The Weeping Lore (Witte & Co. Investigations Book 1) (22 page)

“Anything?” Harry asked.

Irene nodded. She pointed down and to the right.

“Underground,” Pearl murmured. “Why does it always have to be underground?”

Harry grinned.

After listening a moment at the door, Harry led them into an unadorned hall. The sound of music was louder here, now mixed with the clatter of metal on metal and the brash, familiar voices of servants who did not think they would be overheard. A large door to the left was open, pouring heat and the scent of onions and garlic and good roast beef into the hall.

Cian’s stomach rumbled.

For a moment, Harry stood still, as though considering.

Pearl tapped his arm. In a low voice, she said, “Perhaps the cellars? A house like this will probably have more than one. One attached to the kitchen, and then a wine cellar that might be accessed from somewhere else.”

“You’re brilliant, Pearl,” he said. “The wine cellar, then.”

“It won’t be far from here,” she said.

Harry cocked his head, and they moved out as a group, listening at other doors along the hallway and checking them. A pantry, a closet full of broken brooms and bedraggled mops, another closet with linens, a pair of rooms that were empty. Harry led them away from the kitchen, where the voices had grown more enthusiastic, and now laughter mingled with the sounds of cooking. Most likely, Cian thought, one of the servants had brought along a bit of drink to share, and now that the party was underway, they would try to enjoy themselves as much as their employers.

As they followed the hall, the music grew louder, and twice Cian caught Irene humming. She flashed him a tight smile. One of her hands was buried in her pocket, and he guessed she had a death grip on her toy revolver. A moment too late, he realized he should have smiled back, but by then Irene had already moved on. Freddy bumped into Cian, and Cian hurried forward.

Ahead, a door had been propped open, giving a view of an expansive, wood-paneled room. The smell of wood-smoke rolled towards them, mixed with scents of beeswax and lemon. Harry stopped before they reached the next room, turned, and disappeared from sight. As Cian drew closer, he saw the narrow stairs that led down to a door. Harry knelt at the bottom, fiddling with the door, while the rest of them crowded the steps. The door popped open, and Harry motioned them to follow.

The stairs continued down. Here, stone stole the warmth from the air, and the odor of mildew filled Cian’s nose. Harry paused at the bottom of the steps, and Cian heard a click and then a buzz. A row of electric lights came to life. The cellar was large, its full size hidden by the rows of wine racks that held dusty bottles.

“God, I could use a drink,” Cian said, studying the racks.

“Later,” Harry said. “Irene?”

“I think we’re close. It’s hard to tell. That way.” She pointed towards the back of the cellar.

“Don’t you think it’s the slightest bit odd that you know where this thing is?” Cian said to Irene, grabbing her sleeve and holding her back as the others pressed forward. “Why wouldn’t Marie-Thérèse get it herself?”

Irene smiled up at him and patted his cheek. “Don’t you think it’s the slightest bit odd that you keep making a total ass of yourself?”

“Damn it, Irene.”

Her smile grew. “Don’t let Freddy hear you,” was all she said, and then she pulled her arm free and hurried after the others.

Cian watched her go. Then he grabbed the closest bottle and tucked it into his coat pocket.

He really needed a drink.

By the time he’d caught up with the rest, they stood in a semi-circle, facing a section of stone wall that stood open. A secret door, Cian realized, like the kind in every gothic novel and in half the pulps. Dry rot was on the air, and something worse. Corruption. Pearl had covered her mouth and nose.

“Someone should keep watch,” Cian said. “Just in case.”

Harry shook his head. “I don’t like the feel of this. I’m going in alone. If I’m not back in ten minutes, leave.”

“Harry—” Pearl began.

“I don’t think—” Freddy said.

Harry shook his head. “I mean it. Ten minutes, and then you leave.”

He waited for disagreement and then turned to Cian and said, “You’re in charge from here.”

Cian didn’t bother answering, but he saw Irene roll her eyes.

And then Harry slipped through the door. His footsteps came back for almost a minute, and then an abrupt silence.

Pearl watched the secret door. Irene dusted bottles with her sleeve. Freddy played with something in his pocket.

After five minutes, Cian said, “I’m going to check the stairs.” He retraced his steps, went up the stairs, and opened the door.

Only it didn’t open. He turned the handle again, pulled. Maybe it was jammed.

But the door didn’t budge.

They were trapped.

The locked door stared back at Cian. There were a few things he could still try. He might be able to break the door down. If he had a good bit of luck, the music might cover the noise. He could wait for Harry. Hell, he could ask Irene if she could get the lock open. He had a vague memory of her removing his handcuffs at the hospital.

Then, from the other side of the door, came footsteps.

Cian hurried down the stairs and flipped off the lights.

“Cian—” Irene called.

“Quiet,” he said. He felt his way by touch towards the back of the cellar. The bottle in his pocket clinked as it scraped the wall. Behind him, a sliver of light widened across the wall, and Cian darted behind the final row of wine racks. Pearl, Irene, and Freddy still stood near the secret door, but Freddy had put himself in front of the women. Cian jerked his head at the secret door.

They hesitated and then passed through the door. Cian followed them, pulling the door shut as the electric lights warmed to life. He leaned against the wall and studied the tunnel. The only illumination came from the light slipping through cracks in the false wall, but it was enough to make out a pitted stone floor that led further back. The steps from the cellar, even muffled by the secret door, were growing louder, and Cian urged the other three to move back along the hall.

Irene stumbled. Cian glanced back. The chagrin in Irene’s face changed to horror, and Cian started to turn around, to see what had frightened her. Freddy grabbed him by the coat and hauled him backwards.

An iron grille slammed down where Cian had been standing a moment before.

Metallic thunder crashed. Then the secret door swung open, spilling light into the hall. A short, round figure stepped through the frame. Cian blinked, trying to see against the backlighting. Then a gun barked, and the figure in the door vanished, and the door swung shut.

Leaving them in darkness.

“Irene,” Cian said.

“I just wanted to give them something to think about,” she said, but there was a tremor in her voice.

Cian stepped forward. He tested the grille. It ran on tracks set into the walls and it was too heavy to lift. As Cian dropped to his knees to give it another try, he heard Harry’s voice behind him.

“Ah. I see you found the tripwire.”

There was the whisper of a match, and then a bloom of light, and Pearl held a candle. Harry stood halfway down a circular flight of steps. He leaned forward over the edge of the stairs and held up something in one hand.

A length of wire attached to a metal pin.

“I thought I said to wait ten minutes and then leave,” Harry said.

“That’s not much of a welcome,” Irene said.

“Cian?” Harry said.

“The cellar door locked behind us. Someone was coming down the stairs. We were going to hide back here, but whoever it was came straight towards the secret door.”

“They knew we were here,” Pearl said.

In the weak light of the candle, Harry’s face revealed a moment of frustration. “I was afraid of that. You might as well come down here.”

Pearl went first, carrying the candle, and then Freddy. Irene gave Cian a look as she pocketed her revolver.

“All right?” Cian asked.

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because you’re white as a sheet.”

“I am not. Besides, you can’t see a thing.”

And then, before Cian could say anything else, she started down the stairs. He followed her, watching her pick her way down the steps in her heavy fur coat that did nothing to hide slender lines. She was starting to give him a headache.

Halfway down the steps, he popped the cork on the bottle of wine.

“What was that?” Irene said.

“Nothing,” Cian said. And then he took a drink.

He blinked, missed the next step, and caught himself.

Damn good wine.

Irene stared back at him, and he proffered her the bottle. She gave a disappointed sniff, but she took the bottle anyway and drank. Her eyes had stars in their depths when she handed the bottle back, and Cian was close enough to smell the wine on her breath. Her lips curved into a smile.

“Maybe you do have more than half a brain,” she said, her smile turning to a grin, and then she continued down the steps.

Cian took another drink. He figured he was going to need it.

By the time they’d reached the bottom, Cian realized that this portion of the building was substantially older. The stone was rough-worked, edges smoothed by time rather than by tools, and a pair of massive columns supported the low ceiling. Four barred doors opened onto cramped cells. Rotting straw was strewn across the floor, slick from the moisture on the stone, filling the air with its stench. Cian offered Irene his arm. She shook her head.

She did, however, take the bottle again.

The others were gathered around one of the cells. When Cian and Irene joined them, Cian saw that the barred door was open. Standing in the cell, wearing nothing more than a filthy pair of trousers and with his arms wrapped around his chest, was the sandy-haired thief. He was covered in cuts and bruises, but the bright blue eyes and the tangled mess of sandy hair were the same. As was the smile, with its single missing tooth. The kind of smile Cian had seen plenty of times in Kerry Patch. Men with a smile like that always had a girl on one arm and another waiting at the next block.

Irene, at least, wasn’t smiling back. Cian felt a surge of satisfaction.

“What was your name?” Cian said.

“Sam. You’re Cian, right?”

Cian nodded.

“You know each other?” Harry asked.

“About as well as you do. He’s the one who took the box. He was at that apartment.” Cian took a step forward, and Sam retreated. “I thought he worked for the Dane,” Cian said. “But now I guess that’s not the case, is it? You just happened to be there when I was.”

Sam stood with his back to the wall but he tried another smile. “It was that window, you know? I was so close.”

“Bad luck,” Cian said.

“Would you like to tell us what’s going on here?” Harry said.

“Don’t suppose you came to rescue me?” Sam said.

Cian laughed until Freddy prodded him.

“Damn,” Sam said. “Don’t suppose you have a smoke then?”

Freddy produced his silver cigarette case, offered Sam a cigarette. Sam inched around Cian, still unwilling to get too close, and lit the cigarette from Pearl’s candle. He drew deeply on the cigarette, closed his eyes, and breathed out a stream of smoke.

“God bless you.”

Cian grabbed his shoulder. The wiry man flinched—there wasn’t an inch of him that didn’t have a gash or bruise—but Cian didn’t let go.

“You were stealing the box from the Dane,” Cian said.

“God, yes. Get off of me. Can’t you see I’m a mess?”

“I can see just fine,” Cian said. He squeezed, and Sam tried to twist away, but Cian didn’t let go. “Start talking. I’m a pretty good listener.”

“Harry,” Pearl said.

Harry shook his head.

“Yeah, right,” Sam said. “All right, big fellow. I was there for the box. Let me go. I’ll tell you.”

Cian released the man’s shoulder. Sam took a step away and puffed on the cigarette for almost a minute. Cian took a step forward, and Sam darted back and threw his hands up. “All right,” he said, letting out another puff of smoke. “All right. God, you’re as friendly as they come, aren’t you?”

“You have no idea,” Harry said, and Irene let out a laugh.

“I went in the back. The Dane’s boys are a lot of muscle and not a lot of brains. I knew that window was junk. It was easy as pie to open. The box was just sitting there, I figured I’d help myself, and then I heard the gunshots, so I got out of there. Only that frame was bad, and the window came crashing down when I hit it with the box, and that nail caught my trousers.”

“You were caught on a nail?” Freddy asked. The old Hun had helped himself to a cigarette as well. “Not much of a thief.”

“Bad luck is all,” Sam said. “Happens to everyone. Besides, I ended up with the box, didn’t I?”

“Where is the box?” Harry asked.

Sam threw a glance up and flicked ash from his cigarette.

Harry groaned. “You didn’t.”

“I heard there was someone willing to pay good cash for the box. I talked to a few people, learned the details, came out here.” A nervous twitch ran through Sam’s jaw, and he wrapped one arm over his torn and bloodied chest. He tried for a smile and it didn’t come. “You might say the deal went south.”