“Go down to the river and wash up, both of you,” she said, motioning over her shoulder. “If your plan is to be incognito, you certainly won’t succeed looking as you do.”
Simon and Luthor exchanged curious glances, looking over one another and seeing their disheveled appearances. With a noncommittal shrug, Simon led them from the clearing and down to the stream.
They knelt beside the water and splashed handfuls of water across their faces in an attempt to wash away the sweat and grime from the night before.
Luthor reached down and filled the cup of his hands with water before taking a long drink. With a satisfied sigh, he sat back on the river’s bank.
“Do you think they found the bodies?” he asked.
Simon ran his wet fingers through his hair, taming the unruly mound. “I should sincerely doubt it. If they had, I doubt anywhere in the woods would have been safe.”
“Then there’s hope for an unopposed escape?”
Simon wiped his mouth on his sleeve before sitting beside his companion. “One can only hope, though we can hardly become complacent. At least some of the people in town are colluding with the vampires, of that I’m sure.”
Luthor furrowed his brow and stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Something has been bothering me since last night.”
Simon smiled. “Just one thing?”
Luthor returned the smile, though he still seemed disturbed. “If the chancellor’s intent was to lure more workers to Whitten Hall to feed, why go through the ruse of the fake vampire on the train? All that accomplished was to scare away over half their potential food source.”
Simon nodded as he picked up a flat stone. With a quick throw, he sent it skipping across the water. “I thought about that as well and believe I understand why.”
“Pray tell.”
“You are correct that over half the passengers disembarked and never came back aboard following the attack, but consider for a moment the sorts of people that fled the train. The government officials who had been sent previously who, according to our initial report, were deterred from reaching Whitten Hall by the very faux vampire that we killed. Had those men gone missing, the crown mostly likely would have assembled soldiers to inquire as to their disappearance. The staged attack on the train removed the more spineless of the government employees long before they could become a threat.”
“Quite right, sir, quite right. That would be why the chancellor was so hasty to ensure we boarded the next train, isn’t it? With us gone without incident, their malicious plan could continue unabated. What of the other workers who left, though?”
Simon stroked his chin. “I would dare say that those who disembarked, never to return, were not nearly as desperate as those who remained aboard. The type of man who would remain on the train despite the sorcerous attacks would likely be the type of man without a family or a future, whose only chance lie in an advert requesting manual laborers to Whitten Hall.”
Luthor rested his elbows on his knees and watched the sunrise reflect off the gently moving stream. “In essence, they thereby eliminated everyone whose disappearance would cause alarm and inquiry. Devilishly brilliant, they are.”
“And most deadly,” Simon replied. “I couldn’t count the number of dead within the mines, but assuming four trains have run before our arrival and using our train as an estimated average, there are potentially one hundred and fifty bodies discarded in the mine.”
Luthor blanched and shook his head. “It feels wrong of us to leave without proper redress.”
Simon patted the apothecary on the back. “Their crimes will be addressed, of that you can be certain.”
“Are you two quite done primping yourselves?” Mattie asked as she emerged from the woods.
“Nearly there, though it takes some time to emulate perfection,” Simon chided.
The two men stood and stretched muscles that had grown stiff from sleeping upon the ground. Simon ran his hand across his cheeks and felt the accumulated stubble. He wished he could shave, if for no other reason than to maintain appearances. Luthor often carried such nonsense as straight razors in his doctor’s bag, but the bag had been destroyed, Simon realized wistfully.
Mattie handed the two men their hats, which had been left at camp as they cleaned themselves. Simon placed his upon his head, concealing the still uncooperative hair thereunder.
They turned toward the covered bridge that spanned the stream, which was visible from where they stood by the water. The bridge wasn’t long when viewed in the sunlight. It had seemed far longer when they had crossed it in the dead of night the previous two nights. With the sun arisen, it appeared as an ill-painted and ill-maintained wooden bridge. As they stepped into its cooler interior, sunlight filtered through cracks in the boards, leaving the path before them striped with its light.
For a moment during their walk, Simon considered taking them back into the woods to avoid the chancellor’s manor house, but decided against it. He doubted any humans lived in the house during the day, since most of the chancellor’s security forces were most likely vampires like himself. Besides, Simon had already crafted a cover story about the trio enjoying a morning stroll. It would be far more curious for them to be discovered traipsing through the woods as opposed to casually strolling along the road.
The outpost of Whitten Hall came into view as they rounded a corner. As it had been when they first arrived, the town was a veritable ghost town. A few men walked primarily between buildings before disappearing into their cooler interiors. No one seemed at all interested in Simon and his companions’ comings and goings.
Luthor stepped beside Simon and pulled his hat down further over his eyes to block the now-glaring sun. “You don’t suppose the vampire in the chair would reveal that we were there, do you?”
Simon paused at the edge of town and stared pensively toward the distance. “It had crossed my mind, but I don’t believe so. Everything the vampire said made it seem like he was at odds with Chancellor Whitten. I could be wrong, of course, but I don’t believe he would turn us in.”
Luthor nodded contently before they walked into town.
The inn was one of the first buildings they reached after entering the town proper. Reaching the inn without being recognized should have been the simplest thing to accomplish.
Simon’s luck never held up that well.
“Inquisitor Whitlock!” Tom Wriggleton yelled as he approached from the train station. He jogged the rest of the distance and arrived somewhat out of breath. “I thought I recognized you, though to be honest, I’m surprised to see you all out so early.”
Simon smiled humorlessly. “With this being our last day in Whitten Hall, it only seemed right to take a stroll and stretch our legs before we are forced to sit for four days on our train ride home.”
Tom nodded, though he bit his lip inquisitively. “Begging your pardon for mentioning it, sir, but you all look awfully tired.”
Simon sighed, eager to be done with the conversation already. “We’re not much of morning people.”
Tom frowned as he stared into Simon’s impassive gaze. Gingerly, the man reached out and plucked a pine needle from Simon’s shoulder.
Simon glanced at the offending flora and arched an eyebrow defiantly. “It was a very difficult walk over lots of rough terrain. Now if you’ll excuse us, Mister Wriggleton, I believe we must pack before our train arrives.”
“Of course,” Tom replied flatly.
As they turned away, Simon noted a few other Whitten Hall residents emerging from nearby buildings. Unperturbed, he led his group into the inn.
The tavern portion was half-filled with patrons enjoying assorted drinks. Though the room still looked fairly empty, it was far busier than it had been over the past few days, especially during the hours of sunlight. Simon nodded politely at the assorted stares they received as they passed through the room. Luthor and Mattie pressed closer to his side, keeping out of the reach of the tables as they passed.
“They
know,” Luthor muttered through pursed lips.
“I know,” Simon replied, though his polite smile never faltered. “Get your things as quickly as you can and meet me in the hall.”
Luthor and Mattie nodded, though they imitated Simon’s smile and gracious nods of recognition as best they could. They hurried upstairs, even as they heard the front door open behind them.
Simon hurried into his room, locking the door behind him. Pulling his suitcase from the closet, he stuffed clothes unceremoniously into the bag. He had to press down firmly to hold it closed as he latched the leather straps into place. From beneath the bed, he pulled the more appropriate Inquisitor’s kit. He quickly opened the wooden box, revealing the assortment of instruments designed to slay mystical creatures.
Without hesitation, Simon removed a small pile of sharpened wooden stakes and slipped them into his jacket pocket. The smooth handles protruded from his jacket, but he was certain that discretion was no longer necessary. Likewise, he removed a series of extra bullets. He frowned at the selection, realizing that aside from his regular rounds, there were few options other than silver. He bit his lip thoughtfully as he tried to remember if vampires disliked silver. They had been so effective against the demon in Haversham, though completely ineffectual against the werewolves who, by mythology, should have been susceptible. Shrugging, he reloaded his revolver with silver bullets.
A gentle rapping at his door caught his attention. He quickly closed his Inquisitor’s kit and stuffed it under one arm, even as he lifted his suitcase in the other. Simon pulled open the door, revealing a nervous Luthor and Mattie.
He stepped out of his room and joined the others in the hall.
“What are we going to do, sir?” Luthor asked in a low whisper so as not to be overheard. “They know. Whether they found the bodies or the ancient vampire told them, they know.”
“Calm yourself, Luthor,” Simon replied. “I know that they know. I know that you know that they know. They very possible know that I know that you… to hell with it. Everyone knows.”
Mattie frowned. “Don’t be so hasty to disregard him, Simon. It’s still three hours until the train arrives. We can’t very well go stand on the platform and hope that Wriggleton and his goons simply leave us be for that time.”
“We can lock ourselves in our rooms,” Luthor offered.
Simon glanced back and forth between the apothecary and werewolf. He smiled devilishly, an expression that Luthor knew all too well translated into trouble.
“Sir?” Luthor asked.
“I think we shall go downstairs and enjoy a drink. Then, with our accomplice bartender in tow, we shall go wait at the train platform.”
“Forget about Gregory,” Luthor pleaded. “We can come back for him when we have numbers on our side.”
Simon shook his head. “He took a risk to warn us. We shall take a risk with saving his life.”
Mattie leaned against the wall calmly and picked at the dirt under her fingernails. “It doesn’t solve the problem of the townsfolk. They won’t leave us alone once we’ve reached the platform.”
Simon arched his eyebrow toward Mattie. “We’re sorely out of options. If we stay here, they’ll certainly knock down the doors to get to us. If we go outside, they’ll come after us. If we flee into the woods, they’ll pursue only until nightfall, until the true hunters awaken. No, our best option is to take our chances in the open, where we can’t get backed into a corner but are still within distance of the train when it arrives. Besides, my dear, I’m not concerned. After all, they’re only human. We’ve handled far worse.”
“I hate when you’re like this, sir,” Luthor interrupted.
“Like what, Luthor?”
“Brash and overconfident. Somehow, you walk away practically injury free while I wind up visiting a chiropractor upon our return to Callifax, just to reset the number of misaligned bones throughout my body.”
Simon turned toward the stairs as he continued the conversation. “Nonsense. Need I remind you that I was quite manhandled by Gideon Dosett no more than a month ago?”
“Need I remind you that you left me to my own devices with the very same man and let me take a good thrashing before you made your dramatic, if not late, entrance?”
They reached the stairs and began descending. “You’re never going to let that go, are you?”
“Not so long as we both live and possibly even after one of us has passed… preferably you.”
As they reached the tavern, they realized it was busier now than it had been when they had first entered. The mirth shared between the men faded away as Simon led the trio to empty seats at the bar. The bartender gave them all stern looks before approaching.
“What do you want?” Gregory asked, his voice rumbling from his broad chest.
“Scotch,” Simon answered, “though preferably in a glass if that’s even an option here.”
Gregory glanced at the other two, who merely shook their heads.
“People are watching us,” Luthor muttered.
Simon kept his gaze directly forward but nodded slightly. “They’re doing more than that.”
He could feel the stifling presence of the other bar patrons pressing in around them. From his periphery, he couldn’t see that anyone had moved, but the mood of the tavern had clearly shifted away from their favor.
“We should leave,” Mattie said, her voice carrying from the other side of Luthor. “This isn’t a very defensible location, at least not against so many.”
Gregory sat a tumbler of scotch in front of Simon. The Inquisitor sighed contently as he grasped the ice and liquor filled glass. “See, now was this truly so difficult?”
As the bartender began to turn away, Simon reached out and grasped the large man’s wrist. He didn’t bother concealing his actions, nor did he lower his voice when he spoke. Gregory tried to pull his arm away, but Simon’s grip was like steel.
“You took a chance with your warning,” Simon said to the larger man. “We’re leaving Whitten Hall aboard the next train. Come with us. We can keep you safe.”
Gregory furrowed his brow in confusion before looking up. His gaze fell past Simon’s shoulder, even as the Inquisitor heard someone approaching.
“Gregory didn’t write the note,” Tom said as he took the seat beside Simon. “I did.”
Tom placed a napkin on the bar between them. It carried the same warning as the one they had seen previously in identical handwriting.
“And it wasn’t a warning,” Tom continued. “It was a threat.”
Simon released the bartender’s arm and slid his hands toward him. “Well, this is certainly awkward.”
Simon lashed out with his open hand, catching Tom in the middle of his chest. Caught by surprise, Tom tumbled from the barstool and crashed to the floor below.
The nearby townsfolk leapt to their feet, holding assorted makeshift weaponry in their hands. Knives, clubs, and even mining picks were visible as they were drawn from bags or concealed beside table legs.
Simon threw back his jacket and reached for his revolver. As his fingers closed over the weapon, something heavy struck him solidly across the back of the head. Simon’s head exploded in pain, and lights danced before his vision. He stumbled forward unsteadily, the revolver slipping from his grasp even as it slid free from its holster. He barely heard the clatter of the silver weapon striking the ground. Darkness was consuming the dancing lights in his vision until his view of the bar was nothing more than pinpricks of light at the end of long, dark tunnels. Though it seemed like it was happening miles away, he could sense blood trickling through his hair and down the back of his neck.
Simon’s eyes fell closed as he pitched forward. He was unconscious long before he struck the ground.
Simon’s head lolled to the side as they carried him into the windowless upstairs room. Luthor stole a glance at his mentor, but the Inquisitor’s eyes didn’t so much as flutter. The apothecary wanted to ensure Simon wasn’t too badly injured, aside
from the visible welts and bruises, but he could do little with his hands bound behind him and a dirty rag stuffed into his mouth.
Mattie stumbled along beside him, driven forward by the same coarse hands that shoved Luthor every time he slowed his pace. A small trickle of blood stained the leg of her pants from where she had fallen on the stairs, but she seemed otherwise unharmed. Despite being similarly bound, they had granted Mattie the decency of not placing a soiled rag in her mouth. She carried her head high, even when being pushed unceremoniously.
“Here,” Tom Wriggleton said as the group stopped before an unmarked door. Gone was the man’s pleasant demeanor, replaced instead by a stoic, if not angry, visage. Tom had refused to answer any of Luthor’s questions, even as he barked orders at the other townsfolk. “Put them in the closet.”
Someone opened the door and Gregory walked into the narrow broom closet, carrying Simon in his arms. The Inquisitor offered no resistance or even a grunt of anguish as the bartender dropped him heavily onto the floor. Luthor and Mattie were likewise driven into the inner enclosure. Firm hands on their shoulders pushed them both to the floor. One of the guards gruffly brushed his hand across Luthor’s face, intentionally knocking the man’s glasses from his nose. They fell to the floor and skidded across the hardwood.
With Simon’s unconscious form in the middle of the narrow broom closet, neither Luthor nor Mattie had room to fully extend their legs. Instead, they sat with their knees pressed nearly to their chest as they looked up at their captives.
“What should we do with them?” Gregory asked, his voice filled with bile.
The Blood Thief of Whitten Hall (A Magic & Machinery Novel Book 2) Page 21