Chronicles of Steele: Raven: Episode 1

by Pauline Creeden

  She narrowed her eyes at him and tightened her jaw. Ignoring his elbow, she marched in the general direction they’d been going. He caught up and she slowed a tick to allow him to lead again. Soon he brought her to a tall set of red doors. She shook her head in wonder. The palace of the Duke of New Haven?

  The guards opened the doors upon Grant’s nod. He led her into the marble foyer, and Raven suddenly felt shy. She stifled the urge to hide behind Grant. White salt lines were drawn in the wrinkles of her clothes, and she couldn’t get rid of the taut feeling in her skin. Why had she been brought here?

  Grant put his hands behind his back and lifted his chin toward a servant girl. “This is the woman who saved the young baron.”

  The maid nodded to Raven without looking. The girl’s blond hair pulled against her temples in a tight braid. Her uniform’s pleats were pressed in sharp creases, and Raven wondered if it felt stiff when the girl moved. Her eyes were slightly almond shaped, but their color remained hidden under long lashes. She turned on her heel. “Follow me, please.”

  Grant swung an arm in the direction of the girl when she started up the stairs. In the wavering light of the gas-lit foyer, the white of a scar stood out on the line of his square jaw. His half-smile seemed playful. He leaned in and whispered, “See you around, Raven Steele.”

  She met his brown eyes and saw a hint of humor in them. He turned for the door before she could respond. With a shrug, she started up the stairs after the maid.

  The disapproving, pupil-less eyes of ivory busts in the alcoves of the stairwell condemned her for her flaws. Her palms grew sweaty and she found no comfort in the luxuriant red carpet that cushioned each step of her tired feet.

  Once the servant reached the top of the steps, she turned to the left. Raven ventured a glance at the limitless hallway of oak doors and wondered what a right turn would bring.

  Rich, colorful tapestries lined the walls. Instead of growing faint with time, each hanging had grown darker, more shaded. The souls of the departed seemed to be held within the portraits. She shook the thoughts from her head.

  The servant stopped at a door. They all looked the same to Raven; nothing signified one from the other.

  “Here you are. A bath has been drawn for you, and I will leave you with a dinner gown. Your clothes will be laundered and returned to you after the meal.”

  Raven raised an eyebrow quizzically. She stepped into the room and found a lush beige patterned rug covering most of the hardwood floor. Gauze-like curtains danced lightly in the breeze from the open top window. Autumn leaves rustled just outside. An ornate fleur-de-lis design in the lavender wallpaper accentuated the lavender scent from the bathwater. Huge columns of scrolled timber stood as stalwart sentries at each corner of the oversized bed. Even the wardrobe had an elaborate wooded scene carved into the cedar.

  The blond servant girl closed the window and stood still while Raven surveyed the room. The girl managed to stare at her without meeting her eyes, a strange talent. Raven needed to learn that one. Then she realized the girl waited for an answer.

  “Oh, right.”

  The servant turned on her heel and headed for a cedar-lined walk-in closet. After a moment, she returned with a purple gown and held it up in Raven’s general direction.

  “This should fit. I used water pumped directly from the hot house, and it should be cooled enough by now if you’d like to disrobe behind the dressing screen?” A tall screen of canvas and wood stood near the porcelain tub. Inviting steam rose from the water. The servant girl laid the purple dress on the bed and stood outside the canvas screen, waiting for the salt-soiled clothing.

  With a shrug, Raven headed for the dressing screen and stripped her stiff, black moleskin breeches, the leather corset, and her cropped purple jacket. Each item disappeared the moment she placed them over the top of the screen. She stood awkwardly for a moment, rubbing her elbows, unsure if she could stride out bare for the tub.

  “I will return in three quarters of an hour to collect you for dinner.”

  “All right.”

  When the door clicked closed, Raven padded barefoot across the cold hardwood. An elbow in the tub found it almost too hot to bear. Just the way she preferred. She stepped into the tub and felt each of her muscles relax as she sank into the almost scorching liquid.

  The purple dress fit perfectly; the servant girl had a good eye. Raven smiled in appreciation before the full-length mirror. It had been a long time since she’d worn a dress. Men generally held her post as reaper and bodyguard. Out of necessity, she wore the same clothes they did. The moleskin breeches were tougher than anything she could find in a shop for women, and the linen jacket breathed better. The only feminine item she refused to part with was her leather corset. The utility value of the harness within the black laced leather and the magnets sewn in the back made it indispensible. She smiled and lifted the ankle-length skirt. The dress didn’t look half bad with her knee-high riding boots.

  Her wet hair made the shoulders of the dress a slightly darker shade of purple. She stepped over to the drying vent on the wall and turned the crank. The brass horn expelled hot air in an upward direction and she held her black hair over it. After a minute or two of continued drying, she lowered the vent slightly so that she could hold her shoulders and back over it in the hopes of drying the dress.

  “Are you ready, miss?”

  Raven started. She hadn’t heard the servant enter while the dryer ran. She pulled the lever and backed away a step, giving a nod. The servant girl led her into the hallway again. They left the way they came, and at the foyer, they headed for the dining room.

  The dining area held no surprises–high-backed chairs made from a cherry wood, a long table capable of a great number of guests, and a crystal chandelier overhead. The light danced in sparkling spectrums on the white ceiling. Two places were set at the table–one at the head, and the other place set to the head’s left. The servant girl gestured for Raven to sit to the side.

  A butler, nearly invisible against the black and white striped wall paper, stepped forward and pulled out the chair. His tall, thin frame reminded her of the chair’s back, and his dark eyes bored into her. The skin on his expressionless face had the texture of worn leather.

  Even though the dress took away some of the discomfort she felt in the duke’s house, Raven had no idea how to behave. She sat in the chair and clutched the sides awkwardly while the butler pushed it forward.

  Soon after, a young man stepped into the room with a strange grin on his face. Raven stiffened. She didn’t know what she expected in the duke, but she certainly expected him to be older. The deep baritone of the butler called an introduction into the room as though it were full of people. “Young Baron Solomon Goodnight.”

  Relief flooded her. Not the duke, but his son…

  The baron’s pale, handsome face was almost bloodless, and his clothing hung straight from his shoulders as though a size overlarge. His lithe movements reminded Raven of a cat, and he held himself as though preparing for a dance. A cough contorted his face for a moment and his back bent. After resuming his position, and replacing his handkerchief, he apologized and asked, “Raven Steele?”

  She pushed her chair back in preparation to stand, but the young man made a gesture with his hand and shook his head. The butler helped him sit. She nodded, unsure of what to say.

  “Thank you for saving my little brother’s life.” He folded his slender fingers in front of him.

  With a shrug, she lowered her eyes. “I only did what anyone else would do in my situation.”

  Baron Solomon laughed, began coughing, and pulled a napkin to his lips to contain it. After a moment he said, “Not everyone would have the equipment you carry. And no, not anyone would save him even so.”

  She raised her brows.

  “My father is not very popular at the moment. The people are on the edge of revolt. For some reason, they stay the execution of their plans because I’m the successor. If they saw me in
this state, however, they might change their minds.”

  The butler interrupted and came forward, placing a small bowl of soup before each of them. Raven lifted a spoon in the same manner as the baron and attempted a small taste of the cloudy liquid. It had a light cucumber flavor. Baron Solomon took a few hesitant sips and set aside his spoon. Although she hadn’t eaten all day, Raven forced herself to leave half the soup behind so she didn’t appear uncouth.

  Setting aside his spoon, the baron sat back in the upright chair and placed his hands in his lap. “This condition has stolen my appetite, I’m afraid. But I do my best to eat something to keep up my strength.”

  “So you are hiding from the people?”

  He laughed and coughed, again. “Cut right to the point, don’t you? Yes, the people cannot know how ill I am.”

  “But your brothers?”

  “I have only the one brother.” He gave a weak smile, worry lines creasing his young forehead. “Darius is my only brother, and he is…”

  The butler interrupted again and removed the bowls. He placed small servings of cheese and fruit before them. Solomon took his cheese fork and placed a small morsel in his mouth. Raven mimicked him, not enjoying the sharp flavor. She washed it down with the fruity drink in the goblet at the side of her plate. “Your brother is…?”

  Solomon nodded and sat back. “Today he was returning from the bishop’s rectory when he had the unfortunate accident. The bishop had unsuccessfully attempted an exorcism.”

  Raven furrowed her brow. “A what?”

  “Exorcism. The church believes my brother is possessed.”

  “Surely the aristocracy doesn’t believe…”

  The butler entered again, removed the plates, and left the next course. Raven eyed the brackish fish eggs with disdain. The baron scooped a small portion onto a cracker and put the whole bite into his mouth. She ate a plain cracker.

  Solomon began again. “Belief has nothing to do with it. My brother has fits and causes any machinery around him to go haywire. My father has avoided my brother since the fits began.” The baron leaned toward Raven and said quietly, “Father has some clockwork parts that are sensitive to my brother’s outbursts. He has begun to see my brother as a liability to progress. Because the bishop’s exorcism was unsuccessful, it’s likely Father will have Darius assassinated.”

  Raven swallowed hard. “Your brother’s looks as though he’s only eight.”

  “He’s nine.”

  “What will you do?”

  The butler cleared his throat to announce his arrival, removed the dishes once more, and replaced them with a small tart. When Raven cut the flakey crust, she found a brown mushy center that tasted of liver. She cut a small portion of the crust and ate.

  Solomon leaned forward, his hands closed and pleading. “Miss Steele, that is the reason you are here with me. I want to ask if you will take him to the Wood Witch.”

  “Me?”

  “Your arrival in town is a fortuitous answer to prayer. My father’s men are sworn to follow his orders and would not go against them. Tomorrow morning, my father will return from his trip to Billings. When he discovers the bishop’s unsuccessful attempt, he’ll have my brother disposed of quietly.”

  Raven sat back in silence and took a sip of the juice to think things through.

  One more life redeemed. To soothe her conscience, she had committed herself fully to the way of the reaper. For every life she took, she’d been required to save one. Though she’d saved the young baron’s life once, this would save it again. Would it count twice? If it did, she would be even by her count. “And if the Wood Witch fails?”

  Solomon’s eyes grew cloudy. He refocused on her and his eyes pleaded with her. “If she is unsuccessful, I’d have need to ask even more of you. Would you protect my brother for the remainder of his life?”

  In battle, decisions must be made quickly.

  One's wit must be sharp or death is certain.

  Outside of battle, take one's time in deliberation.

  The wrong choice in life can kill as well.

  THE STONE-FACED BUTLER entered again and collected the plates. He set small bowls of white cream atop a circle of spongy cake. It looked delicious, but Raven’s appetite had abandoned her. She’d already sworn to herself that her days of reaping the lives of men had ended. Certainly if she gave up her life for the life of this boy, it would tip the scales in her favor.

  She could hope, but she needed to concentrate on the present task. “Do you trust the Wood Witch?”

  “When my mother lived, she also worshipped the goddess of the Wood Witch and claimed her to be more powerful than the Christians’ God. Father, on the other hand, would sooner burn the witch than trust her. He refused to allow her help. For my part, I am willing to try anything.”

  Raven stared at her hands. She’d been making her way to Gregory to tell him she was done with her life as a reaper. She’d only had two lives left to save, but believed she could find a way to accomplish the task and be his wife at the same time. Provided that the trip to the Wood Witch went well, the task would be complete within a week or so. Her debt would be paid and wouldn’t be hanging over her head. But if the Wood Witch failed, would she ever be able to settle down with Gregory? She decided to visit him before attempting the venture.

  The baron’s voice came in a pleading whisper. “It’s you or no one. If you do not attempt this task, my brother will die.”

  “I could take him to the Wood Witch, but I am unsure of a further commitment.”

  “I don’t want to lie to you, Miss Steele. If the Wood Witch fails, and you return Darius to my father's court, he is as good as dead.”

  She couldn’t let the boy die. The thought of it seized her chest, and it was as good as reaping him herself. She wouldn’t let it happen. With caution, she made a slow nod.

  “Excellent." The baron turned his attention to the butler. "Gorman, have you made the arrangements?”

  “Yes, Baron Solomon. The lady’s attire and accompaniments have been placed in the quarters provided.” The butler stood between them, his eyes fixed on the floor.

  “You should leave tonight. We want to give you a solid start before Father arrives. Travel as far and as quick as you can. Because of my brother’s condition, I’m sorry that I can’t provide you with the fastest brass horse we have . . . ”

  “No, that’s fine. I do not trust automated horses.”

  “Oh, right. Then I will provide the fastest flesh horse we have. Can you be ready within the hour?”

  Raven stood as the butler scrambled to pull her chair. “I’ll be ready in half.”

  Folding the top flap of the saddlebag into the pouch, Raven made sure that her crossbow could be easily drawn if the need should arise. When riding a horse, the bow could slip from the magnets on her corset. She nocked an arrow into it with her thumb safety engaged. The line of sight was straight and true. She attached her quiver to a ring on the side of the saddle. If there was trouble, she needed her equipment at hand. The night had fallen while she had been entertained by Baron Solomon, and the gaslight lamps along the stable wall provided a soft glow. A reaper’s senses needed to become more acute at night. She scanned the shadows for danger, and her hand fluttered to the night-vision goggles on her head.

  Two sets of footsteps clipped across on the cobblestone. Before they rounded the bend to the stable door, her fingers twitched over her knife. When she saw Gorman and the younger baron, she relaxed and continued attaching her weapons.

  “Can I trust you?” Baron Darius’s voice rose hesitantly as he approached.

  She smiled. “I’ve saved your life once and promise to do it as many times as necessary.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s the reaper’s way. A life for a life.”

  “How many have you killed?”

  Raven clinched her jaw. “Too many.” Her gaze met the butler’s. “Will he have his own horse?”

  “No. The young master’s condition m
akes him subject to untimely fits. He would be in danger of falling.” His ice blue eyes held a fire unmatched by his frozen features.

  “Right. I expected as much.” She placed her boot in the stirrup and mounted. “Hand him to me then.

  The butler lifted him to the front of her saddle. She knew it would be an uncomfortable place to ride for a long period of time, but he’d only have to make it to Gregory’s house. On a horse, it should only be about four hours if they took it slow, less than three if needed.

  A horn sounded, and the butler paled. “It’s him. The duke approaches.”

  “Father is early.” The boy sounded happy but tentative.

  Gorman gripped the horse’s rein and turned it toward the other stable exit. “We must leave by the north gate. The duke approaches from the south. You may have as much as an hour’s head start before he commands a pursuit.”

  Raven swallowed hard. “That’s not enough time.”

  “Follow me.” He released the rein and jogged forward.

  The horse trotted in response. Even in the jarring up and down motion of the trot, the young baron remained silent. He gripped the chestnut mare’s mane with both hands. His knuckles glowed white under the lamps. Raven pulled gently on the reins to slow the horse to a more tolerable speed but followed the butler closely.

  “Guards!” Gorman reached the gates, speaking in breathless tones. “Baron Solomon orders passage for this woman and the young baron.”

  Raven recognized Grant’s red band before he turned around. He narrowed his eyes at her and barked the order to open the gate. Before she could urge her horse forward, Grant gripped the bridle by the cheek piece. He called back toward the butler, “Will she need guard?”

  “That will not be necessary. She is capable of caring for the young baron on his errand.”

  Even in the half-light, Raven could see the guard’s jaw tighten and nostrils flare in indecision. “Baron Solomon trusts this woman?”

  The butler frowned and stiffened in disapproval. Still he answered softly, “Yes, with his brother’s life.”