Authors: Sharon Joss
Steam Dogs (28 page)
Sir Magnus returned to where Raikes had parked the carriage, only
to find his bloody body lying on the floor of the open coach. He checked the
corpse, and found Raikes’s stiff fingers curled around the bloody handle of a
knife protruding from between ribs. Cautiously, he checked the body and area
around the carriage for clues as to who the killer might have been, but found nothing
and no one nearby. The old chapel was locked up tight, and the building itself effectively
screened the scene from the airfield.
Most of the blood, except the darkest parts of the man’s clothing
and where it had pooled beneath the body, had already dried. He felt no residue
of magick here. It appeared as if the attacker had fled the scene immediately
after the stabbing. A woman; based on the size and mark of the shoe prints.
He found the chloroform-soaked rag lying in the mud, the solution
became clear. Raikes didn’t speak much of women, but like all men, he no doubt
had needs. An unwelcome pass at a local strumpet, then. He pulled the knife
from Raikes stiff bloody fingers. An old kitchen knife with a wicked edge to
it. Must have given him quite a surprise. And that she’d run off without
raising the alarm proved her to be nothing but a doxy.
He tossed the weapon into the cab and shook his head over the
corpse. “Bad luck that, eh John?”
The nameless lass had actually done him a favor.
Being careful not to get any blood on his jacket, he shoved the
knacker’s legs back inside and slammed the door shut. “Not to worry, we’ll have
you back on your feet in no time. You’ll feel like a new man, I guarantee it.”
He closed the door and drove the coach back to the estate.
After hitching the horses to the front post, he dragged the body
into the dining room and hauled him up onto the table. It was nearly sunset by
the time he got the curtains closed and raised the flames on the gaslights. The
timing was perfect.
Once he infused Raikes's corpse with his earth magick, the newly-made
draug cast about the kitchen, his eyes still alight with hunger.
The new ones were always so hungry. Better to get him over to the
abattoir and get him fed properly.
Sir Magnus rubbed his forehead. Raikes had not been a man he could
afford to lose, but the necessity of raising him as a draug had not been
completely unplanned. And as it happened, the timing was about right.
In spite of the increased sense of power he felt when he’d raised
Raikes from the dead, his earlier lapse this afternoon when he left the
platform to pursue the fire mage had been a warning. The constant drain on his
power left him too easily distracted. Once again the prize had slipped from his
fingers.
He clenched his hands into fists. It would not happen again.
Welsie wiped the sour taste from her mouth out with the hem of her
skirt. Simon, Roman, and Louie had already gone on ahead, following the boy
through a hole in the wall, leading to the gaslit dockyard. Her throat was dry
and sore. She wished she had some water; although nothing could convince her to
drink anything found in this place. She smoothed her skirt and hurried after
them.
A gunshot sounded as she reached the ragged portal to the
shipyard. She froze; paralyzed by the scene unfolding before her. The men were
being attacked—not just by Hamm, but a dozen or more undead giants just
like him!
Simon was down.
Roman spotted her. “Run, Welsie, RUN!” One of the monsters grabbed
him and wrested the pistol from his grasp.
She ran.
Blinded by the brightly lit dock, she stumbled blindly through the
cold room. Her pursuer groped in the darkness behind her, sounding far too
close. In a panic, she stumbled forward, past John Raikes's living quarters,
past the butcher’s counter and out the front door.
She raced into the night, her mouth a silent scream. Holding up
her skirts, she scanned the tarmac in either direction, but the streets were
empty. Not a soul on Ferry Road. She ran toward the Tavern, a half-mile away,
not daring to check behind her to see if she was followed.
Her only safety lay with ferry. It had been years since she piloted
the
Hound of the Mist
; in the early
days of their marriage, Hamm had been proud to teach her how to run it. Back
then, he’d made her feel as if they were partners.
We’ll run it together,
he’d told her. Promises made so long ago,
she’d forgotten.
And now it was too late
There would be coal enough in the engine, she knew. Hamm never
left the ship without readying it for the next day. Would she have time to fire
up the engine?
What time was it? She knew the tide tables by heart; they were
posted on the front window of the tavern every week. Oh god, the tide is too
low! She wouldn’t be able to get the ferry out!
Panting for breath, she turned to look behind her. An immensely
tall lone figure was pounding down the road after her…
The creature that grabbed Roman by the shoulder was even bigger
than the Hamm thing. It had hands the size of platters. Roman fired his pistol directly
into his attacker’s face with no effect. The monster merely grabbed the pistol
and twisted it out of his hand—as easily as a man might take a toy from a
child.
Two of the creatures, each some eight feet tall, pinned his arms
from either side, while a few feet away, Louie squirmed helplessly as he was
held off the ground by his neck; his feet kicking uselessly. Simon lay
motionless on the wide planks of the pier where the
Slough Maid
was tethered sedately beside the dock.
Roman counted at least ten of the things, including the one he
recognized in the wheelhouse as Hamm. He had hoped that Hamm had drowned after Atters
drove him away, but Atters had been telling the truth—these undead
couldn’t die. Of course Sir Magnus would have a whole crew of these things. And
now they were finished before they’d even started.
A movement caught his eye. Sir Magnus appeared on deck, his
expression cold as stone. “Chain them in the hold.”
“You bastard!” Held in the iron grip of his captors, Roman could
only hurl insults.
The dark eyes flashed. “Hold your tongue Inspector, else I give
you to them as a snack.”
They were dragged down two levels into the hold and chained by the
ankles. The fittings were submerged beneath four inches of muddy dirt, littered
with shards of bone. Simon and Louie, who were both unconscious, were chained
as well. When the creatures left, they took the lantern with them, leaving the
hold in total darkness.
Roman clawed at the heavy manacle around his ankle. The iron felt
old and pitted, but far too heavy to yield to his efforts. Atters lay
unconscious beside him, and no amount of shaking or face slapping would rouse
him. On the other side of Atters lay Louie, too far away to reach.
Heavy footsteps creaked across the planks overhead. Moments later,
Roman identified the sounds of coal being shoveled overhead. No doubt they were
preparing to leave soon. Sir Magnus and his undead crew would take the Queen
and there was nothing he could do to stop it.
Desperate, Roman scratched and pulled at the iron cuffs until his
fingertips bled. The very thought of those things putting their hands on the
bloody
Queen of England
was
impossible. This was all madness. He prayed that Welsie had escaped, but did
not believe it. Most likely she was already a blood splatter on West Ferry
Road. Another doomed wraith, like Stackpoole, to wander forever in the marshes.
Or worse.
Were her eyes were already covered by that disgusting blue film?
Had her skin turned grey and her body already grown monstrous? Or was she
hanging upside down in the cold room where they’d found Padraig?
Roman held his head in his hands and wondered if his father had
gotten through before they’d killed him.
No. Of course he hadn’t. His corpse was proof of that. The sight
of his father’s body dangling from a meat hook had shocked him beyond reason.
No one had ever gotten the better of Padraig Greenslade. The shriveled up old
man he’d pulled down from a meat hook in the cold room bore no resemblance to the
iron-willed, ruddy-faced brawler he’d always known his father to be. When had Padraig’s
commanding posture become so stooped? The old man seemed so much smaller than
he remembered. No. He hadn’t wanted to see any of it, and had heartlessly sent
an old man to his death. No warning message had been delivered, and now it was
too late.
It didn’t matter. Not anymore. In his heart, he knew they were all
good as dead, now.
Sir Magnus had won.
The sound of engines overhead roused Simon with a pounding
headache. He awoke in total darkness. Cautiously, he allowed the flames to
flare from his fingers. Greenslade’s worried face was only inches away from his
own. From somewhere behind him, Louie coughed and swore.
Simon was shirtless; lying in mud in an enclosed space, far too
close and stuffy for comfort. A familiar panic flared within him. He had to get
out. He struggled to his knees, and found his ankles chained. “Where are we?”
“Thank God you’re alive,” answered Greenslade. “We’re in the hold
of the
Sough Maid
.”
Beside him, Louie sat up, rubbing his throat. “We’re moving,”
Louie whispered, his voice a low rasp. Above them, and the engine shifted into
gear.
Simon nodded. He ran his fingers over the heavy manacles around
his ankles. Their chains were bolted to the keel, then. He held up his hands
and allowed his flames to brighten as he peered around the hold. “Where’s
Welsie?”
Roman shook his head. “She ran, but one of those things went after
her. She’s gone.” His lips trembled as he spoke. “There was nothing I could
do.”
Simon clenched his jaw against a shouted curse.
Dead then.
Those dreams he’d had about a future with her… If was as if a
black hole had opened up inside him. Gone to shite, like everything else. They
should have never let her come with them. He should have insisted; even as he’d
admired her for her spunk. It didn’t matter now. Nothing mattered. Once again,
he’d failed the people he loved. His father. Benoit. And now Welsie
Nothing mattered anymore.
“We’re too late.” Greenslade’s
bitter tone echoed Simon’s own sense of futility. And who could blame him?
Seeing Greenslade’s grief as he laid his father’s corpse on the floor like that
showed him that he and the policeman were not so much at odds as he’d once
thought. They’d both lost their fathers to magick. They’d both been the ones to
find their father’s corpse. They’d both felt that shot of agony right through
the heart.
And they’d both lost the
girl.
Simon held the inspector’s ragged gaze. “It’s not your fault. I don’t
think we could have stopped her from coming. And I’m sorry about your father. I
know how it feels.”
Greenslade looked away, but nodded. “No doubt we’ll be joining the
both of them soon. No offense, but if I had to choose, I’d rather have drowned
last night. At least I’d be out of my misery.”
Simon gave a wry smirk. “None taken. I’ve no desire to join the
ranks of the undead, although finding myself chained to you is just about the
worst nightmare a bloke like me could have, now isn’t it?” Automatically, his
hands slid to his bare waist, he cursed under his breath. Without his tools,
he’s be challenged to unlock these cuffs. “Louie, do you still have your pack?”
“They took it.” A grin split the little man’s broad face. “But not
my vest. We can still do damage.”
“They took my tool pack. I need something I can use to unlock
these chains.”
Louie frowned as he patted his own pockets.
“Wait, will this do?.” Greenslade reached into his shirt pocket
and extracted a gleaming silver toothpick.
“Excellent.” Whatever happened now, they’d at least be able to get
out of this claustrophobic hold. “You’ve the makings of a fine thief,
Inspector.” With a practiced movement, Simon slipped the pick into the locking
mechanism and with a low
click
,
released the manacle from his right ankle. A moment later, the second manacle
yielded and he kicked it away.
He began to work on the lock at Greenslade’s ankle.
The policeman gave him a dull stare. “We’re all going to die, you
know.” .
Simon glanced over at Louie, who gave him a thumbs up. “Probably.
But Louie says we’re not done for yet, so I’m willing to have another go at it.
What do you say, Greenslade? Let’s take this bastard down with us.”
Arvel paced beneath the
Il
Colibri
as he considered Gregorio’s odd message from Simon. The
demonstration for the Queen had been executed flawlessly. The invitation to
join her on the viewing platform, while not quite the introduction he’d hoped
for, was nonetheless thrilling; as were her congratulations and exclamations
over the agility of his airship design. Everything had gone according to plan,
and better than even he could have hoped. No promise of a royal commission, but
he was feeling optimistic.
So why had Simon changed the plan without telling him?
“Did he say why he was
taking Louie with him?”
Gregorio shook his head. “He had that inspector Greenslade with
him, and the woman him, too. Said not to worry about tonight.”
In spite of the message, Arvel felt uncomfortable. Simon detested
the policeman; and the feeling was obviously mutual. So why would they have
left together, and why would the Inspector have left the dog with the crew for
safekeeping? It didn’t make sense. And it was nearly ten o’clock. What on earth
was he doing?
“What about--?”
A shout of alarm rose from one of the French crewmen. There was a
woman racing through the hangar toward them, a hammer in her hand.
Good heavens!
It was the woman, Welsie.
“Help me, Arvel!” She
threw herself into his arms. “We’ve got to stop him!”
Clearly upset; she was certain she’d been followed. Arvel sent
Nuncio and Rudy outside to search, then took her by the elbow and steered her
back toward the
Il Colibri
.
“Arvel, you’ve got to listen to me. They’ve been captured.” She
told him a wild story about the wizard, Sir Magnus and how he had raised a crew
of undead wraiths with the intention of kidnapping the Queen. “They killed
Roman’s father when he tried to warn the authorities. They’ve got a ship. Simon
and Roman and Louie went down to the boatyard to sink it, but Sir Magnus has
captured them. You’ve got to help us!”