Simon needed no other provocation to draw his silver-plated revolver. He clutched the pistol in his hand as he turned deeper into the mine. Luthor set the lantern on the table, which creaked ominously under the lantern’s weight. To everyone’s relief, the table held. As Simon stared intently into the mine ahead, Luthor opened his doctor’s bag and removed a narrow vial of clear liquid. As he uncorked the tube, the overwhelming scent of mint filled the air around them.
“Mint?” Mattie asked as she stepped closer.
“Mint oil,” Luthor corrected. “Place a dab on your finger and run it into the insides of your nostrils. It will mask the other, more malodorous smells.”
She pressed her finger to the top of the vial and turned it upward, letting the oil pool on her finger. As she turned the vial upright once more, she paused.
“Are you sure this is the best option? We might need my keener sense of smell.”
Luthor shrugged. “You can either remain on the cusp of vomiting or you can happily accompany us, smelling nothing but the lovely scent of mint. It’s your choice.”
Mattie glanced at her finger before unceremoniously rubbing the insides of her nostrils. Even with the lantern turned away from her, Luthor could see her relief after the oil was in place.
Luthor retrieved the lantern and stepped beside Simon. “Anything, sir?”
Simon shook his head, though his eyes never left the turn of the tunnel. “I’ve neither seen nor heard anything that would have me believe they know we’re here. Regardless, we’d best be on our guard.”
The trio moved to the bend in the tunnel and paused. Simon’s instinct was to cautiously observe around the bend before continuing, but he quickly realized the foolishness of that notion. The only way to observe around the corner would be to shine the lantern’s light, which would immediately alert anyone around the bend to their presence. Gripping his pistol tighter, he opted to step around the corner in plain view. When no shouts of alarm were sounded, he sighed with relief.
Despite a few smaller tunnels branching from the main passage, they chose to follow the rail as it descended deeper into the mine. Their lantern was the only visible light, and its flickering flames gave the constant illusion of movement where none was to be found.
No one spoke as they walked. Their footfalls alone echoed far too loudly in the stone mineshaft. They cringed every time their booted feet struck a wayward stone, sending it skittering across the rocky ground. Yet, despite what they perceived as far too much noise, no one moved to hinder their advance.
Simon frowned as they continued walking. He was a poor judge of distance on the surface. Luthor had often chastised him during even routine hikes for misjudging the distance traveled. Underground, without the benefit of the stars or even trees to use as a judge, he was completely turned about. He would have presumed they had walked miles already. Each turn, he expected to find something of note, but turn after turn revealed nothing of interest. A mine car was abandoned in a larger chamber, pushed onto a conjoining rail and then forgotten, but it appeared far worse for wear than the ones being pushed by the workers.
Only his pocket watch gave Simon a sense of passing time. He glanced at it as often as he felt was sensible, though he was continuously surprised to see only minutes had passed after what felt like an hour. He was disoriented, and it didn’t help that every wall and every ceiling appeared identically worked by identical tools.
His mind wandered as they made another turn. So distracted was he that his mind barely registered the oddity before him, even as his legs stopped moving of their own volition. Luthor and Mattie stopped as well, flanking him on either side. No one spoke, though no one had to.
The rail ended abruptly in the center of the chamber before them. Two mine carts in fine working order, clearly the same two which they had observed outside the mine, were resting against a wooden crossbeam at the end of the rail.
Beyond the rail’s terminus, however, was what truly caught their attention. Before them, a tall, wooden door blocked the path ahead.
“Is there a lock?” Simon asked in a hushed tone.
“You’ll have to give me a moment, sir,” Luthor replied. “I’m an apothecary, not a thief. My experience with examining doors for locks is severely limited.”
“Well, don’t feel rushed on our account.”
Luthor glanced over his shoulder disapprovingly before returning to his work. He pushed his glasses further up his nose as he peered into the narrow keyhole. The light danced behind him and his shadow repeatedly fell over the lock, blocking his view. The apothecary frowned as he leaned closer and looked through the keyhole.
As the apothecary worked, Simon glanced over his shoulder toward where the two mine carts had been swallowed by the darkness. A most cursory examination of the carts had revealed nothing telling, but had opened more questions than it had answered. The carts were free of the dust and debris normally associated with mining. A fabric of some sort had recently been pressed against the bottom of the mine cart, though they were both currently empty. Only thin, white fibers remained behind, clinging to the spots of rust at the bottom of the cart. With an exasperated sigh, the Inquisitor turned back toward the mysterious door.
Finally, after some consternation, Luthor leaned away from the door’s lock and stood.
“So what do you have to say?” the Inquisitor asked.
Luthor brushed the accumulated dust from the knees of his pants. “It doesn’t appear locked.”
Simon frowned. “It isn’t locked or it merely doesn’t appear locked?”
“It’s six or one half dozen, as far as I’m concerned,” Luthor replied. “Once again, I’m an apothecary. If you want someone proficient in picking locks, perhaps you should stop hiring pharmacists and werewolves, and instead hire a slightly less trustworthy highwayman or cutpurse.”
“You’ve had a foul disposition here of late, Luthor. It’s unbecoming.”
Luthor stepped out of the direct light and sneered. “You drive me to it, sir.”
“Are you both quite done?” Mattie asked, again playing the role of mediator between the two longtime friends. She turned the lantern from one man to the other, ensuring the light shone brightly in their eyes. The two men took a moment as the artifact of the light cleared from their vision.
Luthor motioned toward the door, even as he blinked hard to clear his sight. “It doesn’t appear locked. After you, sir.”
The door was thick oak, most likely harvested from the very forest that grew around the mining pit. Simon ran his finger along the vertical wooden beams and felt the coarseness of the carved planks. Though the craftsmanship was lacking, the door was large and sturdy. It was anchored to the wall on oversized hinges, held in place by large bolts driven straight into the stone as though by some great force.
Simon closed his hand over the handle and glanced cautiously behind him. Both Luthor and Mattie nodded their readiness. With his free hand, the Inquisitor pulled back the hammer on his revolver.
To his surprise, the door wasn’t locked. The handle turned easily, dislodging the mechanism holding the door closed. Simon pulled gently and found it opened smoothly on well-oiled hinges. Despite its apparent size and weight, Simon found little resistance as the door swung open.
The light from the hooded lantern flooded the chamber beyond the great door. Simon wasn’t sure what he had expected beyond the out-of-place doorway in the middle of an iron mine, but the nondescript passageway seemed anticlimactic. The same worked stone as the rest of the mine continued in the hallway beyond.
Though slightly disappointed, Simon was also relieved. There was a part of him that thoroughly expected an ambush, that there would be a throng of workers beyond, armed with pickaxes and side arms awaiting anyone foolish enough to open the door.
The trio stepped through the doorway and continued down the hall. Unlike the passages before, this tunnel moved unwaveringly forward without any major bends. Though Simon continued to feel slightly disoriented
from being underground in the deep, impenetrable darkness, he could still easily discern that the hallway was sloped gently downward. The further they moved along the passage, the further underground they went.
The grade of the tunnel increased as they moved deeper. The passage became narrower, no longer wide enough to accommodate one of the rail cars. The stonework seemed rougher, with far more edges than the stonework above. Though he had no basis for his assumption, Simon assumed this shaft had been dug in search of another vein of iron, though why anyone would place a door at the entrance to an exploratory shaft was beyond him.
Simon reached out experimentally and let his fingertips brush the stone beside him. With one arm outstretched and the other at his side, he still very nearly touched both walls simultaneously. Simon frowned to himself, though he didn’t voice his concerns to the others. In such narrow confines, it would be difficult to maneuver during a fight. Should they encounter any of the workers, the Inquisitor would fight alone as Luthor and Mattie both struggled to squeeze into a place beside him.
The Inquisitor nearly stumbled as the ground suddenly leveled out once more. The passage widened and the quality of the stonework returned to its previous state. Before him, the hallway continued forward, though side passages were evenly spaced along the length of the hall for as far as the light from the lantern would reveal. The spacing of the side tunnels was far too uniform to have been caused by random events. Over each of the passageways, a curtain had been affixed to the rock entryway. The fabric draped over the side tunnels, blocking Simon’s view of what lay beyond.
Simon glanced back at his counterparts, who merely shrugged before motioning toward the nearest passage. The Inquisitor nodded confidently, though he groaned internally at the thought of exposing what lay beyond the tarp. He didn’t share the fear of the darkness like he did the fear of water, but Simon loathed the unknown. When you expected everything to be a trap, as Simon did, then every unknown was an obvious source of danger.
He stepped to the edge of the curtain and paused. Glancing over his shoulder, he could see Luthor’s obvious concern. The apothecary wrung his hands together, clearly regretting his decision to leave his cane and concealed sword within at the inn. Mattie, by contrast, looked every bit the hunter Simon knew her to be. Her face was a mask of concentration as she alternated clenching and relaxing her fists. The sight of Mattie bolstered his confidence, knowing that she could become the deadly werewolf at the slightest provocation.
Simon pulled aside the curtain as Luthor shone the light into the room beyond. The Inquisitor’s pistol hovered, unmoving in his hand as he arched an eyebrow in surprise.
“That’s not what I expected,” Luthor whispered.
“Curious, indeed,” Simon replied as he stared into the bedroom.
A four-poster bed was pressed against the far wall, covered with a series of pillows and duvet. A nightstand was situated beside the bed, adorned with an oil lantern and a tattered but well-read book. A dresser had been placed against the wall nearest the entrance to the underground bedroom. Simon frowned as he realized the bedroom was finer furnished than the one in which he was currently residing back in Whitten Hall.
Without further word, Simon moved across the hallway to another of the curtains. Pulling it aside, he found a similarly adorned bedroom, with only the personal effects on the nightstand differentiating the two rooms from one another. An investigation behind a third curtain confirmed Simon’s suspicions that the lower mine had been fully converted to barracks.
The trio gathered in the middle of the hall and huddled together so that they might speak in hushed tones.
“What do you make of it, sir?” Luthor asked.
“Someone is living here, though I can’t for the life of me understand why.”
Mattie furrowed her brow. “Could it be for protection?”
The two men looked toward her, encouraging her to continue.
“The chancellor said they weren’t interested in the iron, merely equal wages. I would assume, however, that the workers of Whitten Hall are also not interested in the crown regaining possession of the mine before negotiations have concluded. Could they be living here in an attempt to keep royal soldiers from entering the mine without their knowledge?”
Simon stroked his chin. “It seems a bit excessive. Living in utter darkness as they are would take its toll not just on their physical bodies but their mental fortitude as well.”
“There’s more to this than meets the eye,” Luthor remarked.
“Agreed,” Simon replied. “We should continue our investigation.” He retrieved the pocket watch from his breast pocket and frowned at the time. “We must do so with some sense of urgency. It’s already past midnight, and I would hate to tempt fate by being here when the sun comes up.”
They proceeded toward the far end of the hall. Their lantern light struck out nearly thirty feet ahead of them but exposed only further rows of the repetitive living quarters. After some time, their light finally played upon a change in the stone hallway. The passage narrowed slightly and curved away from the otherwise straight shaft.
As they advanced on the curve, Mattie stopped abruptly and doubled over as though in pain. Luthor rushed to her side to support her as her shoulders shook with dry heaves.
Simon didn’t bother asking what had overcome Mattie. He could smell it as clearly as she, though he doubted it was such an assault to his senses as it was to hers. To Simon, the smell would always be associated with his time in Inquisitor training, in which he learned medical forensics while examining cadavers in the morgue.
It was the smell of death and decay, and the concentration was as strong as he had ever encountered.
“The mint oil,” Mattie choked as she gestured toward Luthor. “How much more do you have with you?”
Luthor fumbled with the clasps of his doctor’s bag and quickly withdrew the half-filled vial. Mattie uncorked the vial with little concern toward the stopper, which bounced merrily over the rocky ground. She poured the liquid into her hand and rubbed it furiously across her upper lip and into her nostrils.
Even in the orange glow of the lantern, the two men could see the color returning to her face.
Simon reached behind him, though his eyes never left the tunnel ahead. “Assuming Miss Hawke has not consumed the entirety of the mint oil, I believe it’s wise to share it amongst the rest of us.”
Luthor sloshed the minimal amount of fluid that still remained in the bottom of the vial and handed it to Simon. The Inquisitor took his share before returning it.
“The smell—” Mattie began.
“I smell it as well,” Simon interrupted. “Unless I’m mistaken, it’s coming from further ahead.”
“I don’t think we should go,” she said, the nervousness evident in her voice.
Simon was forced to agree with her. The smell of death was overpowering, clouding his other senses with its palpable presence. Despite his better judgment, he shook his head.
“Your nose and Luthor’s gut have brought us this far,” Simon said, using humor to mask his own concerns. “Now it’s time to find out why.”
Simon proceeded along the tunnel and after the briefest of pauses, the other two followed suit. The tunnel curved gently to the left. The Inquisitor moved cautiously forward, in no true rush to discover what lay beyond the end of the curve.
As quickly as it had begun, the curve ended and the tunnel opened up into a broad chamber. As Luthor’s lantern caught up to Simon, its light spilled into the beginning of the large room.
The light diffused far from the distal wall, casting only part of the room in its warm glow. The floor before them was clear of obstructions, but either side of the narrow trail was littered with debris. Broken pickaxe handles and warped metal heads were strewn about as though the chamber before them had been carved with some great effort.
Simon turned his gaze toward the leftmost wall, and he set his jaw against the sight. Bodies were piled unceremoniously again
st the wall, their limbs intertwined as they formed a pyramid of sorts. The Inquisitor performed a quick mental calculation and figured there were at least a hundred corpses lining the wall.
The stench was far stronger in the chamber, cutting through even the thick layer of mint oil he had smeared upon his nose. Behind him, he heard Mattie’s most unladylike retching as the smell overwhelmed her.
“Lantern,” Simon demanded, holding out his hand.
Luthor gave him the hooded lantern before moving to assist Mattie. Simon gave neither of them even a cursory glance as he advanced on the pile of bodies.
From a distance, they had appeared unusual. The oddity only grew more pronounced as he grew closer. The corpses were pale, as he would expect, but all of them appeared severely emaciated. The eyes, which were still open and staring accusingly at the Royal Inquisitor, were sunken and bruised. The cheeks were likewise sunken, as though the skin had been stretched across the jaw and cheekbones. Arms and legs, which had clearly once been strong and muscled, were thin and frail.
“What… what are they, sir?” Luthor stammered.
Simon looked across the pile. His gaze drifted quickly over the delicate female corpses and once sturdy men alike. Though he noticed the bodies of the children amidst the pile, he refused to spend any length of time further examining the atrocity.
The Inquisitor swallowed firmly, forcing down the lump of anger and disbelief that had lodged itself in his throat. “Despite what the chancellor told us, I no longer believe anyone ever left Whitten Hall. Everyone who ever disagreed with the new direction of the town is here.”
Mattie wiped her mouth with the back of her hand as she approached the pile. “There are more here than just the few dozen who would have disagreed.”
Luthor blanched as his mouth fell open. “The workers. My God, sir, these are all the workers they’ve been bringing on board.”
Simon clenched his jaw tightly. “If I were to examine the pile further, I’d most certainly have noticed familiar faces of those who had joined us on the train ride. They didn’t leave town, and they weren’t put to work. The chancellor and his men murdered everyone in town.”
The Blood Thief of Whitten Hall (A Magic & Machinery Novel Book 2) Page 18