The Blood Thief of Whitten Hall (A Magic & Machinery Novel Book 2) (19 page)

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 against 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.”

As the others stared at the pile of corpses in disbelief, Simon crouched before the pile. He reached forward and pressed closed the eyes of the nearest body. He knew the gesture meant little to the corpse and, truth be told, it was not even done with reverence to the deceased. The dead woman’s eyes stared at him piercingly, making him feel dreadfully uncomfortable.

As he removed his hand, the woman’s head lolled to one side. Simon paused and raised the lantern so that its light could better spill across the woman’s face. Though discreet, there were noticeable paralleled puncture wounds on the woman’s long neck.

Simon stepped back brusquely from the corpse. He spun toward Luthor and Mattie, the lantern light flickering wildly as he turned.

“Sir?” Luthor asked, startled.

“Gather your things at once,” Simon replied, his eyes darting around the room. “Things are not what they appear.”

Simon turned the lantern from side to side in an attempt to push back the impenetrable darkness surrounding them. As the candlelight flickered within the hooded lantern, the shadows took on a life of their own, seeming to push against the meager illumination.

As Luthor pulled his doctor’s bag closer to his chest, he backed away from the pile of emaciated bodies. Beside him, Mattie snarled. As the light played over her features, her eyes appeared glassy and yellowed as the first stages of her transformation overtook her.

Simon clenched his revolver in his hand as he scanned the room once more. He wasn’t sure that he truly expected a sudden attack, but he couldn’t escape the feeling that they were being watched. It was the same feeling that had haunted their steps ever since discovering the underground barracks. He recollected their steps, from the top of the mine pit to the entrance, through the heavy wooden door, and through the barracks. They had followed their intuition, but had their movements actually been prescribed? He wasn’t so sure that he hadn’t led his team directly into a trap.

As Simon painted the room with his lantern once more, a shadow detached itself from the darkness and wrapped its arms around Luthor, one hand grasping him firmly around the waist and another over his mouth. The apothecary tried to scream, but the sound was muffled. Before Simon could react, the figure pulled Luthor backward and they both disappeared once more into the darkness.

Mattie dropped her tunic to the floor as her upper body bristled and split as she transformed into the werewolf. Simon rushed forward, but a second figure stepped into his path.

The man before him wore the workman’s clothes they had seen on the men pushing the rail carts into the mine, but little else resembled a man. The miner’s skin was sallow and his cheeks sunken. The irises of his eyes smoldered inhumanly red in the candlelight. As the man opened his mouth, he revealed two elongated canines that Simon thoroughly doubted were veneers.

The Inquisitor pushed forward, knowing that Luthor’s life was most certainly in grave danger. As he put his shoulder into the worker, instead of pushing through, he instead rebounded backward. He looked up, startled, as the miner grabbed him by his lapel and tossed him handily backward with a strength that belied his thin appearance.

Simon landed heavily amidst the pile of corpses. Dried elbows and knees dug into his back, sending a quick wave of pain up his spine. He cringed and arched his back as he rolled his head to the side. His pain was immediately forgotten as he stared into the dead eyes of the nearest cadaver. Simon quickly turned his head forward and kept his eyes locked on the miner, rather than once again catching the unseeing gaze of the bodies enveloping him.

The vampire hissed once more, revealing his dingy fangs. The miner looked wasted and hollow, as though it had been far too long since his last meal. Simon’s hand instinctively fell to his throat, concealing his jugular from view. Undeterred, the vampire stepped toward him, kicking aside the litany of broken tools that littered his path.

Simon started to stand, but his hands struggled to find purchase amidst the husks on which he lay. As his hand closed over an unidentifiable body part, he realized for the first time that his revolver was no longer in his grasp. Panicked, he quickly glanced around the room. The hooded lantern, as he was well aware, had fallen from his grip when he was thrown and lay on the ground some feet away. Only a foot from the lantern, the silver revolver sparkled in the dim candlelight. Swearing softly to himself, he tried to stand once more as the vampire advanced on him.

The miner smiled maliciously as he neared and reached out a hand, each finger on which was stained with dirt and what Simon had to believe was blood. Reaching down, Simon’s hand closed over what felt like wood. As he pulled the makeshift weapon free from the pile on which he lay, the Inquisitor realized it wasn’t wood but bleached bone. Cringing, he held the broken femur before him, hoping it would be enough to deter the beast.

Before the weapon could be brought to bear, however, a howl pierced the air. The vampire was knocked aside in a flurry of teeth, claws, and fur. Simon could hear the vampire’s flesh shred under Mattie’s brutal assault.

Thankful for the reprieve, Simon pushed away from the bloodless corpses and regained his feet. He glanced briefly at the ensuing battle between vampire and werewolf and was relieved that one of the two magical monstrosities fought with him, rather than against him.

He rushed to the lantern, setting it upright even as he grasped the grip of his pistol. Though he was unsure if Mattie could handle the vampire alone, he was far more concerned with Luthor, who had yet to emerge from the darkness. Simon turned the lantern quickly, scanning the room. He could hear a scuffle in the darkness still beyond the range of his lantern and hurried toward the sound.

As he approached, an ethereal white pattern emerged in the darkness ahead. Its glow was faint, offering little illumination for the surroundings.

“Luthor!” Simon yelled, caution be damned.

A figure emerged at the edge of the lantern light, rushing toward the Inquisitor. Simon raised his pistol, ready to fire. His finger froze in the trigger well as he recognized the diminutive man rushing toward him.

“Luthor, thank God.”

Luthor slammed into Simon, wrapping his arms around the Inquisitor’s waist. Together, they tumbled to the floor, sending broken pick handles scattering in their wake. Only through great concentration did Simon keep the lantern aloft during his second graceless fall.

“What the devil—?” Simon began to complain.

His words were cut off as the ghostly white wisps in the air glowed with a blinding brilliance. With the extra light, Simon could see the startled second vampire, who merely stared transfixed as the object in the air reached its glowing pinnacle. Moments later, an explosion rocked the far end of the room, driving Simon back onto the ground even as he struggled to stand.

Slowly, he pushed Luthor off him and raised his head. The room was now partially lit, as wooden debris smoldered from the explosion. The vampire squirmed weakly on the floor as his shirt and pants burned merrily.

“What the bloody hell just happened?” Simon asked.

Luthor coughed and furrowed his brow. “My doctor’s bag was in that explosion.”

Simon glanced curiously at his companion. “What did you do?”

Luthor met his gaze and shrugged. “I made a bomb, though admittedly, I may have misjudged the correct portions of reagents in my mixture. The explosion would have ignited the rest of my vials, which caused the unnecessarily large explosion.”

Simon glanced back toward the still-moving vampire. “Perhaps it wasn’t large enough.”

Coming to his senses, Simon glanced behind him. Both Mattie and her adversary had paused following the explosion. They stood like statues still locked in mortal combat for a brief moment before the vampire returned its gaze to the massive white werewolf. The miner raised his foot and kicked Mattie in the chest, sending her sprawling across the floor. She whimpered as she landed roughly but had the clarity of mind to raise her paws defensively as the vampire pounced on her prone form.

Simon scrambled to his feet and raised his pistol. Though he knew he had the skill to shoot the vampire, even as the two creatures struggled together, he doubted his bullet would do much to the fanged monster. Instead, he examined the ground nearby until his eyes alighted on a broken wooden handle. He lifted the heavy shaft and rushed toward Mattie.

The vampire had pressed her on her back and snapped its jaws toward her exposed neck. Only her incredible strength kept the vampire at bay, though it crept closer with every surge of strength.

Simon stepped behind the distracted creature and raised the makeshift wooden stake over his head. Grasping it with both hands, he drove the weapon downward. The splintered wood pierced the vampire’s back, just to the left of its spine. The sharpened stake tore through the thin skin and shattered the ribs beneath. It passed unhindered through the creature’s heart before striking the monster’s sternum, where it finally came to rest.

The vampire’s struggling immediately ceased. A last gasp of surprise escaped the creature’s lips before it slumped limply over Mattie’s paws.

With little effort, Mattie was able to roll to her side, casting the remains of the vampire onto the ground.

Luthor breathed heavily as he reached the Inquisitor and werewolf. “It looks like a stake to the heart is still effective.”

Simon turned toward Luthor and raised his pistol. The apothecary’s eyes widened in surprise, and he raised his hands defensively before him. With his free hand, Simon pushed Luthor aside as he took aim at the burned vampire, who limped weakly toward the tunnel leading back to the barracks.

“Bullets won’t stop a vampire,” Luthor warned.

“I agree,” Simon replied, “except I’m not trying to kill it.”

Simon squeezed the trigger. The bullet struck the vampire in the back of his knee as he limped away. Even from a distance, the group heard the shatter of bone. The vampire howled in pain, a sound that reverberated through the wide chamber, before he fell to the ground.

“An excellent shot, sir,” Luthor remarked. The apothecary pulled his spectacles from his face and wiped the soot from the lenses. As he placed them back on his face, he turned toward his mentor. “Shall we question our captive?”

Simon raised the pistol and pointed it toward Luthor. The apothecary froze, his eyes darting from side to side.

“Is there another behind me?” he asked.

Simon remained unflinching, the end of his pistol pointing directly at Luthor’s forehead.

“Simon?” Mattie asked. She was half covered with the clothing she’d retrieved, having since transformed back to her human form. “What are you doing?”

“Show me your neck,” Simon demanded.

Luthor furrowed his brow. “My neck?” Realization dawned on his face as he stared at the Inquisitor. “You can’t be serious.”

Simon pulled back the hammer on his pistol. The cylinder on the revolver rotated, slotting a fresh round into the chamber.

Luthor swallowed hard, as he realized that nothing about Simon’s demeanor seemed to find humor in the situation.

“Show me your neck,” Simon repeated. “I won’t ask you again.”

Luthor angrily grasped his collar and pulled it aside. He turned his head first left, and then right, showing his unmarred skin. Satisfied, Simon released the hammer on the pistol and lowered the weapon.

“Forgive me, Luthor, but I had to be certain.”

Luthor released his collar in a huff. “You could have taken me at my word.”

Simon holstered his pistol as he searched the ground at his feet. “You’ve known me for over a year now. When have you ever known me to take someone merely at their word?”

Luthor crossed his arms across his chest. “Had I been bitten, even if I hadn’t turned, you genuinely would have shot me, wouldn’t you?”

Simon glanced up from his search momentarily. “Without hesitation. I’m very glad to know I didn’t need to.”

Mattie cleared her throat. “Excuse me, gentlemen, but our captive seems to be escaping.”

They followed her gaze across the room. Simon turned the lantern so the light fell directly on the vampire, since neither he nor Luthor were blessed with Mattie’s low light vision. The vampire had, indeed, crawled some feet from where he had originally fallen. His shattered leg didn’t bleed as would have a normal man, yet the disturbed debris clearly showed the path he had taken.

The Inquisitor glanced back down at his feet and located yet another wooden shaft from a pickaxe. He retrieved the weapon before advancing on the prostrate vampire.

The monster heard Simon’s approach and rolled onto his back. He hissed, again revealing the elongated canines.

“Do your worst, Inquisitor,” the vampire said angrily. “I will tell you nothing.”

Simon stopped beside the prone abomination. “You misunderstand. This isn’t an interrogation.”

The vampire closed its mouth and furrowed its brow in confusion. “Then what—?”