveled. His suit was wrinkled. His sleep had been constantly broken by the opening and closing of the car doors; each opening of the door introduced a roar of clacking train tracks and howling wind. His normally coifed hair was unkempt, despite his futile attempts at brushing.

  Under normal circumstances, he cared deeply about what people thought of his appearance. He was a Royal Inquisitor, an honored member of the king’s retinue. His appearance was a direct reflection of his professionalism.

  Today, however, he felt his appearance justified the seriousness of their assignment. He was reminded of his and Luthor’s misadventures with the “mummy” in the catacombs beneath Callifax, which, like nearly every other mission on which they’d been sent, had been nothing more than a hoax. Every Inquisitor had been aware that the report would result in nothing substantial, but Simon and Luthor had willingly investigated, as was their duty. This mission felt similarly useless. All reports pointed to a charlatan, keeping visitors to Whitten Hall at bay during a time of political upheaval.

>   Somehow, Simon doubted his current appearance would make much of a difference in regards to the conclusion of their investigation.

  Entering their passenger car, Simon walked to the sliding door that opened to their private cabin. As he slid the door aside, he faced a pair of bright-eyed companions, both of whom stooped over the table as they perused the assorted mission files.

  “Morning,” Simon muttered, intentionally neglecting the addition of “good”.

  “Good morning, sir,” Luthor replied, as he removed his glasses. “We’re quite glad to see you awake.”

  “I’m not entirely convinced he is fully awake,” Mattie whispered loudly enough to be heard by the Inquisitor.

  “An astute observation, Miss Hawke.” Simon spotted the teapot resting near the window. “Oh, tea! Glorious.”

  Luthor set his glasses on the table and retrieved both the teapot and a clean cup. He poured the dark liquid into the glass before dropping a pair of sugar cubes into the steaming tea. He handed the teacup to Simon before replacing his glasses on the end of his nose and reading quickly through the paper before him.

  “Thank you kindly, Luthor,” Simon said as he took a sip of the tea. His face screwed as the bitter fluid rushed over his tongue. “I see their culinary fouling isn’t reserved solely to their sandwiches. Is there any milk, per chance, that could cut through the bitterness?”

  “None, I’m afraid,” the apothecary replied without looking up.

  “Not at all surprising.” Simon gestured over his shoulder toward the passenger car filled with miners and other manual laborers. “You know what I don’t understand, if you would humor me?”

  “Pray tell, sir.”

  “If Whitten Hall is in such an upheaval, why would there be so many workers aboard the train?”

  Luthor shuffled aside some of the papers before him and retrieved a crumpled section of the newspaper. “How very coincidental you should ask, sir, for I made the same query earlier. It seems that Whitten Hall placed an advert in the paper, requesting miners and other assorted workers.”

  Simon took the paper and read through the column as he sipped his foul tea. “Yet, I see no mention of the political unrest.”