The Blood Thief of Whitten Hall (A Magic & Machinery Novel Book 2) (26 page)

“I have nothing but respect for you, Matilda, but in this instance, your modesty be damned. Change out of that outrageous shape this instant and get inside before you get us all killed.”

With a frustrated sigh, the white fur melted from her body, revealing the nubile flesh beneath. Luthor and Simon turned aside as Mattie fumbled with only a tunic and jerkin with which to cover her exposed body. She eventually slipped the jerkin over her naked chest and tied the tunic as well as possible around her waist, hoping the thin fabric left something to the imagination.

Luthor climbed into the hole with little provocation, followed closely by Mattie. The space was far smaller than Luthor had led himself to believe, and the sense of claustrophobia settled over him immediately. As Mattie joined him, he knew that there would be no escaping their bodies being pressed together. He was glad for the darkness as Mattie draped her bare legs over his as they struggled for space within their hiding spot.

Simon increased the level of discomfort tenfold as he pressed into the root system. The shadow of the tree fell over them all, concealing them from view.

Simon leaned toward them, though the action was unnecessary in such close quarters. “We’ll stay here until dawn. Do your best to get some sleep between now and then.”

Luthor could barely see the river beyond the exit of their newest prison. On both sides of the river, vampires would be searching for them until the first rays of sunrise crested the trees nearby. Moreover, he would be spending the next few hours pressed tightly into the root system of a dying tree. Despite Simon’s warning, the apothecary seriously doubted sleep would come tonight.

Luthor awoke the next morning with incredible pain radiating from his neck to his coccyx. He tried to stretch, but found himself still confined beneath the overhanging roots. Simon stirred near the entrance, but he didn’t awaken enough to leave the protective cover. Mattie, who normally awoke far earlier than Luthor, had her head pressed against the soil between the thick roots, her red hair flattened on one side from where she slept.

The apothecary cleared his throat as politely as possible, but to no avail. The others slept soundly, the events from the night before clearly draining them both. Luthor wiggled free an arm from where it had been trapped against his side and gently shook Simon, careful not to inadvertently strike Mattie in the process. His effort gained him nothing, as Simon merely shifted his position to be further out of Luthor’s reach.

Aggravated, Luthor pushed Simon firmly in the back, knocking him from the basket-like root system. He splayed across the ground, his arms not moving quickly enough to keep his face from smearing into the mud on the river’s bank.

Mattie awoke with a start, temporarily disoriented as she looked around. As her gaze fell to Luthor, he gestured toward the cramped quarter’s exit, to where Simon was only just prying himself free of the tacky mud.

They all exited and stood by the river, each stretching in their own way to release the tension of combat and awkward sleeping positions.

“The sun has risen,” Luthor stated matter-of-factly. “We survived the vampire scourge for another day.”

Simon nodded as he stifled a yawn. “Indeed we did, though I have no doubt they’ll double their efforts tomorrow night. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if their human cohorts were combing these woods even now, searching for us.”

Mattie knelt by the river and dipped her hands in the cool water. She splashed it on her face and attempted to run her wet hands through the mats of her hair, but her curly, red hair refused to release to something as paltry as river water.

“If they’re hunting us, we should be ready for them when they arrive,” Mattie said.

Simon shook his head. “Fighting the humans will accomplish nothing of value and will only tire us further. What we need to do is something they would never expect.”

“Such as?” Luthor asked.

“We return to Whitten Hall.”

Luthor nodded, but his expression showed a significant lack of acceptance. “Have you taken a leave of your senses? Did Tom Wriggleton’s beating leave your brain slightly rattled? Returning to Whitten Hall is like walking into the snake’s den, then somehow being surprised when you get bit.”

Simon arched an eyebrow. “Was that a euphemism of some sort?”

“It was intended more as an allegory, at best. I thought the snakes having two fangs would be reminiscent of the vampires also having a pair of fangs. Was that not clear?”

“My apologies,” Simon replied. “I’m absolute rubbish at metaphors and the like.”

“Which brings us full circle back to the issue at hand,” Mattie said as she stood again. Her attire was still rather subpar, without proper pants of which to speak. “Metaphors aside, returning to Whitten Hall is a dangerous proposition.”

“It would be, Miss Hawke, if it were full of humans colluding with vampires.”

Mattie turned to Luthor. “Is it not? Did I miss a part of the conversation?”

Luthor smiled. “It normally would be, except Simon already told us it won’t. The humans will be out in the woods searching for us.”

“Of course, they’ll be looking for us exactly where we should be but aren’t, and we’ll instead be exactly where they should be but aren’t, simply because they’re busy looking for us. It makes for a very complicated discussion but a brilliantly simple solution. We’ll return to Whitten Hall, retrieve our belongings, and make our way out of the outpost before anyone is the wiser.”

They stood, nodding to one another, each slowly realizing that no one in their group would ever be mistaken for morning people.

“Shall we be off then?” Luthor finally asked, breaking the silence.

They nodded once more before turning in the direction of Whitten Hall.

They forded the river a little upstream from the covered bridge, but far enough away that passersby couldn’t see them. The water was bitterly cold but refreshing; none of the trio complained as it washed away the grime that had accumulated from their previous day’s misadventures. Simon paused midstream and lowered his face to the water, washing away the mud that was caked across the side of his face. He seemed oblivious to the water that soaked the front of his suit in the process.

They climbed the far bank and entered the woods once more. Simon led the way through the underbrush, though not a word was said between them as they walked. Luthor fell back in step beside Mattie, though he knew the redhead hardly needed his protection. From the corner of his eye, however, he could see her shivering. Her body was soaked from the river crossing, and her loss of clothing the previous night left her ill prepared for the harshness of the cold stream. His gaze fell over her body, and he noted ashamedly that the thin, white blouse now clung tightly to the curves of her lower body. The apothecary cleared his throat and removed his jacket, offering it to her. She smiled appreciatively and tied it around her waist, warming her damp legs and adding a modicum of modesty.

By Simon’s guess, they were quickly coming parallel to the chancellor’s manor house. Despite the fact that the chancellor and his ilk were firmly entrenched in the mines, protecting themselves from the blazing sun, there was a good chance that the human conspirators would be near the estate. The trio continued forward, moving as quietly as possible between the trees.

As Simon ducked beneath a low-hanging tangle of branches, leaves crunched nearby. Raising his hand abruptly, he brought the other two to a halt. They quickly crouched and hid amongst the brush as well as possible. Bushes blocked their view, though they could hear the labored breathing of a man pushing his way through the woods.

The sounds echoed in the woods, the exact direction of their hunter’s approach seemed distorted. Simon closed his eyes as he strained to pinpoint a direction. The footfalls grew progressively louder, as did the man’s labored breathing. A soft curse rolled through the woods as the man’s clothing became entangled on a thorny vine.

Simon opened his eyes and shifted his gaze slightly to the right. The bushes shook softly as someone brushed against them. The Inquisitor could hear the tearing of fabric as the man, in his haste, tore free from the thorns, leaving shreds of his fabric behind.

Looking down, Simon’s eyes alighted on a fallen branch. Part of it had begun to rot and insects crawled just beneath the bark. The rest of the branch, however, seemed solid. As he hefted it in his hand, he could feel its weight.

A broad-shouldered man broke through the underbrush, swearing again as he tried to untangle himself from the small, clinging branches. He spun slowly in a circle as his thick hands fidgeted with far-too-narrow twigs that pulled at his shirt and the waistband of his pants. His dark ponytail bounced with his frustration, and his deep voice rolled from his chest as he grunted excitedly until he finally pulled his clothes free.

The bartender sighed contently as he turned back in the direction he had been traveling. Gregory’s eyes opened wide in surprise as he saw Simon standing before him, disheveled as he was but hoisting an impressively large log in his hands.

“Can we—?” Gregory began.

“No,” Simon interrupted. “We cannot.”

Simon silenced him in midsentence with a powerful swing of the log. It connected with the side of Gregory’s head, splitting his cheek and jarring teeth loose in his mouth. The large man staggered to the side as he tried to maintain his balance. Simon responded by swinging again. Despite the bartender’s hand already held protectively to the side of his head, the log still managed to connect solidly above Gregory’s ear. The bartender’s knees buckled, and he dropped to the ground. He caught himself on his hands and knees, not fully falling to the dense grass and moss of the forest floor. The Inquisitor raised the club, preparing to strike again, when Gregory’s arms shook one final time before the large man dropped unconscious into the plush flora.

Simon smiled as he tossed the log aside. He crouched beside Gregory and checked the man’s pulse, nodding as he felt the fluttering heartbeat.

Luthor crouched beside him and examined the damage, gingerly touching the flayed skin just beneath the bartender’s left eye. “That was quite a strike, sir. He’ll carry that scar with him for the rest of his life.”

“As well he should,” Simon retorted as he withdrew his hand from the man’s neck. He brushed his hands on his damp pants and stood.

The apothecary glanced at the unconscious man once more before standing as well. “I see that you are holding a grudge for your earlier treatment?”

Simon glanced toward the distance, ensuring no one else stumbled upon their ambush. “You’d be amazed how many times during our investigations I’ve found myself punched in the face. I’m growing quite tired of it, to be honest.”

“Technically,” Mattie said as she walked past the two men, “it wasn’t the bartender who hit you in the face. He only clubbed you across the head. It was more Tom who kicked you in the face a few times after you were unconscious. It seems that he isn’t fond of being punched in the face either.”

Simon followed Mattie as she led them toward Whitten Hall. “Believe you me, I have something special planned for Mister Wriggleton.”

Luthor sneered at the unconscious bartender. “The whole town deserves similar treatment for colluding with vampires. Gregory got off easy with just a scar, if you ask my opinion.”

Simon shook his head. “While I may not agree with their decision, harboring such ill will against the entire town is hardly healthy behavior. I’m not concerned about revenge; it’s not what I want.”

“Sometimes, it’s not about what you want, sir, but what’s right; right for yourself, right for your friends, and right for the crown. Whether you harbor ill will against them or not, they may not leave you any other options.”

Simon stroked his chin thoughtfully but offered no response.

Luthor stepped over the bartender, glancing back briefly toward Gregory. “Should we at least hide the body?”

“Leave it,” Simon replied. “Leave them confused about which direction we are traveling. The bartender’s body could either mean we were hiding near the outpost and are now heading toward the mines or vice versa. That discovery will keep them confused and separated.”

They set off again, moving with a greater sense of urgency. It was still early morning, the sun barely breaking through the canopy of leaves to the east, but there was much they needed to accomplish before the sun set. The quicker they retrieved their belongings from Whitten Hall, the quicker they could be on their way back toward Callifax.

“Please do be kind and move your foot out of my face,” Simon growled from his position below the window.

Luthor shifted his position slightly, though it only further forced the toe of his shoe into Simon’s cheek. The apothecary clung to the windowsill as he tried to lift himself into the second story window.

“When we return to Callifax,” Simon continued as he pushed on Luthor’s heel, lifting the apothecary higher, “I’m placing you on a strict weight training regimen until you improve your upper body strength.”

Luthor pulled heartily until he slipped through the upstairs window and fell onto the hardwood floor of the bedroom. On the ground below, Simon and Mattie glanced around cautiously, hoping no one heard the clutter from upstairs. When the tavern remained silent, Simon turned toward the redhead.

“You’re next, Matilda.”

Mattie shook her head. “If you lift me, how will you climb to the window?”

Simon careened his neck backward until he had a view of the window high above. He arched an eyebrow as he glanced back at his female companion. “I’m sure I’ll find a way.”

“Or, hear me out, I can lift you and then climb of my own accord,” she offered. “You forget that I have other skills at my disposal.”

“I have never forgotten, nor do I believe it possible to forget your myriad of capabilities, Miss Hawke. Very well, lift me, if you please.”

Mattie cupped her hands, and Simon pressed his heel into her grip. She lifted with little strain, forcing Simon quickly toward the window’s ledge above. Reaching out, he grasped the wooden sill and pulled until his upper body was cresting the edge. Luthor appeared on the far side, cupping him under the armpits and pulling him handily into the room.

A scraping against the building’s wooden exterior alerted them to Mattie’s climb moments before she appeared in the window. Both Simon and Luthor turned to assist, but she needed none, pulling herself easily over the ledge and rolling gracefully to her feet as she entered the room.

Luthor glanced around the room and frowned. They had entered his previous room first, only to find that his belongings had been thoroughly rifled through. Articles of clothing were strewn across the bed. The few reagents that he had left behind during their mine expedition had been poured onto the table or smashed. Even his suitcase had been gouged by a knife, as though someone had searched for a secret compartment within the innocuous luggage.

“Simply fantastic,” Luthor said dourly.

“Ignore it,” Simon remarked. “Gather whatever you will need to travel quickly and leave everything else behind. We can always purchase new clothing once we return to Callifax.”

Simon gestured toward the closed door. “Matilda, I believe we have rooms to examine as well, though I encourage you to be quick. I doubt we’re alone in the inn. There is most assuredly at least one other person downstairs that I would hate to disturb unless absolutely necessary.”

They opened the door quietly, cringing at the soft creak that sounded as the dry metal hinges grinded against one another. They moved quickly to their respective rooms.

Simon opened the door to a similar scene as was found in Luthor’s bedroom. Clothes were strewn haphazardly about. His toiletry kit had been torn nearly in two, his straight razor and scissors for trimming his moustache both taken. Simon frowned as he picked up his discarded toothbrush from the floor, but upon glancing around the dingy room, he decided instead to drop it into the wastebasket.

The Inquisitor walked to the partially opened closet, though he retained little hope that it would have remained unscathed during the frantic search. He pushed the door fully open to find his suits in disarray, badly wrinkled after being tossed aimlessly upon the floor. The color rose quickly to his cheeks as he glanced toward the top shelf. He had left his top hat behind during their investigation of the mine. To his dismay and growing rage, it was missing.

He knew his revolver had been taken upon his capture, though that was to be expected. Stealing his hat, however, was an unforgivable and frankly bewildering turn of events.

His heart sank as he realized that everything in his room had been inspected. Before they had gone downstairs to catch the train, he had packed all his belongings, to include his beloved Inquisitor kit. Simon walked quickly around the bed, hoping beyond hope that it would still be present, though he already knew in the back of his mind it was gone.

“Damn them all,” he growled, slamming his fist onto the mantle above the fireplace.

His eyes fell upon a square of unburned wood resting in the fireplace. Though its edges had been charred, it still appeared solid and relatively heavy. Simon knelt and retrieved the piece of wood, savoring its weight in his hand. With a smile that bordered an unhappy sneer, he walked out of his room.

Mattie was emerging from her room as he passed. Amongst her belongings, she had found another change of clothes and looked much like her old self once more. She glanced at the man inquisitively, her expression turning to concern as Simon walked past Luthor’s room as well and approached the top of the stairs.

“Simon?” she asked in a hoarse whisper. “I thought you said we only wanted to confront the man downstairs if it was an emergency.”

Simon didn’t look back as he replied. “It just became an emergency.”

He walked down the steps, not bothering to conceal his footfalls on the wooden stairs. He turned the corner as the tavern below came into view. A man sat at a table near the foot of the stairs, enjoying a drink. Another gentleman had taken Gregory’s place behind the bar, though he seemed far more interested in helping himself to a pint of beer than tending to the needs of the tavern.