Waltz of the Crows

by L Rollins

  She laughed lightly. “It’s good to see you, too.”

  A gentleman would not hold a woman so close in his own bedchamber in the middle of the night with no one around, especially seeing how he wasn’t fully dressed. But Samuel didn’t let go. This may be their last moment together and he wasn’t about to ruin it.

  “They told me you were gone.” He rubbed his hands up and down her back. Gads, but it felt good to hold her again. Why did he ever think letting her go was an option?

  “Samuel.” Her tone grew serious. “I need your help.”

  “Anything.” Only, he pleaded with the heavens, let her not ask for help leaving me once more.

  “Martha isn’t the perpetrator. It’s Claude.”

  “What?” Samuel leaned back slightly. “Are you certain?”

  She nodded. “Martha accepted a few bribes—but hardly enough to make killing so many worth it. Claude, on the other hand, firmly believes the population of Conques has the never-ending responsibility to serve him and his family.”

  “So?”

  “His sister, Alice, is sick with mad hatter’s disease. Which, many physicians now believe, is caused by inhaling mercury.”

  She spoke on for several minutes, all while wrapped in his arms. Samuel wouldn’t let her go, not even for a very sickening conversation regarding who and why someone might spread a lethal disease. But the other thing he couldn’t let go of, was the sinking feeling that Leila was right. All along, Conques had been suffering at the hands of the one man everyone trusted.

  “What do we do now?” he asked when she finally finished.

  “I’ve been to see the constable, but he wouldn’t even hear half of what I had to say. He told me that this afternoon Monsieur Martin visited privately with Martha and immediately afterward she signed a confessional.” The confidence he’d sensed in her suddenly waned. “She’s to be hung tomorrow evening.”

  “No,” Samuel said firmly. “We won’t let that happen. If we can get proof to the constable before then, we can save her. Have you figured out how Claude is sneaking mercury into the wells?”

  “Not yet,” she said with a sigh. “He could be hiding it nearly anywhere in the castle.”

  Samuel tilted his head to the side. “Not anywhere. That place is so overrun with patients and nurses now, I’m not sure I would trust any room to be a good hiding place.”

  Leila placed a hand directly on his chest. The touch made his heart lurch painfully.

  “He wouldn’t hide it in the castle,” she said. “He’d hide it the one place no one knows about. No one but me.” She stepped away and the cold air rushed against his skin. “On my way back, I was thinking. Claude made a very concerted effort to get me away from Conques, but he hasn’t cared about seeing you or the Winstones leave. Why?”

  She paced a few steps away and then faced him once more. “Because I know one thing none of you do. I know where Alice lives.”

  “His sister? She’s here in Conques?”

  “Yes. He’s got her tucked away in a comfortable cottage where he can keep a close eye on her.”

  Samuel started buttoning up his shirt and looking around the room for his boots. “That’s got to be where he’s hiding the mercury.”

  If Samuel were the secret keeping kind of man, he would keep those secrets together where they were both easier to keep an eye on.

  Samuel finished with his shirt and grabbed Leila’s hand. “I think it’s time we make a neighborly, midnight call.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  “THIS IS IT,” LEILA said over her shoulder.

  Samuel, standing directly behind her, kept his voice low. “Quaint.”

  “Not inside it isn’t. Claude has decked it out with all sorts of comforts. Anything Alice wants, she gets.”

  “Including an entire town of lab rats.” Leila didn’t miss the derision in Samuel’s voice. She didn’t blame him for being angry; Conques was his home.

  “It isn’t Alice’s fault. She barely has enough wits about her to recognize when she’s outdoors during a thunderstorm.”

  “She’s that far gone?” His tone softened. Gads, but she loved this man who so easily pushed aside his own anger to feel the hurt of another.

  Leila nodded and moved closer to the house. “I don’t think it will matter if she finds us or not. Even if she were to someday tell Claude, he’d probably assume it was a hallucination.”

  She neared the door, peering for a moment into the large window just to the side. The house was dark and still. She reached for the door handle, twisting it slowly.

  A white face pressed up against the windowpane making Leila jump.

  Alice smiled out at her, then waved a ghostly hand.

  “Hello, friend,” she said loudly through the window, then caught sight of Samuel. “Hello, friend’s friend.”

  Leila placed a hand against her chest. Gears above, she could feel her own heartbeat pounding against her ribs.

  She gave Alice a half smile and waved back.

  There was a deep moan and a second, far more masculine, voice came from inside the cottage. “What is it, Alice?”

  Leila grabbed Samuel’s hand and they ducked below the window.

  “My friend has a friend,” Alice spoke to whoever was in the cottage with her.

  “Go back to sleep my love,” came the reply.

  Leila looked over at Samuel. What were they to do? It had to be Alice’s husband in the cottage with her. Claude had said he was with her most of the time, since neither of them liked to leave her alone for long. But, by the gears above, what was he doing in the front room? Surely the house had a bedchamber somewhere—she desperately wished it had one way in the back, far from the front door.

  Alice’s voice turned singsong. “My friend has a friend. My friend has a friend.”

  “It’s late, dearest. Let’s go to bed.”

  “No!” Alice was suddenly quite angry sounding. “I’m rocking. And my friend has come to see me.”

  The man sighed loudly. “As you wish, my love.”

  Whoever the husband was, he sounded both patient and exhausted. She tilted her head to the side. He also sounded familiar. Leila raised up on her knees and peered through the window.

  The curtains were hanging down once more and she couldn’t see anything at all.

  There came the rapid creak of a rocking chair from just past the window. “Do you suppose she’s brought me an elephant? I do so want a baby elephant.”

  Samuel leaned in close and whispered. “Back door?”

  Leila nodded. Crouched low, they wormed their way around toward the back of the small cottage.

  A few steps led to a small, undecorated door. Leila tiptoed up the stairs and tried the handle. Locked.

  “Strange thing, locking a back door in the middle of the woods.”

  Leila whirled at the voice, pressing her back up against the door. “Victor,” she said, rubbing her collar with a hand. “You’re lucky I don’t have a firearm. I might have shot you.”

  Victor stepped out of a tree’s shadow, Inez beside him. “It’s a good thing I do have one.” He held up a large revolver. “Or haven’t you learned yet that a spy should never snoop about unarmed?”

  For being an old spy, she was surprised he didn’t think twice about startling her and Samuel like that. Gracious, that was the second time in as many minutes she’d felt near to jumping out of her skin. “Excuse me, but I’ve been too busy investigating the waltzing flu.”

  Inez’s gaze ran over the whole of the cottage. “What is this place?”

  Leila walked down the steps; it wouldn’t do to be overheard. She could feel the tenseness of Samuel’s stance as she moved by him. “This is where Alice lives.”

  Inez’s eyebrows raised. “Alice, as in Claude’s sister?”

  “Yes, that Alice. And how did you find us?”

  Victor cocked his head to the side, nonplussed. “We were watching Samuel’s house. Followed you here.” He stood with hands clasp
ed loosely in front of him. “Leila, why did you come back?”

  She lifted her chin. “I don’t think Martha is the perpetrator.”

  “You’ve been reassigned.” His voice grew more firm. “Ignoring those orders could be seen as the act of a traitor.”

  No more sounds wafted from the cottage. Still, how long could they stay here, talking, without being found? “Let’s move.” Leila stocked past Victor and Inez and deeper into the woods.

  Wordless, everyone followed, but judging by Victor’s heavy steps he wasn’t too concerned about where they had this conversation. After a few paces, Leila stopped. She could still make out the silhouette of the cottage easily enough, but so long as they spoke softly, they should be undetected.

  “Hear me out,” she said before either of the Winstones could argue. “Inez, it was you who taught me to see a situation from another’s perspective.” In as few sentences as possible, she laid out her theory, exactly as she had for Samuel.

  Each time she’d rehearsed the facts, her conclusion felt more solid, more like the only logical explanation.

  “If he is hiding anything,” Leila finished. “Claude would put it out here.”

  Would they even consider Monsieur Claude Martin? Victor had shared many a brandy after supper with the man during the last two months, after they looped Claude in on their mission.

  Leila’s stomach churned. To think they’d trusted him with all they knew, and all the while he played them all.

  “I wouldn’t have believed it.” Inez spoke first. “But after this afternoon . . .” She shrugged.

  “What happened this afternoon?” Samuel asked.

  Victor watched Leila, thumb and forefinger stroking his lower lip. “Claude’s driver returned angry and the two had a private conference. Inez, ever intuitive, listened in.”

  Inez picked up the tale. “The driver reported that you had gotten away from him, even fooled him into chasing an impostor.” Her voice dropped low. “Claude was furious. At first I assumed he was concerned for your safety, but the more I heard, the less confident I felt.”

  “That’s why you were watching my house,” Samuel said.

  Inez nodded. “If Leila wasn’t interested in boarding the airship, there was only one other place I could think of her going.”

  “Back to the point.” Victor drew out his words. “If Claude is the perpetrator, why not ensure we all leave? Why allow Inez and I to stay?”

  Leila’s gaze moved back to the cottage. No light shown from the windows. “I’m the only one Claude brought here. No one else knows his sister lives here with her husband.”

  “Except the husband,” Victor said.

  Leila pressed her lips tight. “Yes, except him, whoever he may be.”

  “You’re risking a lot.” Victor pulled out his gun and checked the barrel. “But if you’re determined, we’d best see it through.” He shut the weapon with a harsh click. “Just don’t count on us finding anything to protect you from being court martialed.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  SAMUEL DIDN’T LIKE the stillness of the forest around them. Quietude on the Gearhound was one thing. There, no one expected rodents and birds and crickets to fill the night with their soft chirps and hums.

  But in a forest, hiding among the shadows, the usual animal noises would have been welcomed. Why was it so quiet? He wanted to get inside the cottage, and away from the eerie silence.

  “The back door is locked,” he said as they moved closer to the cottage. “But there’s a cellar door we haven’t tried.” Samuel pointed to the wooden trap door which rested parallel to the ground.

  Monsieur Winstone strode forward and tested the large ring which served as a door handle. The wooden door opened and a hiss emanated from inside for a minute. Then all was silent again.

  “This way.” Monsieur Winstone’s voice was lower than before. Perhaps he finally agreed with Leila. Samuel himself was confident in Leila’s assessment. He didn’t know anyone as brilliant as her—if she believed Claude was the perpetrator, that was all the convincing he needed.

  Madame Winstone moved up behind her husband. She pulled out a small lamp and soon had it lit.

  “Be vigilant,” she said. “There might be nothing down here, or there might be a guard with a firearm. One never knows.”

  Monsieur Winstone pulled the door up and fully open. His wife slipped down the stairs first, then Leila and lastly Samuel moved up beside him.

  Monsieur Winstone took hold of Samuel’s arm. “I’ve seen you work, son. I’d wager you know how to handle yourself in a fight. Stick close to Leila. She wasn’t simply being modest when she said she’s spent most of her spy training tracking the waltzing flu and not nearly enough of it learning how to defend herself.”

  Samuel looked the older man straight in the eye. “You can depend on me, sir. There’s nothing more important to me than keeping her safe.”

  Monsieur Winstone gave him a brief, satisfied nod and let go of his arm.

  Samuel hurried down the dark stairs. They creaked under his boots—probably wooden.

  The cellar was far bigger than he would have guessed. Madame Winstone stood, small lamp held high, only a few paces off. The walls to either side were at least a dozen paces away from him and he couldn’t see the wall directly in front. It was like a long hallway. Samuel lifted his hand above his head, resting it fully against the wooden beams above; a hallway with a very low ceiling.

  Leila was hunched over something which stayed just outside the ring of light. He moved over to her.

  “What is it?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know. Some kind of a pipe, I think.”

  Bending low, he reached a hand out and felt along the ground next to her. Something long and rounded ran across the floor.

  The Winstone’s moved deeper down the cellar, the light moving away with them. Samuel wanted to grab hold of Leila and pull her out of the cellar. He wanted to take her back home and wrap her close to him.

  Leila’s voice broke through his thoughts. “Let’s see where it leads.”

  He couldn’t keep her from investigating, but perhaps he could keep her away from anything too deadly. “You follow it back toward the stairs, and I’ll follow it the other direction.”

  A thin strip of yellow light laced the side of her head, enough he could see her nod, but not enough to see anything else. His fingers ached with the desire to pull her head close and kiss the top of it.

  Leila scooted past him, moving back toward the stairs, one of her hands on the pipe at all times.

  The sooner they found what there was to find in here the sooner he could get her out. Samuel crawled the opposite direction. The pipe was hot, though not too hot to touch. What would make a pipe, which should have been cool since it was down inside a cellar, so heated?

  Was this how Claude was contaminating the water system? If the man was to blame, then he didn’t deserve the title of Monsieur Martin.

  It would have to be one elaborate pump that allowed him to dump mercury in his cellar and then send it out across town. Samuel couldn’t see how that could have been done. The man would have had to lay pipes all across town and someone certainly would have noticed.

  Hunched over the floor, he moved slowly, following the pipe several feet deeper into the cellar. This had to be something else.

  “Victor . . .” Madame Winstone’s voice was suddenly scared. Samuel’s head snapped up. She stood before a large barrel which appeared to wobble on its own in the flickering lantern light. Samuel rose to standing.

  “Russian Barrel!” Monsieur Winstone yelled. “Get out!” He jumped for his wife even as Samuel bolted toward the back of the cellar.

  Boom.

  Hissing, steaming heat burst through the room, searing Samuel’s back.

  Samuel dropped to one knee covering his head with his arms as several objects whizzed by him and clattered to the floor.

  There was a cry, then another.

  Samuel peered b
etween his arms. Nothing more flew his direction.

  The room was filled with steam and dust. He couldn’t see what was happening.

  “Leila!” he called. No answer.

  Someone was choking. He’d heard that sound before—it was the struggling gag of someone in intense pain.

  Samuel spun around. Which way was deeper into the cellar and which way was out? He stumbled a few steps forward, stepping on something sharp which nearly cut through his boot.

  Bending down, he picked it up. It was a piece of metal, crudely sharpened into a pick. He shuffled a few feet forward, kicking more pieces of metal as he walked.

  The barrel, it seemed, had been full of the sharp metal objects—shrapnel intent on shredding whoever was near when it blew.

  The dust slowly settled and two forms, illuminated by the lantern as it rolled across the floor, seemed to rise up out of the darkness.

  “Hang in there, my sweet.” Monsieur Winstone leaned over his wife. “Only one more.”

  He pulled back suddenly and in his hand he held a piece of metal. It glinted softly as a patch of yellow light fell his direction. The shrapnel was stained dark. Samuel’s stomach rolled.

  Monsieur Winstone threw the piece behind him and wrapped his arms around his wife. “Stay awake. I know it’s hard, but you have to stay awake.”

  Leila. Where was Leila? Samuel turned, now certain which direction the stairs were, and ran back to where he’d last seen her.

  She was curled up on the floor.

  No, no, no.

  He knelt beside her, his hands running along her back and legs, checking for any shrapnel that may have made it this far down the cellar. She was shaking hard.

  “Leila,” he said, his tone urgent. “Are you all right?”

  Her hand wrapped around his arm and she began to pull herself up.

  “What was that?” Even her voice shook.

  “Some kind of a bomb.” He wrapped his arms around her waist and helped her stand.

  “Victor and Inez?”

  “Madame is hurt, something bad I think.”