The Blood Thief of Whitten Hall (A Magic & Machinery Novel Book 2) (30 page)

“Well, sir… we… that is to mean, I…” Tom struggled to find the right words, but he needn’t try so hard. It was evident from the chancellor’s stern visage that he understood all too well what Tom was trying to say.

“You’re to tell me that you’ve had no luck locating the three wayward prisoners,” Martelus said matter-of-factly. “Is this what you’re trying to tell me?”

Tom tried to swallow again, but his throat felt dry and swollen. He wished now, more than ever, that he had accepted Martelus’ offer for a drink.

The human cleared his throat. “We found their tracks by the river, not even a day old. They’re still here in the forest. We have them trapped. It’s only a matter of time until we find them, sir.”

Martelus leaned back into the cushioned couch and stroked his chin thoughtfully. “My vampires tell me they encountered the apothecary and woman fleeing west through the valley, but you’re telling me they’re still near Whitten Hall?”

“I saw the tracks with my own eyes, sir.”

The chancellor’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Perhaps you were deceived, Tom.”

“Sir, if the other two have escaped the valley, then they will most certainly send reinforcements. We must get you and the others away from Whitten Hall with all haste.”

Martelus scowled at the human. “Prepare the wagons and be ready to depart in two days’ time. This time, don’t fail me as you’ve done so readily in the past.”

Tom shook his head nervously. “I can’t ask enough for your forgiveness for letting them escape.”

“I’m not talking about their escape!” Martelus roared. “I’m referring to the fact that you had them in your captivity, under careful observation since their arrival, yet you clearly didn’t know that one of our guests was a sorcerer!”

The vampire slammed his fist down on the armrest, splintering the wood from the strike. Tom jumped, his heart rising quickly in his chest.

“I didn’t know,” Tom stuttered. “How could I know?”

“You searched their rooms while they were out and yet found no evidence that this supposed apothecary was anything more than a simple pharmacist? My vampires have died as a result of your ignorance.”

Tom slid from the couch and fell to his knees before the chancellor. Tears welled in his eyes, not from sorrow but from absolute fear. “Forgive me, sir, please.”

Martelus pulled his hand away as Tom reached for it. “Get up. You’re embarrassing yourself.”

Tom slowly regained his seat, though his body shook uncontrollably.

The vampire glanced toward the manor’s front door. He pointed a long finger toward the entryway. “You will find them, Tom, and you won’t fail me again.” Each use of the human’s name carried with it a more sinister edge. “If we have this conversation again, I promise that I’ll drain you myself and add your desiccated husk to the top of my pile. Am I understood?”

Tom nodded feverishly before rising hastily. “Thank you, sir. I won’t fail you again.”

Screams filled the air from outside the house. Tom rushed toward the door, completely oblivious to the fact that Martelus moved not at all from his place on the couch.

As Tom reached the door, he saw his hunters strewn across the ground in a growing pool of their own blood. Their throats were torn and mangled, not by the careful use of the vampires’ fangs, but by the careless ripping of flesh by the vampires’ claws.

Tom stood, mortified, at the sight before him. The chancellor materialized beside him and stared upon the wanton destruction.

“Let this be a warning to you, the only one you’ll receive until we meet again,” Martelus explained. “In two days, we had better be ready to leave this abysmal town.”

Tom nodded again, the fear and hatred stewing in his gut and making him nauseated. The human hurried forward, stopping beside the pile of still-cooling corpses. With a shaking hand, he reached into the pile and retrieved his shotgun, which was stained red and tacky to the touch. He fought the urge to vomit as he stood again and ran from the manor, not bothering to look back at the vampires who watched him depart.

When Tom was no longer within view of the home, Martelus turned toward his guards.

“Find me the Royal Inquisitor. Unlike our human friend, I don’t believe we’ll find his other two companions here in the woods, but Inquisitor Whitlock is most assuredly still about. I want him brought to me.”

The chancellor stepped through the front door and began strolling determinedly down the lane. He paused and glanced over his shoulder. “On second thought, let me correct myself. I want his head brought to me; the rest of him is rather inconsequential.”

Martelus walked unerringly toward the mine, crossing the covered bridge hurriedly. Upon reaching the edge, he leapt from the edge of the pit rather than take the winding path that followed the curve of the circular quarry.

His body floated unnaturally toward the ground below, and he touched down softly. No sooner had his feet touched rock than he was already walking toward the mineshaft’s broad entrance.

The chancellor passed quickly through the mine and entered the barracks. A few vampires left behind looked up expectantly, but the chancellor offered not a word to the monsters as he moved toward the narrow passage beyond the sleeping quarters.

Still moving supernaturally fast, Martelus slid quickly through the narrow tunnel and entered the debris-strewn cavern beyond. Even in the darkness, his glowing red eyes could see the outline of the limestone door on the far side of the room. In the length of a blink, he was standing before the door and pulling it open.

His pupils contracted hastily as the torchlight from the room beyond flooded his vision. The ancient vampire raised his head slowly and he offered a half-hearted smile to the chancellor.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company, Whitten?” the archaic creature asked, his voice as frail as paper.

Martelus stepped into the room, pushing the doors shut behind him. He paced before the door, walking from one end of the room to the other as he stroked his chin. A wicked smile spread across his face, though it carried a malicious undertone.

“Tell me again how it came to pass that the Royal Inquisitor, weakened as he was, slipped from your grasp?”

The wizened creature shrugged his bony shoulders. “I was so frail when you brought him before me that he was able to overpower me and escape. Why, my dear Martelus? He hasn’t been causing trouble, has he?”

Martelus stopped before the dais and snarled at the vampire. “You know damn well he’s causing trouble. I know what game you’re playing at, old man.”

“I’m sure I have no idea of what you speak, blood thief. Perhaps if you fed me better, I would have had the strength to keep the Inquisitor contained. However, my lack of blood has left my arms so frail and meager.”

He held up his limbs until the chains on his wrists snapped taut, emphasizing his point.

“I know what game you’re playing, and it won’t work!” Martelus replied. “You think the Inquisitor will somehow be your savior, but all he’ll be is my next meal. I promise you that I will bring his head to you as a reminder of the consequences of betrayal.”

The ancient vampire seemed unimpressed as he suppressed a cough. “I look forward to that day as well.”

Martelus grew angry at the vampire’s obvious lack of concern. “If you think your arms are frail now, you have no idea the pain I will inflict before all this is said and done. You won’t get another meal until I see less insolence from you. Let’s see how you feel about returning to the impotent old abomination I found when we blasted into this chamber.”

The chancellor turned away abruptly and walked to the door. As he pulled it open, he turned back toward the vampire. “Mark my words, you will rue the day you chose to cross me.”

Martelus exited, letting the door slam shut behind him. The ancient vampire smiled at the memory of the irritated chancellor.

“I have smelled the determination in his blood, blood thief. He will end you, and I long to be there when he does.”

The shivers came like a fever, washing over Simon as he crouched in the tree. His eyes burned from fatigue, blurring his vision. The Inquisitor wrapped his arms around his knees, squeezing the burlap bag tightly against his stomach.

The time before the dawn was far colder and darker than the night. He knew that once the sun crested the treetops, the temperature would warm and the aches in his muscles and bones would soothe. The wait, however, was driving him mad. He longed only to hurry back to his cavern and sleep through the day, but he dared not lower himself from his tree until the sun’s rays protected him.

As he had assumed they would, the vampires had roamed the woods at night, clearly searching for him. They had passed along the water’s edge, just feet below where he sat upon his tentative perch, but they never made any outward indication that they saw him.  Even having his confidence bolstered that the vampires’ vision couldn’t penetrate his concealment, sleep wouldn’t come to Simon. He continued to fear that he would fall from the branch as soon as his eyes drooped closed.

The sun’s rays fell across his face, and he blinked furiously at the brilliant glare. Despite the weariness that had settled into his bones, he forced a smile to welcome the rising sun. The effort of smiling hurt the bruises across his cheeks.

The smile faded from his face as he slid his legs over the branch and dropped gracefully to the ground below. Slinging the satchel across his back, he set off hastily toward the far side of Whitten Hall and his cavern amidst the base of the hills.

He skirted far beyond the borders of the outpost, knowing that he was in no condition to face the human hunters. His path took him toward the boulder-ridden valley to the west of the town and, so he still hoped, the safe concealment of the cavern at the base of the largest hill in the region. The hill had served him well as an overlook, from the top of which he could see the train tracks for miles in either direction. He would hopefully see Luthor’s return well in advance of the vampires and humans within Whitten Hall.

He came upon a narrow animal trail winding through the woods. Hoof marks were dried in the hardened earth, leading in both directions. The trees had overgrown the trail, their drooping branches forming a shallow tunnel through which Simon passed. Thinner, spindly trees sprouted from the soil nearby, their sturdy yet flexible trunks easily brushed aside as he moved between them.

After nearly an hour of walking, the animal trail disappeared into a pair of domineering bushes pushing over the trail from either side. Simon forced them apart and was surprised by the brilliance of the sun on the far side.

The thick forest gave way to barren ground, spotted with large rocks protruding from the brown soil. The trees had been left behind, save for a few scraggly examples clinging to the patches of dirt between the rocky terrain. Without the trees for shelter, the sun shone brilliantly, illuminating the valley below.

Simon hadn’t passed this way before, and was surprised to find a ravine carving its way along the side of the animal trail. From his vantage point, he could look down the chasm to the shallow river gurgling nearly twenty feet below. Though the ravine wasn’t wide, no more than ten feet across, it stretched a good distance in either direction, farther than Simon could ascertain from where he stood.

Across the ravine, the land dropped away into the heart of the valley. Though he was sure he could jump the chasm with a running start, he strongly doubted his footing upon his landing on the other side. More likely than not, he’d find himself tumbling across loose gravel before collapsing gracelessly into a boulder or two.

Glancing behind, his gaze fell to the nearly impenetrable wall of the woods. He could see only a few feet within its dense border. For a moment, nervousness clutched him before he forced himself to relax. He needn’t worry about pursuit, he reminded himself. The townsfolk of Whitten Hall were stretched far throughout the forest, searching both for Simon and for his companions. Even had they had their full complement of people living within the town, they’d still barely have enough to cover the varied terrain surrounding the outpost. As it were, with so many of their people sacrificed to the growing hungers of the vampires, there were far too many gaps through which Simon could pass unobstructed.

Simon paused and smiled to himself. The fact that they searched not just for Simon but for Luthor and Mattie as well brought Simon great joy, knowing that they hadn’t already been captured. There was still hope that they would reach Callifax and return with help.

The Inquisitor blinked and stifled a yawn as he peered across the sunlit valley below. The scenery was spectacular, and he wanted nothing more than to sit upon the rocks beneath him and watch the sun continue its steady climb to its zenith far above his head. Sadly, the reminder of his exhaustion and danger ahead stole the pleasure from the moment. He stretched his arms far overhead and arched his back as a yawn came on once more.

Begrudgingly, he turned away from the valley and walked toward the hilltop, easily visible above the scrub brush clinging to life in the harsh ground.

To Simon’s trained eyes, the cavern’s entrance was easy to find, despite the large rock that concealed the way inside. Pushing the rock aside, the cool air spilled from the cave’s narrow maw. He slid the burlap satchel inside, setting it beside his other belongings, before turning toward the steep hill nearby.

A small voice in the back of his mind reminded him that he could take care of this task at a later date, but Simon knew it was important. He walked to the base of the hill and sought out the familiar hand and foot holds that he could use to climb to the crest of the hill.

With weary hands, Simon pulled himself onto the flattened top of the hill and lay upon the cool stones, refusing even to sit properly. His sharpened stone was still resting on the rocks nearby. Forcing himself to a seated position, he took the rock with one hand while he traced the white vertical line he scratched into the gray stone the day before. With the rock in hand, he gouged a second line beside the first.

Replacing the rock, he raised his hand over his eyes and peered across the valley toward the railroad tracks beyond. Everything was painfully quiet; there was no indication that a train had ever passed along those tracks, save for the good working order of the rails themselves.

Simon touched the two parallel lines in the stone and mentally counted another day from his tally. Five to go, he reminded himself.

Simon climbed back down the hill using the trees and rocks for support, and sauntered back to the cavern. Slipping inside legs first, the Inquisitor slid far enough into the cool interior that he could roll the rock back into place. He was eternally glad for the rounded edges of the stone, allowing it to be rolled into place rather than lifted. Within the close confines of the cave, he had little leverage with which to lift the heavy rock.

As the capstone slid into place, the cave was bathed in cool darkness. Simon closed his eyes and soon thereafter fell asleep.

The sun was still in the sky when Simon awoke, though it had clearly begun its downward swing to the west. His body ached, but he felt significantly more refreshed than he had been earlier in the morning. Kneeling, Simon retrieved his coat from within the cave before reaching back inside and withdrawing the burlap satchel. Unbinding the top, he pulled out one of the apples, enjoying the meager meal. He knew he’d have to find food again, sooner rather than later, but his outdoors skills were severely lacking. He was far better suited as a scavenger than a hunter, though he knew exactly where he could go to steal more food, should the need arise.

Shouldering his bag, he set off back toward the valley and ravine, pausing only as he searched for the elusive animal trail he had followed before. He eventually found similar hoof markings on the thin earth between the jutting rocks and was able to follow the trail back to the edge of the woods. Though barely visible from this side of the foliage, Simon could faintly make out the start of the trampled ground leading deeper into the forest.

Pushing through the brush, he found himself once again amidst the narrow, reedy trees. He wrapped his hand around the trunk of one and pulled it toward him. The root system clung firmly to the soil while the tip of the tree bent nearly to Simon’s waist. Satisfied, he released the tree and let it spring violently back into place.

Dropping the bag to the ground, Simon untied its top and dumped the contents haphazardly onto the ground. Adding to the pile of rope and the knife, Simon pulled some of the wooden stakes from his pockets and tossed them onto the ground.

Simon whistled softly as he began his work. Using the knife, he cut a few shorter lengths from the long coil of rope on the ground. He measured them at cubit lengths before adding the newly cut strands to a growing pile at his feet. When he had enough, he put his knife away.

He worked quickly, bending a nearby sapling until it was bent nearly parallel to the ground. He tied the longer length of rope to its tip before tying the other end firmly in place around a broader, older tree nearby. The reedy tree pulled tightly against the rope but it held in place, bent low and away from the bushes concealing the entrance to the animal trail.

Simon stepped back onto the trail, passing beyond the thick underbrush. From his vantage point, the bent sapling was invisible to the naked eye. He hoped the foliage similarly hindered the vampires’ view.

Stepping back through the narrow opening of the animal trail, he noted how the sapling was set to spring across the trail. Even with the slight upward arc, it would strike a normal man at approximately chest level.

Retrieving his smaller lengths of rope and the stakes, Simon began tying them along the length of the sapling. The wooden stakes jutted like teeth from the sapling, pointing dangerously toward the edge of the dense woods.

He turned slowly and watched the sun sink behind the tips of the nearby pine trees. It wouldn’t be long until sunset, sooner still until the trees blocked the sun’s rays. Properly motivated by their hatred, the vampires could be awake and giving chase within the hour.

Simon hurriedly took the other coil of rope and formed a set of practiced knots. A series of loops ran its length by the time he was finished. He tossed the knotted end of the rope over a nearby hanging tree branch before tying off the other end of the rope to the tree’s wider trunk. Satisfied, Simon collected the knife and sliver of flint before stepping back through the brush.

Jogging quickly toward his cavern, he realized that time was of the essence. He was losing the light and doubted the vampires would give him the benefit of the doubt by waiting until he was properly prepared. Reaching the bottom of the hill, Simon took some of the dry scrub brush from the ground nearby and formed a small pile. Holding out his knife, he struck its back edge with the flint. Sparks flickered but failed to fall on the brush below. Leaning forward, he tried again and again, each time sending a shower of sparks into the darkening night’s air but igniting nothing.

Simon grumbled to himself and glanced cautiously over his shoulder. The sparks alone might be enough to attract one of the vampires, but he needed to be sure.

Insistently, Simon struck the flint again. This time, as sparks fell over the kindling, a small flame caught on the end of a pile of grass. Simon cupped his hands and blew gently, oxidizing the ember and helping it grow to a full-fledged flame. For a painful moment, he feared he had blown too hard and the ember had been extinguished, but a second gentle blow of air brought it roaring back to life. The small flame ignited more grass around it and within seconds, a small campfire was burning.

He didn’t bother adding any wood to the pile, despite the fact that the grass would burn itself out fairly quickly. He didn’t need or want a permanent flame. In fact, he wanted it to burn just long enough to catch a vampire’s attention before it extinguished.

Simon took his knife and stood, turning away from the already dwindling flame. He started as he saw a dark-robed figure watching him from across the rocky ground.

The Inquisitor clutched the knife before him, more reflexively than as a true threat to the vampire. His eyes darted from side to side, an action that he was sure looked like nervousness to the vampire. Rather, Simon was ensuring there was but one vampire. More than one would have been difficult to handle, though not impossible.

Seeing no one else, Simon nodded toward the vampire. “Shall we dance, you and I?”